we're {not} so fine.

this was my {not} so fine view from wednesday thru friday afternoon.  breaks home to sleep & love on my children, but most of my waking moments were watching pjm breathe-in, out, in, out- after a {not} so fine full-blown, over the top seizure on wednesday morning.  somehow, God had it all timed perfectly.  i was actually with pjm when it took place which is bizarre as i never visit on wednesdays-sweet brown eyes had modified days during the school year so i have made a {not} so fine habit of avoiding the wednesday "visit" & it was easy to rollover this into summer.  well, this command seizing performance by pjm was certainly my most frightening life experience-especially because he is unable to communicate.   i held his hand while the staff tended to him until 911 arrived.  those vows of "sickness & health" resonated in my ears between his labored breaths. 

like every other facet of this {not} so fine demented disease, there was no medical explanation as to why the seizure took place.  as i drove back to the hospital friday, i was mentally sparing with God about the why & the unfair & the pure exhaustion of the past few days.  i, of course, did all of the yelling & God did all of the listening like perhaps the vast majority of our verbal altercations.  i was so pissed off pjm faced yet another challenge with no medical explanation other than this stupid disease itself.  i wanted to scream "uncle" at God claiming defeat to this wicked & twisted disease that has pjm in a half nelson.

saturday morning, i lay home in bed thankful pjm is back at his "home away from  home".  i pick up my bible out of obligation...guilt, in fact, because in the middle of this crisis i defer to reading a girlie novel & decorating magazines.  often, the bible is arduous for me like an archeologist, painstakingly brushing the dust off an ancient artifact. i awkwardly read the verses written centuries ago & have no idea how they apply to middle aged me sitting comforatbly atop of my mattress miles away from jerusalem.  i am currently reading the book of matthew & there is a story about some dissatisfied workers in a vineyard-we happen to have vineyards in our town & i love wine so there is more connection to this story than most.  a farmer goes to town about 9:00 am to find a day laborer to perform some task in his vineyard.  the worker agrees to the daily wage & begins his work.  said farmer continues going back & forth to town hiring several more laborers throughout the day.  at days end, he pays all of the workers the same exact amount regardless of the number of hours they actually worked.  of course the first guys are enraged because they have worked far more hours but still only receive a dollar.  sucks for the day laborers that busted their asses all day for the same wage but, what the hell does this have to do with me & pjm & a grand mal seizure?

God never promised me a life free of challenge.  God never promised troubling circumstances would be passed out evenly like playing cards in a game of old maid.  God never promised to answer my whys & whens while i screamed at him for answers.

dear God.
sorry for the {not} so fine temper tantrum on friday.
you promised to always provide & you have-even in the middle of demented.
you promised to give strength, even when i feel weaker than a daisy
 grasping dearly to its petals in a hurricane.
you promise a peace that passes all understanding & while i still wrestle with this,
i know there is eternal life for pjm-me-our children which grants me calm.
thanks for your impeccable timing on wednesday-
did you laugh when i jumped up & asked if pjm was having a stroke?
i know, lame {not} so fine question.
love-
pissed off {not} so fine day laborer

and a side note:
a lullaby plays throughout the hospital whenever a baby is born.
it's a gentle reminder that new life & hope are happening 
so very close to me during this {not} so fine sickness.

puttin' snarky on the shelf for a bit...

so five months from today i will be celebrating the big 5-0 {feels entirely impossible} but my drivers license, passport as well as a very yellowed & aged birth certificate all reflect a birthday of 12/12/1963.

in honor of that aging milestone, i have decided to attempt a handful of tasks for the next five months before celebrating the BIG 50.  today marks the beginning of month one and here is what the next 30 days holds for me.  i am placing "snarky" on the shelf.  yep, in this teeny blog world of mine some of you may not know i have this sarcastic, cutting edge to me but i do.  those snarky comments roll off my tongue much like a pad of butter runs off a freshly grilled cob of corn.

