Leaking Dishwashers

Yesterday, there was water on the floor.
I thought someone had spilled something.

Nope.

My dishwasher was leaking.  I told Ski, "Well, it isn't the waterline so we're good.  I'll just handwash our dishes for awhile.   It's ok."
 I looked at it as an opportunity to actually spend time with the Lord.

I came downstairs today and there was water on the floor.
Again.

Turns out, we can't leave the hot water on because, it will just keep on leaking.

I'm the fix it lady and well, it could be like six things.   Most of them dealing with gaskets, but also replacing motors.  Way beyond the scope of people like Ski and me.  So it looks like another dishwasher is in our future. 

I used to think that many of my problems were because I had failed.  I figured that they were all punishments from God.  Thankfully, God wanted to show me that this was not the case.  He led our family through a number of trials that gently led me to a clearer understanding of His character.   When I began to understand more about God and His character, I began to understand more about what His intentions were in my life. 

Then, you know, all your friends look at your life and say,
"Hey.....God must be disciplining you!"
What they mean is that you must be doing something wrong, so change it and this stuff will stop.
They make you sift through your life to find everywhere that you've failed.  If you're truly lucky, your friend will give you suggestions on what they think your problem is.
Maybe you should eat this or not eat that.
Maybe you should see this doctor or that one.
Maybe you should........
Just fill in the blank.
It isn't hard.  If you know me, I'm sure you could give me some sage advice on where I'm falling short.  Hey, I willingly admit I'm not perfect and I need a ton of help.
I just disagree on where the bulk of my help should come from.   
Besides, no matter how much we change what or how we do things, as a Christian you will never escape the trials that come your way.   We'll always have sickness, things will always break, people will always sin against us.  It is part of the fun we get to have living in a fallen world.  

What ever happened to saying, "I'm sorry" and praying for your friend?
I think we need lots more of this!!!

I have come full circle here and have come to see that a lot of what God does IS discipline.
But the usual connotations that come from that word are almost always negative.
Discipline is because you've been bad.
You need to be corrected.

On the contrary.  The word discipline comes from the same root as disciple.  The Latin word discipulus,  from which discipline is derived, means pulpil.  The initial meaning for discipline is instruction.  But when your friend tells you to consider that God is disciplining you, you can be sure this is not what they mean.  But friends, this is what I think God is doing.   The point isn't for my brother to change me, or for me to necessarily change my circumstances so I have less pain and suffering.   The point is for GOD to change ME.  He has stuff I need to learn.  Maybe it's different from what you need to learn.  God made each of us unique.  He has also given us all unique trials to face in our lives each with a unique reason behind it.

No matter where we are in the world, the human condition is the same.  When we don't have food we're hungry.  When we're hurt, we cry.   I often imagine that a woman who lives in South Sudan  in the midst of  civil war and doubts whether she will live another day and me laying on my couch with a horrible sore throat that lasts 7 days have heart issues that can be the very same thing.  We can still both struggle with the same temptations.   They're just painted on different canvases.  So no matter who you are, God is in trials and has something bigger for you!!

God has lessons for me in a leaking dishwasher.
Just as He has lessons for me in watching my children suffer, three sets of hospital bills, a totaled van,  a broken garage door, chronic illness, and fruitless job searches these past six months.   None of these issues have been "fixed," but that does not mean that God has left us.  In fact, I think He is more at work in these every day than in a life of ease.  

So as I wait for my water to boil so I can wash my morning dishes, I thought I'd share my thoughts with you on the why I am edging closer and closer to being able to rejoice at the moment I discover a problem in my life.  God has nothing but good for me!!!

I'm not there yet, but maybe with just a few more trials...;)

What We Think we Know

It's funny.
Well, not really.
But it could be.

We as a human race....we often think we are really smart.  I used to think that adults grew wiser as they grew older.  I often thought teens were the impulsive and often "too big for the britches" kind of people.  But I've begun to learn that in general, I think many of us tend to be this way.  We think we know a lot.  We pride ourselves in our knowledge of life.  We know so much.  And yet...I'm beginning to think we really don't know a whole lot at all.

