Tangible Memories

Thanks to Pinterest and some great ideas on "upcycling" clothing, I have two completed projects which turned some of my dad's clothes into a few treasured keepsakes. And I learned to sew in the process!

Project 1: Pillows made from a few of his dress shirts
(thanks to this website's excellent tutorial: http://www.onsuttonplace.com/2013/07/repurposed-shirt-pillow-cover/)

Project 2: Dresden Wallhanging made from 6 of his neckties

(thanks to this website's idea: https://gallopingpony.wordpress.com/2010/07/02/mini-quilt-art/#comments; unfortunately there were no directions so special thanks to my friend, Karen DeRoo, for helping me figure out how to make it)   

Project 3: Hopefully by Christmas I will have a memory quilt made from some of my dad's shirts as well as other meaningful items. (I'm not making this myself; I know my limitations!)

I'm thankful I had the time to work on these projects this summer. I love seeing these items that remind me of my dad and his love.

A Glimpse of Nature and the Miracle of Life

When I returned home after my dad's funeral, I noticed a newly constructed robin's nest sitting on the window ledge of my back porch. It was just high enough that I could see, standing on my tiptoes, four small sky-blue eggs inside. I've never been able to peek in a bird's nest and see eggs ready to hatch, let alone have it in my back yard! To me it represented a sign of God's presence, life goes on, and the promise of hope.

Four days later I found the eggs had hatched. Having only had experience with baby chicks, I was surprised to see "naked" babies with no feathers. Thanks to a Google search I learned quite a bit about baby robins that evening (which I of course shared with my second grade students the following day).

 I continued to visit the nest each day and record the babies' growth with photos when Mama Robin wasn't there (although she was usually nearby watching me). I even began to think of them as "my" baby robins.

Once I even got a picture of her getting ready to feed the babies, but she took off as soon as she saw me. 

I was amazed at how quickly they grew; pretty soon they were quite crowded in the nest. Whenever I took a picture the noise startled them and the one in front always opened his eyes to look at me. However, they were almost always sleeping when I snuck up to check on them.

And then, suddenly, there were only three baby robins in the nest. I don't know what happened to the other one; I couldn't find any sign of him anywhere, so I'm choosing to believe he was an "early bloomer" and flew off. The other three were soon crowded in the nest and I knew these fledglings would be taking off in the near future.

On the morning of the last day of school, I stepped onto the back porch to snap one more picture to show my students. I noticed the three babies were sitting (standing?) a little higher in the nest. Mama Robin was in the nearby maple tree. The previous afternoon, for the first time, she had scolded me for approaching the nest instead of silently watching as she usually did. So this morning I quietly told her it was ok, I was just going to take a picture and leave. I wouldn't hurt them.

And then - as I got closer the fledgling in the front of the nest (although he might have been on the ledge instead of actually in the nest) suddenly took off flying! He landed about 5 feet away in the neighbor's yard. I was struck with two simultaneous thoughts: "I got to see him fly!" and "I have to get a picture of him on the ground!" As I was lifting my camera up to take a picture, the other two baby robins took off! One landed just a couple of feet away, so I decided to take a picture of him instead. But I had only taken one step toward him when a multitude of adult robins came swooping out of the large maple tree nearby, flying toward me and squawking at me to keep away from the babies! I had no idea there were that many robins in that tree! (I told my students it must have been all the grandparents, aunts, and uncles of the baby robins!) I immediately decided that I didn't need a picture of the baby robins as I wasn't sure if the adults would actually attack me and I quickly got back to the deck and away from the babies.

I had no idea that adult robins would band together to protect three little fledglings, but I love it. And I'm so grateful that I got to see the babies fly away (although it might have been earlier than they had planned). And it was a great story to share with my second graders on the last day of school ... since they were going to fly away from second grade.

I do have a picture of the empty nest. It's still sitting on the window ledge on my back porch. 

I'm thankful God gave me this glimpse of nature and the chance to daily watch these new little lives grow during the end of May. I think of these little birds and wonder if they're sitting in my large maple tree. I think about how they grew and then flew off into their new world. And I remember my dad and wonder what he's doing in his new world. 

