One Year Ago Today

He Will Call 

Job 14:13-15 (Song 111)

Life, like a mist, appears for just a day,

Then disappears tomorrow.

All that we are can quickly fade away,

Replaced with tears and sorrow.

If a man should die, can he live again?

Hear the promise God has made:

He will call; the dead will answer.

They shall live at his command.

For he will have a longing

for the work of his own hand.

So have faith, and do not wonder,

for our God can make us stand.

And we shall live forever,

As the work of his own hand.

Friends of our God, though they may pass away,

Will never be forsaken.

All those asleep who in God's memory stay,

From death he will awaken.

Then we'll come to see all that life can be:  Paradise eternally.



Art by Kloe



The Last Fight

I know I've written about this before, but I've just been thinking about Mom a lot today and needed to write it again.

This morning on the way into town, for some reason or another, I had a flashback of a phone call with hospice I'd had about seven months ago. I was in the back room at my parents house where I'd been staying for the last week or so to help take care of my mom. She was sick, and had taken a decidedly turn for the worse. She'd had Stage 4 Colon Cancer for four years. It had been four years of fighting, first with chemo and surgeries (which is a whole other story), and then with natural medicine and a special diet (also another story). She'd lived far longer than the doctors had thought possible. She'd outlived the projections of every website and message board I'd visited in my obsessive need to understand what we were up against. Her CEA (tumor marker) numbers had stayed low, and nothing had showed up in her monthly exams for a long time. Then the numbers did start to go up. Then, after three years of nothing, they found a new spot on her liver. It only took four months to go from finding that small spot, to my being in that back room on the phone with a lady from hospice.

Mom had been getting intravenous fluids that whole previous week. As weak as she was, we would help her get dressed, get her to the car with one of us on each side to keep her from falling, drive her to the hospital and wait the two to three hours to get the fluids and then repeat the process to get her home. We'd done this every day for a week, but the benefits of the fluids were starting to be countered by the difficulty of the journey. She was just getting too sick to make the trip anymore. We'd been talking to her doctor, to the hospital, to anyone we could think of to figure out how to get the fluids to come to her. We felt certain there had to be a traveling nurse, or someone who could administer the fluids. If the problem was that insurance or medicare wouldn't cover the cost, we were all more than willing to pay for it. We just needed someone to be willing to do it.

When I asked the lady from hospice if that was something she could help us with, instead of answering my question she asked me some of her own: What did I think was really going on? What did I think the fluids were going to do for my mom? Would it be better to keep her going long as we could, as she got sicker and sicker? Were we doing this for her, or were we doing this for ourselves? Beyond these questions, we discussed that Mom's body wasn't really benefiting from the fluids as well as we'd hoped. Her liver and kidneys had already begun to shut down, and we knew she experiencing fluid retention and swelling. The fluids we were fighting so desperately for were doing more harm than good.

I had one of those moments right then where the blood thunders through your ears, the air gets sucked out of your lungs, and time slows down. She was so sick. Every day she was getting sicker. Of course we knew she was going to die. But until that moment, we'd been in fight mode. This was the first moment I realized the fight was really over.

The lady on the other end of the phone waited until I stopped crying, and then we made arrangements for her to come over and talk to the rest of the family. We'd been fighting this disease aggressively as a family for over four years. It was going to take some professional help to transition from that all consuming fight into helping our Mom let go and... die.

She came over and we all gathered around the couch where Mom was laying, and we talked about the fact that she really was dying. It was singularly the saddest discussion I've ever been a participant in. Everyone went out and left Renae and I alone with Mom. We talked more about how this was really it. We told her how much we loved her, and how we would be there with her through it all, and then we would be there to see her on the other side.

I wonder how she felt at that moment. I think about that moment a lot. I regret that moment sometimes. I wish we'd just stayed in denial about the fact she was really going to die so we'd never had that discussion. Once it was out there, it just seemed like any fight she had inside just went away. She was just ready for it to be over with.

Renae, Steph, Brandon, Cookie and I all took shifts staying with her and Dad. At first we were still gently trying to get her to eat and drink, but in retrospect that still may have been our lingering need to fight for her life. Eventually even that stopped.

I would stay for two days, and then leave for one or two. I would go to work on the days I was away. Work became somewhat of a sanctuary where my mind could be otherwise occupied. Then I would drive the hour and a half back to my parents. I would feel the heaviness become worse and worse until I drug myself up their steps and into their house where I would see her again.

We'd brought a hospital bed into their living room, so I would see her the minute I opened the door. Every time I opened that door, it made me want to recoil in horror. Our mom was lying there in that bed dying! It couldn't have felt more surreal. By then she was drugged and asleep, and unable to talk very much even when she was aware. It was a living, waking nightmare we couldn't escape.