For... let's say....the past six months...I've been chronically ill.  At first it was not daily.  But since October, I have been sick every day.   Every single day.   Some days have been better than others.  Some days have been downright awful.  For a variety of reasons, I haven't shared my troubles with the people around me.  My family knows.  A select few people know.  I told the first person in November.  But many of those people only recently found out.   God has been dealing tremendously in the area of complaining in my heart.

And for the past six months, more life has come at me than I think I'd ever care to recount here.  Let's just say that when the day came that the car we were hoping to fix was accidentally driven through the garage door, I should have cried.  I should have fallen on the ground and had the biggest temper tantrum that you have ever seen.  But instead, I laughed.   I laughed so hard, tears were in my eyes. 

But it hasn't been until now that I am crying uncle.
I am at a good place.
A very good place.
You wouldn't think it.
But I am.
I am so weary of my daily ordeal that I sometimes feel like another step will be impossible.  Some days, I just want to have that temper tantrum right in front of a bunch of people who have no idea what has transpired for me the past few months.
But I have no doubt that God is doing some really good things.  I have learned so much through this time.  I've not learned it in perfection.  I've stumbled my way through it.  Hitting my head, falling headlong, and reluctantly getting up again. 

Not all of my questions are answered.
In fact, I have some more.
But I'm getting closer.
I've got some more stuff piled on top, but it will be ok.
It is more than OK.
Because God is sustaining me every step of the way.

This quote from J I Packer  sums up nicely where I'm at (Remember....it's a process):

God uses chronic pain and weakness, along with other afflictions, as his chisel for sculpting our lives.  Felt weakness deepens dependence on Christ for strength each day.  The weaker we feel, the harder we lean.  And the harder we lean, the stronger we grow spiritually, even while our bodies waste away.  To live with your 'thorn' uncomplainingly -- that is, sweet, patient, and free in heart to love and help others, even though every day you feel weak -- is true sanctification.  It is true healing for the spirit.  It is a supreme victory of grace.  The healing of your sinful person thus goes forward, even though the healing of your mortal body does not.  And the healing of persons is the name of the game so far as God is concerned.
 

So back to the thing about what we know.   Or don't.
When I told my friend in November a piece of what I had been dealing with, she told me, "I had NO idea."
I wasn't sure entirely how to respond.  I almost felt I should apologize.  But looking back, I think it has just been a lovely (and I do mean lovely) design of God that lead me not to share the intimate details of my daily struggles with everyone that I know.   Not only for the benefit of less complaining on my part, but for how God has been showing me the silent lost, hurting, and needy around me.

All around us, there are people.  Some people are sick.  Some people are hurting.  Some people have been trampled on by life.  Some people are just downright downtrodden.  We think we know all about it.

Do we?

Do we know what God is really doing?
Nope.
We don't.
It drives me bananas when people don't listen to the real truth of the matter or dig deep.
We give out bandaids and nice words.
What good is that?!?!?! 
When we suffer, there's a reason for it.
I firmly believe that God does not want us to slough off suffering, dismiss it, or try to run away from it.
So many people are afraid of suffering.

Time and time again, when I've been in the depths of despair, Ski has looked at me frankly and said,
"B.....What if it really WAS the worst.  Your worst case scenario.  What if THAT happened?"
And time and time again, I've come up with....
Nothing.
It really wouldn't change anything.

What if what you are dealing with right now, turned to your worst scenario?
How would that change things?
I had to sit and think about what that would be.
Death would surely be welcome for me, as I have high hopes as a Christian.
And if I believe that if this is a lifelong road that I am on, God is not absent from that.
Even more severe pain and illness?  God hasn't left me in this yet.  Why would He now?
So what is worse than any of those?

God has real answers for people who are suffering.
He doesn't have leaky bandaids and hopeless curealls.
He has MORE.
SOOOOO much more!!!
He  is after our hearts and not our physical or mental comfort.
Why would we deny that?
Let me tell you, you can run away from suffering, but if God is working on your heart, he's going to have His way.
No doubt about it.
How much more could we learn if we stood openhanded throwing our totally openhearted trust to Him?

