Tag: grace

Best Laid Plans…

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Well…that didn’t pan out. I really thought I would post regularly. I did become more consistent with my personal journaling, and I started a storytelling project about my life for family, but I posted nothing on this blog since January. My Mom used to lament with a resigned sigh, “Best laid plans…” when something had not gone the way she intended.

Life has definitely been busy. It is just never dull around here. I remember wondering after our seventh child Ben was born, how long it would take until things “got back to normal” again. They never did. It took years before I realized that life was a series of new “normals,” one after another. Some call them seasons. In the tough seasons like those of poor health or great stress it can be hard to see any positives or hold out hope.

A lot has happened in the last year, both good and not so. I had back surgery in October and thankfully, it proved to be very successful. Two lumbar vertebrae were fused, remodeled and fixated, the disc between them removed and replaced with a cage of sorts that fills in with bone. It was a rough recovery process, but I have been in less pain from lumbar stenosis than ever in ten years! As I increased my walking time, which was crucial to recovery, my hips began to hurt more and more. I’d had a steroid injection in my right hip in the past with some relief, so we repeated the injections on both sides.

The left hip got better but the right got worse. An MRI showed that the ball of the joint was eroding because of no blood supply, this is called Avascular Necrosis or AVN. After a round of physical therapy we scheduled a total hip replacement in June. It was interesting but frustrating that the surgery was designated as “elective.” I guess the ball has to completely collapse, or one’s hip needs to actually fracture before the surgery is deemed urgent. There were months of waiting and scheduling while my AVN became more painful and debilitating. Regardless, it was another really successful surgery! The recovery pain was not as bad as the back surgery had been, but it was more disruptive because ambulation was affected for weeks. If you are considering it, I’d say that I would do it again in a heartbeat for the relief. And…it actually looks like I will need it again. The left hip pain is worsening, its ball eroding, so it is only a matter of time.

Around this time we decided to “go multi-generational.” Our fourth daughter and her family moved in with us. Their house will be sold, and then this house will be sold, and we’ll find something bigger for us all to move into. Moving them in and emptying their house was a busy and frenetic time. Luckily, I had a new hip and attacked the projects like the Bionic Woman. It was and is a fulfilling and exciting adventure.

The health gauntlet continued on with another biopsy for basal cell carcinoma. This time it was on my forearm–at least not my face. We caught it early and the surgeon simply cut an elliptical border around the biopsy site and pulled the edges together with sutures. It went fine–but it triggered lymphedema because of the lymph nodes removed from that arm in 2022. The treatment for that was wrapping my arm up like a mummy, causing my hand and wrist to swell, pinching a nerve which increased wrist and hand arthritis pain. Who would think that a hand and wrist could hurt so much? I got steroid injections at the base of my thumbs but it hasn’t given the relief I would have liked. The hand surgeon said it’s only time before he’ll need to remove the trapezium bones from each wrist because the have basically dissolved. Oh joy!

If you’ve read to this point, thank you. I am fully aware that it could be so much worse. I know that I am blessed to be alive at 63. When I whine, I do immediately think of loved ones. I think of young people who have cancer or other serious diagnoses, who have much more burdensome crosses to bear. God please be with them. Our sweet foreign exchange student from early on at the Abbey Farm is going through stage 4 cancer treatment. Please pray for her and her family. She is full of gratitude and perseverance; the treatment is difficult. She is an inspiration.

“Just keep swimming,” the character Dori repeated in Finding Nemo. “Do the next right thing,” Anna sang in Frozen 2 as she climbed out of a deep cave, laden with grief. Often I’ll repeat these two quotes like mantras. The next step, I realize, may not be a large or obvious foothold. It is often more like a wobbly little pebble that seems insignificant or futile, but never give up hope.