A strange, numb, detached-ness decended upon me. I've never been like that my whole life. It was like my brain just shut parts of itself off. I felt made of stone.

We held her hand. We brushed the hair out of her face. We put chapstick on her lips and swabs of water in her mouth. We told her how much we loved her over and over and told her we were going to be okay. We promised her we would never stop talking about her to our kids so they would always remember her. We talked about our hope for the future when we would all be together again and she would be healthy. I hope that she felt some comfort from us being there with her. We knew she was scared; her brow and face would be scrunched up with anxiety and pain, even though she couldn't voice it. The best we could do was give her the shots of pain and anxiety meds that hospice had left for her.

The last time I saw her alive, the truth is, I knew it would be the last time... I should have stayed. I should have stayed. I should have stayed. But when my niece came over for her shift, I left. To escape the horror, the impending doom, and the despair, I went back to my house. The next morning I talked to my niece and she told me that Mom's hands were getting colder, and I knew I should go back. I knew the signs of impending death by heart; I'd read them over and over in hopes of preparing myself. But I didn't go back. I went to work instead. Renae called me at work to let me know she was at Mom's. She held the phone to Mom's ear so I could tell her that I love her. She couldn't talk, but I could hear her breathing loud in an attempt (I choose to believe this) to communicate with me. Renae then called Danny, and a similar conversation happened.

Renae was on one side of Mom holding her hand, and Cookie was on her other side holding her hand when it started to happen. They both told her it was okay to let go, and then she did. I am so sad I wasn't there when it happened. I am also so grateful I wasn't.

6 Months

It's been six months today since Mom died.  It still doesn't feel real, and I guess it probably won't ever feel real.  I can still hear her voice in my head.  The way she bickered with Steph about all the things they squabbled over (and that voice makes me smile as I type this), and the way she would say "BiiiIIiiiLLL" at my dad to get his attention (also makes me smile).  I can feel exactly what it was like to hug her, how she smelled, what it felt like when she kissed me on the cheek and told me she loved me.  Man, I miss her.

And now the day is almost done...

We survived the funeral today.  It was a very hard one.  I don't think there was a dry eye in the whole building.  But,it was good to meet up and remember his life.

If nothing else has come out of losing so many people this year, it's been the reminder that life is so unpredictable.  I've always been pretty good about letting people I'm very close to know that I love them.  Life is teaching me this year that a person doesn't have to be a best friend or a family member to leave an empty place in my heart when they are gone.  I think I've needed to recognize that even though there may be different kinds and levels of love... that love is still love and I need to be better at nurturing it.  I hold back out of fear of... I don't know, maybe rejection, uncertainty, fear of spreading myself too thin....  I'm sure the list could go on and on.  The problem is that the only thing left over by holding back in fear is regret when you realize you've missed an opportunity to make a closer connection.

Another reminder from this year is that it doesn't really matter what anyone else thinks about us.  Several people whose opinions I highly valued, are gone (!), and any opinions they had of me went with them.  In the end, we are all alone, and what's left is between us and God.  Our integrity is all that matters.  Knowing that we did our best, that we carried our load, that we gave as much love as we could- those are the things that we will be left with. 

We all were pretty wore out after the funeral and reception.  We came home for a bit to change our clothes, and then we surprised the kids and took them to the new move "Tangled" to try to lighten things up a bit, and have some happy times together.  It was really good!  Kloe and I laughed our heads off.  It reminded me of the Disney classics I was raised on, like Beauty and the Beast and The Little Mermaid, only the characters were better.  Anyways, we had a really good time.

So for now, the goals are to keep taking steps forward, keep reaching out and back to people, and to keep looking to the light and letting the shadows fall behind.

Loss

I (and a lot of other people) lost a very special person yesterday in a car accident. It was a personal loss to me because this man has been there for me these last couple of years, helping me figure out some things that very well could have permanently altered my life in a negative way if I hadn't have changed them. Because of his own life experience, and his ability to use the bible in a way that could reach both my mind and heart, his words sunk in. They have stuck with me in such a way that it is his voice I hear whenever I am tempted to revisit self-destruction. I can't believe that he is gone. He was one of those pillars that you expect to be there for a lifetime for you to lean on... I wish that I had told him again how much I appreciated everything he had done for me and how much I loved him. One thing that I have been holding dear to my heart is that one of the last times that we talked he told me that he was proud of me. That meant a great deal to me. I will have to hold on to that, and also hold the same things that reassure me about my mom- time doesn't exist for them now, they are safe in Jehovah's memory, and the next thing they know they'll be waking up in the Paradise.

