My life has been so blessed with "heart" stories, I barely know how to pick one. I have an incredible mama who is 92 and still very active. I also have an amazing supportive husband and two grown children and their perfect spouses along with three grandchildren who make my life complete. But my true heart story belongs to my dad. It will be four years this October since we lost him to dementia. I'm pretty sure everyone reading this has dealt with this terrible disease in some way, so my story isn't about how awful it is--mine is about how wonderful the memories of helping care for a loved one who is slowly changing.
In 2009, after returning from living away from my parents for three years, I started taking my dad on monthly dates. He was already showing signs of his losses to come--having trouble finding words, forgetting a few things. But we did all kinds of cool activities--visiting museums, our state's Governor's mansion at Christmas, going to movies, to local landmarks, miniature golf. And we always went somewhere fun for lunch. Over the next five years he grew less and less able to do physically demanding things like walking far--but we still managed to enjoy our dates. Finally, when he was no longer able to speak or walk well, we limited our time together to lunches out. He loved Indian food and IHOP, so we frequented two of our local pancake and curry establishments a lot the year before he had to move to a nursing facility. He spilled on his clothes, he sometimes couldn't find his mouth. But I helped him as he'd allow and, as long as he could make it into the restaurant, took him no matter what anyone might have thought .
I was not special. My whole family treated Daddy this way. I'm proud of how we tried to help maintain his dignity to the end. When he passed away, we were glad he no longer had to be trapped in his silent body, but I feared that maybe the last years would be painful to remember. It turned out they absolutely are not. They are some of my greatest heart treasures. I learned to be patient, to be somewhat accepting of what I couldn't change, and how to honor someone wherever they are at. So--I thank my dad for the lessons of love he taught me, even when he had no idea how much I was learning!
For as long as I can remember, I've had poor eyesight. It’s made me extremely appreciative of any day I've been able to see. I'm very nearsighted and have astigmatism. I've worn glasses since I was around 7. When I was 22, I had a detached retina (that didn't get fixed in time to save all of the sight in that eye) and doctors have told me I'm legally blind in that eye.
The other week I went to a specialist eye doctor to have an assortment of extra eye exams. The good news is there’s nothing new happening with my eyes. They are just their usual bad, which isn’t great but at least nothing hugely new and hugely concerning is happening.
So far I don't have glaucoma, but the pressure on my eyes is on the edge of acceptable, so that's something to still have monitored regularly.
I was told I have a cataract in the eye that had the detached retina. The doctor said it has been there for some time (but this was the first time I was hearing about it) and it may have resulted from the detached retina. He said he wouldn't recommend doing anything with the cataract unless a cataract developed in my other eye. Apparently, cataract surgery should happen on both eyes to...something about keeping them in sync. But he also said cataract surgery would put me at more risk of another retinal detachment, so I'm definitely putting off any cataract surgery for as long as possible.
This specialist eye doctor also told me that he’d lived in the city (778 miles away from where we were now) where I had my detached retina surgery. He talked like a detective in a mystery novel trying to figure out if he (or one of his colleagues) had done my retina surgery 30 years ago. It's a small world. And I'm very appreciative that he is my doctor now and he (or one of his colleagues) was my doctor back then as well. Thank the heavens for good doctors!
They say that hindsight is 20/20…perhaps that’s true. When something so traumatic occurs in your life that you haven’t a moment to process the news, you pray while you hold your tears inside, keep your head down, focus on the situation, and do your utmost to do whatever is required to carry on for the good of all.
There have been many
times in the last 45 years when the traumatic has occurred, but the keeper of
my heart and I had our faith to carry us through as we did what was needed
until we’d made it through to the other side of the trauma, whole as a family,
whole as a couple, saying grateful prayers of thanks.
When my darling was
diagnosed with Pancreatic Cancer on January 21, 2020--four days after his 65th
birthday, we prayed and never gave up hope that he would pull through. His
surgeon was confident, and after 8 hours of a successful surgery, he was
effusive in telling us he’d removed all of the cancer—no further treatment
would be necessary.
A few months later we
received the call from his oncologist; the results from Sloan Kettering had
been delayed because of the pandemic, but their second opinion was clear--chemo
would be necessary. DJ took it in stride as he planned to fight this disease.
He went through two rounds of chemo before the side affects had him on his
knees in pain unable to walk. Still he soldiered on, confident that he would
arise the victor. We never stopped praying, never gave up hope.