May 2015 will always remind me of my dad, my baby robins, and the miracle of life, in all it's forms.

What I've Learned in the Last Five Months

One hundred thirty eight days ago my dad’s heart doctors told him and my mom that there was nothing more they could do for him and encouraged my parents to contact hospice. Thirteen days ago my dad died from congestive heart failure. It’s been a difficult five months. But I’ve learned some things during these months; things that I want to remember.

Death can be a gradual process. I’m thankful that my dad felt well enough to move around the house and enjoy visits from family and friends for much of the time. When we first contacted Hospice, dad was fairly strong and felt pretty good. As time went on, however, he gradually had more difficulty keeping his balance and began using a cane, and then a walker to help him get around. It was hard to see my father, once so strong, now walking slowly and unsteady.

Just when you think you have things figured out, they change. As my dad needed more help, we’d adjust his care. The cane and walker helped him get around. Then he got a different recliner chair with a remote control that helped him get up. During the last month he struggled with monitoring his medications and became more confused and disoriented. Just as we’d adjust to each new “stage,” something else would change. Thankfully the Hospice staff (Spectrum Hospice) guided us through each of these changes.

Things can change quickly. I talked with my dad on the phone the Wednesday before he died and he sounded fine. I asked if he wanted me to pick up a Mother’s Day card for him to give my mom the following Sunday. He said yes and also asked me to get a bouquet of flowers to give her. Two days later his health declined dramatically; by Saturday we had a hospital bed brought in and were told to begin administering special medication every two hours to keep him comfortable as he was now in the end stage.

You don’t know when it’s the last time you’ll … As he drifted in and out of consciousness that last weekend, I remember brief bits of conversation. He made a joke about the oxygen he was breathing, he was confused and kept asking when my friends were coming over, he wanted to sit up but wasn’t strong enough so I had him lean against me for a while, I told him I loved him and he said he loved me too. But I didn’t realize when I left for school Monday morning that I would never hear him talk to me again.

Death is not always pretty, holy, or sacred. From Monday afternoon to late Tuesday morning, the sounds of my dad gasping for breath were painful to watch and listen to. Although he was not in pain because of the morphine, it was very hard for us. It was not pretty or holy; it was horrible. The death rattle and its effects were evident. 

The heart continues to do its best for as long as it can. My dad’s breathing became shallow, quiet breaths for the last 10-12 hours of his life. As I sat next to him during his last hour, I counted the seconds between breaths. It was a constant 3 seconds, then a breath, 3 seconds, then another breath. I was amazed at the way this damaged, tired heart, which had struggled for so long was still continuing to work. Then there was a 9 second space, followed by a breath, 3 seconds, and then more irregular breathing. As my mom, my sister, and I stood around my dad’s bed, he slowly stopped breathing, just like a clock slowly winding down.

I wonder about the mystery of the transition from this life to heaven. As my dad stopped breathing I wondered what spiritual happenings were occurring that we couldn’t see. Was an angel in the room with us? Did my dad see us as he went to heaven? I have so many questions without answers.

I’m thankful for God’s gift of family. I am so glad that my mom, my sister, and I were with my dad when he died and could spend the next several days together, making arrangements. I’m thankful for the weekend our family had together: my brother-in-law, nephews, niece, and my brother (unfortunately his wife had to stay in Russia and couldn’t make the trip).

God provides. After a long day making funeral arrangements, we were just tired and had no idea what to do for supper. I said aloud, “I wish someone would just come to the door with supper for us.” Less than 30 seconds later the doorbell rang – a neighbor was there with supper for us! (Wow, God!) The next day I mentioned how nice it would be to have some brownies; within ten minutes another neighbor knocked at the door with supper and dessert! My sister and I needed appropriate funeral clothes and God led us to the right stores very quickly (and they were on sale too).

The Christian community is so important. The prayers, cards, notes, Facebook comments, and people who attended the visitation and memorial service have encouraged and uplifted my family. It is a reminder to me to also show this support to others.

You can praise God in the midst of grief. We did just that at my dad’s memorial service! And it felt good and right.

