Now this is the kind of Flash Mob I'd love to see!
Because of that Holy, Holy Night . . . CHRISTmas lives every day of the year.
Enjoy the worship in song. Grace and Joy to each, Jane
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
The Perfect Storm
Mom was diagnosed with Pancreatic Cancer on November 16, 2010. From the onset we knew she was terminal. Well, that was the doctor's prognosis. We believed there was always the Miracle option. The statistics are grim, but even so, close to 5% of pancreatic cancer patients survive 5 years. We agreed that would be our Miracle. Survival. Living. Loving. As long as God deemed fit.
Mom lived 12 months and 3 weeks from the time of her diagnosis.
Sometime during her fight, she became rather concerned, almost morbidly so, with how this cancer would actually end her life. I had to remind myself, often, that she's a nurse and with her medical background it was only natural that she would be fixated with the course of the disease. I am finding out however, that many people who are given a terminal diagnosis wonder the same thing. Just how exactly is my life going to end? Will it be painful? Will I be weak with nausea and vomiting? Will I know my loved ones right up to the end? Where will the cancer spread? How mobile will I be? Will I be ready for death? What will it be like? Will I know I'm dying?
Morbid questions. Agreed. But honest, nonetheless. Mom even asked her doctor about 3 months ago what he thought about her impending death. Just how would she die? Left him speechless for a minute or two, then he quietly looked her in the eye and said, I can answer that. I held my breath, expecting some horrific description. A long pause, and then he said, I don't really know... depends on so many variables.
Mom was let down for a day or two. I think she really wanted to know what to prepare for. I mean, real specifics. And there is probably no doctor worth his salt that could predict what mom's last few days would be like.
In our opinion, mom's death was a result of The Perfect Storm. Not one, not two, but so many events that funneled down together into too few days, laying seige on her precious body. An assault so detrimental there was no chance of recovery.
Yes, the death certificate says her cause of death was Pancreatic Cancer.
And I guess that's the truth. But that's too simple. What happened to mom's body, the real cause of her death was a culmination of medical crises that simply overwhelmed her weakening reserves.
That Perfect Storm began with the pancreatic cancer. In treating it, mom fought hard, with radiation and chemotherapy. The side effects from treatment were brutal on her body. The chemotherapy continued to knock her blood counts down each cycle. This last time, the white blood cell count and platelets bottomed out like never before. With her white blood count so low, her immune system was drastically weakened and she picked up a nasty pneumonia bacteria that infiltrated both lungs in a matter of hours. And with her platelets so low, that seemingly innocent slip against the coffee table the Saturday after Thanksgiving, caused a horrendous bruise on her hip that turned into a virulent strain of cellulitis within a few days. The two infections caused a massive strain on mom's body. Despite 3 potent antibiotics and numerous blood transfusions, her body just couldn't recover. Her blood glucose began dropping, giving way to heart arrythmias and finally kidney failure.
The Storm lasted 7 days.
Mom now has the answers that her doctors couldn't give her. I wish she could part the veil just once, and tell us what she experienced as she faced this last walk on her journey. And then smile once more for us. My heart is greedy.
I can share what we know.
Was there pain? Oh yes, there was. It is one of the hardest memories to endure. The nurses and doctors increased the morphine almost hourly to keep her comfortable, and I know they succeeded almost completely. As the doses increased she slept more and more. It was blissful oblivion, and one of us kept vigil the entire week to make sure she never woke up alone.
Was there nausea? vomiting? To our everlasting relief, there was none. As a matter of fact, in the early days of that week, mom's appetite actually returned and she savored desserts with delight. The last morsel of food that she ate was a brownie delivered by a sweet friend. So very grateful for these small blessings.
How mobile was she? Not very. The pneumonia made her so weak, and the bruising/cellulitis on her hip was so painful, that moving around wasn't high on her agenda. As she weakened and the morphine increased, she became bed-bound for the last 4 days. But she was comfortable there, with a beautiful window view of the sky and front gardens. The only thing better, would have been to be able to take her home...
