A Christmas to Forget

For these past nearly 5 years, I have worked very hard to keep my mouth shut, to hold quietly the pain that became my continuous companion following a family member's decision to "take me out to the back shed and whip me," bringing along everyone in the family, and watching as I writhed in pain.

These nearly five years have been the worst, the most painful, the most unbelievable, and the most revealing of the character of others. The behavior that I am referring to was a direct hit that eventually brought my marriage to a halt, even though the hit did not come from my husband. It served to stir up childhood wounding and trauma, to the degree that there was not an agreeable solution to be found.

Although it appeared that things might have righted themselves following the death of my sweetheart of 46 years, it was only fleeting. There has been discord between members of the family that really haven't had discord before, and it is the same family member that has stirred up more trouble. Gone are the happy-go-lucky get togethers that we had always been accustomed to. 

This was the first Christmas that I had to figure out and pay for all of the gifts for the family. It is something that Mike and I always worked on together, and even when we were divorced by Christmas of 2020, we still combined forces, choosing gifts, and split the cost 50/50. Although my name was on the tags for gifts, this family member and family thanked Mike profusely for their gifts and said nothing to me. They mailed me a small gift, a mug with a box of tea, an obligatory offering to appease their consciences.

Christmas of 2021 was oh so difficult. Mike and I were much too emotional during the holidays of 2020 to go through our holiday bins. Neither of us used any of the Christmas things we had collected over the 4+ decades. We determined that we would wait a year and go through everything then, when our emotions were less raw. By the time Christmas of 2021 rolled around, Mike had been gone for 3 months. Not only did we not go through our things, I could not even bring myself to put a single decoration up in my home; not the small tree I purchased last year, not the stockings I had purchased for me and the pups, not the little nativity that I had found, etc. Not one thing; I simply could not do it. 

I did however decide I wanted to do something nice for the family, after all we'd been through with Mike's death. I settled on play tickets to the Hale Theater for the girls and their spouses/guest, with dinner and dessert gift cards so they could enjoy a whole evening all together. I went looking for individual pizza slice boxes to print out and put the restaurants's logo on, to the ice cream store to get containers to decorate and hold the gift cards for dessert. I had a really difficult time figuring out what would make sense to hold the play tickets, and settled on theater-sized boxes of Dots candy. Those were hard to find! Mike LOVED Dots, so I oh-so-gently opened the cellophane wrap and box end, slipping the tickets inside, labeling the box "(Hale) Theater Sized" and carefully sealing it all back up. It took a lot of time and effort, but I was in need of a chance to use some creativity.

I hunted around, looking for a "memorial" ornament to give the girls that would hold a picture of Mike. I found some online, they were sturdy and nice, and it took me forever to finally get a headshot the right size to fit into it. I had purchased plaques for their homes that mentioned a loved one in heaven. I bought socks for each of them, and a nice toy for the dog (our family likes to give each other gifts for our pets.) 

I wanted a horse theme for the grands (because I was not allowed to use any of Mike's clothes to make bears or quilts or pillows, etc.) I spent much too much time hunting online for soft fleece blankets, each one unique, and ran into many difficulties. In the end, I spent more than double due to getting things that weren't quite right (very thin fleece that was more of a wall hanging, etc., and could not be returned.) I stewed over the blankets; they were different sizes and types, and I didn't know how I would decide which boys would get which one. I also got different horse ornaments, hoping it would be representative of Papa. I wrapped the blankets with a little note taped to it that said, "Consider this a warm hug from Papa." 

I made little candy sleighs for the grands, again taking much longer than I'd anticipated, costing much more than I planned, but I enjoyed it and hoped they would too. I settled on taping a number to each sleigh, and putting a number of each bag with the ornaments and each blanket, so they could choose a sleigh and whatever number was behind Santa corresponded with the packages they would open. I hoped they would appreciate that I was trying to bring Papa into Christmas, even though he could not be with us.

Then after Christmas, Covid came for a visit in the family. Three of the eleven of us did not get it, but the rest did. So we never gathered. On Christmas day, I got no greeting from this family, so I kind of figured that things had shifted back to the pre-Mike's death behaviors and attitudes that had prevailed for nearly 5 years. Following Christmas, the same family member as mentioned earlier, sent an email with a fairly curt-sounding request for something they wanted me to pay for. Because I had read the will and consulted with an attorney, I knew that it was not mine to pay, and I very kindly replied with that explanation. The only response I got was having my access removed from all of the shared documents the family worked on throughout the funeral planning and beyond. It didn't feel good, but I knew that was the intent.

The Christmas gifts were delivered via other family members. The other families made mention of the gifts and were excited. The other one said nothing. They sent a gift bag to a family member that would see me and be able to give it to me. I opened it and it was box of Hawaiian Host candy, although no one had traveled to Hawaii. I figured it was regifted and was obligatory, just as the year before had been. (I won't even reveal where those candies went, how I very ceremoniously dealt with them, but I don't like putting unkind/mean-spirited "vibrations" or "energy" into my body, so I wasn't about to eat them.) They were intended as an insult, and their value was less than what I had paid for the gift for their dog. 

A few days later, I was in need of some documents from Mike's files, documents that belong to me, and I had repeatedly asked for them over a month's time, and eventually ended up having another family member also make a plea for me to get them. They were pertinent to my financial planning for the future and I was meeting with my advisor. I got a phone call from a family member, wanting clarification of which of the documents was most urgently needed. I explained. I also got a "We owe you a thank you for the gifts," even though that would not have been mentioned if there hadn't been a reason to make the phone call. We discussed the horse blankets, and when I asked who had gotten a bigger one, the response was, "They were all . . . too small." The tone of voice told me all I needed to know. They were not up to snuff, not appreciated, and will likely end up at the thrift store or used as the dog's bed.

As a daughter, I cannot fathom treating my mother or my inlaws in the way that I have been treated, and continue to be treated. There is something so hateful and deliberate about the actions that are taken, or good things not said or done that would be usual in a family. Mike was at least a buffer, and would also let me know when the grands were involved in a concert or sports games. I will now not be informed or invited at all. Grandparent alienation. 

I am sad for myself, but even more than that, I am heartbroken that family members of mine can harbor such hate in their hearts. They somehow justify being cruel. They fling blame at me as if I am solely responsible for their happiness or unhappiness. People who know me well know that I am not an unkind person. I have my faults, but unkindness is not one of them. And it was never acceptable in our home. Mike and I used to wonder, over those four years prior to his death, how on earth someone in our own family could justify such cruel attitudes and behaviors. They were never aimed at Mike though, only me. 

