Yesterday I witnessed a sunset at sunrise. I stood next to my brother who was somewhere between life and death. The ventilator filled his lungs over and over. Machines beeped and hummed. It had been a long night of waiting for something to happen. I looked out the window and the world which had been dark, was showing some color. Sunbeams started to venture out from behind the mountain and then a brightness filled the room. The world outside was waking, but he was not. I stood quietly watching and thinking to myself the irony of that moment.
His life was hard. He was bi-polar and started to self medicate which led to addiction. He struggled with this throughout his adult life. I don't know how many times I thought to myself that its just not fair. Why does he have to have all these struggles. He so wanted to be clean and stable, and was at times. During those brief respites we got to see our brother. The person we knew when he was a young kid. He was kind and considerate. He was affectionate and social. Why do some people have to handle so much hardship over and over. His thought and actions were impulsive due to the swings of his moods. Agency is not always black and white when your thoughts and feelings are unstable. I don't know if I will ever understand it fully.
His whole family gathered in the ICU. He would at times say that his family didn't love him. We always loved him. We took turns by his bedside sometimes all together, and other times alone. I watched the emotions of each person swing from one end of the spectrum to the other. Sorrow, I felt sorrow. I also felt an intense love for him that I never realized I was capable of. We were all there when he died peacefully and just moments before the medical staff was to stop his life support. My mom said she felt it was his gift to us.
I've never experienced the random emotions that I have felt in the last 24 hours. In one moment I hope and pray that he is happy and free of the chains that bound him in this life. The next moment I think that we can never have a family picture again because it would not be complete. Then I am sad and even angry that his little baby girl will not know her father. Then I think about how much he loved fireworks as I hear them going off outside. Then the sorrow. I'm all over the place. People say that it gets easier with time. I'm sure it will. I hope he somehow sees/knows the outpouring of love and sadness that has been expressed on his behalf. Yes Shawn you will be missed, by many. I hope he is in the loving arms of those family members and friends that have passed before him. I am grateful for the faith I have in life after death. Its such a comfort to know that its just time that separates us.
Saturday, July 25, 2015
Friday, February 21, 2014
Yielding to the Spirit
So I had the opportunity to attend a fireside with Matt Townsend as the guest speaker. I'm sure those in my area who attended would agree that it was fantastic. Its rare that someone can make you laugh so hard in one moment and the then have you moved to tears in the next. I don't usually take notes or write things down for me to ponder later, but part way through the evening he said some things that I wanted to be able to come back to at some point to feel the way I was feeling when he said them.
For those of you who know him, his focus is on relationships and communication. He did speak about those things but not in the manner I was expecting. I thought I was going to come away with some helpful ideas of how to be a better spouse, mother, or friend. What I came away with was that I'm good enough. I haven't felt good enough for so, so long. You see we live in this world of comparing ourselves to others. Do I measure up to the next person?
He spoke about the body, mind, and spirit. While the Spirit of God is perfect, our mind and bodies are not. They compete against each other. What if sin wasn't about the thing you do or say, but rather the state of being without the Spirit? Why had I not thought of it this way before? When we degrade ourselves or others are we of the spirit? No, we are of the mind. When we are negative, angry, annoyed, or sad, are we of the spirit? No. So it takes a shift of the mind to allow the feeling of the spirit. It sounds easy right? In reality, its not. But Townsend had us shifting back and forth between being of mind and spirit within minutes, seconds of each other. So maybe its not as hard as I make it. I loved one of his examples.
He talked about those little things that just eat at you. His example was that of a 12 year old boy. I have one of those so I totally related. How many times do we have to harp on something? So many times that it drives you batty. For me its how many times have I asked him to hang up his suit or scout shirt. Sometimes I walk by and there it is on the floor and I get so frustrated. I've gotten upset about it. I've chided him about it. What is that thing your child, or partner, or friend does that eats at you and consumes your mind? So Townsend asks us this rhetorical question that immediately sets us into that state of mind of negative thought...... And then he says, does it really matter? Does it matter that the suit is on the floor? Will God love him any less? Would God come into his room and love him less because his suit is on the floor? Or would God take that 12 year old boy and cup his face in his hands? The image of that unconditional love being extended to my young boy took me from mind to the state of overwhelming feeling the spirit.
When we feel we are not enough, we are of the mind. We are not in a place to be filled with Gods love and guidance. I know that throughout my life, my darkest times are preceded by allowing myself to be closed off from the spirit. In those darkest of hours when desperate for relief of what is ailing me, I go to my knees. In prayer, I humble myself, and hand over to my God that thing that I cannot bear any longer. And he takes it from me, and if I allow it, fills my emptiness with love. The atonement is grace. Its that thing that says you are good enough. No matter what, he will still love you. And this is the thing we should learn. Do we make the people in our lives feel inadequate? Or do we convey to them that they are good enough. No matter what mistakes they make, they are worthy of love. Gods love, our love.
