Sunday, February 20, 2011
Friday, February 11, 2011
Is it April yet...
February is weird for me.
Feb 1 marked 2 years since the last time I saw my dad healthy and alive. It was Super Bowl Sunday 2009. I have very vivid memories of this day. Dad brought shrimp cocktail. Kraft cocktail sauce, which I loathe. He wore a red, button down, thick cotton shirt, Levis and the cowboy boots he bought in Murphreesboro, TN in 2007 (when we drove down to see my great grandpa Meyers, who wanted to meet my children).
Emma stood naked in those boot before bathtime that day. Springsteen did the halftime show. My parents left after that.
2 days later dad got news that his cancer was back and was admitted at NWM. It was all downhill from there. The next time I saw him was 2 weeks after that when he was moved to ICU with a mild brain bleed from a fall while trying to use the restroom by himself. I believe the time spent in the neuro ICU is the reason he is dead today. He got C-diff, a violent stomach/intestinal/colon super bug. I went to visit because the c-diff had become so bad they didn't believe he would make it. He eventually got moved back to the cancer floor, his body ravished from the fight with a deadly bug, doing so with an immune system that was non existent. His survival through this alone was a miracle. He was so sick during my visit that he barely lifted his head to acknowledge my presence. He smiled when I walked in and 20 minutes later I had to leave because he'd become so violently ill and I had my 6 month baby (L, who was still without heart repair and highly susceptible to all viruses) with me. I had to pick my infant's health over my own needs to be by my dad's bedside. This would prove to be the first of three similar instances over the next 2 weeks.
I talked to my dad multiple times, every day he was hospitalized throughout his battle with leukemia. That didn't change over the next 2 weeks. He progressively sounded worse on the phone. He had always, ALWAYS wanted to talk to me. About the kids, about my life, about our shared character...traits. His desire to talk to me every day diminished rapidly. One day we laughed over the antics of my then 2yr, 18 and 6 month old. The very next day, I called, a nurse held the phone to his ear and all he said was, "God, I love those kids, KB." (his nickname for me).
February 25 at 2am my youngest child was admitted to CHW, 100 miles from my dad at NWM, with a severe respiratory virus that caused his O2 sats to plummet under 75%. He required regular breathing treatments and around the clock monitoring. I couldn't leave his side. 2 days later I received a call at the hospital from my mom telling me my dad was coming home on hospice care and that his survival through the weekend was unlikely.
I relayed this information to the nurses and doctors tending to my son....the events of the next 36 hours are too raw for me to share. In the shortest version possible, I got my son discharged Saturday at noon and drove the 100 miles to the home I grew up in; the home I would watch my 48year old father die in.
Sunday, March 1, 2009. 5:55pm. I grasped my dad's hand and told him that I could tell he was in pain. That, if he were ready, he needed to let go. Not to worry about us, because I knew that is the only reason he was holding on. That we would be OK. That I loved him. I'd miss him. Every. Single. Day.
I kissed him, let his hand go into my little brother's and walked into the next room to hug my kids and nurse my baby.
No sooner did I sit down and my husband came running into the room, "GO! Now!" he said to me. I ran back into the room in time to see life leave my dad. It was 6:01pm.
I could write pages and pages on the events of that weekend. But those memories are mine. Mine to keep, mine to share privately with the people I choose. That weekend forever changed my life. My faith. The faith of my husband.
Dad brought shrimp cocktail to that last Super Bowl. Tonight a very dear friend served it at dinner at its right at the time of year I struggle most to get out of bed, since dad's death.
I miss him. I miss him all the time. Everyday. I still cannot walk into my parent's house and not see him sitting in the living room. I don't even have to close my eyes and I hear his laugh, his voice. I can see him almost everywhere I go. I still haven't figured out how to exist in a world where my dad doesn't.
But I do. I do exist and the world didn't stop turning even though my life did.
And that is why February is weird. And I hate winter even more now that I did before.
So, if you happen to spend time with me. And if you're someone that knows me well and you notice I don't quite seem like myself, please remember my heart hurts. It hurts every day. Most days I make it through because I have God and my kids and my husband and my mom. Some days though? Some days I'm only as human as God made me.
