Category Archives: Uncategorized

April 16

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You may recognize the first lines of “The Way of the World” by poet Ella Wheeler Wilcox: Laugh, and the world laughs with you; Weep, and you weep alone. It’s true that it’s easy to have friends around you when things are going well; most people can handle the good days.

I’ve been blessed with a large, close family. Regardless of the moments we’ve gotten angry or frustrated with each other, when it comes right down to it, we are there for each other. And we’ve had times over the years when that’s been proven. Times when one or another of us has dropped everything and gone to be with the other. Not every family is that way. I’m lucky mine is.

But I’m also lucky to have friends I feel the same way about, especially since my family is so scattered. Over the last couple of weeks, I’ve had numerous people extend their condolences over the loss of my father. I’ve gotten cards from unexpected people. Hugs from colleagues. A plant delivered to my house. But what’s touched me most is that I’ve also had several close friends who checked in with me daily, sometimes several times a day. Grief manifests itself in strange ways. I’m not usually an outwardly emotional person. I don’t like to cry in public. I don’t like to draw attention to myself. I’m much more comfortable being the one other people can lean on. But I’ve found myself close to tears periodically with random triggers. A song, a card, a memory. While I feel like I’m doing ok, I know that the grieving process isn’t over. Death has a way of making you reflect not just on the life of the person lost, but on your own life. For me, it’s reminded me of the brevity of our days and reinforced my desire to live a meaningful life.  I’m sure this reflection is part of the process, but it also adds another emotional layer to an already stressful event. And I know that for other people, it’s not always easy to know what to say or do for someone during this time. Therefore, I’m so grateful to have people in my life who look beyond my I’m ok and check on me anyway. It means more to me than they probably realized.

April 15: Meiosis

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April is national poetry month. Yay! If you follow this blog, you know I like writing poetry. Unfortunately, a lot of my writing is a bit heavy or dark, seeing as how I use it as an emotional release. I’m back to feeling a bit more upbeat, so I found one for today that I wrote about my oldest, when she was still small. She’s an adult now, and I recognize how true these sentiments are. Watching children grow up is both an amazing and bittersweet joy, knowing that one day they will leave. Still, it’s something I’m thankful for every day.

And so it began, not with a bang
but a sigh and a groan from the
heaviness of love. Unprepared and

frightened we were by our creation
for intermittent cries in the night hung
sluggish in the morning

while dull eyes filled with the rays on
the bed. For months, day and night
had no pattern except for the constant

growth of love. Until, finally,
comfort overtook confusion.
Maturity blossomed with the first

fever and swelled with excited cries.
Yes, she’s ours,
Yes, she’s mine.

Dazed with pride we no longer felt
the heaviness–numb to the first fear
of ownership we watched our creation

grow, belying the years with her speed,
a shiny foil to our stagnant selves.
Nostalgia infused the hours of being a

spectator to a miracle with dim reminders
that one day we will not be enough;
our love will snap like a taut rubber

band and leave us dangling apart.

April 14

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I’m just going to say it and get it out there. It snowed today. Not just a few flakes, but an accumulation of white stuff everywhere. I even had to scrape my car. While this is not something I’m thankful for (quite the opposite), I am thankful that I know it won’t last. Unlike the polar vortex of the winter months, this is just Spring’s funny little pre-Easter joke. Therefore, I’m not letting it get me down. I’m not dragging my winter coats back out of the closet either. I’ll double-up on jackets if I must for a couple of days, but I refuse to bundle up in a down stadium coat any longer. Instead, I’ll continue to enjoy the lovely flowers sitting on my kitchen island, waiting to be planted outside. The smell of lilies, hyacinths, tulips and daffodils fills my kitchen, reminding me that the white outside will be gone in a flash. In the meantime, I have spring inside, waiting.

April 13

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I’m officially calling this week over. Or does Sunday start a new week? I’ve never been 100% sure how that goes. At any rate, I’m emotionally exhausted and my introvert desperately needs time alone. As much as I love my family and was grateful to go through this week with them, it’s good to be back in my own house. At first it seemed selfish of me, wanting some normalcy, but I think it’s necessary, and human, to desire what seems normal to us. It doesn’t mean I won’t have future moments of grief, but I’m thankful for the life I have, for it really does pass by quickly.