While there is far more
to DJ’s heroic battle, and the on-going struggle to accept the hole in our
lives where he once stood, our family is slowly mending nine months after we
said goodbye to the rock that we depended upon. Each of us in turn has said
that we were carrying on because we knew that is what “Dad” (in our children’s
case) or “DJ” (in my case,) would have wanted and expected us to do. Remembered
conversations and favorite sayings are part of our everyday lives now, slowly
filling a bit of that hole with the essence of the man who once stood beside
us, loving us, cheering us on—or telling us to accept what is and keep moving
forward. I see bits and pieces of DJ in our sons, our daughter, our son-in-law,
and our grandsons—and everywhere in our home and gardens…where we worked
side-by-side to make it truly ours.
Life is a precious gift that I give thanks for every day. In my daily prayers, I thank God for the gifts in my life: life, another day, family, hearth, home, love, health, hope, and words. Whatever higher power you believe in, and I truly believe there are far more things in Heaven and on earth that we have yet to understand, do take a moment to say thank you for the gift of life and please do not ever take it for granted.
I need to remember a story from my heart. Something that inspired me. So I'm not going to chat about the current world or things that I've been battling this year. Travel with me to a time in my life where I was single with two kids. Back to the time I held eleven jobs in one year (many simultaneously). Back when asking for help just wasn't in my vocabulary. Back to when my current life philosophy of paying it forward was created...
My car broke down all the time. Sometimes when my dad was out of town (he drove a big rig), in order to get to my second job (cleaning a small office building at night), I pulled my two small children in a wagon over two miles three nights a week. We ate a lot of spaghetti and green beans back then. Please don't misunderstand my story. I never went hungry. My parents were present and I could eat at their house anytime I wanted (or needed). It was my pride that prevented asking more often. This went on for a while. And then one evening, several bags of groceries were waiting at my apartment door. I had friends from church, from college, and from old jobs and no one ever admitted to the generous gift. I never found out who.
And during the same year, I received three different envelopes through the mail with cash. Totally anonymously again. And the person or persons never said anything. You might assume, like I did that the donation was from my parents--believe me when I say that wasn't in their wheelhouse. They paid for the kids' shoes, bicycles, and constantly found reasons to send them home with new clothes. So I knew the person giving to me so generously was for real. They didn't embarrass me by handing it to me face-to-face. The experience changed my life...along with meeting my mentor and friend a few months later.
I had taken a job which required me commuting to Dallas. A friend mentioned a job at the university and I didn't really give it a thought. But that week, my car was hit in traffic three times. I took that as a sign and interviewed. Meeting Raedean changed me forever. Me took me under her wing (she took all her employees) and had a different supervising attitude that I wish I could have duplicated. One thing I'll never forget is going on break with her once a week. Sure we covered office improvements, but she always, always asked if there was anything she could help with--professionally or personally. Shoot, you could do that in the 80s. Those little caring conversations changed how I spoke to people. Those weekly fifteen-minute breaks showed me how important it is to remember just to ask people how they're doing and really listen to their answer.
After I married Tim. I stayed home with the kids and volunteered. I hope I helped a little a long the way by picking kids up for a practice, or reading in a classroom, or finding softball gloves so girls could be on a team, or chatting with high school kids about their lives. Tiny things that I hope made life easier on parents or let kids know they mattered. I never forgot the anonymous donations and how they made me feel. I try to Pay It Forward as often as I can. Just last year, I was writing a note to a missionary family that due to the Co-Vid shutdowns I wouldn't be able to send my yearly donation. I didn't have to send it, Tim's job came back full-time.
God showed me how to love. My mom showed me how to be kind. Raedean taught me how to listen. And an anonymous donator taught me to share my blessings.
Gratitude is always the center of any heart story. I’m
trying to be more mindful of being grateful, seeing my blessings around me, and
because I’m blessed, being a blessing to others. Here is my prayer of gratitude—my
hope that more people would appreciate the teachers that everyday face
uncertainty in their classrooms during these tumultuous times. I implore you to
support them however possible, work as a team for the betterment of your child
and ALL the children in the schools.
Be mindful of
the incredible pressures these teachers are getting from all sides and how they
are doing their best to simply be good teachers and help their students to view
themselves as productive, special people. Teachers--the good ones, and there
are many-- are doing their best incredible odds-much of which they have no
control over directly. While it’s a stressful time for us all during this
pandemic, let us stop and be grateful that we have public schools and many,
many good teachers out there who wanted to teach because they’d been taught by
good teachers. Thank you, Sam, Kate, Andrea, Shannon, Dave, Melissa, and so
many more, past & present, that honor the profession of teaching with their
integrity, determination, and kindness. We could ALL learn a lesson from them!
Hope you'll share your heart stories with us.
