Have a Colorful 2011!

As I cleaned out the closets one by one, I made my way to the upstairs room where most of the forgotten items are placed. The closet that seldom gets opened. Where items hardly ever seen or heard from are viewed. And as I opened it, and glanced at the door, this new year, I paid particular attention to the colors of the scarves hanging on the inside of the door.

My husband had so created specially designed hanger to hold every single scarf that been made, bought and given to me during my long battle with cancer years ago. I was struck by how many colors I saw, the diversity of patterns, the sheer volume of scarves there were. I gathered all the various scarves hanging there up in my hands, closed my eyes and then, laid my face up down in them.

Standing there, bent over, inhaling deeply I thought about the hands that had lovingly supported me all those months long ago. I recall the angels that had supported m, one by one, far too many to list. Memories that were priceless; Candida who made me homemade cards, and sent them out of the blue sporadically with special notes of encouragement. Suzanne and Janet, two dear cousins of my husband’s, letting me know I was as sweet as they candy they were sending me. Marlene in DC hand picking out the color of scarves to send me that she thought would bring the light back into my eyes at a time when all I saw was a lot of darkness in the inside of my bedroom. There was a beautiful basket of goodies two friends, Carolyn and Sherry had dropped at the hospital to me after one of my surgeries. They were my only visitors that stay in the hospital so I truly was touched by the visit! The basket was used to hold, for my entire treatment time, to hold cards I received. By the conclusion of treatment, it spilled over with cards from friends, family and people I did not even know with good wishes and prayers for a recovery. Then there was dear Marc, a Christian friend, who had his young church class praying for me, and yes I felt their young prayers weekly. I smiled with the blessing of it and looked over at my husband who smiled back at me. Holding all those scarves I knew what a blessing I had experienced.

With the passage of times, I no longer wear scarves but cannot bear the thought of letting go of even one of those scarves. I feel as if they are a part of the fabric of me. In remembrance, one year in celebrating my birthday with girlfriends, I wore one over my hair to a luncheon. One friend looked at me inquisitively and asked why I was wearing it. I said “To remember.” I think I need to do that more often. In fact, I challenge all women, wear a scarf one day a year, walk the walk of a cancer patient and see the world from their perspective. Having cancer is not a cake walk, the rest of the world, when a woman loses their hair, tends to look at your funny at a time when you already feel isolated and hurting inside. Do not judge that which is different or avoid it but try, through the grace of God, understanding and possibly embrace it. As I use to tell my children when they were little, a smile goes a long way. To a cancer patient, on a bad day, it is a sign from an angel.

As I closed the door of that closet, I cannot help but feel so grateful that my life has forever changed. So many people I have met, along this path of recovery, either survivors, care takers or those taken by God to everlasting peace have too. Some wonderful people have walked into my life, and some old friendships have been rekindled with the awareness the light of life on this earth is fading. I don’t know when the clock will stop ticking but I am certain one day, it will and I do have strong enough faith that I live void of the fear. But I also live feeling as if every day counts. I have attended far too many funerals to prove it. I just love my friend Carole’s comment to me at a mutual cancer’s friend funeral “I need to start hanging out with a different group of friends!” and yet, she is always near to those in need. That woman has a heart of gold and even when her husband was diagnosed with cancer, her faith seldom falters, what an example to others.

When our group of survivors meets, we always talk about how important it is to surround ourselves with healthy relationships, people that make us feel beautiful and whole. Anyone who tears us down or makes us feel part of a dysfunctional relationship is a threat to our physical and emotional health. This can cut our lifespan short. This is true for everyone. Boundaries are also important. Just like pulling the scarves out to reflect on them and then closing the door, we all must do that also with the ghosts in our closet. Not everything about those scarves brings back positive happy memories either, cancer is not pretty. Our pasts are usually full of some hurts and some unfulfilled needs. Take a look at them, ‘your scarves’ accept responsibility for them and then move on. It does no good to harbor resentment towards anyone, your parents make mistakes, and you make mistakes. We all must accept accountability for our lives, at some point, and move on. Live. Live healthy. Boundaries must be set and healthy relationships need to start there. Those scarves and the cancer do not define me, therefore, they do not need to be out front and center in our home, and they will never be placed prominently.