At the Edge of the Eye

Happy storm that wrecks a man on such a rock as this!  O blessed hurricane that drives the soul to God and God alone! ~CH Spurgeon

Living in the South, I've learned a bit about hurricanes.   One of the problems with them is that they are not just rain.  They are full of wind and rain.  Not only is there damage in the form of downed trees and powerlines, but also flooding can occur.  In addition, often tornadoes are spawned.  When the hurricane batters the shore, entire landscapes are changed.  And I know what kind of pressure to hope for when a hurricane comes wandering our way.

While I grew up in the North, I do have memories of Agnes.   When she came, she caused widespread flooding.  All over Eastern PA, there are high water marks designating flooding in 1972.   When we were moving my parents, I came across a Valentines Day card written by my brother with the lines, "My love for you is like the Susquehanna River in 1972.  Overflowing!"   I always thought it was a bit humorous to think that while Agnes was known for extensive flooding, we spent a portion of the storm hiding in our basement.  Moments before heading down the basement stairs, my frantic mother chastised my father for racing around the back yard in a hail storm to rescue the trash can lids.  It wasn't until years later that as an adult, I realized that Agnes had given birth to tornadoes in our town and our basement was a safe refuge since we lived on a hill above the river.

The worst part of the hurricane is the eastern side, near the eye wall.  And here is where I have felt I have been for the past several months.  This is where the winds are relentless.  It's where the storm surge pounds away at the shoreline.  In a way, the storm has not been devastating.  However, it has been relentless.  Over and over the wind and the rain has pounded.  In the piece that the above is taken from, it later states:

When he is burdened with troubles so pressing and so peculiar,that he cannot tell them to any but his God,
he may be thankful for them;for he will learn more of his Lord then
than at any other time.Oh, tempest-tossed believer, it is a happy trouble
that drives you to your Father!

This is how most of my burdens have been.  Shared with my husband, and maybe a friend.  Some I've shared with no one.  So pressing and so peculiar....  It matters not what those burdens are for this post.  I've told Ski that the weight I carry is not unbearable nor is it tragic.  It is simply heavy, burdensome and wearying.  It is that continuous crashing of the storm surge that seems endless.  Lightning strikes, tornadoes, rain and wind.  Things that no one sees unless they peak behind the scenes of my outermost life.  More and more.  Over and over.

As  I sat there, I glanced across the aisle and saw the couple who I knew were deeply burdened by troubles  with faces filled with gladness.  I saw the father out of work filled with hope.  I saw  the mother who faced greater and more burdensome trials than I overflowing with joy.  But still, I was disheartened and feeling my mortal frailty.

And yet, in years past, I would have always given into doubts.

Where is God?

Why has He left me?

Why is He unkind?

Where have I failed?

Not so. 
In worship, I sat with tears streaming down my face.  Not always able to sing, but sometimes we worship deeply in tears.  Although my head leaned downward, my heart lifted my cares to the Lord.   In need of the ability to genuinely weep without feelings of awkwardness, I walked toward the door.  I sought refuge in the chilled wind of the morning under the comforting arms of a tree.  There, I bore my soul to my Lord, who I knew without a doubt was with me even in my discouragement.  My Father who listened to my grief,  There was no necessity for me to reveal my cares, for He already knew.  But still I called upon He who had designed each and every burden I faced with deep love for me.  I spilled upon the ground things that none but perhaps my family knew.  The troubles I carry every day which no one sees. 

And I sat there asking Him to fill my heart with gratitude.
I no longer wish to look at the storm clouds as dreadful and looming.  I long to see His glory and workmanship in  tumultuous the power.  There is but one place to put my hold among this sand which shifts and spills about.  There is a rock.  A foundation deeper than any I have made.  Firmer than any I depend upon.  There is the only solace in the storms of my life.  