There is a well-known Christian poem called Footprints in the Sand attributed to a woman from 1936 named Mary Stevenson. Mary had a dream in which her life was illustrated as a walk on the beach with Jesus, footprints trailing behind them in the sand. Looking back, she asked Jesus why in the hardest of times of her life there were only one set of footprints. In the poem Jesus lovingly replies that he had not left her alone; indeed, when it was just one set of footprints, they were his, carrying her.

May Jesus carry us each through our most difficult and unexpected times, even if we do not recognize him.

Reframing and Renaming

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A strategy for dealing with a difficult event or unhealthy thought process is to examine it from different angles or from an outside-yourself perspective. Some call this the “Multiple Perspective Advantage.” Reframing and renaming the stressor can help one to deal with it in a more healthy manner. One vlogger who was undergoing chemotherapy renamed the agent often referred to as “The Red Devil” to something that sounded more therapeutic to her: “Liquid Sunshine.” Having done things like these, I can say that they do help.

Grief is a tough animal. It is one that in my opinion, does not completely go away. It may disappear for a while only to reappear when least expected. Perhaps more positively, it is something experienced, worked on, then packaged and placed in a special room of our minds. We can take it out at another time to be experienced a little differently based on what is happening in life. We work on it, repackage and store it once again. Perhaps at some point it has been worked on enough not to re-emerge, but it remains a part of us. In the case of the loss of a loved one, I feel that the grief only fades over time, enough for us to go on. It is not truly healed until we are reunited once again after death.

Grief also occurs with painful conditions, with losses of identity, of physical prowess, of abilities and of changes in our bodies. I was talking with my cousin Susan, a trained Spiritual Director. She listened quietly as I sadly told her about my inability to ride horses anymore. There is truly nothing like riding a horse. Thoroughbreds are unique with their long-stridden walk, excited energy and incredibly fast gallops. Dressage work which engages a horse’s body, collects the quarters to the point where the horse can trot or canter at a standstill or in a pirouette…it’s magical. Jumping streams and ditches, galloping Hunters downhill and bounding over hedges and post-and-rail fences is exhilarating. I really cannot risk even walking on horseback anymore because one mis-step could severely damage my spinal cord. I know that I am so lucky to have had the experiences I had. But I still miss it.

Susan listened quietly. She said at first that she didn’t know what to say, not having experienced any of these things. “I’m just listening and I’m praying as you speak.” After a while she said thoughtfully, “You know, horses were so important in your life, but I never saw you ride. In my mind, though, I can see you riding a different horse. This one is taking you now to different places in your life. It’s like a spiritual horse. Different, but perhaps just as beautiful.” I loved the thought, and quite honestly it has helped me immensely. I journaled about it and strove to visualize this beautiful animal. Since she is spiritual, of course she can fly and is not bound by physical laws. I have had fun with this and it has been healing. I named her “Grace.”

I hope that you might persevere in trying different strategies. Sometimes when it seems we’ve tried everything, and we’re ready to throw in the towel, we are graced with a new and helpful perspective.

Grace

Yes, Grace you are.
I name you.
White as the brightest sun,
Limbs strong and muscled,
Mane and tail flowing
As you carry me to places
I could not otherwise go.

You help to complete me.
You are a gift
Lent by a Warrior Angel
To carry me through dark times,
Through pain and loss,
Galloping over hills and fences
To the greenest fields.

A Warrior’s Horse,
You know no fear,
Your training was the finest.
I can trust you, and God who created you
For me, for now…
Until the day you carry me through the veil
To life everlasting.

We’ll say goodbye then,
Forehead to forehead.
No tears, as there are none in heaven.
My heart will be full as you turn
To gallop back through the veil,
Back to Earth
To the next soul in need of you.

Loss into Grace

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I have realized, growing older, that although we gain in years and wisdom, we also gain in losses. My oldest aunt is wonderfully alive at 95 years and is lovingly cared for by her sons, but she has had to live through the deaths of her only sister (my Mom) and all of her five brothers, even her “baby brother” who was twelve years younger than her. She lost her parents decades ago, and her beloved husband just a few years ago. Her health is pretty good, thankfully. Other elderly folk lose their physical abilities and their health earlier. These are all difficult losses which affect our view of the world and our view of self.