With a new year comes new promises, new hopes, and new tomorrows. But those scarves remind me of wonderful yesteryears and also of sorrows. Those memories make me who I am today. We can run from our past but should we? Part of who we are today is where we came from. I choose to look back, reflect, draw strength from what I did right, and from those that gave me strength and hope when I was weak, and grow from it. We all must live in the present and surround ourselves with those people that accept us for who we are and make us feel beautiful. The range of colors in that closet represent God's array of people, the diversity in His children, the assortment of gifts. I hope those 'gift givers' that contributed to the array of colors on the inside of my closet door like the view of what they see in me today....

Happy New Year and may 2011 be colorful and full of hope and promise!

The Christmas Story

The church was small, the congregation young. They were all Catholic but more conventional than most Catholics in the area. The Men’s group hosted every year a Lunch with Santa free for all parishioners that wanted to attend. Included was a hot dog lunch, chips, soft drinks and a chance to sit on Santa’s lap for each boy and girl that attended. It was announced. Lunch With Santa, through the community so that any child could attend in the area, all were welcome, not just members of the parish. The goal of the Men’s Club was not one child would be left out of God’s house nor be missed from sitting on Santa’s lap. Christmas was simply weeks away.

Two young women, both moms with two small children of their own decided to make this year’s event slightly more memorable. Seeming as how they had just got involved with the youth group, they thought it was the perfect opportunity to get the young adults they were leading to truly see the light of Christmas through the eyes of the children. Too often that wide eyed innocence is lost. These two best friends, in their jeans and t shirts, with no assistance, and two youngsters each, began meeting with a plan to bring a play to life and week by week planned it with the youth group.

At first, it was met with much resistance. What teenager wants to get up in front of his/her peers in costume, look out of the norm and perform? Who wants to be silly in public and act interested in younger children? So they began with simply assigning stage duties, help to build stage scenery, as the play was Twas the Night Before Christmas, a fireplace was needed to be made, a Christmas tree had to be constructed, etc….. Quickly progress was made and a life force took hold.

Suddenly donations started coming in from nowhere. A costume was donated for Mrs. Santa, materials were donated for the construction of the chimney, and the young teens grew excited. Before the adults had a chance to discuss and re-approach the subject and ask individuals who should play what part, the group decided amongst themselves who should play what! The project took on a live of its own. Yes, God brought this story to life….the two women quickly realized they were nothing more but the catalyst and they were blessed to be there to enjoy the unfolding of a Christmas miracle.

As the rehearsals grew more frequent, the laughter abounded out of that hallway. As miscues happened, lost lines, hugs and songs were added, friendships formed, cookies were brought in to be shared, a real kinship was formed by all. It was a given that the moment the play would end, all present would lapse into a Christian Christmas song. It seemed only fitting.

Finally, the Sunday came for the play; lunch was served. The lights went down after plates were cleared. The two women stepped to the front of the crowd to introduce the play and then stepped off stage, where they silently held hands and prayed that God would let the play go without a hitch and more importantly, touch those present in a special way. Before their eyes were even open, they knew, , the prayer was not needed….they were in God’s house and He alone was in control. Surely, as God had drawn them together in friendship, the young people together for this project, the young children to be here this day, this play would indeed touch all present with its message of Christmas joy.

With all the practices under their belt, the play, that day was unlike ever before. It began and ended much the same way, pure perfection! Lines were said perfectly, the crowd laughed frequently and hard, the children were interactive and sat well throughout the show. Then, without a word, without a hesitation, once the play ended, the youth group in its entirety gathered on stage. They quietly assembled, joined hands and began to sing. As they sang in unison, with voices raised with joy and a light in their eyes, all present that day in the church hall joined in and sang with loud abandonment. Oh, did the sound of singing fill that hall? Oh yes, what a beautiful sound it was! Surely the angels came down from heaven just a moment or two to hear the praise given to Jesus that day.

And through the crowd, I dare say, I saw a tear or two come from both of the women’s eyes. They were smiling and singing, one slightly off key and one singing just as beautifully as can be as they smiled and held hands all the tighter. That tear, I realized, was a tear of joy. They knew, in that instant, in that fleeting moment, that they had been an instrument for God’s message that special Christmas.

Sing Alleluia. Sing. Sing it loud, sing it proud!

The Irony of Cancer

How can a man serve in the armed forces for years, drop behind enemy lines countless times in the dead of night with nothing but a small bag of provisions and a few other men beside him and not be caught? How can this man be shot at, wounded and yet come home alive to be with his family until called to duty again for another mission? Eventually, he was caught by the enemies, escaped and finished out his term of service, retired and within one year, he was diagnosed with cancer. He died year later, at home, in his bed surrounded by his family without his uniform on. An American hero, gone too soon.