When I told my dear Ski that I felt I was being hammered by the storm and waves, he gently said:
"You are!!   Hammered into something beautiful!!"
What a blessing he is to me!!

    In this you rejoice, though now for a little while, if necessary, you have been grieved by various trials, so that the tested genuineness of your faith—more precious than gold that perishes though it is tested by fire—may be found to result in praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ.
(1 Peter 1:6-7)

I'm not perfect.
Just a girl.
An ordinary girl.
And every day, I feel like I move one step forward and seemingly two steps back. 
And every day, we live out the verse that is on our blog banner.  
And every day, we consider that the days of adversity are from the hand of our beloved Lord as well as those of prosperity....and there is kindness and joy in them.

Tonight, as I wept again, my son looked at me with worried eyes and all he could pray was "Lord, please help..."  I squeezed him tight and told him, "It's ok.  Sometimes God gives us tears, but He is doing good things!!"

And I really believe it is true.

Wave After Wave

My son asked me the other day if I could swim to the other side of the ocean.
I laughed.
But it wasn't because of the obvious.
Sure, it is a silly thought to think that someone could swim the ocean.  And yes, I did tell him that it wasn't possible.  I also explained to him that when my ancestors came over from Europe, sailing from a port in Rotterdam and aiming for the destination of Philadelphia, it was supposed to take only several months.
But I was thinking of other things.

The sea is one of my favorite places to visit because it causes me to contemplate God.
In fact, I can not fathom how anyone could stand at the end of a stretch of beach and not think about God.  I'm here on a vacation, but  walking the sandy stands and listening to the waves, I think about God, life, and my place in it.

So much has been going on in my life lately.
Added up, it is very little.

It's just the little bits.
Yet, I often feel like life comes at me wave after wave. 
Crashing on the shore of my soul. 
Trying to snatch pieces of my steadfastness until it slowly erodes away. 
I particularly felt the need to clear my head this year.
Not really clear my head.
More like clear my soul.
I feel mentally worn down by just life.
Little things.
The daily grind.
Responsibilities.
Conflict.
Discouragment
The constant barrage of slow and steady trial that hammers away.
Endlessly

So there I found myself standing at the edge of the earth looking out upon the sea.
Feeling helpless.
Feeling sad. 

And then
God stepped in and redirected my gaze.
Through the clouds of my feeble understanding, I began to see things differently.
That sea.....how vast....how vast is my Lord's love for me. 
Endless....
Deep....
Truly vast.
He designed all of this sometimes insane life for my benefit. 
For my growth. 
So I become more like Him.
What I see as wave after wave of trial,
Is wave after wave of goodness and grace.
Constantly pounding and pouring upon my messy life.
Forming it into something else.
Changing my heart.
Ever so slowly....except those times when huge chunks fall away.
Like when the hurricanes come and thrash around me
While the eye settles overhead.

I understood...
It is not my steadfastness that falls away, but my pride and stubbornness and arrogance.
How dependent I am upon the sea. 
Upon the Lord.
He takes bits away and tosses...
No
Beats relentlessly
Goodness upon me.
Showering kindness.
I am flooded with love.
Ever changing me.
Moment after moment.
Trial after trial
Wave after Wave.

One out of 6570.....more or less

 In life, we take so many things for granted.  Every breath we take is a gift.  Things can change in the blink of an eye.  A car skids in the rain.  A fatal diagnosis.  Or even bite of food.

It has been six years.  Six years of breakfast, lunch and dinner.  Six years of travel.  Six years of snacks and treats.  Six years of thousands and millions of moments.  Six years of safety and normalcy.  But in a moment, all of that came crashing in upon us.

6570 every day meals.....not including snacks and treats. Only one was dangerous.

It was a crazy morning.  We often have those.  Hey.....we're a family of eight.  What do you expect?  But one little mistake lead to watching my son once again come unbearably close to death.  It isn't something you wake up expecting to do.  And it isn't something you wait longingly for.  It is unexpected and although you never intended to be human that day, you find yourself feeling incredibly guilt-ridden and sorrowful.