my mom taught me by word, but more importantly by example, that old adage "if you cannot say something nice, don't say anything at all".  once i fled the nest and more importantly her listening ear, i learned & refined my skill of making insightful comments that drip with a coating of bitchy.  kind of like a beer-battered onion ring...that outside crusty jacket that has been bathed in oil sapping every ounce of nutritional value the slender ringlet of onion once contained.  my snarky words, while speaking a petite slice of truth, dip in a greasy batter of 100% bitch.

dear God.
i know those battered bites of bitch i so comfortable serve are ugly...to my very core.
why, God, do they flow so naturally from my mind & lips?
You say in the book of James that anyone who considers herself godly, yet doesn't keep a tight rein on her tongue not only deceives herself but You.
help me bite my tongue-for just 30 days-and allow Your love, grace, goodness to flow from my mouth.
sorry i have deceived you.
how have i accumulated half a century of years, and yet still have so much maturing to do?
signed-
almost 50 year old kindergartner

goldilocks...

remember that little blond, adventuresome girl who happens into the home of the three brown bears while they are out for a walk?  she enters their dwelling, testing their chairs, porridge, and beds.  each time she has to try all three and declares the first two are "too much" and "too little", but on her third attempt she finds the one that is "just right".

somedays i feel like that golden locked girl...especially on tuesdays.  as i make the 40 minute drive heading back to "the gardens", the days between visits has either past at lightening speed or a snails pace.  very seldom does it feel like the perfect amount of time has passed.  as i wander inside to find my sweet broken husband, it seems he is overly interested in seeing me {a tad too affectionate...} while other occasions, he looks through me and longs to be anywhere but at my side.  never does our time together feel "just right".  i leave and head back home so often with tears burning the back of my eyes and my throat feeling thick with grief wishing to have more years with him while concurrently longing for it all to come to an abrupt end.  driving away from him never will feel "just right".

like goldilocks, i am searching for the middle.  a path that leads to content...a "just right" of rest-peace-comfort in my heart absent of a longing for a little bit more or a teeny slice less.  in ecclesiastics 3, God speaks of a perfect time for everything:  birthing, dying, healing, killing, scattering, gathering, weeping, laughing.   the author continues on stating God makes everything beautiful in His time, but has left us in the dark to trust both His plan and timeline.

dear God.
i long for that "just right" feeling i was so accustomed to prior to "that day" almost four years ago
when life was turned on its end for our sweet family & pjm.
but You remind me "there is a season for everything, every activity under heaven"
including dementia.  and sickness.  and mourning.
and you instruct me to make the most of life in all seasons, this is Your gift to me.

thanks for being my "just right" in the middle of earning my pro wrestling status in this battle of too much and too little.

signed,
goldilocks

fire alarms & hearing tests

so while i was recently visiting pjm, the fire alarms were being tested.  the noise was an obnoxious "ERRR-ERRR-ERRT" accompanied by some flashing ceiling lights.  pjm was oblivious to the commotion while other residents sought the front door {which is on a delay so they cannot leave unaccompanied}.  a pack of residents & caregivers congregated outside just beyond the front door in hopes of escaping the annoyance.  another gentleman paced the lobby floor like a tiger in too small a cage.  his hands clenched over his ears while donning a miserable grimace.  i remained seated as the staff made it clear it was just a test-not an emergency.  it was somewhat amusing to see how the residents try to process this annoying stimulation within their different stages of dementia.

here is the dialogue i had with a sweet elderly resident:

her:  what is all of that noise for?  and those lights?

me:  oh, they are testing the fire alarms.

her:  testing?  they are testing?

me:  yep, just to make sure everything is working fine-to keep all of you safe.

her:  well tell them they can stop now.

me:  stop the noise?  i think the testing might take a bit longer.

her:  tell them to stop.  my hearing is working just fine.  tell them they can stop testing my hearing-i can hear that noise.