A woman in Michigan longed for a child of her own but had been told for years she would never be able to conceive. Her husband and her had many years before gave up trying. She found out, quite accidentally, at the stage in her life when most women are going thru menopause, she was pregnant. Shocked, at 50, to find out her hot flashes were actually pregnancy symptoms at her doctors, she was also told she had breast cancer. Is there such a thing as good timing for a cancer diagnosis?

A friend recently celebrated her body scan that showed no cancer anywhere in her bones. She was elated and proudly shared her news with those that have been her cheering squad. When the noise died down, and her life went on as normal, it stopped again. Her young daughter was diagnosed with cancer. Thus the cycle continues for this family, just when they thought the all clear sign was here.

She finally hit the 5-year mark of being cancer free. With a genetic trait for cancer in her family, it was a God sent sign to hit this moment in time. She was not sure it would come. She rejoiced in it, cautiously though, because she knew the sky could drop at any time for her, or one of her loved ones, and she wanted to be prepared so, if it did, it would not hit her hard. But it did, hit her hard that is, deep down inside, because honestly, who can ever be prepared or ok in their heart to hear their sister they love has cancer that has metastasized to their bones?

I pray every day for those that have cancer and are in treatment. I pray for those that will be diagnosed today with the dreadful disease. I then add on a prayer for those, like me, that are survivors. I never ever forget those that have died before us from cancer that they will see that their life truly did make a difference and that the torch of finding a cure is being lit by others and carried on partly because of them. I do not leave out those that have been touched by cancer either, directly or indirectly. I suppose, in a sense, given this litany list, I pray for us all because who is not on this list?

Cancer makes no sense; it does not distinguish between the rich or the poor, the weak or the strong. It makes us all face mortality and in facing death, we appreciate life on this earth; we cherish the moments and understand the importance of deepening our faith in God and all that He holds dear NOW. Don't wait, the present is here, right now, grab it!

Are you Bored?

When I was in college, I recall walking in for a final in Composition class and being handed the classic ‘blue book.’ Four or five topics were on the board to select from and we were to pick one topic from the list to write about. For some strange reason, I picked the topic boredom.

Maybe I selected it because it was a foreign concept to my life, at the time. I was a single mother of two school aged children, home owner, and working 30 hours a week. When I was not working at a book publishing company as an assistant editor, I was either attending college or studying for classes as I carried 18 credit hours to ensure a quick graduation. I had active children also that played soccer year round. I had a calendar that had more arrows on it to fit all activities on it that is looked more like an illegible city map!

To this day, I wish I had a copy of that term paper to read! I thought of it the other day, as I lay in the pool on a float just relaxing. I remember thinking to myself, ‘If someone would just pay me to do this, I would be eternally grateful and happy as can be!” I wondered then why I am never really bored.

The Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines the word bore as “to weary with tedious dullness.” Maybe therein lays the issue because I find life exhilarating. Signs of life are miracles, God’s little whispers to us that all is as it should be. So I am not sure I have ever found myself in too many situations that are innately blah, e.g. boring.

Given my age, I thought back to younger days in my life. In particular, long summer breaks from school spent for days on end at the local pool recreational center. Many a day I was there from dawn to dusk, swimming, playing ‘keep a way’ and flirting with the boys. And yet, as fun as it was, by the end of July, I did not want to admit it but I was ready for school to start. Seeing day after day the limited number of kids that came to that particular pool was getting monotonous. Soaking in the sun was getting, boring! That word was applicable at that point in my life. I think I am representative of most at that age, our youthful years, we are always wanting to run away from boredom. We thrive on excitement and drama!

When I look at the time period of my twenties and thirties, there was no time to schedule boredom. Too little time and too much to do with it! My career, my marriage, parenthood and just facing the adult world was time consuming . When I was not on the go, I was sleeping out of exhaustion. And the sleeping came in short supply.

About the age of mid forties, I begun to get a life that was not spiraling with a constant influx of new stimuli to adjust to and I was slowly down. I begun to see that stillness can be healing, and soothing to the soul. I realized that now I run more to that state I use to call boredom instead of away from it! I cherish serenity in a way in my youth, I simply could not. I rejoice in that which is stable, an d steer clear of chaos and drama. Funny how time changes one’s perspectives. I would much rather be bored yet happy than not bored and over stimulated.