Feb 1 marked 2 years since the last time I saw my dad healthy and alive. It was Super Bowl Sunday 2009. I have very vivid memories of this day. Dad brought shrimp cocktail. Kraft cocktail sauce, which I loathe. He wore a red, button down, thick cotton shirt, Levis and the cowboy boots he bought in Murphreesboro, TN in 2007 (when we drove down to see my great grandpa Meyers, who wanted to meet my children).
Emma stood naked in those boot before bathtime that day. Springsteen did the halftime show. My parents left after that.
2 days later dad got news that his cancer was back and was admitted at NWM. It was all downhill from there. The next time I saw him was 2 weeks after that when he was moved to ICU with a mild brain bleed from a fall while trying to use the restroom by himself. I believe the time spent in the neuro ICU is the reason he is dead today. He got C-diff, a violent stomach/intestinal/colon super bug. I went to visit because the c-diff had become so bad they didn't believe he would make it. He eventually got moved back to the cancer floor, his body ravished from the fight with a deadly bug, doing so with an immune system that was non existent. His survival through this alone was a miracle. He was so sick during my visit that he barely lifted his head to acknowledge my presence. He smiled when I walked in and 20 minutes later I had to leave because he'd become so violently ill and I had my 6 month baby (L, who was still without heart repair and highly susceptible to all viruses) with me. I had to pick my infant's health over my own needs to be by my dad's bedside. This would prove to be the first of three similar instances over the next 2 weeks.
I talked to my dad multiple times, every day he was hospitalized throughout his battle with leukemia. That didn't change over the next 2 weeks. He progressively sounded worse on the phone. He had always, ALWAYS wanted to talk to me. About the kids, about my life, about our shared character...traits. His desire to talk to me every day diminished rapidly. One day we laughed over the antics of my then 2yr, 18 and 6 month old. The very next day, I called, a nurse held the phone to his ear and all he said was, "God, I love those kids, KB." (his nickname for me).
February 25 at 2am my youngest child was admitted to CHW, 100 miles from my dad at NWM, with a severe respiratory virus that caused his O2 sats to plummet under 75%. He required regular breathing treatments and around the clock monitoring. I couldn't leave his side. 2 days later I received a call at the hospital from my mom telling me my dad was coming home on hospice care and that his survival through the weekend was unlikely.
I relayed this information to the nurses and doctors tending to my son....the events of the next 36 hours are too raw for me to share. In the shortest version possible, I got my son discharged Saturday at noon and drove the 100 miles to the home I grew up in; the home I would watch my 48year old father die in.
Sunday, March 1, 2009. 5:55pm. I grasped my dad's hand and told him that I could tell he was in pain. That, if he were ready, he needed to let go. Not to worry about us, because I knew that is the only reason he was holding on. That we would be OK. That I loved him. I'd miss him. Every. Single. Day.
I kissed him, let his hand go into my little brother's and walked into the next room to hug my kids and nurse my baby.
No sooner did I sit down and my husband came running into the room, "GO! Now!" he said to me. I ran back into the room in time to see life leave my dad. It was 6:01pm.
I could write pages and pages on the events of that weekend. But those memories are mine. Mine to keep, mine to share privately with the people I choose. That weekend forever changed my life. My faith. The faith of my husband.
Dad brought shrimp cocktail to that last Super Bowl. Tonight a very dear friend served it at dinner at its right at the time of year I struggle most to get out of bed, since dad's death.
I miss him. I miss him all the time. Everyday. I still cannot walk into my parent's house and not see him sitting in the living room. I don't even have to close my eyes and I hear his laugh, his voice. I can see him almost everywhere I go. I still haven't figured out how to exist in a world where my dad doesn't.
But I do. I do exist and the world didn't stop turning even though my life did.
And that is why February is weird. And I hate winter even more now that I did before.
So, if you happen to spend time with me. And if you're someone that knows me well and you notice I don't quite seem like myself, please remember my heart hurts. It hurts every day. Most days I make it through because I have God and my kids and my husband and my mom. Some days though? Some days I'm only as human as God made me.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
I'd die for food...
I really would. I eat pretty healthy. Being the mother of 2 heart kids will do that to you. Being the daughter of a man that died from a cancer caused by a chemical additive in motor oil will make you pick everything fresh and organic when possible. It is a lifestyle change, really.