me: .... {smile-thanks for the giggle}  excuse me, miss elderly resident says her hearing is working just fine and you can stop the noise now {i say this to the empty space between her & me}

her:  thanks...that helps {the lights and alarms are still blaring so i am unclear how i was of assistance-perhaps it is just comforting to be heard even if the desired solution didn't come as quick as desired}

this is how some tuesday go...a little laughter that eats away some of that overwhelming sphere of sadness i so often feel on visiting day.

honoring dad...

dear children of ours-
i want to say a million things to you, and yet know none of them will fill that gap left in your lives.  it is so painful with your dad still so physically capable, yet stripped of the essence of what made him your dad.  i so want to wrap my arms around you and give wisdom of understanding while you grieve what has been lost, but i have no clue what it feels like to lose the man that allowed you to scream as babies "because it was your only form of exercise"; shared his passion for a "gwink" & the art behind the it; told you, with all sincerity after your first breakup {and subsequent ones}, that he/she just lost out on the best person ever; and left you, anxious & distressed, on the step of your freshman dorm knowing you could handle the university ahead of you.

as we awkwardly celebrate dad's on sunday, i want to call to mind those freshman drop-offs.  he loved taking you children to college with your entire life packed upon the four wheels of our suburban.  some of the joy was the drive itself.  that man loved to drive absolutely anywhere.  it gave him time to converse with you, divvying out final words of wisdom based on both his successes and failures.  once you pulled up to that said university, he would unload his own handcart & speedily place all your boxes in what you would call home for the next nine months.  once his task was done, he would issue a warm hug & peck on the cheek and reassure you that you were capable.  he would then turn and load himself {and that trusty handcart} in the suburban & drive off, with complete confidence in you.  left standing on the doorstep of your new life,  you quickly found your roots and a balance to living without him close by. he was always a phone call away with astute words of wisdom, an "i love you", and quiet confidence would hang in the air leaving you knowing he expected nothing short of success.

july 2008...a man & his children.

i realize now we as a family have been dropped off at the freshman dorm of lives.  dad packed lessons, love, and laughs into our hearts.  his legacy is what continues to bind us as a family & there is that sweet brown eyed brother who needs to experience dad; his wisdom, pranks and "peterisms" through each of us.  while he isn't a phone call away, his lessons are tucked orderly in our minds and we simply need to recall both the logic & integrity he used when tackling a challenge.  his "love yous" must live in our hearts & that confidence he expected will press us to strive in the challenges we face as a family and individually.  we must lean in on one another in the middle of this sick uncertainty while allowing each other to fumble through all the grief.

so on sunday, as we {and you} celebrate the day dedicated to dads, remember:
-walk after dinner.  it's way better than TV & makes for family time.
-always wear sunscreen.  the higher the SPF the better.
-date your spouse regularly.  it lets your kids know marriage is first & they come second.
-give back...to God, community, friends, strangers.
-invest in family...both immediate & extended.  one day you will need to lean in on them like we are learning in this season.

and have, his absolute favorite, a tanqueray-tonic with a squeeze of lime in honor of him!

cheers&love&hugs&tears.
mom.stepmom.chris

its not about the stuff...

i am in the middle of a book that causes my mind to scream & struggle with the way i live-think-breathe.  it's called 7 by jen hatmaker.  it's kind of a diary of her journey of tackling seven months of less to become more.  less of her, jen & more of Him, God.  i realize i couldn't do 7...like she eats only seven foods for a month.  yep, she eats eggs, avocado, chicken, apples {and three other foods which escape me at the moment} for 30 days straight.  freakin' crazy-sriracha would be a MUST on that list just to continue to add spice to my little life.

the premise of the book is both fascinating & appaling-kind of like driving by a horrific car crash. i slow to see the damage, then immediately slam my eyes shut {while driving myself & beautiful family at 72 mph down the interstate-yea, i confess: i am a speeder & a rubbernecker}, hoping to erase the image forever from my mind.