The End

We all must find it somewhere
It's just around the bend
Will it be an angry face
Will it be a friend
Escape from all who chase you
Redemption for your sins
Reward for all who play this game
If he loses or he wins
No escape can yet be found
No place to hide your face
It sweeps you like a piece of dirt
And left there is no trace

I feel differently than I thought I would in the days and weeks following my mom's death. I guess I thought I would cry more... instead it just doesn't feel real. Life is back to normal already... it just goes on. I don't know if it's because I am relieved that she isn't hurting anymore or what. Maybe it's because I've been saying goodbye to her for the last four years... Part of me is scared that it is still lurking in the background, waiting to come crashing in on me with all of the pain I remember having when my brother died. The other part of me is afraid that this is it, and I won't be able to grieve the way that she deserves.

Mom's Obituary

We lost our very dear wife, mother, grandmother, sister and friend at the age of 71 on October 18th, after a four year battle with cancer.  She fought courageously, and refused to let cancer define her or take over her life.  Through it all, she remained the same kind, loving, supportive and beautiful woman we have always known.

Patsy was born February 7, 1939 in Paradise, to Ruby and Charles.  She was the third of six siblings.  She was a true Paradise child, swimming in the river, riding bikes, and spending her days with siblings, relatives and friends in the tight-knit community that Paradise was in those years.  She grew into a fun-loving teenager who could play both guitar and piano.  She met the love of her life, William, when she was 17 and soon married him in December of 1956.  They made their home in Paradise where they first raised their four older children (Lonnie, Danny, Daryn and Renae) and then their two younger children (Rachel and Shaun).  Their house was always full of love and laughter, music, friends and family.  On July 31, 1971 after studying the bible with Jehovah’s Witnesses, Patsy dedicated her life to Jehovah and was baptized.  She spent the rest of her life serving her God and one of her greatest joys was sharing the hope she’d found with others.  She believed with all her heart in the resurrection described in John 5:28,29 where it says: “.. the hour is coming in which all those in the memorial tombs will hear his voice and come out…”  This hope along with the assurance of living forever on a paradise earth with her family and friends brought her great comfort.  (Ps. 37:29- “The righteous themselves will possess the earth, and they will reside forever upon it.”) Patsy was a member of the Thompson Falls Congregation of Jehovah’s Witnesses.

Some memorable things about Patsy include her extreme kindness to family, friends and strangers alike.  She always believed the best in all of us and helped us to believe in it too.  She never gave up on us, even when we struggled.  She was always there to celebrate with us during good times, and hold our hand through hard times. 

She was so brave!  When she believed in something she didn’t hesitate to go against the crowd and say out loud (in a kind way) how she felt.  She always did what she knew was right and true even if it meant standing apart.  She approached everyone she met as a friend she just hadn’t met yet.  She was  loved by so many.  Just by her example alone she affected so many lives in powerful, positive ways.  Not just of the people who witnessed her and changed their lives based on her example and hope, but also their children and families.

We will miss her spiritedness and playfulness.  No one loved to play cards (and WIN!) as much as Patsy.  She was passionate about shoes and had many of them.  No one had a better sense of humor; she loved to laugh.  She was truly pure at heart.  She told us all how much she loved us every chance she had.  We never had any doubt about how much we were loved; she made sure of it.

She gave us a powerful legacy to live up to.  Our lives will never be the same again without her.  We ache for the day when we get to see her again, when she will be healthy and will be restored to youthfulness.(Job 33:25;  Rev. 21:3,4)