Did she know her loved ones up to the end? An emphatic YES. Even with the morphine induced slumber, when she woke, she recognized us and spoke specifically, calling us by name. As death neared, her ability to speak faded, but not the acknowledgement. She would squeeze our hands and nod her head. When my brother arrived from Houston, just 18 hours before her death, she smiled in greeting and said, "Oh, you're here." She sank back into sleep and woke several hours later to smile at him again and say, "I love you." Yes, she knew us all, right up until the end. I can't begin to express the myriad of emotions we all experienced. But the power of her love for each of us kept us connected with her in a way that I will always, always hold close.
Did she know death was near? I believe she did. And she was at peace. We were all a mess, but around her, there was a reverence and acceptance that was unfathomable. A readiness to lay down this tired body and walk on into the next journey with complete assurance. We are still all a mess, but the memories we hold of those last days are filled with a calm and a purpose.
That would be my memory of her passing. A peacefulness that can't be contained. It spills over onto our hurting hearts constantly. I think that would be her message to those following behind. No matter where the journey has brought you from, the true Miracle is in this passage to where you are going...
That is our miracle. We can now Hope with Confidence that our paths will cross and join again one day as our journey brings us all to the place of such Peace we can only imagine....
Mom lived 12 months and 3 weeks from the time of her diagnosis.
Sometime during her fight, she became rather concerned, almost morbidly so, with how this cancer would actually end her life. I had to remind myself, often, that she's a nurse and with her medical background it was only natural that she would be fixated with the course of the disease. I am finding out however, that many people who are given a terminal diagnosis wonder the same thing. Just how exactly is my life going to end? Will it be painful? Will I be weak with nausea and vomiting? Will I know my loved ones right up to the end? Where will the cancer spread? How mobile will I be? Will I be ready for death? What will it be like? Will I know I'm dying?
Morbid questions. Agreed. But honest, nonetheless. Mom even asked her doctor about 3 months ago what he thought about her impending death. Just how would she die? Left him speechless for a minute or two, then he quietly looked her in the eye and said, I can answer that. I held my breath, expecting some horrific description. A long pause, and then he said, I don't really know... depends on so many variables.
Mom was let down for a day or two. I think she really wanted to know what to prepare for. I mean, real specifics. And there is probably no doctor worth his salt that could predict what mom's last few days would be like.
In our opinion, mom's death was a result of The Perfect Storm. Not one, not two, but so many events that funneled down together into too few days, laying seige on her precious body. An assault so detrimental there was no chance of recovery.
Yes, the death certificate says her cause of death was Pancreatic Cancer.
And I guess that's the truth. But that's too simple. What happened to mom's body, the real cause of her death was a culmination of medical crises that simply overwhelmed her weakening reserves.
That Perfect Storm began with the pancreatic cancer. In treating it, mom fought hard, with radiation and chemotherapy. The side effects from treatment were brutal on her body. The chemotherapy continued to knock her blood counts down each cycle. This last time, the white blood cell count and platelets bottomed out like never before. With her white blood count so low, her immune system was drastically weakened and she picked up a nasty pneumonia bacteria that infiltrated both lungs in a matter of hours. And with her platelets so low, that seemingly innocent slip against the coffee table the Saturday after Thanksgiving, caused a horrendous bruise on her hip that turned into a virulent strain of cellulitis within a few days. The two infections caused a massive strain on mom's body. Despite 3 potent antibiotics and numerous blood transfusions, her body just couldn't recover. Her blood glucose began dropping, giving way to heart arrythmias and finally kidney failure.
The Storm lasted 7 days.
Mom now has the answers that her doctors couldn't give her. I wish she could part the veil just once, and tell us what she experienced as she faced this last walk on her journey. And then smile once more for us. My heart is greedy.