As I look to the future, approaching old age, I wonder how my views will change towards having empty hours on my hands. It is hard to predict. Time changes all of us. It is hard to walk by the elderly, as a child, and even contemplate ourselves being, one day, that image. But we will, most certainly, God willing.

In a world of changes and noise, dull moments should be embraced and rejoiced. These are the times we can reflect and grow. Boredom is a temporary state if you find the fine line, the balance, between living and just being.

*** Don Bergfors once said, “ I do not consider myself old. Old age is anyone that is ten years older than me, at any given age!”

Mommy can Mow!

Years ago, one hot summer, I had to go out and buy a lawnmower. I had never even cut the grass in my life, up to that point. And then in a split second, I found myself smack dab at the Sears department store, in the section where mowers are sold. Standing in the middle of all this heavy duty equipment with large price tags made me take stock of my life. I was feeling somewhat lost., Here I stood, divorced and trying to raise two kids on my own. I was in college full time and working part time. And, one more thing on my to do list, cutting the grass?!

The backyard in question to cut was treacherously steep. The children were not allowed to sled down it in the winter time or they would land up in the neighbor’s yard. I contemplated this while reviewing model after model in Sears that day of mowers. I quickly transitioned in my mind wondering if I had long to live. The image of myself in tennis shoes going back and forth a steep hill with two gradients that were hard to walk up, pushing a heavy lawn mower sounded like a deadly combination.

I knew that day, in Sears, contrary to women libbers everywhere, I had to find a man and I had to find him fast! Not one to marry, mind you, but one to help me decide which lawn mower I should buy as I saw, if it did its job well, as my new best friend. Especially if there was one that could cut the lawn all by itself.

As luck would have it, my man appeared. He was godlike, even though his baggy yellow shorts and beer gut did not do much for me romantically. He looked dirty so I figured, he was a man’s man and I quickly latched my eyes on his. Honestly, though, I think seeing me standing there with two kids drooling chocolate chip cookies everywhere, was a sure sign to him. I was a damsel in distress and even he could not pass up the opportunity to be my knight in shining armor. We chatted briefly and he gave me pointers on things to take into account when deciding on mowers to purchase. I am not sure he was listening to well as I thought I had made it clear I could care about the value proposition statement of each of the countless metal beasts. I only wanted to know, based on my yard’s description, which mower would make my job easier. He eventually obliged and what seemed like record time, my new mower was bought, put in a large box in the back of our little car and we were heading home.

My car was a small black Chevette stick shift, complete with faded red and orange racing stripes up the back side panels. Even as my children’s young ages, they knew this was not a cool car. Our vehicle would do nothing for our images around town. They were insisting already that, when I drove them anywhere, drop them off a block away so they were not seen in the car that looked like a black trash can on its side. The bucket seats in the front meant they were both sandwiched in the seat together. If that wasn’t uncomfortable enough, they also had to hang on to the edges of the box containing our new purchase for dear life. And then I drove slow home, trying to avoid any bumps.

Once home, the man of the house, my fourth grade son, helped me haul the box out. Silly me, I thought when I opened the box it would be assembled. No such luck, I had to put it together myself, the women who could not build a house out of Lincoln logs. Much to the amusement of the men gathered across the street my neighbor’s front yard, I had to read the directions. And read them I did, over and over again, till they made some semblance of sense. And that evening, before dark, I managed to put it together , our brand new mower.

Then came the scary part, would it start? When it did, wow, was I impressed with me. I tried hard to ignore the chanting from across the street as the men not only laughed amongst themselves, but yelled comments at me while I had attempted to do what they said was the impossible. And in the end, I did do it. I sat back and stared at my mower in admiration. This starry eyed glaze did not last long as my son reminded me that it was near bedtime and they wanted a snack. How could they think of such trivial things as eating when we had this wonderful new mower just begging to be used?

The next day, at the crack of dawn, I was out there in the backyard. It was a slow start as I had to learn how to leverage my body lower on the hill than the mower so I could direct the mower across the yard without it, and me, landing in a heap at the base of the hill. I was just about getting the knack of it when my kids popped out the back door and quickly shouted me how proud they were of me. As I looked over my shoulder, I recall seeing them in just about direct line with the mower and visions of me losing my grip came to mind. I quickly shouted back, please go back in the house. I told them the truth, with me behind the mower in our yard, it was not safe to be outside. They ran in as quickly as they could. I am not sure if this was a sign of good faith in my advice or lack of faith in me in controlling our power mower.