I pray for them. I pray for my own heart. I don't want to be filled with judgment and anger. I don't want to constantly have to protect myself either. I cannot change another's perception, only they can do that. I have given and given and given, and it has gone unappreciated and unthanked. My consolation is that God knows my heart. God knows my efforts to show love. God knows me, and that matters so much more than the judgment of mortals. 

The Day That Changed My Whole Life

Fall. A time of change. The leaves change, the weather changes, and for me, my world has changed numerous times in the fall. I have had many surgeries in the fall and illnesses from earlier surgery, that have nearly taken my life. I have been working hard to make peace with Fall for many years, and I was about 95% there.

Then this. The most shocking and tragic thing that I have ever had to face. 

Mike and I have had a rough go of things over these past four years. There would be nothing good about going into the details. In early 2020, we made the decision to divorce, even though that goes against everything we believe in. We seemed to be stuck between a rock and a hard place. He moved two miles away, living in an apartment as he figured out where he'd buy another home. After a year, he found a townhome in the city of Santaquin, which is about a 50 minute drive from where I am.

His daughters encouraged him not to move so far away. I didn't think it was wise, but at this point, I kept my feelings to myself. It turned out that he loved Santaquin! The people were down to earth, his church leaders were attentive to him and his health struggles, and he appreciated that. There was a cattle guard right there near the freeway, evidence of the fact that this was "country" and there were big animals around.

I have a patient that is in a care facility in Santaquin. Since Mike and I shared the two pups that we had gotten prior to divorcing, we both loved them, and we traded off having them at our homes. So when he had them, and I hadn't seen them for days, I would sometimes stop at his place and say hello to my furry "kids" that I missed since I was right there in town to see my patient.

Over the past year or so, Mike and I had made peace with our situation. As long as we did not talk about what led up to divorcing, we got along really well. We went in together for the Christmas gifts for the family, we sometimes took a grandson to a birthday meal or event, together we attended games and concerts of the grands. We had a text thread going, and were in contact every day. 

Amy had this to say, "Even though it was weird and confusing sometimes the way he kept so connected with you after the divorce, now that he is gone, I’m so grateful you two were still so plugged into each other. I feel like your divorce, though difficult and heartbreaking for both of you, gave you both space to appreciate and enjoy each other for the last year and a half of his life without the difficulty of living together and the tension and stress that was present when you were married. Now that I have the full picture of how little time he had left, it almost feels like a tender mercy that you could have that shift in your relationship before he was gone. ❤️"

When Mike moved so far away, I mentioned several times to friends and family, that I was worried that we'd just find him dead because none of us would know he wasn't doing okay. Unfortunately, that is pretty much what happened.

The Monday evening prior to his passing, he called and told me he was thinking about going to the E.R. We talked about his symptoms, and he expressed his concerns that he would get hassled there because he was not vaccinated and was never going to be. We talked about urgent care, then about calling our doctor and seeing if she felt a trip there was warranted. I got the on-call number for him, and he made the call. The doctor on call that evening was not our doctor, and Mike did not trust other doctors, as he has had some bad experiences with them.

I learned the next morning that he had not done any of the things we discussed. However he was feeling better, he brought the dogs to me, and went to get a new windshield in Salt Lake. Several times during that week, he mentioned how he would go up the stairs and his chest would hurt, sometimes going away when he rested, other times not. It is of note that he has had chest pain off and on for years, so this did not seem particularly alarming.

On Thursday, he texted that he wondered if he might have pneumonia, and that maybe that was causing the chest pain. He had a long-awaited doctor's appointment on Friday morning, and he was anxious to get in to see her and get some answers about the chest pain and other ailments.

On Friday morning, I woke up to several texts from him, one was a video link to a story about a man finding a stone carved bear in the Uinta mountains, with him saying "a special guest." I hadn't watched it yet, but texted him wondering if he'd ever been sound asleep, only to have Denver scratching so hard that his leg was banging on the bedroom door and scaring me into awakeness? At 8:32 a.m., he replied "yes" to my text. (That turned out to be the last thing any earthly being heard from him. If I'd only known.) I eventually watched the video, seeing that the "special guest" was a man that lived down the street from us and was in our ward in Mapleton. I commented on this, asking if Mike knew who the other man was, because he seemed familiar to me.

I drove up to Ogden to fill out the paperwork for a new car that I was leasing. The car was not there, it was in Las Vegas, but I completed the necessary forms and became "owner" of the car. I texted Mike to ask him how his doctor appointment had gone. Later, when I had not heard anything back, I thought, "Well, he was driving to the doctor, then in with the doctor, and maybe she sent him to a hospital for some tests?" It was not alarming that I hadn't heard because of that thought. But as the day wore on, and there was no word, especially nothing about what the doctor may have told him, I began to get concerned.

I texted Amy to see if she had heard from him.  She said she hadn't, had I? (This is something we've done many times in the last 18 months, so even this was not alarming.) I told her about the morning, the doctor appointment, the chest pain during the week, and no response throughout the day. She called and texted him without response, then said she'd get in touch with her sisters to see if either of them had heard from him. When they said they hadn't, and I explained about the thought that maybe he was at a hospital having tests done, she began calling hospitals to see if he might be at one. I also said that the police could do a welfare check.

After some back and forth, with me being the only one with a key to his home, but living the furthest away, Amy said that Melissa and Joey were going to head down there, as they were the closest. They had the garage code and could get in if needed. Amy and I kept talking, trying to figure out what might be happening, beginning to worry. After about 45 min., Melissa and Joey discovered that the code they had did not work. Amy had called the police, and they were there, getting no answer from their pounding on the door, etc. This had now been more than 90 minutes that we were trying to figure things out. 

We then learned that the police were able to see that his car was in the garage, which made all of our other ideas completely moot. Our hearts began to sink. This was so not good.

As the possible reality began to sink in, we started to cry, but were still holding onto the slightest bit of hope that maybe he was too sick to answer the phone or door. I offered to drive down with the key, but then remembered that Mike had given me the garage code by text awhile ago. So I began scanning my texts (it did not show up on a search), meanwhile the fire department had come as well. I scanned and scanned and scanned, for probably 20 or more minutes, and finally found it, just as the police were going to break a window to get in. 

 

With the code, they got into the home, and as we waited to hear, it seemed to take forever to learn anything. Amy and I both felt as though we were going to throw up. Every minute that passed seemed like a week. The police had made Melissa and Joey stay downstairs while they went to investigate. 

Then Melissa called me and very calmly said, "The police found him deceased."

NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!

