Author: chelleren

If you looked at my mom’s calendar, you would often see the words, “Big Day.” It referred to some momentous occasion. The calendar was marked, “Big Day.”It was a day like no other when Caden and Elly celebrated their wedding.

Tears threatened to come when I saw the white frame and the white roses, but I didn’t want my mascara to run and focused on happy thoughts instead.

I still remember the day when Elly visited my mom when she was in rehab. My mother always loved Caden’s gentle spirit. She gave him a knowing smile when Elly came along with him.

My mother would have loved the wedding. The flowers, the string quartet, her dress– it was truly beautiful. She would have been happy that my brother and his family, cousins, and her brother made the special trip to attend.

One of the final deliveries was on Sunday afternoon. We took the beautiful flowers and brought them to the nursing home down the road. It was a perfect way to remember my mother one more time.

It’s hard to believe that it’s wedding week. This coming Saturday, Caden and Elly are getting married.

I am grateful we are not dealing with COVID, but… my deepest wish is that my father could attend.

“Zero condition to drive,” my brother texted.

Again, I am grateful that we are not dealing with the uncertainties of COVID, but… my mother-in-law may not make it, either. Colitis, her constant friend, is making a return visit.

Chloe, ever positive, developed an idea. ” What about a small reception after the wedding? Do it in Michigan.”

Their absence is an adjustment to the reality, which I always deny, of aging parents. It’s a reality everyone faces at some point, but it never makes it easier. The tears fall, the emotions surface, and their absence will be noted.

Above all, though, they would have celebrated a new granddaughter who loves the Lord like they do!

My second favorite household chore is ironing. My first being hitting my head on the top bunk bed until I faint.

Erma Bombeck

I inwardly grimaced when I picked up Corey to head to Indianapolis on Saturday. Why? He was carrying the familiar gray laundry bag tightly packed with dirty clothing.

Midnight bedtime for me, I thought. A trip to Indianapolis meant that laundry would be completed much later in the day.

Surprisingly, my mother came to mind, and how she asked for my dirty laundry. She loved ironing and doing laundry. When she came for visits when we lived in Kansas, she specifically asked for ironing. Mitch always commented on her ironing skills, a skill missing from my resume.

The quote from Erma Bombeck would not resonate with her. ” I love ironing,” she would say.

Three years have passed, but her memories keep going. Who would have thought that a gray laundry bag filled with clothing would remind me of her?

I never thought my father would outlive his long-term care policy, but it’s happening! As we discussed the next steps, we could not help but marvel. Who would have thought this would even happen?

As fall continues, I cannot help but remember the craziness of how he acted after my mother passed away. I remember standing outside his hospital room and thinking about how I would need to plan for another funeral. I remember the doctor telling me about “broken heart syndrome”. But here we are!

I would never believe that, three years later, he would be taking a ride on a Ferris wheel, going on little field trips to Lake Michigan, or celebrating his 90th birthday.

Thank you, God, for allowing him a quality of life at 90!

” I think I want to paint it,” Corey announced. The” it” referred to his room at the Young Life Home, named The Harbor. He is a Young Life leader for a local public high school. Inwardly, I groaned, thinking about the timing, but I know the importance of a good room environment for students.

Upon entering the room for the first time, I commented, ” I think this has possibilities.” A queen-size mattress with a broken frame, several tables, and a chair filled one part of the room while an attached sink, cabinet, and wardrobe closet inhabited the area closest to the door. We stood in silence for a while, contemplating the possibilities.

” We need a room divider,” I stated. ” This will block off the ugliness of the old sink and cabinet. I immediately began searching on Pinterest. What would we ever do without this fantastic resource? Sure enough, someone posted ways to create inexpensive room dividers. Drop-cloths seemed to be the easiest.

We worked late Friday night and all day Saturday. Of course, I had to take photos!

Strangely enough, I could not help but think about my father’s room during this time. Memories of finding the orange blanket to add a pop of color, purchasing the large horse picture that generates comments, and adding plants flooded my mind. Has it really been three years now?

The journey continues…………………………………..

Glaring, menacing, unwelcome– these are some of the adjectives that filled my mind when I looked at the positive Covid tests on the dining room table. After two years, we finally succumbed to the beast. I didn’t want to believe it. ” Aren’t you mad? I asked Mitch. His answer, midst coughing, was what I thought it would be. “What is the point?”

We spent the last weekend of July in Michigan, visiting my father-in-law in the ICU. A doctor’s visit revealed that he needed quadruple bypass surgery immediately. We also saw my father, but that visit took place outside in Waterford’s beautiful courtyard. Corey’s positive test prompted a flurry of phone calls to family members. It also meant that all hospital visits would end. I envisioned a dart board with Covid in the center. Throwing darts at this virus would feel so good! Down with Covid! Thankfully, my father-in-law, mother-in-law, and dad did not contract the virus. My father-in-law is recovering at home and seems to be doing well.