I can share what we know.
Was there pain? Oh yes, there was. It is one of the hardest memories to endure. The nurses and doctors increased the morphine almost hourly to keep her comfortable, and I know they succeeded almost completely. As the doses increased she slept more and more. It was blissful oblivion, and one of us kept vigil the entire week to make sure she never woke up alone.
Was there nausea? vomiting? To our everlasting relief, there was none. As a matter of fact, in the early days of that week, mom's appetite actually returned and she savored desserts with delight. The last morsel of food that she ate was a brownie delivered by a sweet friend. So very grateful for these small blessings.
How mobile was she? Not very. The pneumonia made her so weak, and the bruising/cellulitis on her hip was so painful, that moving around wasn't high on her agenda. As she weakened and the morphine increased, she became bed-bound for the last 4 days. But she was comfortable there, with a beautiful window view of the sky and front gardens. The only thing better, would have been to be able to take her home...
Did she know her loved ones up to the end? An emphatic YES. Even with the morphine induced slumber, when she woke, she recognized us and spoke specifically, calling us by name. As death neared, her ability to speak faded, but not the acknowledgement. She would squeeze our hands and nod her head. When my brother arrived from Houston, just 18 hours before her death, she smiled in greeting and said, "Oh, you're here." She sank back into sleep and woke several hours later to smile at him again and say, "I love you." Yes, she knew us all, right up until the end. I can't begin to express the myriad of emotions we all experienced. But the power of her love for each of us kept us connected with her in a way that I will always, always hold close.
Did she know death was near? I believe she did. And she was at peace. We were all a mess, but around her, there was a reverence and acceptance that was unfathomable. A readiness to lay down this tired body and walk on into the next journey with complete assurance. We are still all a mess, but the memories we hold of those last days are filled with a calm and a purpose.
That would be my memory of her passing. A peacefulness that can't be contained. It spills over onto our hurting hearts constantly. I think that would be her message to those following behind. No matter where the journey has brought you from, the true Miracle is in this passage to where you are going...
That is our miracle. We can now Hope with Confidence that our paths will cross and join again one day as our journey brings us all to the place of such Peace we can only imagine....
Sunday, December 25, 2011
Merry Christmas
.... A child shall lead them . . .
Blessed baby Autumn... bringing joy to hearts heavy with grief today.
Love you punkin'!
"For to us a child is born,
to us a son is given,
and the government will be on his shoulders.
And He will be called
Wonderful Counselor,
Mighty God, Everlasting Father,
Prince of Peace."
~ Isaiah 9:6
May the peace of this very Christmas lighten your hearts today. My love, Jane
Friday, December 23, 2011
Buckeye Traditions
Every year at Christmas, we have a candy tradition. Well, mom and I have a candy tradition. The rest of the family "tolerates" our chocolate obsession and tries to sneak in apple pies and fruitcake. But the homemade candy making is as much a part of our Christmas traditions as the sun rise! And the candy must always contain in some measure a dollop or two or more of chocolate..
The Buckeyes are one of our favorites:
The Buckeyes are one of our favorites:
They are more yummy than the best Reese's peanut butter cup and are one of the first to disappear off the candy plate! They are easy, easy to make, but very time-consuming. We only make them at Christmas, and always make them together.
This year I didn't think I could do it. So hard, emotionally, to tackle all these "firsts" so soon. But, as you will see, when you add in a goofy husband, a beautiful and funny daughter, the first batch of Buckeyes without mom was a sweet success. She is smiling tonight...
Here's the recipe for some extra-special love and laughter around the Buckeye bowl:
You will need:
2 lbs. powdered sugar (yep- two whole boxes)
1 lb butter (use the real stuff, it's Christmas)
18.5 oz jar of peanut butter (crunchy or smooth)
Dump all in a BIG bowl and knead together, chill for about an hour, then shape into balls. Place peanut butter balls on cookie sheets lined with wax paper and chill until ready to dip in chocolate mixture.