That seemed to be the only word I had in my vocabulary, and I think I said it a thousand times. NO, no, no, this could not be real. The very thing I have worried about for so long had just come to pass. 

Amy was still at work in Lehi and Aubrey was with Amy's children at Amy's house in Saratoga Springs. Amy did not want to tell Aubrey what had happened because she didn't want to have Aubrey learn of it right in front of the children. She called the boys' dad and asked if he could come get the children, then she would tell Aubrey. Aubrey's husband Forrest drove the two of them down there, but I was stuck in Draper all alone. 

I got in my car, remembering that I had not put gas in earlier, which is not usual for me. I don't let it get near empty because I don't think it is safe, if there's ever an emergency. But there it was, nearly empty. I have a 7-11 very close by, and as I waited for the signal light to turn, I was sobbing great big heaving sobs in my car. I have no idea if anyone saw, but I could not control any of this. 

I got to the gas pump and had a thought to call my sister, Colette, to tell her what had happened. She told me to go back home, that she was coming to get me. I had the dogs with me, so I walked them near my house, all the while sobbing. My world had just been turned upside down and was shook around, and I did not know what to do. Finally Colette and her husband Cory arrived, we piled into my car with Cory at the wheel, got gas, and headed down there.

The police were in the parking lot, and as I entered Mike's home, there was a policeman in the kitchen. I had no idea why, but one of my thoughts was that I, the ex-wife with the big insurance policy, might be suspect. I watch too much Dateline and know how these things sometimes go. But at this point, I didn't care why he was there, I just wanted to be with the family as we tried to make some sort of sense out of all of this.

There was a man in a white shirt and tie, standing in the living room. I asked if he was Mike's bishop, as I knew the girls had tried to reach him too to see if he could check on Mike. He said no, he was the funeral director. A very kind, soft-spoken man. The police said it appeared that Mike had been kneeling at his bedside, praying. We talked about going up to see the body. None of the girls wanted to see, but I felt like I needed to, and I wanted the dogs to have an opportunity to have some idea what had happened. I had been warned that there was "some discoloring" of his face.

Well, I work in hospice. I see plenty of deceased people, and I've seen pale skin with areas that look like bruising, so I wasn't alarmed. My sis and her husband climbed the stairs with me, and there he was, lying on the floor next to the bed, with a sheet over him. This was all so very surreal. Completely incomprehensible to me. I uncovered his face and saw that his skin was very, very dark, something I wasn't prepared for as I have never seen or even heard of that.

I let the dogs sniff around a bit, hoping they could put the pieces together and realize that Dad was no longer alive. They LOVED Dad! Especially Murphey, who would almost completely ignore me when Mike was present. He was All. About. Dad. This was heartbreaking to me. These pups have spent half their life at Dad's house and their world all changed then too.

I have this sense of waiting, waiting to have Mike get in touch with me to fill me in on all that has gone on. We were always sharing the details, and even though my brain knows this will not happen, I still "feel" that way. He used to travel to Europe for writing seminars, and I'd wait for him to call after the long plane ride, getting transport to the hotel, etc. No cell phones back then, so it was sometimes a long, long wait. I waited for two years while he was serving a mission. Yes, I got weekly letters, but still it was a whole lot of waiting. Prior to marriage, we never lived anywhere near one another, and it was always waiting, waiting, waiting for the next time we could be together. I have become more familiar with "waiting" than I wish I was. This is a waiting that could go on for decades. 

I don't know what the future will look like. I have to take it one day at a time. I am so heartbroken that I have a tough time concentrating. I have about a dozen patient visits to chart at the moment, but it is so hard to focus. I know that time will ease some of the intensity of the pain; I also know that time does not heal a broken heart or the grief that we feel at the loss of a loved-one. We simply learn to live with the loss. "Closure" is a myth. The way we humans are wired means we will always remember our loss. Sometimes, years down the road, there will be a trigger, and the tears will start. I see it all the time with the people I visit and the grief groups that I facilitate. 

These are Mike's cowboy boots. They were with his cowboy things on display. They then rode backwards in the saddle of the rider-less horse, as it guided the hearse to the cemetery. This was Mike's "last ride." Someone recently told me that when they saw these boots on my porch, it choked them up. It is tender. And my goal is to keep flowers in them for as long as I am able. Mike loved fresh flowers, and I would see them on his table when I went to his home. Some months they will need to stay inside to keep the flowers from freezing. These flowers are nearly two weeks old, and they still look so good! 

Life will go on. The world will continue to turn. There will be happy days and profoundly sad days. His birthday is barely over a month away. Then Thanksgiving. Then Christmas. Then New Year's, and on and on. I really can't think that far ahead, so I don't. I feel reasonably certain that I will make it through tomorrow though. And that is what I can do. 

Farewell my love. Farewell. Until we meet again . . . . 

Bitter or Better? An Instrument of Peace

Four years ago today, my whole world collapsed. I received a very unexpected email from a family member (FM), detailing every single thing that FM feels is wrong with me. Either things that I do that are troublesome or things that I don't do that I should be doing. I believe there were 16 things listed there (I have long since deleted the email, so I am uncertain). FM signed the email as though it was from everyone in the family. 

I had the sense that I had been standing before a firing squad, and everyone in the family held a gun, with a real bullet, and took a shot. I literally fell to the ground, uncertain how to keep on living, and wondering if I even wanted to do so. I was in a state of complete shock. From my vantage point, there had been no lead-up to this and it caught me by complete surprise. I looked to the person that I believed would have my back, but for reasons that I cannot share, I learned many months down the road, that was never going to happen. 

I had no one to comfort me, no one to listen to my pain, no one to catch me as I fell. (To be fair, I had some dear chaplain friends who "sat in the ashes" with me. If you ever have a collapse, find a chaplain or two to be with you!) 

I wouldn't wish this on anyone. Ever. I still cry as I remember how it all played out. How our once unified, supportive family, was coming apart at the seams. I would later realize that nothing would ever be the same again. I had to learn to say goodbye to not only what had been, but also to what I always thought would be, from here to eternity. Such a brutal realization and painful goodbye.

As I sit here, four years later, I am still grieving. I am still gun shy. I am still wondering how on earth this all turned out the way that it did. I remind myself that we each came to this earth with our agency. We get to choose what we do, we get to handle things the way we choose, we get to respond in the way that we choose. We don't, however, get to choose how others behave, how they deal with their own issues, or how they decide to live their lives. I honor agency. I work hard to stay in my own lane and leave others to their own choices.