That said...
I. Love. Food. I really, really do. Sauted. Fried. Salads. 5 course meals. Fish. Steak. Grilled veggies. Grilled...ANYTHING! Butter. Olive oil. Bread. White rice. Brown rice. Oranges. Orange liqour. American. Greek. Mexican. Italian. BBQ. Spanish. Lamb. Ribs. Chicken. Zucchini. Squash. Pumpkin. Sweet taters. Hash browns. Corned beef. Eggs. Bacon. Hash browns. Toast. Pot roast. Breeeeeaaaaad. Sweet, sweet breeeeeadd. Which brings me to pasta. Fettuccini. Capanelli. Linguini. Spahgetti. Farfalle. Alfredo. Marinara. Tomato. Pesto. Seafood. Shrimp. Salmon. Halibut. Trout. Tuna. Sea bass. Squid. Cod. Catfish. Orange roughy. Kiiiiiiing Craaaaab......
I could eat all day. I love food. I really, really do. If I couldn't cook, couldn't grill, couldn't roast...
And I promise, I am not 5'2" 300lbs.
I grill all year long. To be from Chicagoland and do that says enough.
My love for food and flavor mayt possibly rival my love for life itself.
I'm no chef. No culinary genius. I can follow a recipe and am decent at making certain things on whim.
But nothing beats a tub of sour cream and a bag of tortilla chips (the good, thick ones. Not Scoops). Or a fresh loaf of whole grain and a stick of soft, unsalted butter. Or possibly a large block of cheese. Any kind. Though I do love feta.
This post may be retarded to some. But for the girl that just cut out dairy and carbs and is near (almost past) the point of breaking...?
Well....
Figure it out!!!
That said...
I. Love. Food. I really, really do. Sauted. Fried. Salads. 5 course meals. Fish. Steak. Grilled veggies. Grilled...ANYTHING! Butter. Olive oil. Bread. White rice. Brown rice. Oranges. Orange liqour. American. Greek. Mexican. Italian. BBQ. Spanish. Lamb. Ribs. Chicken. Zucchini. Squash. Pumpkin. Sweet taters. Hash browns. Corned beef. Eggs. Bacon. Hash browns. Toast. Pot roast. Breeeeeaaaaad. Sweet, sweet breeeeeadd. Which brings me to pasta. Fettuccini. Capanelli. Linguini. Spahgetti. Farfalle. Alfredo. Marinara. Tomato. Pesto. Seafood. Shrimp. Salmon. Halibut. Trout. Tuna. Sea bass. Squid. Cod. Catfish. Orange roughy. Kiiiiiiing Craaaaab......
I could eat all day. I love food. I really, really do. If I couldn't cook, couldn't grill, couldn't roast...
And I promise, I am not 5'2" 300lbs.
I grill all year long. To be from Chicagoland and do that says enough.
My love for food and flavor mayt possibly rival my love for life itself.
I'm no chef. No culinary genius. I can follow a recipe and am decent at making certain things on whim.
But nothing beats a tub of sour cream and a bag of tortilla chips (the good, thick ones. Not Scoops). Or a fresh loaf of whole grain and a stick of soft, unsalted butter. Or possibly a large block of cheese. Any kind. Though I do love feta.
This post may be retarded to some. But for the girl that just cut out dairy and carbs and is near (almost past) the point of breaking...?
Well....
Figure it out!!!
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Ask not what God can do for you, but what you can do for God
I don't want to sound anything like a Kennedy, trust me...buuuuut...
I have had this topic heavy on my mind for quite some time now. I know there is a time for everything. But there is so many things I want to do and so many things I feel I need to do but I lack the means and inspiration to do them. The list of these things is long, but the one I pray on often is this:
What gift did God give ME? What is my purpose here? and Whom am I to help?
I have spent a lot of time pondering my "gift". I have absolutely zero skills. Making it through a day is a God given miracle for me. So when it comes to being gifted?!...psh...I think I missed that train!
In all seriousness, I believe God gave me a gift. I just pray it makes itself apparent to me before I die.