I watched a series of YouTube videos by Niklas Ekstedt, a famous Swedish Chef who investigated the areas of the world that have the oldest living people. These areas are called “Blue Zones.” The link on the chef’s name, above, takes you to the episode he filmed in Japan. I won’t give away all the secrets, but in my summation after watching the series, the most important factors were staying productive (giving back to society or family in some way, or staying active), and participating in a social community. The latter could be having a large family or one with strong connections, or it could be a bowling league, a church community, or a close-knit neighborhood.

I surmise that in our modern age, both the productivity and the community factors could be something formed from social connections and activity on the internet–as long as those connections and activities are positive and build one up. I do know that since I was diagnosed with cancer that social connections were increasingly forced to those on social media, email, phone-calls and snail-mail. I’m thankful for every one of them. People I haven’t seen in decades are sending care packages and messages of love and support. On the internet I’ve found a good friend through one Facebook group, and immense support from the many members of another.

I admit that when I viewed the Ekstedt videos of the physically productive men and women in their eighties and nineties, and the wrinkled centenarians sagely offering advice through sparkling eyes, I thought to myself that because of my diagnosis, I have little chance of making it that long. But I am here now, and I could be alive for a couple more decades! I am not giving up. Not one person knows how long their lives will last. Every day really can be viewed as a gift.

These are the ultimate gains, are they not? The good memories are precious. It is helpful and healthy to reframe or reimagine the way we look difficult things. It is too easy to get focused on the losses and to be dragged down. It is too easy for fear to take hold. My late husband’s Mom was increasingly ill in her final years, but despite the tragic losses in her life, she told me that she could not let herself get down, that there were still so many blessings in and throughout her life. I will strive to be more like her. It won’t be easy, I know. Grieving needs to happen, it is not something that truly ends until we have passed on. But her words are full of wisdom and grace.

A Special Chain Reaction

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When Mary Pat was born with Pierre Robin Sequence we didn’t know if her physical deformities were the extent of her problems, or if she had other potentially associated disabilities as well.

In truth, we didn’t know if she would ever walk, or talk, or eat on her own, or even survive. It was harrowing for a few weeks, scary for a few months, and then for years we fell into a routine of care that was full of unknowns. She had multiple appointments each month, and therapists who came to the house two to three times per week.

A good friend of mine has six wonderful children. Her youngest was born with Down Syndrome about a year before Mary Pat. Quite a few times at a moment’s notice, she drove half an hour to help me replace Mary Pat’s tiny nasogastric tube. In tears, I felt as though I’d entered a new world — a new “club” — of parents with special needs children. Early on, though, my friend pointed out that the way she saw it, each one of her children had “special” needs. Each had needs quite unique to them. I was blessed by her wisdom.

I have referred to Mary Pat as our “special needs child” but perhaps I should rephrase this to “our child with special needs.” Why is it that I need to distinguish her at all from the others? Sometimes it is to emphasize her extra-ordinary needs, but I suppose it is often for ease of description. We have six daughters and four sons. The oldest four girls are sometimes referred to as our “oldest, second-oldest, third-oldest and fourth-oldest.”

Our sons are described similarly, and then Mary Pat as our daughter with “special needs” and Margaret as our “youngest.” Again, they each have their special, unique needs, and we love them dearly. Energy and time can be spread thin in large families, but the love multiplies exponentially.

If it is true that every child has their unique and special needs, then that oft-heard sentiment that only “certain types of parents” do well with such children is unfounded. We grow into what we are given or challenged with. I understand fear and even panic when learning that a child in the womb has a certain diagnosis which will significantly impact the course or length of their life, and which will significantly impact the family. But the truth remains that every single person I have known who raised such children, even those who lost them early, professes immense blessings, and gratitude for the effects of their children on their lives.