April 12

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It was a beautiful funeral today for my dad. Although it stormed outside, the atmosphere inside was peaceful. Lots of family and friends gathered and reminisced. My brother-in-law gave a very touching eulogy of the impact my dad had on his life. And by the time we got to the gravesite, the sun was shining. It was an event my dad would have approved of–a celebration of his life and not a time of sorrow and crying. I’m thankful for the love I felt today.

April 11

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I was driving through farm country today and saw a beautiful sight. A field with new growth–short green plants coming up in rows. The sun was shining through the trees in the background setting the field aglow. It was a simple reminder of renewal. The seasons have changed. The sun is out longer. The air is warmer. The snow has melted. The plants are starting to reach toward the sun. Sometimes things end, but new things begin. Life is a cycle that keeps going, regardless of our difficulties. Sometimes we just need to simply hang on.

April 10

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It’s been a really tough week. A week of endings. It’s hard to feel grateful when the heart aches. I find myself losing words. This is the time I usually turn to writing poetry because for some reason, it helps me focus my feelings. I am thankful I have that catharsis.

molten lament
unapparent in words
deliberate
so maybe wasn’t an option

sometimes love only goes one way

an ending too bright
too startling in its clarity
one infinite flash
fades to shadow
unrevealing

my masochist lingers there aching
for answers
already lies
best to untangle and float
through unthinking

now heart paste smeared
on paper for him to see
how thick my pain is

April 9

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I took some time today to be outside. I always find it centers me to be out amongst the trees, listening to the sounds of nature. It was renewing to walk in the wind and feel the sun on my face. I’m thankful for the sense of peace that gave me.

April 8: Dad

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My dad died today. My sisters and mom and I sat by his bedside all night last night, listening to his labored breathing, holding our own breath every time he stopped too long between gasps. He never woke up. So we chatted amongst ourselves and cried intermittently and finally, around 2 am, requested pillows and blankets and tried to sleep on wooden folding chairs. There’s something exhausting and guilty-feeling about waiting for death. The constant wondering if the next moment is going to be the last one together. Just after 5 am, when it was just my mom awake by his side, my dad simply stopped breathing. My mom said she had just told him he didn’t have to hold on any longer. He could go, and so he did.

I have to admit that when I first got the call yesterday that my dad had taken a turn for the worse and maybe wouldn’t survive the day, I didn’t want to go back to the hospital. It wasn’t that I had just made the three-hour drive back home, it was that I didn’t really want to face it. I wasn’t sure I had the energy or the strength to watch my dad die. But then I knew that whatever I felt didn’t matter. What was real was that the man who spent his life taking care of me and my sisters and my mom would be gone within hours, and I had the privilege to be there by his side. No matter how much it would hurt to see, this was a gift, to say a final goodbye.

I’m thankful my dad was a Christian. He believed that he was headed to a better place and had absolutely no fear of death. I know that made his final days easier for him. And I’m sure he was looking forward to seeing the many people he had lost in his almost 67 years: his own dad who died too early in his 30’s, his mom who suffered from Alzheimer’s, his brothers, his son, his best friend. It must have comforted my mom also, allowing her the strength to tell him to go to the others she believed were waiting for him.

The world lost a wonderful man today. A man with a hearty laugh and a deep love for people and animals and the Lord. A man of strength and honor and commitment. A man who loved my mother and her children as his own. He was my stepfather, but I never thought of him that way. To me he was always my dad. I’m thankful he entered my life so long ago. And I’m thankful I was there when he left so peacefully this morning.

April 7

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It’s not surprising how the end of someone’s life brings family together. In the last few days, I’ve been able to see my aunts and a cousin whom I rarely see anymore. Not because we don’t want to see each other, but because we don’t live close and it’s difficult. I’ve also gotten a chance to see my sisters who are scattered across the country. We’ve had a chance to reminisce a little and catch up. I’m thankful for the closeness we share, even across the miles that usually separate us. When someone you love is getting close to leaving this world, the important things tend to emerge. I’ve been reminded once again that life is short and death is the only certainty. What we do on our way to the end is the important thing. Live while you can. Love gently but fiercely; live passionately but with dignity; forgive and move on. In the end we only have each other.