Blogs

I believe, that there is no other more difficult feat.

When we are faced with grief, not just once, but maybe, many times, and in many ways, we are being asked to rise.

Through grief, we are being reminded of what we are, that we do not feel, understand or rarely see, within ourselves.

The battle within, is more than we ever imagined and we shed more tears than we thought possible.

However, it’s in the undercurrent and the stillness, where we realize: we are, actually, survivors surviving.

-that alone, is griefs’ power and purpose.

One day at a time,

one step at a time,

one moment at a time,

we are…

…not only, survivors surviving, but heroes, of a rare and unique type.

The night was black as black, the kind of black where you can’t see the hand in front of your face.

I swung from rope swings in the hay barn that burned my hands, which somehow, I never gave a thought to.

I scraped a lot of shit down the isles of the cow stalls into the propelling gutter, quickly and carefully getting back to the far edge, to not be hit by the large stream of urine that would erupt without warning.

I had cat families, that I sat, surrounded by, on the worn wooden steps of the ancient barn, the straw on the steps was warm. I would name them all and pretend they were a family.

Good ole Rock-n-Roll played in the background, on the dust-worn, straw-covered stereo that I could barely reach. (Not that I would consider touching it).

I would fill the giant rectangle baby bottles, donning the hugest nipples, with fresh milk from the enormous steel milk tank and tried not to drop the slippery things as I fed the ravenous baby calves, maneuvering and adjusting, as each suck propelled the “bottle” one way or the other.

It was warm in the barn.

It was also an escape.

I watched in true amazement (and a little disgust) as a calf was birthed, sometimes, “helped” out through a giant plastic arm sleeve (that was necessary) as I squinted, not wanting to watch, but so desperately not wanting to miss, the calf being pulled out through the back end of its mother, to flounder on the cold wet dirty slippery floor; often and hopefully to take its first breath.

I would sit for hours in the grass, relishing in it’s cold and fresh feeling, looking for clovers, because I was sure I’d find one if I was persistent enough.

When the spirit struck me, I would run out into the field, always close to stay more than at least 100 yards away until he saw me, waving my hands, he would stop and I knew I could approach. I would run as fast as I could and climb up into the cab, up the steps, with those sharp spikes, I’d find my place, seated next to him and watch the beauty all around. I could feel the thrust of the apparatus attached at each movement and felt a rhythm that allowed me to get lost in nature, very few words were spoken because they weren’t necessary, or maybe there was too much to say.

I spent my winters in the frigid “back room” putting on a snowmobile suit, laying on the ground, 1 foot in and then the other, awkwardly standing to zip it up, so much anticipation awaiting me as I frantically pulled on my boots, losing balance and fighting with my gloves. Exhaling, I raced out to the snowmobile, that was just my size. Getting it started was always a difficult feat, but when it did, I had to control myself. Trails needed to be made, a delayed reward, and then throttle wide open, riding until my thumb was numb or until dark and even sometimes, in the dark, because the Kitty Cat did have a light.

I will never regret this upbringing in all its chaos.

It’s physical endurance testing me.

It’s surroundings creating curiosity in me.

It’s affections making me soft.

It’s experience making me aware.

While there was much more going on in the adult world that I didn’t need to know, I did find recluse in this place.

He was there.

He was there in the little things that are much bigger to me now.

The weeds faded.

The little things grew, like plants and flowers always somehow do.

They called to be noticed.

They are the beauty of this world.

Carrying us forward.

I hope you see them too.

It’s so much more than what you may imagine. It’s not just a physical death or birth, although these are the extremes, we experience death and birth every day.

A birth, a death; it’s interesting how our bodies know time and season apart from consciousness.

How we often feel and react to times and dates, sometimes without knowing, and then suddenly realize why.

Grief begs to felt (a cliche) but the truest one I know.

Birth begs to come forth.

Consider this. Has there been one moment of birth in this world without pain, and has there been one moment of grief that has occurred without the same?

I believe, both of these, are the vehicle, of how we reach, what is to be most healing and productive for us: escorting us to freedom.

Preparation,

Awareness.

Acknowledgement.

Acceptance.

Fortitude.

Endurance.

Hope, being essential.

over and over, until…

…grief has done its begging and birth, well, even though it can have a mind of its own, it has emerged.

Ride with their unpredictability.

Let both grief and new life ebb and flow and become a part of you.

Open yourself, when grief intrudes. Lay yourself bare and allow the emotions to play out.

Fight like a warrior, when birth presents itself. Don’t let it scare you, even though it is surrounded by a shield of fear pressing against you. Push through it to the open horizon.

Grief; one of the main purposes to its presence; to release those places that so abruptly bound us up, to free us, bit by bit, from the very pain it was carried in on.

Birth; calling us to erase all things that have brought death and yet summoning us to all things that are new and frightening and full of hope!