Just as profound are the effects of these children on others. Mary Pat wheeled herself around her elementary school when she became ambulatory with a walking device. She would visit the other classrooms and became known to all the other children. They learned about her, and her differences were demystified. She was welcomed and loved.

Mary Pat received handwritten cards from schoolmates throughout the years. One third grader told her that she wanted to be like her–happy all the time. Another said over the loudspeaker during morning announcements, that he was inspired by Mary Pat to go to college so that one day he could work with children like her.

Each of her caretakers have been touched by her life, and love her dearly.

Yes, it is true that more time, energy and resources are often needed for children like Mary Pat. But the world is a better place because of her, and those like her. They are endowed with grace that holds the potential to bring out the very best in us. They teach us about what is important in life. They evoke compassion, and spark an unstoppable chain reaction of love.

Autumn and Life

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Yesterday was the Autumnal Equinox and wow, did it deliver the perfect weather here. My favorite cool, sunny weather continues into today. A woman I passed this morning said that she would always wish to live in a place with all four seasons. While I love the fresh colors of Spring and the lush green of Summer, the deciduous trees are in their glory in the early Fall.

I have always lived in this latitude of North America. The cyclical four seasons truly become a part of you. Perhaps being acclimated to these cycles prepares one to navigate the changing seasons of life. When I was young I would hear the “old people” talk about how fast life has gone. At that time I looked so forward to being an adult. I could not imagine that it would arrive so swiftly, and along with it so many responsibilities. Parenthood or career consumes us and in a moment decades have passed. Retirement looms, maybe even disability and great losses. Our children grow up and move on independently with their own busy lives. The “young” co-workers become in-charge of the business. Even some of our physicians look as young as teenagers.

The biggest difference with these seasons of life, however, is that they are not cyclical but linear. We do age and, God-willing, we grow old. As Autumn, Winter, Spring and Summer hold their negative bits like wind, ice, days inside when it is either too frigid or too hot, aging has its challenges and losses.

Like these first crisp days of Autumn, focusing on the beautiful things in our lives, the laughter, and the blessings will keep us more positive, more productive, generative, and most healthy. Like it or not we affect others. While working on ourselves, honoring grief and healing from our challenges and losses, our example speaks to others. Our thoughts and prayers become mighty.

Some of life’s seasons are more pleasant than others, but each day holds the potential of grace, of gift.

Better There

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The loss of a loved one can really only be fully comprehended if you have gone through it. Even well-meaning folk do not know what to say. Those of us who have suffered tragic loss know that they don’t have to say anything–just be near, give a hug, or tell you that they are thinking of you, keeping in touch, available in case of any need.

I have known suffering souls who felt no other recourse in life but to end their lives prematurely. One friend tragically left her husband, two boys and all who loved her. A loving and decorated war hero left his children and his Mom and Dad shockingly bereft. Another kind soul, an Army Major succumbed, leaving his wife and children, family and friends. They were each people you would have loved to know. Fascinating, warm, inspiring, but their internal pain was agonizing, and too much to bear. But they underestimated the grief, despair and devastation that their final actions would wreak, and the life-changing, excruciating holes left behind in their loved ones’ lives.

I wrote this for my friends left behind.

Better There

I know,
Our eventuality, each soul,
But prematurely, by their own hand?
Too much to bear
And I wear it
Daily

Can you see? It is me
Walking Pain.
Behind the convincing smile that I am alright
Though in truth not fully,
Until I am with my loved one again

Few
None?
Can escape loss.
But prematurely, by their own hand?
Dimensions painful beyond imagination

One more step, one more step
One more smile, one more day
Traversing the dark tar pit of pain.
Full of questions and remorse
And memories.
Molten innocence turned torture

One more step, one more step
I go, Lord, I keep going
I must reach the other side
Must “be” for others, for You.
For now, however long, despite the burning
Despite the scars that form
In an effort to numb the next step
That will make it possible

It is for You, for others
That I push on
Bearing this pain
This must be enough for now
You will be my strength, give me grace
Until in Your time
I too will be
Better there