Author: chelleren

After completing a two week substituting position in the art room, I thought that a Michigan hike would be a perfect way to enjoy a Saturday. After a morning coffee with my friend Gwyn, our family headed to Holland with Kenai, our furry friend. The hike included a walk through a beautiful forest and a stroll along one of my favorite bodies of water, Lake Michigan.

Walking along the shores of Lake Michigan with Mitch, Corey, and a canine happily sniffing various smells is definitely a type of sanctuary. Looking across the lake waters never gets old. As we walked on the sandy shores, my mind went back to the week’s events. Subbing in middle school art definitely tested my patience at times. Observing a seventh grader deliberately place himself in a trash can, reminding students that they are quiet during instructions, and encouraging students frustrated with art pieces were only some of the memorable moments. I also had the privilege of being a small part of the weekly chapel where students from kindergarten through eighth grade gathered in small groups to focus on their theme: Living God’s Story.

Part of my week also included visits to my father, still struggling to find purpose in life after my mom. That part of my week seemed the most difficult. I feel like I am at an impasse where I don’t know if changing anything will help. It needs to be him. He needs to find his sanctuary.

We ended the afternoon by visiting my father and taking him outside for a walk around Royal Park. He enjoyed seeing Kenai and actually smiled from time to time. I need to find more sanctuaries for him as the journey continues.

Sometimes, I am surprised at my emotions. I burst out in tears when a school secretary phoned asking me to sub on the day of my mother’s funeral.That is not usually typical of how I answer phone calls. Certain songs played on the radio will still make me tear up. But the one emotion I am most surprised about it anger, specifically at my father.

After subbing in art, I decided to head directly to Royal Park for an afternoon visit. The sunny day prompted me to take my father outside where I hoped it would encourage him. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

“What’s wrong, Dad?” I asked, feeling like it was the beginning of a therapy session. “Everything’s wrong,” he responded, head in hands. Inwardly sighing , I worked to unravel his feelings. “There is no purpose in life, ” he bleakly remarked. “That is simply not true, ” I pointed out. “God has a purpose for us in every stage of life. Didn’t you have a purpose when you weren’t with Mom? You married her late in life. Are you saying that your only purpose in life is when you were married to her? That doesn’t make sense!” I could feel my irritation rising. Trying to calm down, I decided to read Psalm 139 to remind him of how God knows every part of us, which to me, means also that He has a purpose.

Despite the many attempts, he did not respond positively and told me he wanted to head back since it was almost supper. I agreed and wheeled him to the dining room. While he ate, I decided to create some visual reminders. One of them was a reminder not to act like a certain person we know who merely gave up on life and became a recluse. Another was a question, “What does God want you to do today?”

Feeling angrier by the minute, I decided that leaving would be the best action. As I headed out, I said, ” I am not sure when I will come back next”.

The evening ended with a flurry of texts back and forth with my brother who also agreed that my father was giving up. I described it as a slow death which may or may not be accurate. He reminded me again that it has only been one month since my mother passed, which I know, but I just think– “Come on! Is life only worth living if you have your spouse? My mother would not like to see my father like this and would tell him to make the best of it. But can he?

One of the most surprising parts of living in Michigan is the number of times I learn we are related to someone either at church or school. This week, while substitute teaching in Art, I learned that one of the elementary teachers is my cousin’s daughter. Corey played soccer with a cousin on his grandmother’s side and a cousin on his grandfather’s side. It only made sense to attend the Tuinstra reunion on a Saturday afternoon.

The meal started with a blessing led by a family member, reminding everyone of the spiritual legacy shared. It is definitely a blessing to know that prayer before meals is an important way to begin. My mind went back to the 2005 sabbatical in the Netherlands where we attended several family reunions. References to Christianity were lacking. Church attendance, for some, consisted of weddings and funerals.

Table conversation included a variety of topics and one focused on Tuinstra recipes. I brought the Tuinstra cookbook and asked about one recipe in particular– Baby Food Bread. Apparently, two small jars of baby food make this bread tasty! She also talked about using orange juice in banana bread to allow it to stay moist. I remarked on one of my favorite food items– jello fluff! My mother-in-law, an excellent cook, talked about her beer meatloaf recipe, chock full of venison and pork sausage. I had to take a picture of it! The orange pot even matched the table cloth!

The most surprising part of the reunion was the auction. At the end of the meal, chairs were repositioned to focus at the back of the room where one uncle auctioned off a variety of items. All proceeds went into the Tuinstra Fund, used for flowers and rental fees. Auctioned items varied, but the popular ones included homemade pies and candy. The lively atmosphere was peppered with laughter and jokes. We laughed over the bare butt angel!We laughed over the bare butt angel!! An announcement at the end of the auction encouraged everyone to attend the late grandparents’ 120th wedding anniversary to be held in 2020. ” How can we get more young families to attend?” they pondered.