I wonder at times, what will my future be like? What will my eternity be like? I honestly have no idea whatsoever! I can only go from one day to the next, making it through in the best way that I know how. I remind myself every day that I can and do trust God. A walk by faith means a walk in the dark. As the world seems to spin out of control, it is more important than ever that I live in faith.

To be honest, it is a battle for me to not feel bitter. I have to fight my own mortal feelings nearly every day. I want to live a life of forgiveness, a life of acceptance, a life of love. I want to be a person that facilitates healing, that assists others to feel God's love and peace. The only way that I can do that is to begin with doing it myself. 

Lord, Make Me an Instrument of Your Peace

Where there is hatred, let me sow love. 
Where there is injury -- pardon.
Where there is doubt -- faith.
Where there is despair -- hope.
Where there is sadness -- joy.
Oh Divine Master, grant that I may
not so much seek to be
consoled, as to console;
To be understood, as to understand;
To be loved, as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive;
It is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
And it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.
Amen.

I have never claimed to be perfect, to have been a perfect wife and mother, a perfect child of God. I am full of flaws and weaknesses. I get to learn things every day. I get to love and forgive every day. But I do not get to blame anyone else for anything. It is my agency that allows me to choose whether to end up bitter or better. That part is my journey and mine alone. 

I pray that I honor God in how I walk with His children. To love them and not harm them. To teach them through love. To sit in the ashes with them when they falter or mourn. To love them as He loves them.

Instrument of Peace - Canadian Tenors

Lord, make me an instrument of peace. 

Sometimes Things Unravel

Every other Tuesday afternoon, you can find me facilitating a grief support group. One thing that we all know and acknowledge is that the holidays magnify feelings of loss. I have been anticipating my own challenges as I faced the holidays, with a marriage dissolved and family estrangement issues that have plagued my life for the last few years. I learned some things when it came to Thanksgiving. I cooked a number of traditional things, including an expensive organic turkey, being unsure if a family member or friend might end up coming over. I wanted to be prepared. My former spouse mentioned that he had a variety of things that he'd share, and we ended up swapping some different foods. In the end, no one came, and my kitchen looked like a bomb had gone off in it. I had all of the expense and mess of Thanksgiving dinner, but none of the joy. I will not be making that mistake again in the years to come.

Then the Christmas season began. So many emotions swirling around. I knew that I could not handle all of the Christmas decor and memories in the bins stored in the garage. I initially told my former spouse that there were a few childhood things I'd like to hang onto and he could take the rest. Then I came to the conclusion that this year was not the year to make any decisions about our Christmas things and suggested we decide next year. I knew the tree was too heavy for me to manage alone, so I sold the tree and bought a much, much smaller one. I decorated it with simple things, different from anything we had used as a family. I got a great deal on a new nativity piece and bought new stockings for me and the dogs. I attended some of my favorite events, The Forgotten Carols on the big screen, and A Christmas Carol live theater with a friend. 

Due to Covid, I knew there probably wasn't going to be a whole family gathering. I had a hospice patient that lived to crochet and, especially during quarantine, needed yarn. I had seen how she had made hats and scarves, so I chose yarn that I thought one of my daughter's would like. My patient whipped out her scarf and hat, so I got more yarn. As the weeks, then months, went by, she was busily crocheting something for everyone in my family. Some even had two hats with each scarf if there was extra yarn. Little by little, her health was beginning to decline, and some of the scarves were too short, etc. And when I spread everything out, I realized that I was short one set. My patient had gone to live with a family member, so if I was going to have something for everyone, it was up to me to figure it out. I got on YouTube and learned to crochet. My work was far from perfect, but not too bad for a newbie. The scarf turned out but I was struggling with the hat. I had done a ton of crochet work, following a gal on YT, and I knew it wasn't turning out. I ended up unraveling hours and hours and hours worth of crocheting time, and starting the hat all over. After crocheting well into the wee hours of the morning, many nights in the past few weeks, I finally finished it on Christmas Eve. Maybe it will fit. I'm still not sure. 

I was anticipating that we might have the whole family open theirs together on a Zoom gathering, which would serve two purposes. One would be the chance to see what everyone else's looked like, another would be my ability to take a screen shot with everyone wearing their new set, and send it to her, so she could share in the joy of her work. I have been anticipating this, wrapping all of these hat and scarf sets in the same paper, so everyone would know which gifts not to open until the Zoom gathering. I honestly didn't know if we'd be able to pull it off, but it was sounding as though we might. 

I also had the thought that it would be nice to make the "wedding cinnamon rolls" that our family has made since serving them at Amy's wedding reception. I remember that my parents used to deliver hot sticky buns to our homes on Christmas morning, so I thought I might do the same with the cinnamon rolls. I had all of the ingredients and got started. Oops, I realized that I needed brown sugar. Too late on Christmas Eve, as the stores closed extra early this year. Then I realized I needed powdered sugar. Oops again. A neighbor had the brown sugar, and YouTube helped me with how to make powdered sugar from granulated. I haven't made cinnamon rolls for years, and my goodness, what a mess they made in my kitchen! When I stand for long in basically one position, my lower back begins to spasm, and the only relief is to sit down for a bit. I did a lot of standing/sitting! I got them mixed, raised, rolled, cut, and on the pan for the second rise. I put them into the fridge though, so they could rise in the morning, then bake, and be hot for delivery. After cleaning the entire kitchen, finishing a little wrapping, I crawled into bed at 1:30 a.m., with my whole body aching, and tried to sleep.

It was a rough night. The reality that this was the first Christmas, my 61st Christmas to be exact, that I would awaken to find no one here and no gifts under the tree, no stockings filled, no one to say Merry Christmas to, etc., and I could not stop the tears. How did it all come to this? Christmas will never be anything like it has ever been for me. It is like getting hit in the face by a brick. 

I woke up and attended to the cinnamon rolls. As I placed them, piping hot and frosted, onto plates, it occurred to me that they might not be welcome, or "I" might not be welcome, at a couple of homes, for reasons that I don't fully understand. One daughter knew I was making them and was looking forward to them, so I delivered them to her home and was able to see the gifts the children had received. My ex decided that he'd like one, which is extremely unusual, but he ate it. I dropped off a couple of them to a friend. And I ate two, the only things I've had the whole day. Not because I didn't plan for a meal, but because the days' plans fell apart and stole my appetite with them.