The very things that appeared to destroy us, are the very things that have the most power to change us, through the unwinding of grief and the through the hope of bringing forth an entirely new birth, all things are possible.

Doing the work is more than well worth it. ❤️

#grief #birth

I live and breathe for the fight of getting to it.

My days are ordered by preparation for it.

I am exhilarated by the anticipation.

My brain tries it’s best to talk me out of it.

I am nervous but thrilled by the start of it.

I am fearful and yet, during it, feel the most alive.

As the end nears, although I overthink and want to give up, determination, more often, prevails.

When it’s over, I am my most confident self, utterly and completely content, without even a thought for one single want, (often not even food for water).

I am so grateful for this desire that God clearly instilled in me as young child.

However, 3 weeks ago, I injured my knee, and decided that, at my age, before I do more damage, I needed to get it checked out.

I was very impatient, but extremely diligent in getting through all the lovely medical hoops.

I finally had an mri last night!

I’m taking a deep breathe and hoping for the best but either way, I’m trying to be grateful for all that I’ve been able to do up to this point.

For anyone that it still working and striving for things of this nature, you can count on me to be your best cheerleader; mostly because I get what it takes but also because I see how much it matters, as we age, every little bit makes a difference.

Never take for granted what you CAN do.

And If you love it, certainly, do it! Fight for it and know that you are capable of more than you think you are!

Every step matters. ❤️ 💯

The moment love enters your heart is never the way we imagine it.

It’s also a moment, a singular experience, never to be shared.

The world wants to make us believe it’s a fairytale with a perfect setting.

Maybe, a perfect birth setting…

and then a “perfect”child, (who is always compliant).

Possibly, coworkers, that express their appreciation for your dedication and skill.

Or a friend, who is always available and never challenging.

Most likely, we envision, a parent, who only ever builds us up, and is there for our every need.

Not to mention, a love that only ever brings us peace along with exhilaration.

However,

I believe,

Love enters, when there is a moment of difficulty and self sacrifice required; humility, often it’s vehicle.

A vehicle that continues to move forward and bring love and circumstances that solidify, challenge and stay the course.

For some of us, we desperately need space, others need pressing in or simply a listening ear.

None of these wrong. It’s simply being willing to find that rhythm and being willing to see the other person for what they need.

Let in, all the love that you can and also realize that love is absolutely not what the world feeds you!

Love is, at its best, when it’s messy and difficult.

Yes, even though, it initially requires giving, it gives so much more that it takes.

I hope we can all see love for what it really is…

Messy and difficult, but faithful, and engaging, to the end. ❤️

Love is the person that’s present, when many are not or simply just can’t be.

Love is the one who wants better for you, despite their gain.

It bleeds when you bleed.

It fights to understand.

It gives, and withholds, even when it hurts.

Because it knows.

Love always hopes: always perseveres, forgives, and accepts forgiveness, wipes away the record, starts every single day renewed.

Love communicates what it’s feeling, patiently and kindly, utilizing trust, as the engine.

-Because ultimately, love trusts.

It’s it foundation.

Without trust, we flail and falter, losing our center.

With it, we gain momentum and solidarity that we often don’t appreciate.

Trust: built through time and circumstance, propelling us, when we are so often unwilling to acknowledge it’s worth.

Even then, the most difficult feat, at times, but honestly, always, the most rewarding.

Lean towards love.

Lean towards trust.

Yep, it’s the scariest, but most fulfilling place to exist.

#love. #iappreciateyourvalueinmylife

I lost my first “person”.

She had a man that loved her for forty years.

They never married.

I don’t know exactly why.

She was divorced. (This can make anyone extremely apprehensive.)

It could be so many reasons, but they loved each other and that was enough for them.

We smuggled him in and he sat by her bed, for three days; his love was silently shaking the walls of the building, and all of us, if we’re being honest.

We couldn’t help but glance in, wanting to know and be a part of such a beautiful moment, however, reluctant to interrupt or make even a small vibration in the connection that we knew was happening.

We had no choice but to walk by, which felt like, too many times.

However, he just sat there, for hours upon hours, holding her hand, head down at times, often, we could hear his sobs; but resilient when any of us walked in: to take the necessary vitals or the moment we felt we should say our last goodbyes.

And now she is gone.

He is grieving and my heart aches for him beyond what I can imagine.

She adored him.

She incessantly talked about him to the degree we all became a little tired of it at times, to be honest. 🤦🏻‍♀️

And yet now, I wish I could hear her talk about him even one more time!

He was her hero, he loved her well and was her constant..

They knew love, to the end: where her body was thin and her chest protruded, her hair thin, her breathing shallow.

Yet, sitting by her side, he only saw her.

Her love.

Her.

All of her.

He watched her as she took her last breath and entered eternity with Jesus.

He will likely follow, soon, I’ve seen it more than I ever knew could be real. Because love is real and lives within us. Without it, we wither.