We ended the afternoon in rather a unique way by visiting the cemetery where Mitch’s grandparents were buried. It was a reminder to me again of our 2005 sabbatical when we visited the cemetery of my late aunt and uncle. Do other people actually visit cemeteries of relatives? It’s not really a topic of conversation in most circles.

Attending family reunions always reminds me of the blessing of understanding the past. I am grateful for our faithful grandparents who desired generations of believers.

There’s nothing like a bake-off to start off the fall season! I couldn’t resist entering a recipe in the Royal Atrium’s annual pumpkin bake-off. The first prize of $25 spurred me on to bake the best entry and I found myself baking a variety of baked goods throughout the week.

Pumpkin Cheesecake Bars, the final pick, won a second prize amidst the various baked products. It was a proud moment!

Besides all the activity, it was another way to divert and distract my father from his sadness. I feel that one way to help those grieving is to become involved in a variety of activities so they can view that life does go on and it can be good.

While cleaning out my parents’ condo, I discovered several books. Some needed to be brought back to the library, others belonged to my parents, and then there were two unread books authored by Beverly Lewis.

I remember the phone conversation like it happened yesterday. “Guess who we are going to see?” my mom excitedly asked. Not really knowing, I offered a random guess. “Beverly Lewis is coming to Zeeland!” she answered. The author, well-known, writes adult and children’s books that often take place in Amish areas.

I opened the books to find my name with Beverly’s signature. “To Michelle! Blessings! Beverly Lewis.” I don’t know why it touched me so much. Did my mom always mean to give this book to me and didn’t because of her dementia? I googled the event and learned that the book signing occurred on September 12, 2018, over a year ago.

Even though I am not quite finished reading the book, titled The Road Home, I often stop and wonder if my mom specifically chose this book for me. In many ways, I have traveled the road home this year. This area is my home, although Indiana is my permanent one. I constantly run into people I knew while growing up. The main character in the book, Lena, deals with the unexpected loss of her parents. “Losing Dat and Mamma was never going to be something any of them would just get over. Yet with God’s help, somehow they would eventually move past the deepest, most searing sorrow.” I can hear my mom saying these same things to me. I recall her saying, “At some point, I will not be here any more”. After a pause, she looked me in the eye and said with a nod, “But you will be okay.”

Bills, notices, medical claims, insurance policies– it never seems to end. I am thankful for my brother’s financial skills and happily leave them in a pile for him to collect. However, there is one part of the paperwork, the tombstone, that I am working on this week.

I am quickly realizing that the tombstone, graveyard marker, headstone– whatever you want to call it— is going to require additional research. Contacting the township clerk, the funeral home director, comparing prices, and remembering the Michigan weather conditions are some of the tasks. My brother, the avid Amazon buyer, wants to purchase it online and then figure out who could install it. I even caught myself checking on Groupon. Are there actually Groupons for tombstones? I only found Halloween gifts. What about school auctions? Maybe we could attend one and get it for really cheap. Being Dutch really is crazy at times.

Besides phoning companies, I find myself returning to the cemetery to look at my mother’s site. I don’t know why I do it. My brother said he won’t come back for some time. As I look around, the tombstones belong to people from the same church my mother attended. Located a short distance from my mother’s site, is Gabrielle Van Horn’s stone. Tears fill my eyes as I remember how my mother would always reach out to her at church. My mother frequently spoke of Gabrielle, severely disabled since birth, and her devoted parents. Gabrielle’s mother, despite being busy with a catering company, made it a priority to come to the visitation. It reminded me once again how much it means to the disabled when someone takes the time to reach out and care.

As I complete this additional research, I can’t help but wonder how often we will actually visit this cemetery in years to come. Will we make it an annual Memorial Day ritual where we visit? Do people do this? Do entire families visit the cemetery together and then head to Bob Evans as a type of memory?

I also think about the type of marker to purchase. The option to purchase a double marker also exists, but I can hardly bear to think of my father buried as well. It was especially difficult today when I visited my father and viewed his declining mobility, lack of interest in any activities, and extreme fatigue. He was doing so well on Sunday ! As I left his room, I stood and wept. The words, carelessly uttered after my father’s fall, still haunt me; ” I felt so sorry for you when I heard the news of your father’s fall. Two parents in one year?”

I console myself with the words to the song the elementary students sang today as I subbed in the music classroom.