So how do we continually strive to shift from one to the other. Don't try to find the spirit from a place it doesn't exist, that's like trying to stuff a turkey through its beak. Start in the place where you know the spirit of God exists. For, me its prayer. For another, it might be scriptures or music, or church, or with someone who seems to carry it with them. From there learn to be open and willing to shift to that place. This is something that want to do. I'm sure it will take a lot of effort in the beginning to learn how to yield to the spirit on a regular basis , but maybe over time it will be easier. Maybe I will be a better spouse, mother, and friend because of it.
For those of you who know him, his focus is on relationships and communication. He did speak about those things but not in the manner I was expecting. I thought I was going to come away with some helpful ideas of how to be a better spouse, mother, or friend. What I came away with was that I'm good enough. I haven't felt good enough for so, so long. You see we live in this world of comparing ourselves to others. Do I measure up to the next person?
He spoke about the body, mind, and spirit. While the Spirit of God is perfect, our mind and bodies are not. They compete against each other. What if sin wasn't about the thing you do or say, but rather the state of being without the Spirit? Why had I not thought of it this way before? When we degrade ourselves or others are we of the spirit? No, we are of the mind. When we are negative, angry, annoyed, or sad, are we of the spirit? No. So it takes a shift of the mind to allow the feeling of the spirit. It sounds easy right? In reality, its not. But Townsend had us shifting back and forth between being of mind and spirit within minutes, seconds of each other. So maybe its not as hard as I make it. I loved one of his examples.
He talked about those little things that just eat at you. His example was that of a 12 year old boy. I have one of those so I totally related. How many times do we have to harp on something? So many times that it drives you batty. For me its how many times have I asked him to hang up his suit or scout shirt. Sometimes I walk by and there it is on the floor and I get so frustrated. I've gotten upset about it. I've chided him about it. What is that thing your child, or partner, or friend does that eats at you and consumes your mind? So Townsend asks us this rhetorical question that immediately sets us into that state of mind of negative thought...... And then he says, does it really matter? Does it matter that the suit is on the floor? Will God love him any less? Would God come into his room and love him less because his suit is on the floor? Or would God take that 12 year old boy and cup his face in his hands? The image of that unconditional love being extended to my young boy took me from mind to the state of overwhelming feeling the spirit.
When we feel we are not enough, we are of the mind. We are not in a place to be filled with Gods love and guidance. I know that throughout my life, my darkest times are preceded by allowing myself to be closed off from the spirit. In those darkest of hours when desperate for relief of what is ailing me, I go to my knees. In prayer, I humble myself, and hand over to my God that thing that I cannot bear any longer. And he takes it from me, and if I allow it, fills my emptiness with love. The atonement is grace. Its that thing that says you are good enough. No matter what, he will still love you. And this is the thing we should learn. Do we make the people in our lives feel inadequate? Or do we convey to them that they are good enough. No matter what mistakes they make, they are worthy of love. Gods love, our love.
So how do we continually strive to shift from one to the other. Don't try to find the spirit from a place it doesn't exist, that's like trying to stuff a turkey through its beak. Start in the place where you know the spirit of God exists. For, me its prayer. For another, it might be scriptures or music, or church, or with someone who seems to carry it with them. From there learn to be open and willing to shift to that place. This is something that want to do. I'm sure it will take a lot of effort in the beginning to learn how to yield to the spirit on a regular basis , but maybe over time it will be easier. Maybe I will be a better spouse, mother, and friend because of it.
Friday, February 14, 2014
In the Beginning
We met our freshman year at Utah State. I was going out with his roommate. The first time Peter and I were introduced he was sitting at his desk in his room. He said hello and we chatted a bit. I found out it was his birthday that weekend and asked what his plans were. There were none. So I found out what his favorite kind of cake was and went home and baked a cake. A birthday cake for someone who was far from home. I think he liked it. I think he was surprised that someone he hardly knew would do such a thing. It was a good start. Except that he was just off his mission and way too serious about life. I thought he was a stick in the mud. I was just out of high school and way too carefree. He thought I was a bit of an airhead. So while we hung out and dated each others roommates, we didn't really have much interest in each other. The next school year we didn't see each other much. We had all moved on in our relationships and we lived further apart on campus. But when we did see each other we made a point to talk, or dance, or connect in some way.
Our junior year in college was different. I had moved to a new area on campus which was close to where he lived. We saw each other all the time. He wasn't so serious anymore and was fun to hang out with. I was a little more focused on my education. We suddenly had a lot in common and started to do things together. He was safe. By that I mean, we could go out and be together without any pressure of a relationship. Why, because there is that unwritten rule that you don't date someone who has kissed your best friend/roommate. Its just the rule. Besides I had pretty much cut off any interest in dating at that point. I don't know. Something in me just shut down when it came to the whole relationship game. I still dated but I feel sorry for those casualties that were willing to go out with me during that time.
