Thursday, November 22, 2012


a time to show appreciation for what has been entrusted.
today i am giving thanks for a doctor that was both kind & bold.
words that were spoken honestly, yet carried a devastating outcome.
last month we met a new neurologist.
i had worked myself into an internal frenzy-sure he too would boost my weary soul with hope.
a false the eight other doctors before him each
embarking on a search to explain & cure peter's progressing dementia.
a slight, spectacled man.  soft spoken. 
attentive to my words & the ream of medical documents i produce.
so young, too young. he murmurs almost to himself. 
those words have echoed within the walls of far too many medical offices.
each time they are delivered, i feel like that insecure child that has cannibalized all ten fingernails down to their beds, leaving them raw-ragged-bloody
 while anticipating my name being called during second grade read aloud.
like me, all of the other doctors want to find a prognosis of  renewed health.
a miracle that will mend-fix-heal sweet broken husband.
however, spectacles deviated from the norm.
a malady with no known regimen.  the brain, encased in our cranium, is still mysterious.
even to the most brilliant doctor & scientist.
the why of peter's brain will continue to remain an unknown.
but his honesty...the dementia cannot be fixed or even stopped, was a blessing.
spectacles was confident enough, humble enough, honest enough-
against all odds, this should not be happening to my young husband,
but the reality is...he has beat the odds.
he is dying of dementia so young, too young.
today i am thanks{giving} to a doctor who granted the gift of freedom to just live
& allow life {and death} to unfold
while allowing hope to slip thru our fingers.

Monday, November 19, 2012

some days i stumble.

i was running with amber one morning last week.
i stumbled...and did this.
this was the sum of the damage except
for the small blemish it left on my ego.
my knees were sore.
my skin was sensitive.

the next morning lady antebellum sang me awake.
beckoning me to hit {well not literally} the pavement again.
i would have preferred to stay warm & scrap free in bed
but you see, i am afraid if i stop running,
i may never run again and that is what clears my mind-
gives me time to focus on God-
allows my pores to sweat & my heart to race-
fills my lungs with the crisp fall air.
it maintains me both physically & mentally.
i cover my knees with running tights-lace up my shoes,
beating the asphalt another morning in spite of a wound.

i realize those battered knees are a metaphor for our season.

yes, i would prefer to remain in the safe cocoon of flannel sheets & pjs.
closing my eyes so that red shirt he wore yesterday is hidden from my sight.
muting my ears to the words that messily stumble from his lips.
confining my thoughts to those of joy, away from the uncertainty of what if & when this.

yes, my knees are a sore reflection of my heart & soul.
but remaining in bed to nurse the sorrow of the season is inconceivable-impractical-impossible.
sweet brown eyes greets me each sunrise, with a raspy "good morning mom" .
those eyes-that scratchy voice reminds me God's plan & timing are flawless.

because of His grace-strength-love,
i emerge from the safe envelope of bedding
& trust Him to guide me thru the hurdles & hurts of the day.

Friday, November 9, 2012

dear mrs. dmv...

dear mrs. dmv,
just a quick note to say thanks.
fortunately, we had an appointment
was it because it was monday-or are you that popular every day?

F049 window # 12.
you were beckoning us.  i had prepped peter in the car
he understood-surrender  CDL & acquire CID.
i explained our request & handed over the completed forms.
you looked at sweet broken husband & said "no more driving?"
his flat, emotionless reply, "she says no".
ouch.  that hurt.  technically, the doctor said no but i seem to be the fall guy.
please sign, date & write your phone number.
signature executed-nothing else.
  i assist in completing the missing information he cannot recall.
you begin to understand why we are standing at window #12.
your eyes, so gentle & compassionate.
the words, "he's so young" tumble from your mouth.
tears fill my eyes, knowing you are right-far too young in fact.
you take note of my sorrow & escort us to the front of the photo line.
as we depart, you wink & say to take care.

your kindness did not go unnoticed.
i am grateful we met at window #12.

tearful mama bird

Friday, November 2, 2012

dear God-

dear God,
yeah.  i know you know my every thought-move-whisper-even each very wispy lock of hair on my head, but i just need to ask you a couple of questions
our home is beautiful. and a little decorated for fall. when i arrived home from my run this morning, this was the view of our front door...

beautiful, right God?  the harvest pumpkins, the dried wreath & the ruby red geranium plant.  but wait, i spy a bucket & shovel handle-not any bucket & shovel but the one we use to scoop dog poop.  as i get right over the bucket, i notice {yep} it has poop in it.  this bucket was not here when i left on my run just 53 minutes ago. 
God.  we both know how it got there.  my sweet, broken husband placed it there.  this is where the questions start.  how does he remember to pick up the poop using the same bucket & shovel, but he forgets its final destination is the trash can.  why does he look not just in our backyard for piles but also in the front.  dogs {ours & others} cannot get to our front yard.   Lord, how does some information get so lost in his mind, while other details stick. 
i know.  look for the blessings-and i am.  sweet husband did leave the poop outside, even if it was a left as a "welcome home" mat.  he used the shovel & not his...need i say more here.  he found a purpose to fill his time. 
God, i trust you & know you are in the business of making all of the pain-the smelly and down right shitty parts of life into something that will glorify You.  i can't wait to see how you beautify that pail of poop.  in the meantime, i placed it in the trash dumpster.  just in case you are looking for it sometime soon.
love you just a fraction of what you love me-
mama bird