My hope is that he stays resilient, continues to find love, wherever possible and lives his life to the fullest!

May we all keep love alive all around us, to the best we can! I believe, love, when it is felt and experienced, in any capacity, it is what truly propels us in all areas of life!

#death #grieving #eternity #love #Alzheimers #dimentia #resilence #hope

I enter the room, casual conversation ensues and a question arises about me. Questions that I have told them numerous times prior.

I startle, but only feel it on the inside.

I compose myself and realize that I need to tell them, yet again, my story: how old I am, how many kids and grandkids I have, that I work in Life Enrichment, that I am not a nurse, etc….

The best part is that they all remind me that they think I’m much younger; today, it was, “I thought you were in your 20’s!” 😂

I hate these moments; they represent distance. I also treasure them, even though they sting; the reality that the memories have no longer taken root.

Honestly, I expect it from certain ones but the new ones that crop up are much more difficult. “They should know!” I brood over for a bit, and calm myself. They have no control over this.

I continue on, my goal is to listen. I do my best, until they’re silent, then, I fill their minds with stories and philosophies they seem to enjoy hearing, things I have learned, maybe this very week.

I walk out of countless rooms in a day, hoping to see that they have a smile on their face that they didn’t, before I entered that room.

It’s been almost a full year before many of these people have left the building, let alone, had any physical interactions. While outdoor visits and FaceTime matter, they’re just not the same.

So many of them never get any physical touch unless it’s medical care and that’s where I believe my occupation has immense value, especially during this horrific pandemic.

I’m so grateful that God created me and many of my co-workers to know the value of and not only be, unafraid, but be drawn towards, the importance of physical touch.

I feel very supported by my staff and thankful that this is a community that cares for the order and safety of them, yet also the significance and meaning of the intangible things. ❤️

#alzheimer’s #dimentia #hope

The red thread…

Unnoticeable, it weaves its way throughout our life.

Sometimes, often rarely, we get the privilege of seeing how it’s connected.

Leading bingo, of all things, to my beautiful souls today, for the first time, I was reminded of a time when I was on the other side.

Many years ago, every Friday, for over a year, I brought my children to bingo at a nursing home.

It wasn’t always easy, having two school-aged homeschooled children and baby in tow, but ‘something’ always propelled me.

As adults now, my children speak of this time as a treasured memory-hopefully having learned things of compassion, first and foremost, and many other life lessons as well. I will never fully know, but He does.

(Also, I’m not saying this to guilt any parents, this is simply my story!)

So today, as I was on the other side of it, leading bingo, with a mic, no less, I was amazed at how God planted this desire in my heart and brought it full circle!

Yet, I had to be ready, I had to be taught, I had lessons to learn. I had experiences and people to encounter, before I could do this well.

Emphatically, it was a giant billboard reminder to me, that He has all things predestined and all things in His hands.

We can trust Him…

He will be faithful, despite our small minds and futile attempts at what we think our lives should be or look like.

I’ve never been more thankful and hope that I can continue to see the red thread throughout my life in many other ways!

Keep your eyes wide open to the thread! It is there, I promise, eventually you will see it, if you haven’t already! ❤️

We remember, even if we don’t remember.

But love reminds us.

This is what astounded me today.

While they forget what they just told me two sentences prior, there’s an awareness in their eyes when they remember something that touched their heart.

Something connected to feeling.

It’s not necessarily always “wayback when” although, often it is.

However, I was astonished at what they remembered that touched their soul even from yesterday: that unexpected card that was sent, someone remembering their special meal request, a heart wrenching story or a lifetime of memories.

All of these stemming from a heart that was touched.

These are the stories and situations they remember and that bring them to reality.

We remember love.

Maybe because we are wired to or maybe because love is what propels all things.

Every teeny tiny little thing we do makes an impression or doesn’t.

This truly, from my perspective, is what is getting these people through.

I don’t think we can ever comprehend how far reaching our words and actions go, or how they are woven together in the tapestry of life, however that turns out for each of us.

So many of my people have lost so much and they sit alone and yet are still filled with the love that is given and more importantly, was given, to them, at the exact time, to get them through their present reality.

I’ll leave you with this story…

One lady who doesn’t get any visitors and doesn’t have any family left, showed me a card that she received from someone she can’t recall to memory. But I knew, I knew that this was someone that was very special to her.

During our time today, she repeated the same things to me about this card over and over and how much it meant to her. She couldn’t get her mind off it and she just continued to share with me and asked me who this was more times than I could almost bear to answer. Her face lit up with joy, which is not a usual occurrence!

I’m here to tell you that any little thing we do matters when it is done out of love. It’s a magical thing that words cannot begin to describe.

(His ways are not our ways, and His thoughts are high above ours…)

May we all live and love to the best we can and know that love makes a difference, it adds up over time and makes a tremendous impact, more extensive than we could ever imagine!

#love #grief #alzheimers #