I remember one of those summers I was working at a local builder supply and saw my share of rugged good looking construction workers who bought 3/4 inch deck screws and J bar from me. One of these brave souls asked me out. I thought, eh what the heck, I have no love life right now, so I said yes. We went golfing. I rolled my eyes when he came up behind me to show me how to swing the club. My grandpa was an avid golfer, he made sure I knew how to hold a club. So I smiled and said thank you for the instruction, and hit par on that hole. After we golfed, he asked if we could just find a park and talk. I thought, this is good, we can get to know each other a little. I sat down and he sat so close he was practically on my lap. He put his arm around me. In my head I'm trying to figure out my escape plan. I turned to tell him I should probably get home and the next thing I know he is kissing me. I went total dead fish on him. I don't think he noticed, which is sad. So I hopped up and said it was time to go. He took me home and I thanked him for the date, jumped out, and ran into the house. I called him first thing the next morning and told him I had no interest in going out with him again. For about 2 years this was how dating went. Most were not this bad, but anytime I felt those butterflies I bolted. My family lovingly called me the Ice Queen.
So back to my Junior year of college. Slowly, without me really noticing, we were getting closer. We were together every weekend, and sometimes during the week. We did everything together. Then I started to notice things that I hadn't before. One day It had been a really rough day. My roommates didn't seem to notice. It was my turn to do dishes and of course the sink was piled high with dirty dishes. I was so tired. Peter was there "hanging out" with us. I got up and started on the dishes. Next thing I knew, he was standing there next to me doing dishes. I almost cried. I needed someone to just be there for me, and he was. In that insignificant moment, I knew he cared enough to just be by my side. Then other things started to happen, flowers when I was sick, help with homework, attendance at every violin performance, a listening ear, etc. I loved every ounce of him. And then one day, he told me that he wanted to take our relationship to another level. It was kind of like being hit with a load of bricks. Our relationship, what relationship? It was at that point I realized how he was starting to feel. I, on the other hand had closed that possibility off. I said no. He said things would change but they didn't really. I worked at a girls camp that summer, he stayed in Utah to work. I saw him on weekends. It was the same. I stayed the same. Then he started to pull away.
Our Senior year rolled around. He stopped in one day to say hello. I was in the middle of a work party (I was the resident assistant for our building). I couldn't really visit and he took that as a snub. Then I didn't ear from him for awhile. I stopped by his apt a few times but it was different. Then his roommate told me he was dating a girl. What? Oh, ok. I guess that's good right? Except she was 18 and jailbait. It was so bleh. I was so jealous. I missed my best friend. But, I was STRONG! Don't let them see you sad. Act like its all good. What? A 2 year hiatus from this stupid dating game and I'm totally playing it right now. I was mortified with myself. Then I was humbled. I spent many nights on my knees praying. Asking, begging my Heavenly Father to help me understand where I was in my life, my feelings for Peter, my direction I should go. Why wasn't I getting an answer?
It was October, and stake conference. I was apprehensive to go. I knew he would be there and the last thing I wanted to see was him there holding hands with a preschooler. I went anyway. I scanned the congregation. Good. I didn't see him. Wait, why didn't I see him, is he sick, is he alright? There was this ache in my chest. It just got stronger. I remember walking home. My roommate Cindy walking ahead of me. I was on the verge of tears and didn't want her to see me. I walked into my apt, went to my room and just collapsed on the floor. Sobbing. Sobbing. I spoke ever so softly, Heavenly Father please send him to me, please. Then the doorbell rang. I started to cry again when I heard his voice. My roommate knocked and opened the door. She saw me there in my dress, sitting on the floor crying, and asked if I was ok. I nodded and she asked if she should send Peter in, and I nodded yes. He came in and sat next to me and held me. I couldn't talk. I just cried. With every fiber of my being, I knew that my prayer had been answered that day. We went for a walk. We didn't talk much. Just walked in the beautiful fall leaves. Then when we got back to my apt he handed me a paper. Written on it was a poem. It said that he hoped that one day he would meet someone that he could love as much as loved me. You see, he had been troubled that day too. He skipped church because of it. He had prayed as well. On his way home he said, he felt like he should stop to see me, and he did. He had no idea what was happening when he walked in but I knew I would never let him go after that.
Later that day I told him I loved him. I had never told anyone that before. I remember I called my dad and told him what had happened. He asked me if I had kissed him yet? I said no, and he said I should take care of that. So shortly thereafter I did, well he kissed me, and I was ready for it.
