I spent most of the day crying. Do you ever grieve so hard you just wonder if your body can produce any more tears--but then it does? That was me today.
I attended a Celebration of Life service at school for a man who was a father, a husband, a son, a friend to many , though I personally never met him. His two younger children go to our school. The girl is in the 9th grade, the boy in 3rd. The man was 43. It was a beautiful service, and the man left quite a legacy. They said he was full of hope, love, courage, integrity. He was a thinker, an electrician, a fisherman. He was quick to help anyone in need. He was not afraid to die; he was ready to meet Jesus. He loved his family deeply and his Savior passionately.
But my heart has been broken. The family lost their home in a fire two days before Christmas, and now they've lost their dad. Can't wrap my mind about that kind of sorrow, that great a loss.
The other reason it's been a hard day is that we've decided the time has come to say goodbye forever to our dog Brownie.
If you've been reading my blog for any length of time, you'll recall that Brownie is the senior pup we adopted on June 1st at the tender age of 14 years. We weren't sure how much longer she'd last, but we took her anyway. I never knew how hard it would be, as her demise has been slow and gradual.
When I got home from Brad's funeral today, I knew I'd be facing a mess to clean up from our old dog. Sure enough. So I got out the mop and Pine-Sol and got to work. Just as I was finishing, I felt her nose on the back of my knee, so I turned around to pet her. She was squatting to pee again. I broke down and sobbed and sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. I called my husband at work and managed to tell him I can't do this anymore. I can't keep up the pace and I can't keep watching a dog lose control of her bladder.
Last night in small group, I shared my heart about this with them. They are all dog lovers, so I didn't feel ashamed to offer this burden. The leader prayed that we'd have wisdom and be able to see the situation from the dog's viewpoint, and that we'd know for sure when it was "time."
Today God answered that prayer. He gave me a memory and He gave me nothing but empathy for my dog today, replacing anger and impatience.
The memory stems back 11 years ago, Valentine's Day 2002.
That day I fractured my pelvis in several places while giving birth to my last child. The very rare injury, known as postpartum pubic diastasis, left my SI joint separated 5 cm instead of returning to normal within hours. The injury paralyzed my bladder;my hips were in agonizing pain. I had to be turned in bed every two hours, helped to the bathroom and I wore Depends because, too often, I failed the guessing game called, "Do I have to go to the bathroom? Yes, it's been two hours."
God healed me miraculously and instantly six months later. I was free from pain!
But the recollection of that memory was an answer to prayer today. I could readily empathize with my dear old dog at 8:00 a.m as she struggled to rise to her feet. I steadied her and led her by her thin pink and black collar to the door. Many times a day, this is what I do to help Brownie. When I can't be here, or when I'm not watching, she makes a puddle.
There is no spite in her, no laziness. She simply can't help it anymore.
She doesn't mean to mess up my floor. She would go out every time if she could help it. But her kidneys are shutting down, I'm afraid. It's become commonplace to clean up several pee messes from the kitchen where she has been confined for the past week, so as not to have an accident on the carpet (again).
Brownie is virtually blind. When I reach down to pet her head, she thinks I have food, and will snatch the invisible treat--or my hand! It doesn't hurt because she has very few teeth left, but it scares me, and saddens me.
Brownie is pretty much deaf. But she can hear water running into her bowl or the food bowl being filled.
She has lost weight, not that she had much meat on her bones to start with, but I can count her ribs now. She has a great appetite, though, but apparently the nutrition isn't sticking with her.
Her eyes seem weepy. Cloudy, tired, and weepy. And sometimes, I think, apologetic. I made a hard call to the vet's office. "How much do you charge to euthanize?"
I could barely say the words.
Thursday, January 31, 2013
Tuesday, January 29, 2013
Hodgepodge with Hated Questions
No, I don't hate any of the questions Joyce asked. But one of them gave me a leg-up onto one of my many soapboxes. Read on, and you will find out what that is. Curious to read what others hate to be asked? Check out the Joyce's Hodgepodge link party today.
1. In the USA this coming Sunday millions will be watching as the Baltimore Ravens take on the San Francisco 49er's in the Superbowl. What was the last event you attended that could be described as super?
1. In the USA this coming Sunday millions will be watching as the Baltimore Ravens take on the San Francisco 49er's in the Superbowl. What was the last event you attended that could be described as super?