That summer flew by but the memories of that experience live on in me. I was out there countless times, cutting the grass alone. My neighbors all had burly husbands to do this manly work but not I. The first few times, the men gathered again and sat in lawn chairs just to watch me cut the grass. As they teased me, and I acted as if I did not hear a word, I begun to find humor in their inability to find something more worthy of their time than me cutting the grass.

Later in the summer, I learned something quite amusing. The neighbors husbands, the same ones that saw fit to tease and taunt me, began to resent me too. Apparently they had used the day they cut the grass at their homes as a convenient excuse to not do anything else around the house. Many times, they felt, since the job was so difficult, they should be allowed to play eighteen holes of golf the following day Sunday verses spending time with their wives and children. However, the day I started cutting the lawn also, things begun to change. These wives saw me out there, bright and early with as much lawn to cut as their husbands. They saw me later, washing the car and playing with the kids. I was taking them back and forth to soccer games, helping them collect leaves and bugs for science projects, and grilling dinner out. There was not room in my life, at that time, to be tired and have down time. But, the women knew, it was no longer just ok for their husbands to make feeble excuses for not helping out more. Cutting the grass was only one chore of many!

I look back on memories like this fondly and with laughter. I had such a big hill to walk up and cut. Much like life, lots of uphill walks are taken. The steps we take are not always on steady ground either but more on faith and motivation. Those days are long gone. Today, I live on even more property than I did back in those days. Yes, the acreage of my current yard far surpasses that steep hill in Kentucky. When I met my present husband, and we began corresponding, early on the subject of mowing came up, of all topics! I learned, coincidentally he enjoys it and feels reenergized riding his large mower. It takes literally hours each week to cut his lawn here in Tennessee. And when I reflect on this, I think I knew back then, especially when I saw his big tractor, I was smitten for life!

The Gift

It has been said throughout the years that a gift is in the eyes of the beholder. For what matters not what is in the gift but what it does to the receiver….what emotions it evokes, what it does to their soul. Does it send their spirit soaring?

To a dying man, a gift is a smile.

To a hospital patient confined to a bed, a gift may be hand delivered flowers to remind them that beauty lies right outside the door and someone cared enough to break a sprig of it inside!

On holidays, my favorite gift to give, when I travel and have to stop for gas, the attendant in the store that has to work the holiday shift, money out of my wallet, usually at least a twenty dollar bill. The look on their face, seeing it light up with surprise is priceless!

Getting a card from a stranger that just says they are sorry you are hurting, in pain or in sympathy for a lost loved one is a gift. Unexpected compassion from a stranger that wants not recognition but wants, simply to give you a piece of their heart…no strings attached!

A gift of priceless value is the gift of an organ. Being an organ donor gives life to so many others that might, otherwise, not have that opportunity to thrive.
I heard a priest say recently a gift is anything we do that causes someone else to have faith. Simply passing someone on the street and wishing them a nice day for no reason is hope. Helping someone cross the street that is feeble is respectful and gives praise to the life they have led. Giving someone that cannot bear children a child gives faith, that they can provide a child a loving home.

Some of the best gifts are the anonymous ones. I remember a friend that had to have an expensive procedure done when he was terminal with cancer. He reached out to his church family and asked for assistance. They all pitched in to help this man, this child of God, this dad of two small children, have one more chance to fight to live. When all the money was collected, the day it was all due to his home, a big envelope was found on the front porch. When he opened it, inside was a small note, signed anonymous donor. It was a cashier’s check for the entire amount that had been raised! Hence, all the money was returned to the donors but that check not only let him get the treatment but that gift instilled everyone associated with this man to realize God truly does work in mysterious ways!

The importance of gifts was even mentioned in the Bible. The New Testament tells the story of three wise kings that traveled from afar to bring a gift to the feet of the baby Jesus, while he lay in the stable in the manager. These were three wise men who knew that the scripture spelled out the birth of a king. They were in awe of the glory and when he was born, wanted to give a symbolic gift in reverence to him.
Our faith tells us to believe in our fellow men, our body of believers. But it also tells us we should shower others with our blessings. What good are riches if they are not shared? Hoarded riches serve no real purpose except to put oneself higher than others.