Our junior year in college was different. I had moved to a new area on campus which was close to where he lived. We saw each other all the time. He wasn't so serious anymore and was fun to hang out with. I was a little more focused on my education. We suddenly had a lot in common and started to do things together. He was safe. By that I mean, we could go out and be together without any pressure of a relationship. Why, because there is that unwritten rule that you don't date someone who has kissed your best friend/roommate. Its just the rule. Besides I had pretty much cut off any interest in dating at that point. I don't know. Something in me just shut down when it came to the whole relationship game. I still dated but I feel sorry for those casualties that were willing to go out with me during that time.
I remember one of those summers I was working at a local builder supply and saw my share of rugged good looking construction workers who bought 3/4 inch deck screws and J bar from me. One of these brave souls asked me out. I thought, eh what the heck, I have no love life right now, so I said yes. We went golfing. I rolled my eyes when he came up behind me to show me how to swing the club. My grandpa was an avid golfer, he made sure I knew how to hold a club. So I smiled and said thank you for the instruction, and hit par on that hole. After we golfed, he asked if we could just find a park and talk. I thought, this is good, we can get to know each other a little. I sat down and he sat so close he was practically on my lap. He put his arm around me. In my head I'm trying to figure out my escape plan. I turned to tell him I should probably get home and the next thing I know he is kissing me. I went total dead fish on him. I don't think he noticed, which is sad. So I hopped up and said it was time to go. He took me home and I thanked him for the date, jumped out, and ran into the house. I called him first thing the next morning and told him I had no interest in going out with him again. For about 2 years this was how dating went. Most were not this bad, but anytime I felt those butterflies I bolted. My family lovingly called me the Ice Queen.
So back to my Junior year of college. Slowly, without me really noticing, we were getting closer. We were together every weekend, and sometimes during the week. We did everything together. Then I started to notice things that I hadn't before. One day It had been a really rough day. My roommates didn't seem to notice. It was my turn to do dishes and of course the sink was piled high with dirty dishes. I was so tired. Peter was there "hanging out" with us. I got up and started on the dishes. Next thing I knew, he was standing there next to me doing dishes. I almost cried. I needed someone to just be there for me, and he was. In that insignificant moment, I knew he cared enough to just be by my side. Then other things started to happen, flowers when I was sick, help with homework, attendance at every violin performance, a listening ear, etc. I loved every ounce of him. And then one day, he told me that he wanted to take our relationship to another level. It was kind of like being hit with a load of bricks. Our relationship, what relationship? It was at that point I realized how he was starting to feel. I, on the other hand had closed that possibility off. I said no. He said things would change but they didn't really. I worked at a girls camp that summer, he stayed in Utah to work. I saw him on weekends. It was the same. I stayed the same. Then he started to pull away.
Our Senior year rolled around. He stopped in one day to say hello. I was in the middle of a work party (I was the resident assistant for our building). I couldn't really visit and he took that as a snub. Then I didn't ear from him for awhile. I stopped by his apt a few times but it was different. Then his roommate told me he was dating a girl. What? Oh, ok. I guess that's good right? Except she was 18 and jailbait. It was so bleh. I was so jealous. I missed my best friend. But, I was STRONG! Don't let them see you sad. Act like its all good. What? A 2 year hiatus from this stupid dating game and I'm totally playing it right now. I was mortified with myself. Then I was humbled. I spent many nights on my knees praying. Asking, begging my Heavenly Father to help me understand where I was in my life, my feelings for Peter, my direction I should go. Why wasn't I getting an answer?
It was October, and stake conference. I was apprehensive to go. I knew he would be there and the last thing I wanted to see was him there holding hands with a preschooler. I went anyway. I scanned the congregation. Good. I didn't see him. Wait, why didn't I see him, is he sick, is he alright? There was this ache in my chest. It just got stronger. I remember walking home. My roommate Cindy walking ahead of me. I was on the verge of tears and didn't want her to see me. I walked into my apt, went to my room and just collapsed on the floor. Sobbing. Sobbing. I spoke ever so softly, Heavenly Father please send him to me, please. Then the doorbell rang. I started to cry again when I heard his voice. My roommate knocked and opened the door. She saw me there in my dress, sitting on the floor crying, and asked if I was ok. I nodded and she asked if she should send Peter in, and I nodded yes. He came in and sat next to me and held me. I couldn't talk. I just cried. With every fiber of my being, I knew that my prayer had been answered that day. We went for a walk. We didn't talk much. Just walked in the beautiful fall leaves. Then when we got back to my apt he handed me a paper. Written on it was a poem. It said that he hoped that one day he would meet someone that he could love as much as loved me. You see, he had been troubled that day too. He skipped church because of it. He had prayed as well. On his way home he said, he felt like he should stop to see me, and he did. He had no idea what was happening when he walked in but I knew I would never let him go after that.