Knowing death is coming may make it easier, but it’s still not easy. We realized one hundred thirty eight days ago that my dad would most likely die within the next six months. I had the time to tell him I love him. I’m glad I was able to spend time with him and help care for him. I have no regrets. I’m happy that my dad is now free of pain and the heavy batteries that helped his heart. I’m glad he’s enjoying his new life in heaven with Jesus our Savior. But I’m sad at the same time. Grief is still grief. I miss him. I love you dad. And I’ll see you again someday.

The Power of a Word

There are some words that have powerful connotations when you hear them. Words like 

freedom, 

compassion, 

slavery, 

racism, 

compassion, 

religion,

life,

death. 

Some words are filled with positive meanings, while others bring to mind negative images. And some words offer a mixture of both happy and sad connotations.

My family began living with a powerful word last month. The word is hospice. On January 7, my dad's heart doctor told my parents there was nothing more they could do to help him and advised them to contact a hospice organization. After researching several, we met and signed on with Faith Hospice and have been adjusting to this new reality. 

This single word has brought out a number of conflicting emotions and feelings in my mind.

Defeat - Although we knew the LVAD wasn't completely successful, the doctors have always been positive and offered hope. Hearing them say say there are no more options is hard.

Anger and Frustration - The past year and a half have been difficult, especially for my parents. The hope that the LVAD would lead to a better quality of life was never realized and this frustrates me.

Fear - The fact that my dad will die and coming to terms with what that means.

Gratefulness - My dad is still feeling fairly well, although he is pretty much home-bound. We signed on with Hospice early instead of waiting until his health is in a crisis, so that we would be familiar with the program and staff and have time to adjust.

Confidence and Trust - We've heard only positive things about Faith Hospice. I love the philosophy behind it and have supported my local Hospice organization in Holland for years. Everyone we've met has been kind and helpful. They've taken a little of the stress of caring for my dad off my mom. 

Worry - Every day I wake up and worry that my dad will die today. Every time I call my parents I wonder how they are doing. I find I am often worried about them.

Surrender - I'm finding that I need to constantly remind myself that I am not in control of this situation. One of the first things I did after hearing the news was prepare a week of "emergency sub plans" for when the crisis mode would begin. I find myself wondering if my dad will die this month or next month or in six months or ... The truth is, I don't know when. No one knows for sure. Just like I don't know when I (or anyone else) will die. It's in God's hands. I need to surrender and simply live each day.

Hope and Faith - As I've been thinking about the reality of death this past month, certain Bible passages have become more real to me. The promise that those who love God and trust Jesus as their Savior will live with God forever gives me hope. The assurance that we will be reunited with loved ones is comforting.

It's funny how one little word can both offer encouragement and make you feel sick to your stomach. Hospice - it's an important word. I wish we didn't have to know it personally in our family, but I'm also grateful that it's available. And I will continue to process all that it means in the next days and months.

Passing It On

Christmas 2014 - the photo and the story 

Once upon a time … a long time ago, there lived a little girl who loved spending time with her younger sister and brother.

When she grew older, the little girl went to school. She loved to read and play and sing. In fifth grade, students could choose an instrument to learn to play. She knew just what she would choose – she was so excited!

The Violin!

She joined the beginner orchestra at her school and played her violin all through high school and the first year of college.

Although it was harder to play than she thought it would be, she still had fun (especially when her dog would “sing” with her while she practiced).

Eventually the violin was set aside and put away in storage. Because the (now-grown) girl had such fond memories of it, she didn’t want to sell it. Although she didn’t play it any more, she still loved her violin.

So the poor violin sat alone…

                                In the dark basement…

                                                        For over thirty years…

 Waiting.

Until … one day the first girl heard that another “little” girl was interested in learning to play the violin. This new girl also loved to read, sing, and make music.

Maybe this new teen-age girl could bring new life to the first “little” girl’s old violin.

So, she brought her good old friend up from the basement, 

took it to the music store for some “modernizing,” 

and gave it to her favorite niece – so she could continue making music!

After all, a violin was created to be played!