My ladies' Bible study meeting last week. I'm telling you, when believers get together to express their love to God, to pray, to read scripture, to share burdens and lift each other up, it is a super time. In the presence of a holy God, a Heavenly Father who loves and cares for His children, there is nothing that can compare--and believe me, even being a big Ravens fan in the heart of Maryland, no Superbowl even comes close to the worship we experience regularly.
2. Share something you're a fan of these days?
Bolthouse Farms smoothies.
3. How do you feel about wings? In case anyone is confused, I'm talking the edible appetizer kind. What's your preferred seasoning on a wing-hot, mild, teriyaki, sweet and sour, other? Do you make your own or is there a favorite place you like to go for wings?
I like them, but they're a lot of work for such little reward. My favorite way to fix them I learned from a man named Craig who (sadly) moved away with his wife to North Carolina. His recipe (I paraphrase as this was word-of-mouth):
The night before you're going to serve them---do this: In a big pot, dump your wings. Cover them with equal parts water, vinegar, and beer. Put a lid on the pot and let the wings marinade overnight in the fridge. Next day, broil them 10-15 minutes for crispness.
When they come out, immediately season them with Old Bay,or bbq sauce, or teriyaki--whatever flavor you like, but do it while they're hot. If you use a sauce, spread in on the hot wings, but put the wings back in for a few minutes on 400 to make the sauce sort of "stick" and get a little blackened .
Having the wings marinade overnight in water, vinegar, and beer eliminates the need to boil them. When they're done, they are fall-off-the-bone tender!
I guess my favorite place to go for wings is past tense, or it's North Carolina. Wherever Craig is cookin' them.
4. As long as we're talking sports today...have you followed the Lance Armstrong story? Did you watch his interview with Oprah and if so what was your reaction to his confession and subsequent remarks?
No, but I heard about it on sports talk radio. They said he seemed unremorseful, "a monster," taking people down with him, and he will need a LOT of lawyers in the wake of his crime. Why not just admit, "I was wrong. Everyone was doping, and I went along with it. I cheated and I regret my wrongdoing." But apparently the only thing he regrets is getting caught and all that money he's going to lose from former sponsors and endorsements.
5. What's a question you hate to be asked?
"What do you do?"
I always answer, "I'm an art teacher," which is true, but I only have one class and I don't get paid to teach it. (It's my parent volunteer job, at least for now.)
If I answer with the one thing I do which does pay (babysit), the answer is met with (what feels to me) a condescending look and tone, as if being a mid-life babysitter is petty.
I am afraid to answer any other way, honestly. My husband makes enough to support us, and always has.
But if I say that, I can feel the "it must be nice" vibes of jealousy from others. Some have even voiced it. That hurts. It really does.
I'm very proud of his work ethic and his ability to get along with people and for his chugging away in the hard times, getting up, getting dressed, putting one foot in front of the other, and going out the door to a job which he, at times, has hated. (When the kids were little and asked, "Daddy, what do YOU do? " he would say, "I put food in your mouth and clothes on your back." They would then look puzzled and reply, "No, you don't, Daddy. We do that ourselves! What do you REALLY do?" And then that poor man would make up all sorts of imaginary scenarios that made the boys want to grow up and get a job like his. Slaying dragons and doing magic tricks for the President.
I need to learn to answer with fantastical answers like he did, I guess.
Honestly, I am enjoying reaping the fruit of what I "did" for 17 years as a homeschooling mom: preparing them for college and for life as adults. "What I did" was educate them, and I didn't get paid for it except that they earned merit scholarships (and one earned two free years on a writing scholarship). That's how I used my English degree that people said I was wasting. I made them "write their butts off," to quote the eldest.
I can tell you what I'm NOT doing--I am NOT regretting spending 24/7 with my greatest earthly gifts while they were in my care.
Season One of my adult life is over, and I am praying for direction in what to "do" in Season Two. Meanwhile, I attend SUPER Bible studies, take care of needy dogs, babysit, load and unload the dishwasher, shop for food, cook it, clean it up, wash toilets, keep the calendar updated, tend my needy dogs (did I say that already?), run carpool twice a day, fix meals, pack lunches, blog a while, check email, dust furniture, fold laundry-- all that stuff that keeps the world on its axis, ya know.
Is it any wonder I say, "I'm an art teacher"? It sounds a little closer to performing magic tricks for the President, although he's quite the magician himself--doing a fine job making our tax dollars disappear.