It was almost a textbook case. Exactly five days later, I felt like a truck ran over my head. As Corey pointed out, I don’t really know what that feels like, but it doesn’t matter. My head felt like a swirling mass of congestion, my back ached like I lifted a couch up the stairs, and my joints were on fire. Yuck.

However, I had to do something productive so I decided to read a book in one of my favorite areas- World War II. Reading a book about three sisters surviving the Holocaust takes the focus off temporary setbacks. What resiliency! How do people keep going in a concentration camp when everything is against them? I admired their tenacity in the midst of horror.

It reminded me of my mother who would always say, ” It can always be worse. Chin up!” Covid will pass. Soon it will be another blip in life’s journey.

How does one attempt to find a gravesite? It’s not exactly the topic at a luncheon and could be considered rather morbid.

While Mitch worked, I researched the location of my grandparents’ gravesites in Lethbridge, Alberta. Surprisingly, I discovered a picture of their gravesite cemetery. I found it surprising that cemetery caretakers actually do this. While I silently thanked the person for doing this, I wondered how we would locate it. Although I doubt the cemetery is the same size as Arlington, I am somewhat wondering if we can easily find it. It’s a flat stone, surprisingly similar to my mother’s.

One may ask the reason for doing this. The drive, the border challenges, and the unknown may be enough reason to say no, but it came down to my father. A conversation about his life in Canada and what it looks like is worth it.

” Remember, Dad, a week from today is Marcel’s birthday.” He responded affirmatively so I asked, ” What will you get him?” He chuckled and answered that a mere $25 would not do much. I inwardly agreed and then suggested a birthday poem. He agreed, so a poetry lesson began.

“Roses and red, violets are blue,” I began.

“That’s not really a birthday poem, ” he argued, but we wrote it anyway. We used the dry-erase board to brainstorm. His ideas included mountains and a reminder that Jesus carried him through the years.

However, poetry was not the only focus of the day. ” I want you to write a song for the poems I created, ” he announced.

“Are you kidding?” I asked. ” As a reminder, my last name is not Bach or Handel.”

He looked at me in a stubborn way. “You are my daughter and that’s all that matters,” was his firm answer.

This Saturday’s visit also included stories about his dog in the Netherlands, reminders of his parents, and ended with a homework assignment. My assignment? He wants me to create a card for my brother’s upcoming birthday and compose a song based on one of his many poems. I am secretly hoping that he forgets the song assignment and will work on the card.

But poetry was not the only lesson learned that day. Watching the aide take care of him in the bathroom, observing other nursing aides feeding the patients, and chatting with the front desk receptionist provided a different type of lesson for me. It was the lesson of compassion. It reminded me of the constant need to remember those less fortunate than myself. It’s a lesson for all. Perhaps if more people would visit nursing homes, we would become kinder and gentler. What a different world it would be!

I never gave much thought to the Americans with Disabilities Act until I had to take my father to different places. Suddenly, a carport in front of the doctor’s office took on a new meaning. A simple ramp brought relief. His parking sticker allowed me to park in an accessible place in the wintry months.

I thought of it again while wheeling him out the restaurant door without a button. Talk about muscle! My father is a skinny man, but getting him out that door seemed like a herculean effort.

I found myself wishing for a lift when we tried to place him in the front seat of the Silverado. Phew!

ADA, signed into law on July 26, 1990, provides rights for those who need them. After taking my father to different places, I find myself grateful for those who persisted in making sure that these people, unable to walk or do other activities, have a way of being part of life despite their physical challenges. The ramps, signs, electronic doors, and carports allow them to live and be a valuable part of society.

I am grateful that this act means that my time with my father is easier and more joyful. Using the wheelchair is not easy, but it allows him a better quality of life and more time with us!

The day dawned bright and clear as we traveled to Michigan to celebrate my father’s birthday. The setting, his church, was the perfect spot to celebrate. Around 35 people appeared, cards in hand, and smiling for my father. My former student and his mom appeared as well. It was the first time I saw him since the pandemic. It was a joyous event.

People enjoyed reading about his life. One poster included the information below:

Braved a trip  on the Volendam from the Netherlands to Canada in 1952

Energized by horses, farming, horses, socializing with family and friends

Related to Michelle- the daughter; Marcel- the son, has one sister living in Canada; the rest are with the Lord

Told everyone he loved Marianne on April 17, 1965

Part two

How often does it happen that we can celebrate a birthday of a 90-year-old AND an 85-year-old? Aunt Arlene celebrated her birthday with a birthday dinner of 60 guests. It was a fantastic weekend celebrating God’s blessings.

Now what? What will my father’s journey to the next year look like? Only time will tell as his journey continues.