You are my strength and comfort
You are my steady hand
You are my firm foudation
The rock on which I stand
Your ways are always higher
Your plans are always good
There’s not a place where I’ll go
You’ve not already stood

https://www.songfacts.com/facts/lauren-daigle/trust-in-you

One of the best parts of Michigan is renewing friendships once distant and removed. It amazes me that I can just pick up with a friend like we merely stepped out of a room for a few minutes. It definitely is the mark of a true friend.

The morning scene, a roadblock due to an accident, seemed symbolic of my career the past year. It started with an inquiry at a school in East Lansing. This inquiry led to submitting an application, a phone interview, an interview at the school that included me teaching an actual lesson, and then waiting for seven weeks until I heard the answer: no. Michigan’s requirement for an early childhood license kept me from that position.

When we decided that Lansing housing would not work, northern Grand Rapids became the next focus point so I interviewed for a wonderful position that would involve working with Mitch’s cousin. The interview, a fantastic time with his cousin and the principal, seemed positive. I would be teaching homeschool students who attended their hybrid program. The email arrived a few days later. Due to a school policy stating that relatives may not hire each other, this door was closed. I reminded myself that the winter drive to the northern part of Grand Rapids might be challenging.

When we moved to 1891, my rental house name, I spotted the charter school on the corner street and applied for a long-term substitute.It excited me to think of teaching in a charter school! I learned through the staffing agency that they hired internally.

Focusing my efforts elsewhere, I contacted three feeder schools of South Christian and tried to meet with the principals. I met with two of them and enjoyed the visit. One assured me that I would be on the top of the list and indicated there might be a need for a long-term position. That particular school did contact me to sub, but it was the day of my mother’s funeral. When they called and asked, the emotion spilled out on the phone. I haven’t heard from them since that phone call, which makes me kick myself for not controlling myself.

At last, one school contacted me to teach Art. Why not? I thought. I love art, even though I am not an artist. Thinking it was a simple task of signing up, I immediately agreed. The secretary’s email, though, asked me to complete another task.

“Since the position is Shared Time, you need to sign up with Edustaff”, she instructed. I had to reread Michigan’s policy on Shared Time. This article, explains it in more detail. https://www.freep.com/story/news/education/2019/05/10/private-schools-teachers-michigan-pays/1128285001/ Signing up for Edustaff required taking a quiz, filling out online paperwork, watching a series of tutorials, and attending a two hour workshop. At this point, I am awaiting official approval.

Another email arrived in my inbox which asked if I could also sub in a regular classroom setting. I agreed and found myself eager to meet the students as it has been some time since I stood in front of the classroom.

It felt like another roadblock as the day progressed. I quickly learned how different it is for a substitute teacher to step in for a teacher. The day ended with me feeling defeated, disenchanted, and wondering if this is another barrier to the year. I found myself wishing I could crawl in a hole and pretend the day never happened. As I deconstructed the days’ events, Mitch pointed out that I needed to keep my focus on the main goal of this journey: taking care of my parents and now just my father.

Even though I know this is the focus, I cannot help thinking about my career. What will happen to it? Was walking away from my third grade classroom this past May permanently leaving education? Should I be thinking about a different path, like one in geriatrics? At the end of October, I will be completing training in SAIDO, the memory- based learning system for patients with dementia. Should I be focusing my efforts here and start training to become a certified nursing aide? The financial part of this Michigan adventure, increasingly more expensive as the year progresses, makes me consider being a Meijer personal shopper. It would also be something I could do back in Lafayette because of Meijer’s presence in both Lafayette and West Lafayette.

As the journey continues and my questions abound, I have to focus on the truth: God’s plan is not mine. I need to rest in His sovereignty. I need to remember Natalie Grant’s lyrics: When did I forget that you’ve always been the king of the world?
I try to take life back right out of the hands of the king of the world
How could I make you so small
When you’re the one who holds it all
When did I forget that you’ve always been the king of the world

Source: LyricFind

Songwriters: Becca Mizell / Natalie Grant / Samuel Mizell King of the World lyrics © BMG Rights Management, Music Services, Inc

Throughout the summer, I visited a variety of health care facilities which included hospitals and nursing homes. It is evident that they make it a priority to create some kind of welcoming atmosphere for all who enter the doors. Many use soft, wordless music in the background. Others choose a certain color palette. Sometimes certain lighting is utilized. But out of all of the techniques, my ultimate favorite is the atrium at Royal Park.