Melt 1 whole bag of semi-sweet chocolate chips with 1/2 bar of parafin.
Stick toothpick in peanut butter ball and dip in chocolate mixture. Then dip chocolate end of ball in bowl of ice water (don't completely submerge). This will firm up chocolate quickly. Then set ball on paper towel to absorb any water.
Keep buckeyes in covered container in refrigerator. Add to your favorite dessert platters and surprise your family and friends. Watch them disappear!
Our evening went well with my very able and willing helpers:
Until they got "high" on chocolate fumes and started misbehaving:
They suckered me in, and soon I was caught red-handed enjoying the evening more than I ever thought possible:
Oh, it feels good to laugh and enjoy the traditions of this season. I know that mom would want us to continue living our best life. And that best life will always include our favorite Buckeye Tradition.
This one's for you Mom...
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Stress Buster Pics
Sometimes our friends just know exactly what we need. Today I opened my email and found these pictures from a dear friend. I believe that this email has made the rounds before, although I couldn't find an author to give well-deserved credit to... My apologies if you've already seen it, but perhaps you will join me for a smile or two. How can you go wrong with these adorable animals wrapped up in perfect quotes? Thank you, Ruth for the light-hearted distraction. Love you...
To our lovable, four-footed friends, thanks for the perfect pick-me-up....
May your day be filled with moments of unexpected joy and spontaneous smiles.
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Moments in Bethlehem
We are finding that even in the midst of our grieving, life goes on. Especially during the Christmas season. There has been somewhat of a disconnect these past weeks. When we surface, however briefly, from the details surrounding the funeral and its aftermath, we are bombarded by "joyous good tidings," ringing bells, and jolly Santas. Very disconcerting to say the least!
And yet, this has always been a season our family dove into with delight. This year, mom had her tree up and the house decorated weeks before Thanksgiving. I believe she knew her time was dwindling. Whether she decorated for us, fearing we'd be too grieved to celebrate, or whether she decorated for the pure joy of basking in the beauty we will never know. Perhaps it was a bit of both. As a family, we've determined to carry on with "sacred" traditions. Dad wants everyone at the house Christmas day, and we will feast, and laugh and cry together because, well, because we will.
But this Christmas feels different.
Tonight Katie and I went to the Living Nativity performance at church. There was much anticipation as the crowd milled around, aromas of hay mingling with the earthy perfume of sheep and camel. As the choir began to sing, a hush fell, and for the next 40 minutes we were transported back to hills of Bethlehem.
The aching familiarity of the Christmas story eased the cords of sorrow in my heart. A simple, church pageant. Children waved to parents from the stage, giggling when memorized lines were forgotten, donkeys brayed during solos and shepherds tripped over their robes, but the message was a thread of love reaching back 2,000 years. The story never changes. The message is love.
A baby born to save the world. A baby born to die...
A Savior who is no stranger to grief. Why had I never realized that at Christmas before? It is not a story reserved for Easter alone. As God looked down on that Holy Night in Bethlehem, He saw the plan for redemption shadowing a simple manger.
This baby, His Son, was born to die.
Love so amazing, I can never comprehend. Only bow my heart in praise.
And yet, this has always been a season our family dove into with delight. This year, mom had her tree up and the house decorated weeks before Thanksgiving. I believe she knew her time was dwindling. Whether she decorated for us, fearing we'd be too grieved to celebrate, or whether she decorated for the pure joy of basking in the beauty we will never know. Perhaps it was a bit of both. As a family, we've determined to carry on with "sacred" traditions. Dad wants everyone at the house Christmas day, and we will feast, and laugh and cry together because, well, because we will.
But this Christmas feels different.
Tonight Katie and I went to the Living Nativity performance at church. There was much anticipation as the crowd milled around, aromas of hay mingling with the earthy perfume of sheep and camel. As the choir began to sing, a hush fell, and for the next 40 minutes we were transported back to hills of Bethlehem.