What do I do? I'd almost rather be asked how much I weigh, so I could respond with something like, "Well, if you pay me 100 times my answer, I'll tell you, bozo!"
I always answer, "I'm an art teacher," which is true, but I only have one class and I don't get paid to teach it. (It's my parent volunteer job, at least for now.)
If I answer with the one thing I do which does pay (babysit), the answer is met with (what feels to me) a condescending look and tone, as if being a mid-life babysitter is petty.
I am afraid to answer any other way, honestly. My husband makes enough to support us, and always has.
But if I say that, I can feel the "it must be nice" vibes of jealousy from others. Some have even voiced it. That hurts. It really does.
I'm very proud of his work ethic and his ability to get along with people and for his chugging away in the hard times, getting up, getting dressed, putting one foot in front of the other, and going out the door to a job which he, at times, has hated. (When the kids were little and asked, "Daddy, what do YOU do? " he would say, "I put food in your mouth and clothes on your back." They would then look puzzled and reply, "No, you don't, Daddy. We do that ourselves! What do you REALLY do?" And then that poor man would make up all sorts of imaginary scenarios that made the boys want to grow up and get a job like his. Slaying dragons and doing magic tricks for the President.
I need to learn to answer with fantastical answers like he did, I guess.
Honestly, I am enjoying reaping the fruit of what I "did" for 17 years as a homeschooling mom: preparing them for college and for life as adults. "What I did" was educate them, and I didn't get paid for it except that they earned merit scholarships (and one earned two free years on a writing scholarship). That's how I used my English degree that people said I was wasting. I made them "write their butts off," to quote the eldest.
I can tell you what I'm NOT doing--I am NOT regretting spending 24/7 with my greatest earthly gifts while they were in my care.
Season One of my adult life is over, and I am praying for direction in what to "do" in Season Two. Meanwhile, I attend SUPER Bible studies, take care of needy dogs, babysit, load and unload the dishwasher, shop for food, cook it, clean it up, wash toilets, keep the calendar updated, tend my needy dogs (did I say that already?), run carpool twice a day, fix meals, pack lunches, blog a while, check email, dust furniture, fold laundry-- all that stuff that keeps the world on its axis, ya know.
Is it any wonder I say, "I'm an art teacher"? It sounds a little closer to performing magic tricks for the President, although he's quite the magician himself--doing a fine job making our tax dollars disappear.
What do I do? I'd almost rather be asked how much I weigh, so I could respond with something like, "Well, if you pay me 100 times my answer, I'll tell you, bozo!"
6. The coaches in this Sunday's big game happen to be real life brothers. Jim Harbaugh coaches the 49er's and his older brother John Harbaugh coaches the Baltimore Ravens. Were you and your sibling(s) competitive? In what way? Are you still? If you're the only child how did you handle competition growing up?
Yes, I have 3 sisters--one older and two younger. My older sister and I were competitive in an unspoken way for most of our growing up years. She was "the brain," always making straight A's. Hard as I tried, I usually made straight A's, minus a B in math or maybe a second B in science. She was the yearbook editor-in-chief, while I played section editor. She was salutatorian; I was somewhere in the top 10 percent of my graduating class. But when she was in 12th grade, and I was in 10th grade, she and I had a fight that ended in a heart-to-heart talk and lots of tears, over the subject of competition. She said she'd give anything to be able to play the piano like I did, to cheer confidently with school spirit in front of a huge gym for a pep rally, to make friends easily. From then on, we celebrated each other's successful niches, and the fighting was over.
Nowadays, we only compete in Words with Friends, but she usually whoops my can.
Nowadays, we only compete in Words with Friends, but she usually whoops my can.
My younger sister is so gifted in ways I can't begin to compete with, so it's a non-issue. She's very outdoorsy, and I'm quite content indoorsy.
My baby sister and I are 14 years apart, so there wasn't really much competition, per se, between us. For the longest time I wanted as much parental attention as she got, but I finally gave up, but she got it simply by being the baby. And nice. She excels in diplomacy, which I could stand to use more of.
My baby sister and I are 14 years apart, so there wasn't really much competition, per se, between us. For the longest time I wanted as much parental attention as she got, but I finally gave up, but she got it simply by being the baby. And nice. She excels in diplomacy, which I could stand to use more of.
And that was totally a sentence that doesn't prove I have an English degree.