People who know me, our life, our story....they know that we are careful.  People who don't understand think we're a little over the top.  But I have watched my son almost die 7 other times.  I ignore those people who just don't get it.  I just tell myself that if they had seen their child go through what I've seen, they would do just what I do.  And I am sure that they would. 

No one cooks for my son.  No one....unless I trust them.  And in order for me to trust them, they must ask me lots of questions.  If they don't ask, I realize that they're not going to be careful.   I send out feeler questions when I contemplate people cooking for him.  If I get the right kind of answers, I move forward.   I can count on one hand the people I know who have cooked for my son.   He is precious to me and I can't have people who think that they know everything cook for him.  They don't listen.  They don't write things down.  They aren't going to call me and ask if this or that is ok. You would think I would hate questions.  But no...  I welcome them.  It shows me the level of concern that someone has.  Too many questions does not exist in my life.  I really don't care if I offend people because I'd rather be offensive than loose the life of my son!!

So on that beautiful Thursday, I sat in a hospital room next to my son watching him turn colors and listening as his breath turned into a shrill whistle.  In fact, it took me a moment to realize that the noise I heard was coming from my son.  Ski, sitting behind me,  heard it too and thought it was a machine.  It was a sound I have never heard before and never wish to again.    And it was on that day that I heard his small, worried voice utter his hope that he would make it to his next birthday.........Sept 4.   And as sense came to me, I realized that in that moment, he really felt like he was going to die.   I admit, while I KNEW he was in the best place he could be, there was a part of me that worried about that as well.  The medics had offered to refuse transport.  I shudder to think what would have happened if we had done so.  Two hours after his reaction at home, he had a second one in the ER after being dosed with benedryl and prednisone.  He was given more epi, more pred, and albuterol via nebulizer.  It was FAST.  Incredibly fast.  I have never seen have a reaction progress that fast.  He had never had a biphasic reaction before.

And then, when we finally came home safe and sound the next day, there was the aftermath.  It's the time when I pick up the pieces.  The people around him work through the guilt.  How could I have made a mistake?  Why wasn't I more careful?  We cope with how we feel about people incredulously asking "How did that happen?" as if we are perfect and not human.  And he works through fears.

With every reaction we have had, I have tried to teach him something.   This one was especially frightening to him because he doesn't remember much from the other ones he has had.  We practiced with the epipen.  We talked about what he should say to other people if mom isn't around.  We work through the loneliness and the fear.  We work through how he feels like a freak because people want to know what happened and not many ask him how he is doing.  We talk about how he felt incredibly touched that our pastor came to see him.  It spoke volumes to him that someone cared enough to visit him and see how he was doing, and to pray for him.  I know just how he feels.  In the midst of my discouragement, Ski got a text from someone who told us that they were praying for us.  And they specifically mentioned the rest of our family.  It is an incredibly difficult thing to watch someone have a life threatening allergic reaction.  They are all different.  All unpredictable.  All have a degree of tramatizing results upon the rest of us.  As parents, we cannot tend to the fears and worries of all of our children who we have left behind at the house.  Sure, some of them are older.  But it is hard to watch you little brother walk through something like that....no matter what your age.  And it is harder still to not have your family's support and to not know what is going on.

For me, the spiritual aspects are clear and I am doing very well there.  In fact, I can see much of God's Providential hand.  I think overall, this will be beneficial experience to him in the future.  I would never have chosen it this way, but there is much to learn from and remember!!!  I can also see how circumstances in the past allowed us to be in just the right place when his second reaction took place.  If we had not been in the hospital when that occurred, I am not so sure he would have survived.   However, the emotional side.....well, it has been a hard week or so.   We walk slowly through this, healing as we go.  Taking each day at a time....lots of hugs and talk.

So this September 4th, we will all be celebrating like we haven't before.  We are so grateful for the life of our son and our brother.  So glad that this boy has had such a miraculous life so far at the tender age of 10.  So amazed to see his response in the midst of suffering and how he cared most about the others around him who were also suffering.  And thankful that God hears the tiny and desperate pleas in our time of need for just a little more time.