One daughter was stressed and didn't want to Zoom today, but she would not say why. Another daughter told me why. I offered to bring some dinner, asking how I might help, but was rebuffed. One family did not respond to the text thread about when we would Zoom, and little by little, things were unraveling just as the poorly crocheted hat had. All of this started poking at my tender spots, reminding me that I am not a welcome or valued member of my family. It doesn't matter if everyone is getting a hand-crocheted scarf and hat set, or that Mom offers help to a struggling child, or that there is side communication and everyone else knows what is happening except for me. They don't know how much it hurts, for the simple reason that they don't care. By then, there was no longer a reason to even try, and I suggested everyone open those packages when they wished and send a pic to me so that it could be sent to my patient. 

I crawled in the bathtub, leaving my phone elsewhere, no longer wanting any communication with anyone. It is such a betrayal for me; there is so much misunderstanding, miscommunication, skewed perception, etc., that I have to just set it all aside and hope I'm distracted by something else. I sat in the hot water, crying, praying, wishing life did not feel as awful as it does. I give and give and give, but in the end, I really don't mean anything to anyone. Big fat ouch. That's a pretty rough realization. Maybe a little rougher to be with on Christmas Day.

So, I will remember why we celebrate this day. Why it matters that a little baby was born in Bethlehem. How it makes a difference in how I act, how I serve, how I forgive, and how I love. When I focus on my deeply held belief that somehow, all pain will be turned to joy, then I feel gratitude for the day to celebrate the Savior's birth. There is so much to be grateful for. Happy Birthday Jesus!!

On D.I.V.O.R.C.E.

Wanna know what I think of divorce? I wish I could answer that in a sentence or two. Instead, my mind races all over everywhere about what it is like.

For forty plus years, I had no idea what divorced people really felt like. I still couldn’t say that I know how anyone else feels, because we all experience things in very different ways. And until about two years ago, I never in my wildest imagination thought that I would ever be a divorced person. It still hits me in strange ways, pretty much every single day. And it absolutely does a number on your self-esteem.

I spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about divorce, what led up to it, who was involved in how and why it happened, and on and on. It is complex. It is somewhat mystifying. And because I don’t need to air everyone’s dirty laundry, I won’t share the gory details of it all. Nevertheless, divorce does not happen in a vacuum; there are often numerous layers and players, and a whole boatload of misunderstandings and misperceptions.

One thing that I feel fairly certain of is, there are things that happened before this life that we likely are not conscious of. But I absolutely believe we were involved in some way and quite possibly made agreements/contracts with others. Others that need our help, others that we need help from, people who will have information that we need here, contracts regarding our learning here and who will help us do that. I have wondered to myself if my 40 yr. marriage was just that, a contract for 40 years. (I half-jokingly posted, on our 40th anniversary in August of 2019, that we had been wandering in the wilderness for 40 years, but so far had not found the promised land. I said that because there were so many unresolved issues that I honestly did not know if we were going to make it any further.) We would fall in love, marry, raise our family, and eventually a pot would get stirred, issues would not get resolved, and that would bring us to the place where we came to the end of the contract. It is one way I can begin to make peace with a situation that I cannot change. 

We all have our agency. We make choices and decisions that not only affect us, but affect others. Others’ agency is constantly bumping into our own. We don’t always know what others will do, or why they will do what they do. We can’t always make sense of their choices, and sometimes we can’t make sense of our own! I do know that one person’s agency, one person’s decision to deal with their “stuff” in the manner that they did, had a profound effect on our ability to sort through our differences, to come together on solutions, and to resolve what came bubbling up to the surface. I don’t blame anyone else for the problems that we faced, but those problems, due to another’s choices, became so large that it was best to go our separate ways and put an end to the pain that occurs when spouses have expectations from one another that are not being met.

I re-read an article the other day, "The Silent Killer of Relationships," something I had seen some time ago. The author attended a seminar where the presenter asked what the number one reason is that people get divorced. The author, who thought he was so smart and knew exactly the right answer, said “Sex, finances and communication,” and the presenter said, “Wrong!” The number one reason is “unmet expectations.” And sure enough, that would describe my feelings exactly, and I feel fairly certain it describes my ex’s feelings as well. For me, when the one person in the family dished out their “issues” in the way that they did, it was my expectation that my spouse would prioritize things, and me, in a particular way. When that did not occur, and after nearly three years of going up and down and all around the troubles and what was behind them, it became evident that, due to deeply ingrained things, nothing was going to change. He may well have a similar story to tell.

Consequently, we are a family divided, fragmented. There is no joy for me in a family gathering, as there once was. (And we haven’t had one with everyone since Christmas 2018, which was painful for me.) I have an arch-enemy that helped this all get going, who influenced others, and who remains firmly on one side with no apparent desire to try to resolve any of it. If I have learned anything here, it is that, as adults, we cannot “make” anyone do anything. We can hope, we can pray, we can invite, but we cannot force. And when someone has planted their heels firmly in the ground, our best choice is to let it go. That isn’t to say that we are relieved of the commandment to forgive, because we are not, but we can also let go of any expectation that someone else will ever change how they think and feel, or are willing to at least take a look at a situation from other perspectives. And because “hanging onto” the idea that someone else will change, and it does not happen as years go by, is terribly painful and energy-sucking, then letting go is a matter of survival. 

I have been labeled a narcissist. I have been called abusive. I have been accused of never apologizing. I have been told that I always have to be right about everything. I have been accused of posting passive-aggressively to my family members on social media. It was insinuated that I was having an affair. If I was truly all of the things that I have been accused of, and there were more, I, quite frankly, wouldn’t want anything to do with me either!  But that is one person’s proclaimed perception, although their influence on others has been profound. But their perception does not make it the truth. Painful? Yes. Truthful? No. 

I have very little interaction with some of my grandsons. I’m certain they have heard all manner of things about their nana, and it is one of the most painful things imaginable. Or, it is the most painful thing imaginable. I can’t go and “clear the record,” and tell them that what they are hearing is not true. I have no place undermining a parent, and I would not do so, even if it leaves me looking like the spawn of Satan. My wounds are gaping though, and my only balm is knowing that God knows the truth, He knows every single thing about me, and he knows my heart intimately. It is also helpful that a therapist, after several years of time spent together, has very different conclusions than the mix that was sent my way. Particularly with the narcissist accusation, the therapist said, “I have visited with every member of your family. I have been doing this for almost 40 years. Trust me, I know a narcissist when I meet one! You are simply not a narcissist.” But that particular accusation has caught hold and fanned the flames of this entire situation to the point that there is no longer a reason to attempt to disprove it. Sometimes people need to believe certain things in order for them to be “right” about some of their own deeper feelings and beliefs, and another person becomes their “evidence” to make them right. This is all tied in with perception but not always with truth. 