Riches are also not only monetary items. Spiritual riches can be anything that warms the soul, softens the spirit and instills God’s light into others. Giving of one’s time to elders in a nursing home is rich and a gift, to both the giver and the receiver. Rich is telling moralistic tales to children to help them see that good character breeds contentment.

To give is to receive. In tough times, when money is tight and time is a precious commodity in short supply, compel your heart to look around and take notice. Give of yourself if you can’t afford to give of your purse. Helping others makes us at one with God. The best gift in life IS the gift of giving.

A Still Moment

I once worked with such a wonderful young spirited girl named Carrie. We quickly bonded and, in spite of our age differences, found we had so much in common, especially a love of laughter in our lives! We both worked in the high pressure business of printing and promotional products working with large corporations that wanted everything yesterday. We worked diligently, long hours and lots of stress and yet, still found time to share parts of our lives with one another.

Carrie had grown up in Middle Tennessee where I was a northern girl. When we started working together, she was a newlywed. Yes, she had just come back from her honeymoon and within weeks was interviewing and then offered the position. She worked as my customer service/project manager/back up sales person and did everything needed to help me be successful from making collection calls, to invoicing, trouble shooting, etc… I lost count of how many times I said to her “I would not want your job if it was the last job on earth!”

When I left that position, we remained in contact with each other. We kept communicating so we would know what was going on in each other’s lives. Never did a phone call or email slip between us without the words I miss you and I love you expressed.

I look back with fondness remembering the stories she shared, her husband’s surprise Christmas gift their first married holiday together, her first purchase for the new home. A beautiful couch she agonized on the perfect color combination to get and then went on to trying to decide what color she should use for throw pillows. She put her decorating questions to the test by asking each of us in the office our thoughts. Naturally, all being women, none of us agreed which only served to add more stress to Carrie’s decision! Her husband Greg was not into this sort of thing. I think his only requirement was to not incorporate pink!

The marriage had its usual share of ups and downs, misunderstandings, joy, laughter and tears. But over time this couple built a strong solid foundation upon which they were excited to bring a child into the picture. Greg had an adorable son from a previous marriage that Carrie spoke so fondly of also. She knew, after watching Greg’s parental skills with this young son, he would indeed make a wonderful partner for raising a child with her in the future.

Fast forward to present day. Carrie is eight months pregnant with a little boy soon to come and add laughter and mischief to the household. Baby showers are happening, friends are talking and getting excited. The world is waiting for that special moment, the miracle of birth.

In the real world, dreams sometimes get shattered in a way only God truly understands the whys. This story indeed has a major fork in the road. Greg went on a motorcycle ride the other night and did not make it home alive. His spirit will live on in his son and the son due in a month. His love will live on in his darling Carrie and all of us that are blessed to know Carrie, our wonderful spirited bubbly friend. But for a moment, the world will stop just long enough tomorrow and on Thursday to reflect on this young man’s live and family.

Greg, we thank you for your contribution to this world. We thank you for making our friend Carrie spill over with delight at your presence in her life. You had the ability to make her eyes light up with excitement and the rest of us were slightly envious with what we saw in Carrie. Thank you Greg for the love you bought into this world and may God keep you in the light of his presence. May God’s love be overflowing in you.

A moment will indeed come, in time, when you will be joined in heaven with your beloved Carrie and your two boys for all of eternity.

Click on title for link to obituary for Greg Van Dette.

Happy Birthday dear Niece Elizabeth!

The day you were born,
I never heard such a content sigh
Come from my sister Terri
As she gazed at your eyes.

Your eyes are pools of blue,
Reflecting adventure and wit,
They are keys to your soul
And reveal you cannot be licked!
No matter how you get kicked,
You will come back stronger!

You have tenacity girl
And a heart of gold,
So no matter how many years go by
Do not be afraid to be bold.

From the ends of your long blonde hair
To the tips of your toes,
God made every cell in your body,
And because of you he Rose.


May this year go by
And thru it all, feel God’s breath on your face...
I wish you joy, peace and laughter
And above all, heavenly grace.

Take my gift,
And please use it as you will,
Know that it is sent with much compassion and love
Since you, dear Lizi, are getting one step closer to over the hill!

Love knows no limits....has no boundaries....

Breath of New Life

I attended a funeral on Friday for a dear friend’s brother in law. I did not know the man personally, other than hearing the story of how his life had played out through my friend. He was young, 41, and seemed much too young to be called back up into the heavens. I was attending to let my friend and her husband know their sorrow touched me. Also, even without knowing the man, I too was impacted by his life, his story.