Happy Birthday Isaac!!!!  You're my hero!!


And one last thing....If you have life threatening food allergies, or you're a parent or guardian to someone who does, please, please, please....
1) ALWAYS have two epipens
2) Don't ever hesitate to use them if you suspect an allergic reaction
3) Always call 911
4) NEVER refuse transport

If you're reading this and newly diagnosed, feel free to post and ask for help!!  There are some awesome resources out there that can help you navigate these difficult days.  

Can I introduce you to someone?

Each year around this time, I ask myself "was it 8/9/98 or 8/8/98?"  As it turns out, sixteen years ago today, I got to hold the body of my still-born son, Asher, for the first and last time on this side of eternity. Only a few people got to be with his body that day.  It was a quiet and poignant scene as opposed to most births I've been to where there was much more activity, noise, exuberance etc.  I have a few photos taken during that time that we've shown to only a small group of close friends over the years so as not to freak people out. Most folks (including someone today) have counted it a privilege to see some of the items in the "Asher box" and are grateful that we would consider them close enough friends to want to share with them at that level. You also learn when you have a child die that there are hundreds of people around you that have lost children and they carry that experience with them, but hardly ever speak of it. There are many reasons for that but if it helps, here I am thinking about the whole thing and here are some of my thoughts as well...

Over the years I've come up with a self-doctrine of what I believe about his soul, how "old" he will be when I see him in heaven, the fact that he's there, what he may be doing etc. etc.  I know that Asher will be someone I will meet in heaven.  I know I will have a level of understanding that I lack right now and I believe part of that will be a more complete awareness of who people are and what they've been through for God's glory.  I know he'll recognize me and I hope he'll call me "Daddy" (tearing up now, sorry).  I long to hear that voice almost as much as I long to see the face of my Saviour and hear God's "well done". I don't know if Asher's will be the voice of a little boy or the strong muscled hug of a man who has been working on my eternal mansion as a craftsman or something.  But I long to hold him and see in his eyes a living spirit.  I'm sure I'll be a blubbering mess.

I've decided over the years to leave an occasional item at his gravesite.  I know this probably constitutes littering, but I don't care.  I kiss his name on the stone when I visit and I left him toy cars and other small items over the years. When he would've turned 21, I'll be cracking open a cold one and leaving it for him. I formally decided to live my life totally for Christ when I was 16.  So this year I'll be leaving a small Bible for Asher. Though for sixteen years Asher has been worshipping at the throne of the Almighty with thousands upon thousands of angels and God's people that have gone on before us. So he probably doesn't need a Bible to fellowship with Jesus like I do. But he'll get one anyway.

I remember people "not knowing what to say", but just being there with a smile, a hug and a tear.  Folks, that means SO MUCH to those who are experiencing loss. Don't ever discount doing that. And don't stop talking to people because you don't know what to say.  It doesn't matter how smart or stupid you think you sound.  The fact that you're there is what they'll remember long after the grace to go through such things fades away.  Bob K., Mike P., Steve S., David C., Trish M., I remember you and countless others who were at the funeral and the days before and after.  You were not, as Job called his friends "miserable counselors".  Today I try to emulate your example of "just being there" and caring when I'm aware of folks who are suffering.

I have one last thing I need to say.  We also, at some point, had a miscarriage that we didn't carry to full term like Asher.  We named that child Grace.  I know much less about her that I do my son.  I haven't seen her, held her or have any concrete knowledge of what's happened to her.  I tend not to think about her as much since the experience was very different. But I need to say that I love her as much as Asher or any of my living children and I look forward to that sweet reunion with her as well in heaven.

So happy sweet 16 Asher.  I love you and I can't wait to see you again.

Dad

Forget-Me-Not

I've debated several times about writing about this subject.  It's highly personal for me.  But, I tend to always imagine that no one ever reads this blog.  So I feel a small bit of bravery in posting.  The month of June has been a difficult one for me.  I haven't talked about it much.   