Later that day I told him I loved him. I had never told anyone that before. I remember I called my dad and told him what had happened. He asked me if I had kissed him yet? I said no, and he said I should take care of that. So shortly thereafter I did, well he kissed me, and I was ready for it.
Wednesday, February 5, 2014
A Real Love Story
I've thought about this story for a long time. Its a love story that greatly impacted mine.
I'm named after my Aunt Diane. Lara Diane. I love my name. I feel so connected to the person who I relate it too. She was amazing. As a little girl I remember she always carried those mini lifesaver rolls in her purse, and whenever I saw her she would have them ready to hand out. I remember the ace bandage wrap on her arm that covered her port that lead directly to her vein. On occasion she would let me peek under it to see what was covered. She was a hair dresser who did my hair in her kitchen. It was era of permed hair and I got one regularly. I loved having her fix my hair and fluff it. She said it reminded her of cotton candy. She was loving, gentle, and honest. We had lots of talks about everything and since she lived just a few blocks away, I got to see her quite a bit. My Aunt Diane was like a second parent sometimes. She was so easy to talk to and get good feedback and advice from. She was cool, and drove a very cool blue Trans Am. She even picked me up in it from school one day when I wasn't feeling well and couldn't get a hold of my mom. I've always wanted to be the kind of aunt to my nieces and nephews that she was to me.
My Aunt Diane experienced kidney disease/failure in her 20s. She did not have children but treated her nieces and nephews like her own. She was a dialysis patient for most of her life. I think the longest living dialysis patient in Utah for a time (28 years). Dialysis is tough. You plug a tube in that pulls the blood out of your body. It runs through tubing into a machine that basically washes it. It pulls the toxins from the blood stream and then it goes back into a tube that goes back into your body. It takes hours. It basically serves the function of a kidney. To survive she had to have dialysis several times a week. This meant she spent hours and hours at the hospital every week having her blood cleaned so that she could live. I don't know why she didn't have a kidney transplant but I think it was due to her overall health. Her husband, my uncle Alan was a big, muscular man. At one time in his life he had an opportunity to be a professional athlete. But there was something more important to him. His wife. Overtime he realized that dialysis was going to be a huge part of their lives and so he decided to become trained in dialysis. They made arrangements to have a dialysis machine in their home. He did it all himself, for years. Our visits often occurred over the whirring of the machine with my Aunt Diane in her big comfy recliner with tubes full of blood winding over her lap. It didn't phase me much. It was just how it was.
My uncle Alan was is gentle giant. He is handsome and rugged on the outside, but on the inside, tender and compassionate. He dedicated most of his time caring for my aunt. Alan was quiet, but he would play a great game of catch in the backyard with a football. He would also take us night skiing while my aunt watched from the cab of the truck below. One day I was skiing with the Jr. High ski program and suddenly I heard. " Hey Blondie!" from behind. That was what he called me. I turned and saw my uncle coming toward me. He knew I was going to be on the mountain that day and decided to see if he could get a few runs in with me. We skied the rest of the afternoon together. One Christmas Eve I sat on my floor peaking out the window and saw my uncle carrying gifts up our front walk. They had been hiding them at their home for my mom and dad, who obviously had children like me who had no problem peeking.
I watched my Uncle hook my Aunt up to dialysis on many occasions. He was gentle. He waited on her hand and foot. He would bring us fresh peaches to snack on when we were talking. When my aunt was weak, he would pick up her up in his arms like she was a feather and tenderly place her where she wanted to go. He took care of the home and did most of the cleaning, laundry, and dishes. I watched year after year as he completed those duties. Never once, did I hear him complain, or act put out in any way. He loved her and it was part of loving her. When I was 12 years old, I was asked to write a letter to myself about what I wanted in my future. I wrote about my Uncle Alan. I said that I wanted to marry someone just like him. He was and is one of my heroes.
My Aunt passed away in her late 40's. She had 34 nieces and nephews at the time that probably felt exactly the same way I did about her. Her health had been declining and that night as my Uncle Alan held her in his arms, she told him she was ready to go. He let her go, but held her till morning.
A real love story.
I'm named after my Aunt Diane. Lara Diane. I love my name. I feel so connected to the person who I relate it too. She was amazing. As a little girl I remember she always carried those mini lifesaver rolls in her purse, and whenever I saw her she would have them ready to hand out. I remember the ace bandage wrap on her arm that covered her port that lead directly to her vein. On occasion she would let me peek under it to see what was covered. She was a hair dresser who did my hair in her kitchen. It was era of permed hair and I got one regularly. I loved having her fix my hair and fluff it. She said it reminded her of cotton candy. She was loving, gentle, and honest. We had lots of talks about everything and since she lived just a few blocks away, I got to see her quite a bit. My Aunt Diane was like a second parent sometimes. She was so easy to talk to and get good feedback and advice from. She was cool, and drove a very cool blue Trans Am. She even picked me up in it from school one day when I wasn't feeling well and couldn't get a hold of my mom. I've always wanted to be the kind of aunt to my nieces and nephews that she was to me.