I am learning how to live life on my own. Not because I want to, but because I need to. I researched and bought tires for the car that I now own alone. I had to take it in for an oil leak. (And hallelujah! I've found a repair shop, thanks to one of my daughters, that does not try to to take advantage of women who may not know a lot about car repairs. A blessing!) I replaced all of the smoke alarms in my house yesterday, even the one on the vaulted ceiling above my bed. I nearly broke my neck trying to figure out how to reach it with the soft mattress below, but after a couple of misfires, I figured out a safe way to do it. I climbed the ladder and replaced bulbs in my garage door opener, then 3 of 4 bulbs in my kitchen. It’s not that I haven’t done some of these things before (well, I’ve replaced batteries in a smoke alarm, but not the whole dang thing!), but I never had to do them, or had to do them without assistance. I reprogrammed my garage opener remote. I nearly started the house on fire with a bag of popcorn in the microwave (which is how I learned that the smoke alarms were no longer working!) and coughed and choked my way out of the house with the dogs, who had been cowering in corners because of the thick smoke. 

With the holidays poised to arrive, I am having to rethink just about everything. I had a patient ask me the other day if I decorated for Halloween. Hmm, well I used to! I made a lot of things, I’ve bought a few things (I am definitely not big into Halloween), but the joy is gone. All of those things are connected to a life that is no longer mine. In fact, the majority of my decor for these three holidays will go to my ex or be donated to a thrift store. My heart just isn’t in it anymore, at least not into the things that are painful reminders of what once was but will never again be. 

I am shopping for a smaller Christmas tree so that I am able, by myself, to get it off the high garage shelf and then put it together without assistance, even though I love the tree that we bought three Christmases ago. It’s just too heavy for me. And it already holds too many memories. I have 40 years’ worth of sentimental ornaments that represent different interests and years of my life, and our family's lives, that I have no interest in anymore. Life has to be adapted to the circumstances, and these are mine. Adapt, migrate or die, right? That’s what I learned in science class in 7th grade! I’d like to not migrate or die, so I am busily attempting to adapt.

I get to call the exterminator and see if he can come out again and help me find where the mice have access to my basement because the last hole that was plugged didn’t stop them. I am planning to have my floors redone and will have to hire someone to do them. I can be distrustful of hired folks coming into my home, but I am determined to make life work with what I have been given. And if I get Covid, I suppose I’ll lay upstairs in my bed until I can no longer breathe and then I’ll get a little trip to the other side. (My hospice patients might be jealous of that!) There’s no one in the family that could or would help care for me (can’t be exposed because of kids, or others with precarious health). It is all a bit sobering, but I go through each day trusting God, knowing that He is aware of even me. If I am to remain on this earth much longer, it will be because that is His plan.

I hope it doesn’t sound like I am feeling sorry for myself. A good 90% of the time, I am not. I do struggle with this whole year of “oddities” that make my life extra challenging while I adapt to this gigantic change. But I am thankful for so many things, and I work hard to focus on that as I navigate these new trails. I have a few friends that check on me now and again. I have one really good friend that is a safety net if I start to spiral down. My emotions are finding themselves on the roller coaster rides at every amusement park there is! One moment I’m feeling pretty okay, and the next moment I feel incredibly hurt and cannot stop the tears. Even in a day, I can go from one extreme to another, and yet another. 

I am trying hard to be kind to myself, to give myself some space. But even in the expression of some of my feelings, related or not to the divorce, I’ve had others bail out on me. Sometimes people don't know that when you go through something this life-changing, this painful, that your emotions can be raw and possibly your ability to cope can be diminished. If I’ve offended anyone as I have attempted to make my way through this exquisitely painful experience, I am very sorry. Sometimes I’m not even sure that it is the same “me” in this body that moves through this life. I feel different. I feel shocked. I feel out of sorts. I feel a heaviness that won’t leave. Some days I feel like getting out of bed is really too much to ask of me. But there are dogs to feed, patients to see, and life yet left to live.

So I get up and force myself until I am back into gear and can show up in the ways and places that I need to. 

And then I thank God, again and again, for His unending love, His compassion, His understanding, His perfect judgment, and His all-encompassing mercy and grace. With Him on my team, I can keep playing in the game until I'm on the final stretch, making my way home, and the Referee calls "Safe!" What a game it is! 

Forty-Four and Two-Thirds Years to Be Exact

I met him at 6 a.m. seminary in October of 1975. I was 15 and he was just about to turn 18. He came with his best friend, Tom, who I had become friends with too. The seminary teacher, Brother Price, had written his name on the chalkboard: MIKE FITZGERALD.

He lived 70 miles away from my parent's Lake Oswego home, in Monmouth, Oregon, on a 700 acre cattle ranch that he'd persuaded his father to buy. His father, a lifelong Catholic, had threatened him that if he joined the "Mormon church," he would be taken out of the will, and any Mormon that came onto the property would be shot. Those threats did not stop him from doing what his heart was telling him to do; he was baptized on November 14th, 1975, his 18th birthday. Before leaving the baptism that evening, I gave him a hug.

We started writing letters, because back in 1975, long distance phone calls were absurdly expensive. We wrote letters at least weekly for the next 3+ years. Two of those years were while he was away on a mission to Cleveland, Ohio, and when he returned, I was away at Ricks College in southeastern Idaho. We continued to write, pretty much until we were married in August of 1979. We had never lived near one another the entire time we'd known each other. It was always a long distance romance.

One year for Christmas, he took all of our letters, organized them chronologically, and filled binders with them. We had a lot to tell each other while we were still growing up. They serve as a history of our lives during those years.

Following our wedding, we packed up our little brown Volkswagen Rabbit, hooked a tiny U-Haul trailer to it, and headed east, chugging our way over the mountains to Rexburg, Idaho, where we'd make our first home. We had a furnished, two bedroom apartment, amazingly close to campus. Previously, it had been a girls' apartment but had recently been converted to married student housing. It had a tub but no shower. I'd always wonder how four girls managed with only a tub!

We took too many classes that first semester. It was hard to be under so much pressure from school while trying to adapt to married life. We both dropped a couple of classes in order to pick up some sanity. We were in a married student ward, we made many friends, and we were living the newlywed life!

Eventually, we moved briefly to Tooele, Utah (summer sales, please don't remind him of it!), back to Rexburg, then on to Orem, Utah, while he attended BYU. Then to Tualatin, Oregon, where we lived in an apartment, then rental home when he got his first grown-up job. Back to Orem when he thought he'd get a master's degree. And once more to Oregon, this time to West Linn, Lake Oswego’s neighbor, where we made two more moves within the city, and lived there for 16 years. We moved to Mapleton, Utah, living in two different homes, then to downtown Salt Lake City, living in an apartment and then a condo, and finally purchasing a townhome in Draper where we fully intended for our next move to be the final one, the one into eternity.