Being Raised One of Jehovah's Witnesses

One of the greatest gifts my mother (and father) ever gave me was that of teaching me everything that they knew from the bible. I was raised as one of Jehovah's Witnesses from the time I was born. That meant several things for me; for non-witness kids the most noticeable thing about me was I never celebrated holidays (if you wonder why ask me!) or birthdays. Even as a little kid I got used to being different from other kids and learned to be okay with that.
Being a witness also meant going to three meetings a week where we would learn from the bible in an almost school-like way. We studied before going to meetings to better understand what we were learning there. It also included preaching from door to door, doing what Matthew 24:14 taught us to do.If you think being different in school from everyone else, going to meetings to learn about the bible all the time and preaching were easy for a kid... then you would need to think again. But those were times when I learned vital lessons about who I wanted to be and what I wanted my life to be about. I definitely knew what the choice I was making meant for me when I was baptized at the age of 12. I had committed myself to being one Jehovah's people for life- not a thing to be done lightly, and really it wasn't something I could just jump into even if I tried. I had to answer many questions first to prove I knew what course of action I was committing myself to (as everyone who gets baptized as one of Jehovah's Witnesses does).
Just because my parents put all of this hard work into raising me, it doesn't mean I never let them down. Anyone who knows me from high school knows that I was not a shining example of how a Christian should act. I made several HUGE mistakes- I knew better, but thought I was missing out on fun so I did things I shouldn't have. There were several things that I could have been removed from the congregation for. Definitely things that were against the course I had committed myself to when I made my promise to God. I sorta just faded away from the congregation for awhile and did my thing. I have a lot of regrets from those days because a lot of my choices hurt other people, witnesses and non-witnesses alike.We are going through old pictures this week for a sideshow we are doing at Mom's memorial, and one that struck me is at my own graduation- my mom is hugging me and she just looks so SAD. I hate that I hurt her in those days! Mom never gave up on me- she saw the truths she'd taught me as a child as a vehicle to save me from myself. I don't know how many times I asked her to JUST STOP trying to get me to come back!!! I got to the point where I felt so low, like I could never feel good about myself again- I'd made so many bad choices. Mom NEVER gave up on me though, and eventually I woke up. Mom and Dad let me move back in with them and I talked to the "elders" in our congregation who helped me talk about what I had been doing. They could see I really regretted the choices I'd made and they helped me move passed them. They could have chose to remove me- I had shown complete disregard for everything I'd promised and hurt others and myself in the process, but I learned there (and several times since-I'm apparently a slow learner) that the elders want to help me. A person is only removed when they decide that they no longer want to be part of the congregation, and would rather live a life that isn't the one they previously committed to in their babtism.
I am SO grateful for the help the congregation and elders have given me in those times and in times like we are having now.
As an adult I go to meetings and study the bible, and still go in our bible door to door ministry. I'm passing on the gift my parents gave to me to my own children. The hope from what I've learned from the bible is so worth living a life that means swimming against the current(and fighting myself!) on a daily basis. Especially in times like these- losing my mom has been the hardest thing I've ever had to go through. Losing her to cancer was an unimaginable horror. My dad,sister, niece, nephew and I were her primary caregivers that last month, and it was like watching her die in slow motion. A living nightmare for her and for us. The only thing that gets us through it is the hope we have from the bible that if we are loyal to God, we will see her again. When she wakes up she is going to be healthy and feel so much better again (Daniel 12:2 says there will be many of those asleep in the ground of dust who will wake up, these to indefinitely lasting life...). I refuse to let anything ever come between me and that hope ever again.

Mom died at 1:10 yesterday afternoon. I was at work when Renae called me with the news. I had just talked to Mom and told her I loved her minutes before she died. She could only breathe hard into the phone in response, but I choose to believe she heard me.
My co-workers have been so wonderful throughout this. Finding out at work was not what I wanted or anticipated. Cindy (other clerical support gal) was in the bathroom instantly with me, hugging me and telling me to just grab my stuff and head out. So, I went home, Derrick and I grabbed a couple things, and we left for Plains.
Walking in to my parent's living room and seeing my mom's body was so surreal. I will never beable to forget it. But at least she looked so much more at peace than she did the last time I saw her. All of us women, sisters, daughters, granddaughter took turns putting make-up on her, fixed her hair, put ear rings back on her. She looked like mom again when we were through- as beautiful as ever. I was glad when Dave made it in time with my kids too, so they could see her one more time in her home without the pain on her face. It was very hard for all of us when the man from the mortuary came and they put her in the bag and took her from the home. Just when I thought it couldn't get any more real.
We are having a viewing of the body on Wednesday. We still need to write an obituary... Steph and I want to make a slideshow for after her funeral, which is going to be on Saturday. In the meantime... I guess the main thing is to keep breathing.
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

She's gone.

I guess falling down an abyss wouldn't feel like much either until you hit the bottom.
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Waiting for someone to die feels a lot like waiting for someone to be born.
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Daryn

Today is November 3, 2006. This marks the 22nd anniversary of the day that my older brother Daryn died in a horrible car accident. I can't believe so many years have gone by. He's been gone now almost as long as he was here. I was 8 years old the day that it happened. It was his 23rd birthday. He had gone out to "celebrate" his birthday at the Paradise bar with his friends and cousins. It was beer for a dime day. Everybody drank too much. I finally understand as an adult that when everybody drinks no one has good judgement. For years I blamed my older cousins who let him get into that truck and drive to Plains. I was after all, only eight. Things are pretty black and white to little kids. Now I understand that they all (including Daryn) had a huge lapse in judgement that day. He just got caught by it that time.

My brother was good to me. He loved kids and he always made a real effort to make me feel special. He was a good man with a good heart. For years I pretended to myself that he wasn't really dead, that he had just gone on a very long vacation. Or that he had been kidnapped and someday he would escape and return to us. I was afraid that he was going to disappear from my memory, that I wouldn't remember his voice or what it felt like to be with him. I shouldn't have worried though. He still shows up in my dreams, even after all this time.

I know someday I will see him again, because the bible tells us that there will be a resurrection of anyone who has fallen asleep in death. I really look forward to meeting him and knowing him as an adult. I will be HIS older sister. Until then, I will always remember and miss him.