My Aunt Diane experienced kidney disease/failure in her 20s. She did not have children but treated her nieces and nephews like her own. She was a dialysis patient for most of her life. I think the longest living dialysis patient in Utah for a time (28 years). Dialysis is tough. You plug a tube in that pulls the blood out of your body. It runs through tubing into a machine that basically washes it. It pulls the toxins from the blood stream and then it goes back into a tube that goes back into your body. It takes hours. It basically serves the function of a kidney. To survive she had to have dialysis several times a week. This meant she spent hours and hours at the hospital every week having her blood cleaned so that she could live. I don't know why she didn't have a kidney transplant but I think it was due to her overall health. Her husband, my uncle Alan was a big, muscular man. At one time in his life he had an opportunity to be a professional athlete. But there was something more important to him. His wife. Overtime he realized that dialysis was going to be a huge part of their lives and so he decided to become trained in dialysis. They made arrangements to have a dialysis machine in their home. He did it all himself, for years. Our visits often occurred over the whirring of the machine with my Aunt Diane in her big comfy recliner with tubes full of blood winding over her lap. It didn't phase me much. It was just how it was.
My uncle Alan was is gentle giant. He is handsome and rugged on the outside, but on the inside, tender and compassionate. He dedicated most of his time caring for my aunt. Alan was quiet, but he would play a great game of catch in the backyard with a football. He would also take us night skiing while my aunt watched from the cab of the truck below. One day I was skiing with the Jr. High ski program and suddenly I heard. " Hey Blondie!" from behind. That was what he called me. I turned and saw my uncle coming toward me. He knew I was going to be on the mountain that day and decided to see if he could get a few runs in with me. We skied the rest of the afternoon together. One Christmas Eve I sat on my floor peaking out the window and saw my uncle carrying gifts up our front walk. They had been hiding them at their home for my mom and dad, who obviously had children like me who had no problem peeking.
I watched my Uncle hook my Aunt up to dialysis on many occasions. He was gentle. He waited on her hand and foot. He would bring us fresh peaches to snack on when we were talking. When my aunt was weak, he would pick up her up in his arms like she was a feather and tenderly place her where she wanted to go. He took care of the home and did most of the cleaning, laundry, and dishes. I watched year after year as he completed those duties. Never once, did I hear him complain, or act put out in any way. He loved her and it was part of loving her. When I was 12 years old, I was asked to write a letter to myself about what I wanted in my future. I wrote about my Uncle Alan. I said that I wanted to marry someone just like him. He was and is one of my heroes.
My Aunt passed away in her late 40's. She had 34 nieces and nephews at the time that probably felt exactly the same way I did about her. Her health had been declining and that night as my Uncle Alan held her in his arms, she told him she was ready to go. He let her go, but held her till morning.
A real love story.
Sunday, September 8, 2013
Love...
2007
We had finished our basement and moved the 3 oldest kids downstairs. Every night I would tuck them in bed. Soon after I would hear talking. Every night I would go back downstairs to find them all snuggled up in Matthew's bed listening to him read. The topic on this particular evening was dinosaurs. I hope they remember this nightly get together that lasted about a year. I do.
Monday, July 22, 2013
A Farewell
Today Brenna and I had a heart to heart about piano. She started lessons this Summer. She absolutely detests practicing. Most times the mere mention of practicing brings on full on tantrums. I learned my lesson once before with another child. The battle sometimes is just not worth the fall out of distress between mother and child. So here I am, a musician, giving the OK to stop music lessons. I wanted all my children to take some form of music for the experience and to learn how to read music. I've learned that each child is different and will find what inspires them.
When I sat down with Brenna tonight. I explained that learning how to play piano is like learning how to dance. I asked, do you go to dance and practice your dance one time and then go home? She rolled her eyes and said no mom we do it like 6 times. I explained that if she practiced her piano song six times she would be as good at piano as she was at dance. I could see the connection being made in her eyes. And then she said to me, but I love to practice dance, not piano. And that my friends is how you know what the right decision is. I told her I did not want to fight everyday about practicing piano. The fighting made both of us feel bad and sad. I wanted her to do the things she loves. Like dancing? Yes, like dancing. I asked if she would like to stop piano for now and maybe in a year or so if she felt like it she could try again. A few tears fell down her face and she nodded yes. After a long hug she ran out of the room and the tension in her little body left. Relief.