Sitting there at the funeral, watching the family shuffle in to their seats in the front row, immediately what caught my eye was an adorable baby being held by one of the deceased man’s loved ones.

The site of the innocent young baby made me think back to the last several funerals I have attended. When I reflected back, the realization came to me that every single funeral I have attended there is always a small child or baby present. I find this soothing.

Many years ago, when my children were small, I told them that for every person God calls back to heaven, he places another human life on this earth to experience our world. This new baby grows and thrives, touching others throughout this process of aging; much as the deceased person he has called home.

I think this is so symbolic of the circle of life, we are born, we live, we die and we are raised back up. Perhaps in this way we make room on earth for another. It is almost as if the deceased person leaves their body and their spirit breathes life into another thus life is created again.And again…..

In times of sorrow, when death is at a dear friend or loved one’s door, perhaps reflecting on this circle of life may give solace. God does not take away, he is a giver. To question death is human. But, to have faith, when at those defining moments in life when things do not seem to make sense, is divine. God has a plan for us all. Though we may not understand, it is enacted in our lives. He is in control not us.

Seeing that baby at a stranger’s funeral compels me to reflect and write. May you all find, that in facing someone’s death, it gives you renewed vigor for life. And when the day comes to face your own mortality, and you are slowly gliding towards the light, think of this : Your last breath will be someone’s first.

PICTURE OF CHILD ABOVE THAT ATTENDED FUNERAL: Kinley Ann Pulley, she was Eric's first and only great niece. Eric's brother is also the other family member holding Kinley.

Lazy Days of Summer, Remembering Michelle Bell

Years ago, a dear friend of mine, Michelle Bell suddenly died at the tender age of 40. I did not hear about her passing until long after her funeral so never really got to say good bye or share some of my best memories with her family. With summer here and this representing some of our best times together, it seemed perfect to talk about those long ago lazy days of summer I spent with Michelle.

Michelle and I met in 1st grade at Saville Elementary. We had a connection right off the bat; we were the two tallest kids in the class. Some days it felt like in the entire school. She got the nickname Beanpole and because she was slightly taller than me, I was spared. But none the less on picture day, when kids line up by height, every year, Michelle and I would just head to the back of the class knowing full well our place, last in line.

We both lived in Saville Estates, a subdivision named after the elementary school that was at the opening of the neighborhood. She lived a few streets over. By today’s standards, the distance was a long walk, but in days gone by, it was not considered far at all. Our routine was the same, one of us would call the other and off we would trot in the direction of each other’s house. When we met, somewhere in the middle, we would decide what the day’s adventure was going to be.

I loved seeing what Michelle was wearing. She was much more fashion savvy than me. Her creativity was expressed in everything she wore, from her hair, to her jewelry and to what she came up to wear on her body! I remember her taking scraps of material and tying them around her midsection as a self created body top. She tied fabric all different ways and to the bystander, it looked like fashion right off the runway show. I tried to mimic this style, wanting to look cool like her. It was not easy, there was only one Michelle. What she could pull off, others just simply could not.

Those self made tops that involved not a stitch of sewing were commonplace for us in the summer. We were both so thin and flat, in those days, that it did not take much fabric to fit around our skinny midsections. We traded fabric with each other to make it look as if we were fashionable and rich with a wide selection of clothes. I sometimes wonder if our parents shuddered at the sight of us walking outdoors with those thinly clad tops on our bodies!

Long days were spent over summer at the most popular swimming pool in our area, Eastview Pool. The days there were mixed with splashing in the pool, ogling over cute life guards and also moments where we laid flat on our backs soaking in the sun. Those days were some of my favorites as we both bore our souls to one another, our shortcomings and our dreams for our future. We knew we had in each other a friend for life, a willing caring confidant while in the tough stage of trying to build our own identity and self worth.

Taking breaks from swimming and walking around the pool area, we would spread out brightly colored beach towels on the grass and plop down on our backs. Michelle and I would spend what seemed like hours looking up at the clouds rolling by. Those big billowy white clouds that seemed to just fill the summer sky were artwork, in our eyes, that God created just for us. We saw images in different cloud formations and would discuss what each one represented long before either of us had ever heard of the inkblot tests of psychology. I wonder if our visualizations we saw were windows to our souls. It is funny, looking back, how time stood still at times like this with Michelle and me.