June holds within it two special days for me.  The first is Father's day and the second is my father's birthday.  This year he turned 81.  It especially his me hard when I thought of him and could not call to say happy birthday.  The pain was compounded by the fact that Ski went out of town days later for a surprise birthday celebration for his father who is turning 75.  When dad turned 80 last year, it quietly slipped by us.   And this year, it was the same.  I was heartbroken.  Last night, I wept as I missed my daddy and all I wanted to do was give him a call.   

I could have called.  But I didn't.  There are a few reasons why.  Number one is that my father doesn't talk much anymore.  He lives life as more of a bystander.  More observation than participation happens.  And the second reason is the fact that he really doesn't remember me anymore.  

So as Father's Day approached, I felt incredibly lonely.  As I scrolled down Facebook and saw the loving tributes to fathers who had passed away, I hurt.  And as I saw lovely things people did for their dads, I hurt.   And when my husband picked up the phone to call his father, the flood gates opened and I cried and cried.  And no one quite understood.  

Only a month earlier, I had gone to visit my dad.  He has Congestive Heart Failure and he's not doing well.  He had been in the hospital for awhile and we now know that really, there is nothing more to be done for his heart.  It is very weak.  So, I decided to visit so I could say goodbye....not really in words, but just by seeing him and spending time with him.  The first time I walked into the room, I had expected his face to light up.  But as I entered, he almost looked bewildered.  And as I greeted him, I knew he wasn't sure who I was.  And when he called me by his aunt's name, Marguerite, it was all I could do to keep my composure.  

Where my father lives is one floor below where I spent most of my weeks at work in PA.  I cared for people with Parkinson's, Alzheimer's, Dementia, ALS, and people who were just aging.  I loved my patients and they became my family.  I shared with them about my life outside the walls, and even if they couldn't speak to me, I spoke to them as I fed them and readied them for bed.   I was bit, kicked and scratched.  My hair was pulled and I came home with bruises and tales from the day.  And when it was time for them to die, I sat with them, held their hands, and comforted them.  No matter who it was, I would stroke their hair and hold their hand and tell them that they were not alone and it was ok to die.  Many times, I was the only one who would do it.  Many of the girls were afraid of death and dying.  So often, I would sit there alone and even stay into the next shift loving them as they died.  And then I would perform the required aftercare.  For me, it became a very spiritual experience to prepare them for when the mortician would arrive. In fact, I have enjoyed that part of my work so much that when my children are grown, I would like to at least volunteer for Hospice work.

All of that said, there is NOTHING that can prepare you for the day your parent forgets who you are.  My father and I were quite close.  I am a daddy's girl....and proud of it!!  I was the only girl and we had that daddy/daughter kind of relationship.  I still call him my daddy.  And as I have grown older, I have learned that my compassion, humor, and impishness are all lovely gifts I have gained from my father. 

I used to think that the hardest thing about having a parent with Dementia would be how all of the new people in his life would never know the incredible man that I know.  My father rarely speaks now.  Only yes or no most of the time.  He was always so witty and smart.  He was a gifted musician and filled with compassion.  As a pastor, it was obvious that his greatest gift was in his care for people.  The shut-ins and hospitalized people would always look forward to his visits.  But I now realize that I was mistaken.  The hardest challenge for me is not how other people perceive my father, but instead how he looks at me.   I am someone he doesn't really know.  A more distant relationship.  I am no longer the daughter who married a man who reminded her of her father.  I am more like a stranger who he doesn't know. 

Someday, when we have both left this life, I long to see my father once again.....and see that familiar recognition in his eyes when he sees my face.  I long to hear him speak to me and tell me about his childhood and the devilish things he used to do.  His stories would make you laugh so much!!!   And I long to hear him sing about the Jesus he loved so much.   And to hear him play the trombone once again.   Until then, I think I might weep at every hymn I hear.  I often cannot sing as I hear my daddy's lovely baritone voice sing the notes of the old well loved hymns.  

Happy Birthday, Daddy!!!