The aching familiarity of the Christmas story eased the cords of sorrow in my heart. A simple, church pageant. Children waved to parents from the stage, giggling when memorized lines were forgotten, donkeys brayed during solos and shepherds tripped over their robes, but the message was a thread of love reaching back 2,000 years. The story never changes. The message is love.
For God so loved the world
that He gave His one and only Son,
that whoever believes in Him shall not perish,
but have eternal life.
~John 3:16
A baby born to save the world. A baby born to die...
A Savior who is no stranger to grief. Why had I never realized that at Christmas before? It is not a story reserved for Easter alone. As God looked down on that Holy Night in Bethlehem, He saw the plan for redemption shadowing a simple manger.
This baby, His Son, was born to die.
Love so amazing, I can never comprehend. Only bow my heart in praise.
Moments in Bethlehem
Mom would have been delighted with the performance! Braying donkeys, smelly sheep and all! My heart is lighter than it has been in days. And Katie took advantage, adding one more thing to her Christmas wish list:
Her name is Blue and she's a miniature Brahma. Katie fell in love and wants one. Hello?! Just how happy do I look?! Don't you bat your pretty little eyes at me! Either one of you!
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Finding our Footing
one small step at a time...
The grief swamps then ebbs, often and erratically for each of us. But, mom's joy and laughter lingers in all the memories that spill from our lips. There will be much to share in the weeks to come. Her last week was not without sublime moments, and I am in awe of the power of life we each hold on to. The providential working of God's tender mercies still renders me speechless. As He gives words, I will share...
I am also completely undone by the many who have offered up their thoughts and prayers, of hope, of encouragement, of solidarity. Thank you each one. Never doubt that your words were read and always came at just the right moment, blessing our hearts, providing a sure place for that next step.
If there is one thing we have learned on this journey, it is that we are not alone. Nor are we the only ones who have experienced such grievous loss. So many have been down this road with pancreatic cancer. For us it is now very, very personal. We will walk the path of grief because we must, but it will never be without the light of mom's love.
Just yesterday, we received a beautiful card from the Hospice nurses who cared for mom during her last hours. Their personal notes touched our hearts, and I want to share the poem they included. It has no author, so I am not sure if it is written by their own hand or simply an anonymous author, but it's message met our need:
Mom is indeed living on in the hearts of those she loved. We are all the more blessed because of it.
The grief swamps then ebbs, often and erratically for each of us. But, mom's joy and laughter lingers in all the memories that spill from our lips. There will be much to share in the weeks to come. Her last week was not without sublime moments, and I am in awe of the power of life we each hold on to. The providential working of God's tender mercies still renders me speechless. As He gives words, I will share...
I am also completely undone by the many who have offered up their thoughts and prayers, of hope, of encouragement, of solidarity. Thank you each one. Never doubt that your words were read and always came at just the right moment, blessing our hearts, providing a sure place for that next step.
If there is one thing we have learned on this journey, it is that we are not alone. Nor are we the only ones who have experienced such grievous loss. So many have been down this road with pancreatic cancer. For us it is now very, very personal. We will walk the path of grief because we must, but it will never be without the light of mom's love.
Just yesterday, we received a beautiful card from the Hospice nurses who cared for mom during her last hours. Their personal notes touched our hearts, and I want to share the poem they included. It has no author, so I am not sure if it is written by their own hand or simply an anonymous author, but it's message met our need:
Experience has taught me that to share is to heal.
Grief and pain are the price we humans pay for the love and total commitment we have for another person.
The more we love, the greater the pain. But, would we have it any other way?
Memories are a gift from God to those left behind.
They bring comfort, joy and laughter.
They enable one to live on forever in the hearts of those they loved.
Mom is indeed living on in the hearts of those she loved. We are all the more blessed because of it.
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