we live in a culture of entitlement, with each generation puffing itself up a bit more-feeling more deserving of all the "stuff" life has to offer.  spacious homes, "greener" cars, trendier fashions, alluring vacations-i am a product of this entitlement.  i have lots of stuff & love collecting {actually purchasing-the "stuff" i crave is seldom free} more.  MORE.  AND MORE STUFF.  AND NOW PLEASE BECAUSE I DESERVE IT!

i have a drawer full of all sorts of bras-padded, push-up, demi, sports and yet, just two boobs.
i have over 102 dinner plates (yep, just dinner plates-not counting the ones for dessert or salad or saucers} and yet, just two of us eat here regularly.
i have a jar big enough to house a family of gold fish full of nail polish and yet, prefer {and pay!} someone else to paint my nails.

dear stuff {yeah, i am talking to you-bras, plates, polish}
i like having you all around.  you sparkle, shine, support my girls while i'm getting fit.  but some days {okay, almost all day-everyday} i am so busy with you i forget all about Him.  perhaps {and it breaks a piece of my heart to admit this} you need to take a backseat in my life.

when i had babies, the love in my heart grew...like i was sure there wouldn't be enough love for the next baby because my heart was so over-joyed {except a 3:24 am feeding time} and brimming with love i was adamant it was mathematically impossible for there to be anymore love for the next baby, but somehow the love grew ten-fold when the next and then the next baby came along.  but bras, polish, plates don't make my heart grow more love.  they have the adverse effect.  my heart grows greed, wanting more, believing more is due to me.

you see, stuff, it is about love & relationships.  with pjm being so sick, the lenses of life have been wiped clearer forcing me to realize life just isn't about my collection of stuff.  its about the family and friends &  their love filling the space dementia has left.  and all that stuff pjm collected over the years patiently waits for his return. motorcycles sitting silent in the garage, work boots collecting a thick layer of dust, tools yearning to cut, pound, build.  how will i tell all his stuff he is not coming back?  sorry stuff, pjm has forgotten you-he no longer cares about any of you.

stuff, you are intentionally distracting me from the purpose of life:  love of God & love of people.
i must work diligently at learning to let you go.

me...collector of fine stuff

five dollar lesson...

sweet brown eyes asked me for some money so he could run to the snack bar while we were watching a soccer game.  i suggested he go alone because i am attempting to allow him {my last...} to grow and make decisions and most of all to realize he is a competent, confident person in this world.  i handed him this:

and with a tight grip on mr. lincoln, he raced off like he was scoring the tie breaking goal.  i returned to watching the game and a few moments later his raspy voice interrupts, "mom, can you hold these for me" and his long, slender fingers are clam-shelling at least 1,251 empty, sugary calories worth of candy!  like a pinata had cracked in two and he was the sole recipient of all the goods inside.  of course there was NO change-he managed to spend every last cent, so i gave him "that look" while stuffing all but one empty calorie morsel in my handbag leaving him a lone cherry ring pop.  

first thought:  that assuming bugger-how dare he spend the entire $5 on candy.  how does he feel so entitled?  second thought:  you wanted him to grow and learn to "handle" the world, but have you prepared him for that...perhaps there are still areas for growth.

late at night i lay in bed wallowing in thoughts of my life & dementia & raising sweet brown eyes alone...without his daddy.  i return to the $5 bill incident & feel God's tug at not just my heart but my head.

dear chrissy-

I want you to be a confident, competent woman in this world.

I have taught you {through your years with pjm} the lessons & unlike being a mom, 

I have promised to always go with you-even to the snack bar.

how many times have you assumed ownership of  blessings without giving Me a second thought?  

in your heart & head you believe you are entitled without ever muttering a prayer of thanks.

perhaps there are still areas for us to chisel away at you to make more room for Me.

love.

God