Fifteen times we boxed up our things and went together to the next adventure. We also collected three daughters along the way, five grandsons, a few equines, numerous felines, and several canines too. We loved hard and we prayed hard. We survived some VERY challenging times and had created a full and rich life together.

Then, with a stroke of Judge Kelly's pen, it all ended on June 16th, 2020.

We were two-months-minus-one-day shy of celebrating our 41st anniversary. There has been serious upset in the family, and in some ways, our family is no longer the way it once was. There are wounds galore that have not healed. In the end, we could not find common ground when the family discord and wounds caused even small, old issues to become monumental. Consequently, the house came tumbling down.

The wreckage is by far the most painful thing I have endured in my life.

I had a doctor make a small error in surgery that landed me in the hospital for three weeks and nearly claimed my life. I later had a major surgery that caused my body to nearly call it quits. He has endured an autoimmune disease (gout) for several decades, and now fights illness constantly due to the damage done to his body from medications used to treat that disease. None of this though compares in any way with what it is like to watch your family come unglued and your marriage crumble.

They have their reasons. He has his reasons. I have my reasons.

I have watched longtime friends fall off their chairs when they heard this news. 

"It knocked the wind out of me," 

"I never ever saw this coming," 

"You were the last people I would have ever expected this from," 

"I am shocked beyond belief," 

"I don't know what to say; I have no words right now." 

Me too. ME TOO!

I am a Grief Support Specialist. I sit with people who have lost their beloved, and I listen as they tell their story of loss, sorrow and pain. I cry with them because my heart hurts too when someone else's hurts. I encourage them to "get it out," to not hold their emotions inside where they can erode both health and heart. "Tell me about your wife/husband/mother/father/companion/friend; I want to know them the way you know them." I listen as they confess that they feel they didn't do enough, or did something thoughtless that they feel may have hastened the passing, or they tell me they did not treat their beloved as good as they wish they had. My heart listens when they cannot speak because their emotions have hijacked their vocal cords. I sometimes read to them the words of scripture or the quote from an old man who compares grief to waves in an ocean. And I encourage them to feel all of their feelings.

What though do you do when your loss is not due to death? When your eternal dreams are shattered right before your very eyes? When you do not want to disparage anyone in your family but you are hurt so deeply that no words exist to describe your feelings? Or the stream of divorcees who quickly proclaim, "You will feel so much better,” or “This too will pass,” as if it is a gallstone that is hung up on its way out. Or when you refuse to tell, or let anyone else tell, your father because this was his first "son," and you cannot handle his broken heart on top of your own?

A song, a memory, a place, a word, a movie . . .  they all can trigger my tears. Sometimes they trigger anger, but most often it is sadness. The deepest sadness I have ever known. There is stress, as I have shared before. Employment struggles due to the pandemic, loan challenges due to the employment struggles, additional health insurance costs, and on it goes. In the end though, it is still the disbelief and the sadness that permeate everything else.

Sorrow has won the day.

I do know, deep within my soul, that healing is found through the atonement of Jesus Christ. He is the only one that knows "my" sadness, my unique recipe of life ingredients that came together to cause a broken family, a broken marriage, and a broken heart. I hold tightly onto that. In faith I make it through another day. In faith I choose to believe that He heals ALL wounds. In faith I walk the path before me, not knowing where it leads. He is the Master Healer. My broken heart is in His capable hands.

My Child, artist David Bowman

A Mother's Aching Heart

My soul aches on this day, the day set aside to honor and remember mothers.

I have fond recollections of honoring my mom on Mother’s Day, both from the time I was small, as well as into adulthood. I remember making or choosing things that I hoped she would love and would be a keepsake for her. I too recall receiving things from my own daughters that they had made or chosen to celebrate me on that special day. For about 35 years I was given love and attention, as if I was actually a mother worthy of it. Mike used to go so overboard, and wear himself out, that we finally agreed on simple gifts and take-out food, just to conserve energy and clean-up time.

These past few years have been brutal. I anticipate Mother’s Day nearly as dreadfully as I would anticipate a surgery. That is the only thing that I can think of that is more horrid to me. How one can be loved, honored, celebrated, doted on, and then be both privately and publicly shunned, with a refusal to join together for professional help, as if the years of a mother’s love, sacrifice, cheering, believing, helping, and putting her own aspirations on hold, are of no value anymore? One's mind and heart simply do not know what to do with that.

There are times that I just need my mom.

Back in 1991, my “simple” surgery healing took a wrong turn. I was taken to the ER, where they determined there was “nothing wrong” with me and sent me away. I arrived back home at about 1 a.m., and because I didn’t know what to do or how I could live one more minute with the most excruciating pain I’ve ever known, I called Mom. She arrived, came to my bed sporting her colorful and soft shirt, and her trademark scent of Victoria’s Secret Strawberry Champagne lotion, and she wrapped me in her arms as she cried with me. She too didn’t know what could be done, but she joined me in my absolute misery and let me know I was loved.

That “there’s nothing wrong” pain turned into a three week hospital stay filled with morphine, no food, an NG tube, CT and ultrasound scans, diarrhea, a grapefruit-sized abscess, a wide and winding incision with staples, antibiotics that made me vomit and nearly split my incision, a colostomy and mucous fistula, an allergy to morphine that resulted in me watching horses gallop past my third story window, and an all-out battle to stay on this side of the veil. My doctor remarked that he nearly lost me and that I was "too damn skinny." Through it all, Mom was there. Although there was an empty bed in the room, no one was allowed to sleep on it, so she commandeered a cardiac chair, brought blankets and her pillow, and slept near my side because it was dangerous and frightening when I couldn’t always get the help I needed during the night. When I told her that I didn’t know if I was going to make it, she cried and told me I would. I had two young children that we both thought needed their mom. (That is now debatable!)

Over these years, my family has loved to gather, to celebrate and honor one another for birthdays or other holidays, or truthfully, just for the heck of it. We enjoyed one another’s company and, at least in my estimation, we were part of a web of interconnected humans that would go to battle for one another. We prayed and we played. We showed up when there was a crisis and all helped in the ways we could. We loved hard.

How then can something so beautiful turn into something so sour that the unity is gone? For nearly three years now, there have been no all-family gatherings. Faith and devotion have changed in ways I never saw coming. There are those that choose not to wish me a Happy Mother’s Day, or happy any-other-day. The contrast is glaring. The reality is excruciating. The sadness is palpable.