Careful and no consideration of sunscreen were on our minds back then! I don’t even recall it being in an issue in those days. Our agenda was to simply enjoy the long lazy summer day. We didn’t care about getting a tan, but it happened inevitably from so much time spent outdoors. We would both get as dark as can be by midsummer. We would spend whole days there at the pool, eating lunch and dinner some days and not returning home to it was dark. Meals would consist of buying a grilled cheese at the snack bar and as a fill in, of course, ice cream and candy. Yet, we both remained skinny as rails no matter what we ate. Metabolism, back then, was a good friend to us both.
There were also the active days, when we would bike ride everywhere. We would head to a local shopping center, Airway Shopping Center, with not a penny to our name. We would go through the stores as if we had a huge allowance that was unspent, trying on things, going through departments pretending we mattered as, in those days; I think both of us felt like we didn’t matter much to anyone. Living vicariously through pretend shopping made us feel powerful and passed time. It also was a fun creative way to waste away an afternoon at a time when television was boring and video games were not created.
Michelle had a hammock for awhile and we thought we had died and gone to heaven laying in that! It did not matter how hot it was, we would both squeeze in there together, and just enjoy it. If the wind swayed it some, we would giggle with delight. We would sing songs together in that hammock as loud as if we were in the shower. Unfortunately, neither of us had the vocal chords to make music sound beautiful but we didn’t care. We were young, carefree and enjoying the moment.

Looking back, we were both poor losers when it came to board game playing. If we fought at all, it was usually over whoever lost. One of us would leave crying like a baby that had been badly bruised and going home upset over the loss. The one that won the game never really felt very victorious as each of us had our turns of watching the other’s backside walking away, heading home with the sounds of muffled crying. How willing we were to let our sensitivity show. The compromise was the winner would call the other and essentially apologize for winning. How funny we were back then!

At night time, we would often catch fireflies. I would provide the coffee cans with the holes punched in the lids so they could breathe. Michelle was so soft hearted she could not bear the thought of them staying in the jar. She always talked me into letting them loose. I think she found that, the unleashing of them into the night, just as exhilarating as catching them.
As the years went by, Michelle and I stay connected. Our relationship faded in and out as times changed, new friendships were formed and life just moved on. I moved away and started a family. The last time I heard from Michelle was a phone call, out of the blue. Somehow she had tracked me down to Northern Kentucky, where I lived at the time.

I picked up the phone and was met with a vaguely familiar voice telling me I was a hard person to reach. She identified herself quickly but by then I knew who it was. All these years had passed by and hearing her, the memories came rushing back. We laughed on the phone recounting all those days gone by, in particular the summer months spent together. I learned a few new things about Michelle’s life, but as always, she was somewhat reclusive and slow to confide in others. It was as if she was more interested in hearing about me and if I was happy with my life.
I wanted to arrange to meet her somewhere but she refused. Michelle still lived somewhere in the Dayton Ohio area, where we had grown up but she refused to give me her phone number or address. She assured me that her number was unlisted as she wanted to live as obscure as possible. She said that a lot had changed; she did not look the same at all and wanted to be remembered by everyone that knew her in the past as she was back then and not now. There was a heavy sadness in her voice as if a part of her had already given up on life. The sensitivity of Michelle and possibly all the years of feeling different made her choose to alienate somewhat from life. I tried, in vain, to change the course of the conversation. I told her that day that the change did not matter to me at all, what we had was the foundation of our relationship and that was constant, unchanging and unwavering. But she was adamant, if she wanted to reach out, it would be on her terms and she just wanted me to know she missed me. That call left a hole in my heart.

A few years passed and then the news. Finding out of her passing made me stop and reflect on that last call, but not for long. I am certain, all those long wonderful summer days of past we spent together is how she would want me to remember her and so it is in just that way I memorialize my dear friend Michelle. Human nature and emotion kicks in from time to time, making me want, no matter how rich my life has become, that I could spend one more day together with my dear friend and kindred soul mate Michelle.
Lazy crazy days of summer are some of the best times in our lives. Too often we run around and do not find time to just be still with others, dear friends and loved ones. I know in my heart that Michelle’s days are now filled with moments like these. She is probably in heave, in a hammock with a cute outfit on and a big smile enjoying a spiritual life where there is no pain or heartache. No more does my friend cry over losing a game, have her feelings hurt over being teased about being tall and skinny or want for more than she has. Yes, my dear friend Michelle Bell is eternally happy.

Until I see you again Michelle, please save a spot on the hammock for me.