7. What's your favorite game involving a ball and when did you last play?
Tennis, and years ago. Before my knees and bladder took the "love" out of the game. Or rather, kept the "love" in it, score-wise, for me. There is no "advantage" to having weak bones and poor muscle tone while trying to hit a little ball hard over a wide net and then run around like a fool trying to return it.
8. Insert your own random thought here.
Very sad news to end on, but I want my praying blogging friends to pray. There is a family in our school whose house burned to the ground just two days before Christmas. Thankfully, no one was injured.
However, this past Saturday, the dad passed away after fighting a long battle with cancer. The mother finds herself a widow, a single mom, and with no home of their own --in just a matter of a month. The funeral is tomorrow. Please take a moment right now to offer a prayer to God on behalf of this family whose three children are left without a daddy and nothing they owned except what they were wearing the day of the fire.
However, this past Saturday, the dad passed away after fighting a long battle with cancer. The mother finds herself a widow, a single mom, and with no home of their own --in just a matter of a month. The funeral is tomorrow. Please take a moment right now to offer a prayer to God on behalf of this family whose three children are left without a daddy and nothing they owned except what they were wearing the day of the fire.
GratiTuesday: Counting 1000 Gifts, #64-84
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| Source: A Holy Experience (Ann Voskamp's blog) |
64. knuckles, allowing for bendage (is that a word?) --er, flexibility
65. clean sheets on the bed
66. a letter I found from my friend, written when we were in our teens
3 Gifts Found in Christ
67. my redemption
68. my hope
69. my forgiveness
3 Things Blue
70. my children's eyes (all 4 of our kids have blue eyes)
71. blueberry jam made by my sister at Christmas
72. a soft navy shirt I picked up at a thrift store
A Grace Borrowed, Found, Inherited
73. organizational ideas
74. an ideal location for my daughter to move to, with another young, Christian woman
75. a love for art, music, and words
A Gift Before Dawn, At Noon, After Dark
76. a warm bed in a quiet house
77. a variety of lunch choices, hot or cold, whether at home or not
78. a moonlit, textured sky
3 Gifts in the Kitchen
79. a dishwasher
80. matzo ball soup
81. special mugs from family, friends, and former students
3 Graces Found in Friends
82. humor from a friend, teasing me in a voice mail: "Did you get that ice storm? It's sunny and 72 here in Kansas!Thought I'd rub that in. Bye!"
83. encouragement
84. being recognized at a new church by a friend I knew 18 years ago in an old church
Friday, January 25, 2013
How Do You Say Goodbye to your Mother?
Last Sunday morning, Betty passed away peacefully in her sleep.
She was my friend Renee's mother.
I had the privilege of getting to say my goodbyes to Betty the night before. Though I'd only met her a few times, I had always enjoyed her company. It was easy to see where Renee's sense of humor came from.
Betty had had a massive stroke six days prior to my visit, and had been unresponsive from then on.
There was an oxygen line in her nose; her mouth hung open. She was breathing rhythmically, in and out.
In
and out.
Morphine kept her comfortable.
I bent close to her to face and rubbed her arm gently. Renee' was standing in the doorway of the private bathroom a few feet away, listening, I think. Tears ran down my cheeks as I struggled to find my voice. No one else was in the room. It felt like holy ground, just the three of us women and God.
"Miss Betty, it's Zoanna. I don't know if you remember me, but I'm one of Renee's friends. I just want to tell you I'm kind of jealous that you will probably be seeing Jesus before I do."
I paused. All I could think of was how lovely must her views be from where she lay. Heaven's brightness, a cloud of witnesses cheering her on: You're almost here. Just a few more steps!
Bolstered by their cheers (since they are cheering me on as well), I spoke to her with renewed strength in my tone.
"We'll be celebrating your life tomorrow while your whole family is still in town.
They want to tell stories and share memories. And I'm sure we'll laugh a lot. You all are so funny. You've raised a good family, Miss Betty. Everyone loves you."
I wanted to sing a hymn, but the words wouldn't come out. Joy sometimes sings without a voice.
"Renee' told everyone who comes in this room to tell you that it's okay to go now, Betty. It's okay. You can go now."
I caressed her arm and told her how soft her skin is.
Renee' piped in at that moment, "It's Estee Lauder. Kept her wrinkles away till she was i rehab. She didn't have her makeup there." I thought of my mom, who has very soft skin and few wrinkles for a 71-year-old woman.