Mom, I really need a hug.

I am left with my faith in a loving Father, who understands my broken heart, who hears my wails in the night, my pleas for help, and who sends me kind and loving friends and family to keep me going when I’m uncertain that I can. He reassures me that all is not lost, even if it appears that it is. He knows my mother-heart, the heart that would cause me to run in front of a freight train to save my children, the heart that fought so very hard through two life-threatening illnesses because she did not want to leave her children motherless, the heart that has never before known so much agony and pain. He understands and He freely offers His healing balm.

He tells me that I am His and He has the biggest and best family of them all.

Life Changes in a Rapidly Changing World

It's been years since I've had a blog, and I accidentally let my website domain lapse, but the writer part of me is begging for a voice with all that is happening in our/my world. So here I am, with a fresh start.

It has been a crazy few months in this world of ours, with the global pandemic of COVID-19. Businesses closed everywhere you turn, few cars were on the roads, people kept to their own domiciles in order to not spread the germs of this sometimes deadly virus, and many deaths throughout the world. I was constantly out and about because I work in hospice, so my job has continued through it all. I have loved driving the freeways with hardly any cars on them, any time of the day! That has been a treat.

That's the serious state of the world right now, and likewise, there are serious issues taking place in my personal life. The combination of the oddity of the world around me, along with my own mountainous struggles, is a doozy!

I have been cautious about sharing widely all that has happened. We had some very intense difficulties in our family nearly three years ago. Since that time, there hasn't been peace amongst some family members. What happened then has had everything to do with what is happening now, effectively causing smaller issues to become giant problems. A magnifying glass, a spotlight effect is what it feels like to me.

Although my husband and I love each other, and have loved each other for more than 44 years, we have mutually arrived at the conclusion that we can no longer be spouses under these circumstances, circumstances that are not related to sin. Although this seems sudden to most everyone who has known us, it is something that we have had to weigh out for several years. The particular circumstances of our difficulties have made it challenging to go for professional help. Although there may be things we'd wish for, and would like to demand out of others, sometimes we have to accept that others have their agency and we cannot force the things we feel are best and right. I am getting well practiced at "letting things be."

Needless to say, my world has caved in. I now move through each day with a broken heart. It is simply impossible to not feel brokenhearted when the person you have loved the most in the whole wide world is no longer your daily companion. He lives several miles away now, and has for several months, and when we made the decision to separate, it felt sudden and unbelievable to me. Although we communicate frequently and see one another almost daily because of our pups, and we behave amicably, there's no getting around the fact that everything is very different. I cannot type those words without a flood of tears; tears are my daily companions. Never ever, not even for a moment, before all of this happened, did I have any thought at all about divorce. It was not part of our vocabulary, even if we were very, very upset with one another. Soon, though, it will be our reality.

Although everything I have said so far is not "news" for me, obviously, I am learning that the few people I have shared it with find themselves in a state of shock. I know! I have been dealing with shock myself for about three months. I have learned to visit hospice patients while in a state of shock, to go through an earthquake for a double load of shock, to try to function alone in my home while in a state of shock. It is shocking.

More than anything, I am sharing here because I've learned a few new things and have had other truths reinforced. I am eternally grateful for the friends that have been propping me up as I sink into yet another hole. Although I know for an absolute certainty, that when someone says, "If you need to talk, give me a call," they are very sincere in doing so, very sincere; yet doing exactly that, making the call, is a very difficult thing for someone who is hurting, who is battling circumstance-induced depression (or other causes), because the very nature of depression prevents one from actually doing the simple things that would be helpful. It is a conundrum.

Something that I find the most helpful is when someone says to me, "Let's get together. What are some dates/times that will work for you?" or, "If you feel like talking, I'd love to talk. Can I call you sometime this evening?" rather than the open-ended invitation, "Give me a call if you need to talk," which requires the action to be instigated by me. None of us like to feel "needy," or to prove to others that we are, simply by responding to that invitation, even if the truth is that we are very needy! Getting it into gear to call or try to set up the get-together can often be too much. I have said the same things myself to friends in struggle. I am now becoming hyper-aware of how I approach my offers of friendship and help. It is so frustrating to feel this bit of depression that prevents me from doing anything that makes me feel better! 

May I humbly suggest that we re-think how we offer our help to others? It really can make a world of difference!

I am grateful for all of my friends, near and far. I am also so thankful for those who remember to keep in touch with me, who sometimes don't take no for an answer, but do so without plowing over the top of me. I am not who I once was. I am in the fire and it is burning right up next to my soul. A life change like this is huge any time it happens. It is particularly challenging to face during the pandemic when I cannot be with my loved ones or friends. We have all taken seriously the "stay home, stay safe" challenge. Zoom is nice, but it is no substitute for a hug, for presence. As a hospice chaplain, that is also very true. I told my boss the other day, "I just want to hold my patients' hands and stare into their souls." I can't do that for hardly anyone right now, but for my heart, it is what matters most.

This is a wild, painful ride. So far, here are some of the things I've learned along my journey:

1.   Life can be very full of surprises, not all of them fun.
2.   If you're unhappy with someone's behavior, talk to them about it with love in your heart. Don't let it fester and come out like a shotgun blast. The damage can be vast and lasting.
3.   Love people. Look for what is good and forgive what is challenging. We are all here learning together. Remember that "when people know better, they do better." Sometimes they don't know better, even if we think they should.
4.   Pay attention to what your childhood traumas and generational issues are and how they may be wreaking havoc in your adult life relationships. Seek professional help.
5.   Be kind. Be tender. Be patient.
6.   Let God whisper to you words of understanding about your situation that help you find peace, and help you take another step when you don't know if you can.
7.   Be thankful for your friends and family members who love you no matter what.
8.   Notice and acknowledge the small victories, the subtle shifts, and the big and small miracles. Heaven is nearby.
9.  Have no shame. Shame never benefits anyone; it is a tool of the devil to make you feel worthless. We can feel bad for things we've done that hurt another or even hurt ourselves, but that does not make us bad. 
10. Be grateful. Gratitude is a magnet for more good. Have faith. Pray often. Then hang on for all you're worth. 

We all have our challenges. We all wonder if we'll make it through. Many of us look to the heavens and wonder if God is paying attention. I have learned that He is. He allows us our learning without interference though, and if we aren't careful and prayerful, we may think we're being ignored. I know that we are not being ignored, we are being loved as we pass through the painful experiences that He knew we would have. He provides angels on both sides of the veil to encourage us, minister to us, love us.

And when everything else seems to fall, God is there to catch us. He is good all of the time.