I assume at this point in my life my purpose here is something I may never understand in this life. I believe I was most likely put here to impact somebody's life in a way I would never see. I'm not (or to my dad, wasn't) a great daughter. I'm a good daughter, but as my life as a mother is so busy I feel more involved in my own life than I do in anyone else. I'm a decent wife (and please believe I am not just hatin' on myself here. I just have a level of expectations for each of my duties which I often fall short of-I realize that is MY issue, but I am trying to gauge myself against what I believe would be an average standard). I'm a very sub--standard mother and this is one of the topics of which I pray on and struggle to excel in. I am an awful sibling. I'm judgmental and un-supportive of my sister. I have started to at least try on that front though.
I just feel God's purpose for me is one that I will never know. It's not as if I am a doctor or a member of our armed forces, or involved in our church. This bother's me. I WANT some, even if minimal, sense of direction and purpose. I guess maybe I just need to remember that God does have a purpose for my time here and I may never know.
As far as the people I'm here to help? I don't know. I guess it all comes full circle in this post because I don't want to fool you-I know I am a mother, a wife, a daughter, a sister, a friend, a grand-daughter...I realize that I can be exceptional at each of these things...I guess I just...need to find something that motivates me.
Every week our Pastor speaks of opportunities to get involved in our church. Not only do none of them fit my lifestyle as a mother, but NONE of them appeal to me. I feel like finding God's calling for me to serve would be like finding the man I was meant to love-I'd just know. I have yet to find it.
I am registered on the bone marrow donor list. I thought with my dad's need for blood and stem cells that this would be a place I could help someone else. It's been 2 years and I am still praying for the phone call saying I am a match.
Pray for me. Pray I find some direction, a true north. Pray God gives me guidance to raise my kids with His love in their lives and obvious in my actions and words. Pray that I can be for myself what I long to be for the people I love and the people I have yet to meet.
I have had this topic heavy on my mind for quite some time now. I know there is a time for everything. But there is so many things I want to do and so many things I feel I need to do but I lack the means and inspiration to do them. The list of these things is long, but the one I pray on often is this:
What gift did God give ME? What is my purpose here? and Whom am I to help?
I have spent a lot of time pondering my "gift". I have absolutely zero skills. Making it through a day is a God given miracle for me. So when it comes to being gifted?!...psh...I think I missed that train!
In all seriousness, I believe God gave me a gift. I just pray it makes itself apparent to me before I die.
I assume at this point in my life my purpose here is something I may never understand in this life. I believe I was most likely put here to impact somebody's life in a way I would never see. I'm not (or to my dad, wasn't) a great daughter. I'm a good daughter, but as my life as a mother is so busy I feel more involved in my own life than I do in anyone else. I'm a decent wife (and please believe I am not just hatin' on myself here. I just have a level of expectations for each of my duties which I often fall short of-I realize that is MY issue, but I am trying to gauge myself against what I believe would be an average standard). I'm a very sub--standard mother and this is one of the topics of which I pray on and struggle to excel in. I am an awful sibling. I'm judgmental and un-supportive of my sister. I have started to at least try on that front though.
I just feel God's purpose for me is one that I will never know. It's not as if I am a doctor or a member of our armed forces, or involved in our church. This bother's me. I WANT some, even if minimal, sense of direction and purpose. I guess maybe I just need to remember that God does have a purpose for my time here and I may never know.
As far as the people I'm here to help? I don't know. I guess it all comes full circle in this post because I don't want to fool you-I know I am a mother, a wife, a daughter, a sister, a friend, a grand-daughter...I realize that I can be exceptional at each of these things...I guess I just...need to find something that motivates me.
Every week our Pastor speaks of opportunities to get involved in our church. Not only do none of them fit my lifestyle as a mother, but NONE of them appeal to me. I feel like finding God's calling for me to serve would be like finding the man I was meant to love-I'd just know. I have yet to find it.
I am registered on the bone marrow donor list. I thought with my dad's need for blood and stem cells that this would be a place I could help someone else. It's been 2 years and I am still praying for the phone call saying I am a match.
Pray for me. Pray I find some direction, a true north. Pray God gives me guidance to raise my kids with His love in their lives and obvious in my actions and words. Pray that I can be for myself what I long to be for the people I love and the people I have yet to meet.
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