That's when I really started to cry. I turned and looked out the window, tears choking my words. I thought, "How do you say goodbye to your mother? How? How do you say all the things that are in your heart, all your thanks, all your apologies, all your questions about how to be a woman facing the milestones in your own life stages?
How do you say I wish you could be here to see all your grandchildren get married? I wish you could stay to see my joy in becoming a grandmother while you enjoy the overwhelming love of God to grace you with greatgrandchildren.
How do you say, "I'm afraid of being a widow, Mama"? Hold me, Mama, and tell me everything's going to be okay. How do you say, 'Mama I need your wisdom about this empty nest I'm dreading and the silence that will surely fill the house when the last birdie has flown away. Will I welcome the silence later? Will my life have meaning and purpose when I'm no longer in charge of everyone's meals, or schedules, or education, or choice of friends?
Help me, Mama. Help me. Help me let go because it feels like I'm losing the people above and below me in this sandwich of relationships.
I want to say, take Jesus's hand, Mama. He's reaching out to lead you Home. But don't let go of my hand with your other one! Please don't let go of my hand!
Then I hear Jesus say, ever so gently, "It's okay. Let go of your Mama's hand, and take MY other one. I am big enough to walk with both of you, no matter where you are."
She was my friend Renee's mother.
I had the privilege of getting to say my goodbyes to Betty the night before. Though I'd only met her a few times, I had always enjoyed her company. It was easy to see where Renee's sense of humor came from.
Betty had had a massive stroke six days prior to my visit, and had been unresponsive from then on.
There was an oxygen line in her nose; her mouth hung open. She was breathing rhythmically, in and out.
In
and out.
Morphine kept her comfortable.
I bent close to her to face and rubbed her arm gently. Renee' was standing in the doorway of the private bathroom a few feet away, listening, I think. Tears ran down my cheeks as I struggled to find my voice. No one else was in the room. It felt like holy ground, just the three of us women and God.
"Miss Betty, it's Zoanna. I don't know if you remember me, but I'm one of Renee's friends. I just want to tell you I'm kind of jealous that you will probably be seeing Jesus before I do."
I paused. All I could think of was how lovely must her views be from where she lay. Heaven's brightness, a cloud of witnesses cheering her on: You're almost here. Just a few more steps!
Bolstered by their cheers (since they are cheering me on as well), I spoke to her with renewed strength in my tone.
"We'll be celebrating your life tomorrow while your whole family is still in town.
They want to tell stories and share memories. And I'm sure we'll laugh a lot. You all are so funny. You've raised a good family, Miss Betty. Everyone loves you."
I wanted to sing a hymn, but the words wouldn't come out. Joy sometimes sings without a voice.
"Renee' told everyone who comes in this room to tell you that it's okay to go now, Betty. It's okay. You can go now."
I caressed her arm and told her how soft her skin is.
Renee' piped in at that moment, "It's Estee Lauder. Kept her wrinkles away till she was i rehab. She didn't have her makeup there." I thought of my mom, who has very soft skin and few wrinkles for a 71-year-old woman.
That's when I really started to cry. I turned and looked out the window, tears choking my words. I thought, "How do you say goodbye to your mother? How? How do you say all the things that are in your heart, all your thanks, all your apologies, all your questions about how to be a woman facing the milestones in your own life stages?
How do you say I wish you could be here to see all your grandchildren get married? I wish you could stay to see my joy in becoming a grandmother while you enjoy the overwhelming love of God to grace you with greatgrandchildren.
How do you say, "I'm afraid of being a widow, Mama"? Hold me, Mama, and tell me everything's going to be okay. How do you say, 'Mama I need your wisdom about this empty nest I'm dreading and the silence that will surely fill the house when the last birdie has flown away. Will I welcome the silence later? Will my life have meaning and purpose when I'm no longer in charge of everyone's meals, or schedules, or education, or choice of friends?
Help me, Mama. Help me. Help me let go because it feels like I'm losing the people above and below me in this sandwich of relationships.
I want to say, take Jesus's hand, Mama. He's reaching out to lead you Home. But don't let go of my hand with your other one! Please don't let go of my hand!
Then I hear Jesus say, ever so gently, "It's okay. Let go of your Mama's hand, and take MY other one. I am big enough to walk with both of you, no matter where you are."
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