When I sat down with Brenna tonight. I explained that learning how to play piano is like learning how to dance. I asked, do you go to dance and practice your dance one time and then go home? She rolled her eyes and said no mom we do it like 6 times. I explained that if she practiced her piano song six times she would be as good at piano as she was at dance. I could see the connection being made in her eyes. And then she said to me, but I love to practice dance, not piano. And that my friends is how you know what the right decision is. I told her I did not want to fight everyday about practicing piano. The fighting made both of us feel bad and sad. I wanted her to do the things she loves. Like dancing? Yes, like dancing. I asked if she would like to stop piano for now and maybe in a year or so if she felt like it she could try again. A few tears fell down her face and she nodded yes. After a long hug she ran out of the room and the tension in her little body left. Relief.
Sunday, June 23, 2013
Ear Responsible
Its been awhile, I know. Just haven't felt like writing much I guess. I know its time when something gets cooking deep in my brain. Eventually it makes it to the surface.
My son asked me today how many years of college I had completed. The answer is 8 yrs. My undergraduate degree is in Communication Disorders which covers the foundation for audiology and speech language pathology. Originally I thought I would be and SLP. Then as started some of my clinic rotations doing articulation therapy. I realized I was not patient enough to help a 6 yr old learn how to say the /r/ sound at the beginning, middle, and end of words correctly. Bless those SLP's out there that are amazing at their jobs and help our kids speak well. Because of this brief training I am always listening to sounds of all the kids I am around. I usually do not intervene unless its a big concern but parents ask someone around you if your child is saying their words correctly. We hear them correctly because we are their parents. But someone outside your immediate family will give you an honest opinion. If your kid is two and they don't have quite a few single words and are not putting two words together. Its a good idea to have an evaluation done. If they are 3-5 and have lots of words but are still difficult to understand, get an eval. If they are 7-8 they should be saying just about every sound correctly, if not get an eval. I know some SLP will probably say this is all wrong but its what I remember... So its a good rule of thumb for me.
Audiology. Its all about sound. How we hear, what we hear, and how we interpret what we hear. Audiologist do lots of things. They do basic hearing testing, hearing aids, balance disorders, auditory processing disorders, cochlear implants, etc... I've done most of this at one time or another but early in my studies I focused on a new discovery (well it was at the time) called Otoacoustic Emissions. The cochlea or inner ear (that snail shaped thing) is pretty cool. If you present sound to the ear it will send an echo back. Audiologists realized that this was a great way to screen newborns. They don't have to raise their tiny hands when they hear the beep. It was my beginning to newborn hearing screening. I wrote my thesis on it and never looked back. Now, I have my dream job. It came a little earlier than I expected but I get to work part time, supervising a newborn screening program, and do all the diagnostic testing on those babies that do not pass.
A few weeks ago, I was taking a little road trip with my sister and she asked me what is was like to tell a hearing parent that their child was deaf. .... Its really hard.
I thought for a moment of an infant and mother I had worked with...
Mom came in for a follow up hearing screen, her baby did not pass again. He was scheduled for a diagnostic test called and ABR (Auditory Brainstem Response Test). I was getting area of skin prepped for the wire leads I would attach. Mom was doing okay. She was a little nervous and told me about some piano lessons she had rescheduled. She told me all about her piano playing experience and the music her other children were involved in. We connected as I told her about my music background. She told me about her family and the area they lived. She asked questions about what I was doing. The appointment started out really well.
As I began the test I knew immediately that the ear I was testing was not responding. I turned the volume up and was at the max limit of the equipment. Mom could hear the click nearby coming from the insert in her baby's ear. He was fast asleep. She stopped talking and was very quiet. She looked at me and said, "He isn't hearing that is he?" I said no, he is not hearing it. She nodded. I told her I needed to do a little more testing to that ear and then we would switch to the other ear. She nodded. When I switched to the other ear, there was no response. I quietly explained what I was doing and what I was looking for. She was very calm and said that she thought he might be deaf because he didn't respond to loud sounds at home. When the test was completed, I spoke to her in depth about her son's hearing. She asked all the right questions. She asked about what the options were, and how to get going. She was on autopilot.
After she asked all her questions she was quiet and emotionless. I knew that she was not digesting the information. I placed my hand on her knee and told her that I wanted her to do something very important. I told her to place her newborn on her chest and sing to him like she did her other babies. She needed to bond with him. I wanted her to bring him to the piano and let him feel the vibrations of her music. She stared at me with an open mouth and tears started to stream down her face. "He won't hear my music" she stated.
She had already asked about cochlear implants and indicated it was the direction she wanted to go, so I said in response, "he won't hear your music right now, but he will feel the vibration, sense the emotion from you, and be comforted when you hold him to you like you did with your other babies. With cochlear implants he will hear your music, it will be just a little while longer than you expected." We talked for awhile longer, I got her follow up appointments made, completed the referrals for early intervention, and answered more questions. When she left I knew she had finally allowed the information to set in. I knew this was just the beginning of a very long road but I knew she would be okay.