Because my parents lived on the other end of Royal Park, I don’t think they ever spent time together in the atrium, but I wished they had! Large green foliage, waterfalls, and an enormous skylight allow visitors to enjoy nature without facing inclement weather conditions. Picnic tables and small sitting areas provide places to sit and enjoy the surroundings. An added bonus is that my father’s temporary room is located very near.

This has to be the best type of therapy for anyone dealing with grief. It has to help my father. I know it will.

As I ponder the events of the last week, words escape me at times. I cannot believe that I spent the last week at a hospital- again. At times, I don’t even know how to verbalize it. At times, I don’t even want to talk about it and want to blot it out of my memory. It often felt eerily similar to the summer events with my mother.

The week definitely was filled with ups and downs. When my brother told me he had to be in Chicago for the day on Wednesday, I thought, “No biggie!” I drove to the hospital, entered my dad’s room to find him sitting up eating breakfast. It seemed like a good sign. However, it soon changed. The nurse noticed his low blood pressure as well as his unresponsiveness. A flurry of medical personnel entered his room. “You need to call your brother NOW!” a nurse informed me. My heart pounding, I tried to contact him, but he was unavailable. I stood in the doorway, unable to process the events. “Broken heart syndrome”, the doctor explained. Your dad is severely dehydrated and also experiencing some heart challenges.” I never really believed in this diagnosis, although I have heard of it. She nodded her head. “It is medically proven”. Thankfully, the large quantities of fluid allowed his blood pressure to improve. Even though we hoped he would be discharged earlier, he was finally allowed to head back to Royal Park on Friday. But where would he go?

Because my father fell during the night, the next best place would be some type of assisted living. We quickly decided that Royal Park Atrium Inn would be the easiest because it is located in the same complex and connected to his condo via hallways. It sounded so effortless- just pack up a few clothes and help him get into his new room.”Are you okay with this?” my brother asked. “It should be rather simple. It would be a type of transitional housing until he fully recovers.” However, I don’t think I would characterize it as simple or effortless.

Upon arrival, we were met by administration and the admitting nurse. The nursing staff needed to evaluate him for the type of level care needed and administration needed me to fill out paperwork. Upon entering his room, I felt a sense of dread. The fluorescent lighting, single bed in the corner without a comforter, and the brown carpet left little to be desired. Where are my HGTV friends in times like this? The nurse instructed me on the items needed for my father: twin size comforter, water bottle, prescriptions, his walker, the toilet seat. the list seemed to go on and on. “Does your dad wear Depends?” she asked. “Where are the prescriptions they dispensed in the hospital? What about the new one prescribed?” What pharmacy does he use? The unrelenting questions about medications made me want to crawl in a hole. After the meeting and my list of duties, I met with the administrator where I signed endless papers: photo release, tornado plan, field trip permission form, ETC. ETC! My signature, once neat and slanted, rapidly became a messy scrawl. An hour passed.

I looked at the clock and realized that I needed to complete the most important part of the afternoon: making sure that my dad’s room made him feel comfortable. I maneuvered a borrowed cart down the halls, but I kept going in circles, much to the delight of the residents. ” I think I just saw you,” a resident commented. “Where are you going?” Feeling silly but laughing at myself, I answered and one kind woman led me through the hallways to my father’s condo. Once inside, I realized the enormity of the task. Moving AGAIN! What tables should we use? What items should I bring so he feels comfortable? After many trips back and forth, I managed to create somewhat of a comfortable atmosphere. Remembering the podcast I listened to about decorating tips, I made sure to place his plants in a prominent location. I angled his recliner and the wingback chair so it provided a good conversation spot. The focal point is the window that allows you to look out upon the inside atrium. This truly is the genius spot of Royal Park. Filled with an array of plants and waterfalls, this definitely will help anyone recover.

My brother and his wife, who joined me later to encourage my father and view his new surroundings, thought the room was wonderful. My brother reminded me that my dad doesn’t care how the room looks, but I secretly disagreed. No pictures are allowed on the walls since it is transitional housing. I wondered if I could add some fabric. Or what about a wall tapestry held by Command hooks? I could take Corey’s world map tapestry. Mentally, I reminded myself to ask the administrator. I would also like to add pillows for comfort as texture is an important component of any room. I might also bring some nature items like pinecones, a definite Michigan connection.

A bright spot in the day was the arrival of dear Lois. While transporting my dad’s items, I knocked on her door and told her of my dad’s move. She made it a point to come to the Atrium to see my dad. We enjoyed many good laughs as we sat in a circle. It definitely provided encouragement at the end of a long day.

As I left Royal Park, I glanced at the water spout that greets all visitors. It reminded me of the blessings that continue to flow, despite the challenges.