I held it together for the remainder of the day. When I got in my car my tears started. I cried all the way home.
Most days my job is really wonderful. Some days its really hard. I know I don't always get it right. But I will always try to do my best. The infants and parents I work with deserve the best and its up to me to try and read their body language, to try to say the right thing even if its a hard thing to hear.
My son asked me today how many years of college I had completed. The answer is 8 yrs. My undergraduate degree is in Communication Disorders which covers the foundation for audiology and speech language pathology. Originally I thought I would be and SLP. Then as started some of my clinic rotations doing articulation therapy. I realized I was not patient enough to help a 6 yr old learn how to say the /r/ sound at the beginning, middle, and end of words correctly. Bless those SLP's out there that are amazing at their jobs and help our kids speak well. Because of this brief training I am always listening to sounds of all the kids I am around. I usually do not intervene unless its a big concern but parents ask someone around you if your child is saying their words correctly. We hear them correctly because we are their parents. But someone outside your immediate family will give you an honest opinion. If your kid is two and they don't have quite a few single words and are not putting two words together. Its a good idea to have an evaluation done. If they are 3-5 and have lots of words but are still difficult to understand, get an eval. If they are 7-8 they should be saying just about every sound correctly, if not get an eval. I know some SLP will probably say this is all wrong but its what I remember... So its a good rule of thumb for me.
Audiology. Its all about sound. How we hear, what we hear, and how we interpret what we hear. Audiologist do lots of things. They do basic hearing testing, hearing aids, balance disorders, auditory processing disorders, cochlear implants, etc... I've done most of this at one time or another but early in my studies I focused on a new discovery (well it was at the time) called Otoacoustic Emissions. The cochlea or inner ear (that snail shaped thing) is pretty cool. If you present sound to the ear it will send an echo back. Audiologists realized that this was a great way to screen newborns. They don't have to raise their tiny hands when they hear the beep. It was my beginning to newborn hearing screening. I wrote my thesis on it and never looked back. Now, I have my dream job. It came a little earlier than I expected but I get to work part time, supervising a newborn screening program, and do all the diagnostic testing on those babies that do not pass.
A few weeks ago, I was taking a little road trip with my sister and she asked me what is was like to tell a hearing parent that their child was deaf. .... Its really hard.
I thought for a moment of an infant and mother I had worked with...
Mom came in for a follow up hearing screen, her baby did not pass again. He was scheduled for a diagnostic test called and ABR (Auditory Brainstem Response Test). I was getting area of skin prepped for the wire leads I would attach. Mom was doing okay. She was a little nervous and told me about some piano lessons she had rescheduled. She told me all about her piano playing experience and the music her other children were involved in. We connected as I told her about my music background. She told me about her family and the area they lived. She asked questions about what I was doing. The appointment started out really well.
As I began the test I knew immediately that the ear I was testing was not responding. I turned the volume up and was at the max limit of the equipment. Mom could hear the click nearby coming from the insert in her baby's ear. He was fast asleep. She stopped talking and was very quiet. She looked at me and said, "He isn't hearing that is he?" I said no, he is not hearing it. She nodded. I told her I needed to do a little more testing to that ear and then we would switch to the other ear. She nodded. When I switched to the other ear, there was no response. I quietly explained what I was doing and what I was looking for. She was very calm and said that she thought he might be deaf because he didn't respond to loud sounds at home. When the test was completed, I spoke to her in depth about her son's hearing. She asked all the right questions. She asked about what the options were, and how to get going. She was on autopilot.
After she asked all her questions she was quiet and emotionless. I knew that she was not digesting the information. I placed my hand on her knee and told her that I wanted her to do something very important. I told her to place her newborn on her chest and sing to him like she did her other babies. She needed to bond with him. I wanted her to bring him to the piano and let him feel the vibrations of her music. She stared at me with an open mouth and tears started to stream down her face. "He won't hear my music" she stated.
She had already asked about cochlear implants and indicated it was the direction she wanted to go, so I said in response, "he won't hear your music right now, but he will feel the vibration, sense the emotion from you, and be comforted when you hold him to you like you did with your other babies. With cochlear implants he will hear your music, it will be just a little while longer than you expected." We talked for awhile longer, I got her follow up appointments made, completed the referrals for early intervention, and answered more questions. When she left I knew she had finally allowed the information to set in. I knew this was just the beginning of a very long road but I knew she would be okay.
I held it together for the remainder of the day. When I got in my car my tears started. I cried all the way home.
Most days my job is really wonderful. Some days its really hard. I know I don't always get it right. But I will always try to do my best. The infants and parents I work with deserve the best and its up to me to try and read their body language, to try to say the right thing even if its a hard thing to hear.
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