My mother always dreamed of visiting Ireland. She and my father almost went and then they changed their minds because of the excessive walking anticipated.
This song, though, says it all. We need a revival. We need spring. We need the pandemic to end.
However, I hope I am stronger and wiser despite the challenges. I hope that I can look back on the events and focus on the positive.
My mother deeply appreciated all types of music. In fact, she is the one who introduced me to polka! Who would have thought that a Dutch woman could appreciate such a different type of music! She often played the oldies on Saturday morning during cleaning, loved ABBA, and often played John Denver. When we moved my parents out of their Cutlerville home, we forgot all about the vinyls up in the attic. I hope someone is enjoying them!
She also stressed the importance of my brother and I playing an instrument. Those Saturday morning piano lessons paid off in many ways. One of the best memories was several years ago at my uncle’s funeral service in Virginia. An intense snowstorm meant that the pianist could not play for his funeral. I was able to play instead.
When I listen to this song by Andrew Peterson, I cannot help by wonder what the music in heaven must be like. Is it one continual litany of praise? Is my mother singing?
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
BY ROBERT FROST
Robert Frost, a poet my mother often quoted, came to mind today as I meandered in our woods, stopping to marvel at the white intricate snow patterns dotting the landscape.
Snow reminds me not only of my mother but also how a fresh outlook can change perspective. It can revitalize, energize, and allow a chance to slow down and marvel at the beauty of our world.
Valentine’s Day memories include a variety of events. Sometimes, I would take pictures of the kids and send to grandparents. Most included classroom parties. One of my favorite activities was melting crayons in the shape of a heart and passing it out to the students.
My father didn’t really care about the day, but my mom did. She was angry one year that I didn’t send her a Valentine. I found it interesting since the Dutch don’t really celebrate it. Why did she deem it so important?
Perhaps it is because it reminds us to care. It’s not only a day to remember for our spouses and significant others but also to reach out during the winter to say hello.
Last year at this time, I attended my uncle’s funeral.
It was a good funeral, but how can you call a funeral good? It was the spiritual legacy he left behind with his family and friends. It was a fitting day to have a funeral.
Valentine’s Day is a way to remember fun memories but also the greatest love of all- Jesus Christ. Happy Valentine’s Day, 2021.
As I scrolled through last year’s pictures, I came across the sunroom at Royal Park. Always one of my favorite places, I often spent time with my father here. It seemed to remind him of his Cutlerville home as my parents often sat in the sunporch on Sunday afternoons.
Another memory- checkers. On this particular day, my dad was grumpy and did not want to play.
When my father’s text, HI MICHELLE, came across the screen, I immediately responded. “Dad? Did you wake up? Dad?” No response.
Several attempts at communicating with the staff to receive an update remained futile. “We will call you back,” they told me when I phoned repeatedly. I realize that a nursing home facility is busy, but how does one connect? How does one connect with your father when he doesn’t communicate and you cannot visit the building?
My mind goes back to my mom’s communication skills. There was a point when she also stopped communicating. This is different, though, because I was able to see her.
My brother thinks there is no update and calls it zombie sleeping. But what does that mean?
Later in the afternoon, I received word that the next step may be dialysis. I will need to research to better understand. His kidneys are not doing well. I also learned that his speech is sometimes unintelligible.
I also received a Facetime call, but he was asleep during all of it.
While I wait, I will keep looking at pictures- pictures of last year when I was able to be there. Those visits weren’t always glorious or fulfilling, but that was okay. It was all part of the journey, a journey worth traveling, a journey I will always remember.
The words cut like a knife- failure to thrive. As I listened to the ZOOM conference describing my father’s condition, it was difficult to utter a word. I was thankful that I was in my office where the busyness of school surrounded. Everything they described seemed hauntingly familiar to my mother’s last moments: weight loss, increase in sleeping, and then the main thing- a change in his speech. ” He isn’t really talking.”
My brother spoke most of the time and kept advocating for the medical staff to explore all options. It was just with my mom. He advocated, I agreed, but inwardly felt that things were changing.
And then the document came in my inbox with a yes or no by each. It was a necessary step to outline the end of life measures.
1. Cardiopulmonary resuscitation (CPR).
2. Artificial means of nutrition (i.e., feeding tube).
Artificial nutrition/hydration may be given through a nose
or stomach tube.
3. Artificial means of hydration (temporary).
IV Therapy may provide hydration via a tube in the vein.
4. Placement on a ventilator.
A ventilator is a machine that provides artificial breathing.
5. Organ Donation
6. Antibiotics for infection.
7. Autopsy.
8. Transfer to hospital in an emergency situation or in the event
of a serious medical illness.
It’s hard to capture the feelings. I want him to get that second vaccine so badly, but will it make a difference? Will he overcome the failure to thrive?
One of my favorite memories during the shutdown last spring was this plant, the Christmas cactus. Directions for taking care of this plant usually involve placing a large dark bag over it and moving it to a dark place like a closet. We have never done this and just set it with our other indoor plants. The purpose behind the “closet” approach is that it will allow the plant to bloom. During the shutdown, the pink flowers opened. It bloomed at Christmas and now it is resplendent with pink again.
The pink blooms cause me to pause and pray. Thank you, God, for the flowers in life. When the days seem dark, blooms come along and remind me of the joys. A list of blooms this past week include the following: a friend who hugs when the moments are hard, a note of encouragement when the task seems unsurmountable, and the husband who serves faithfully when no energy is left. More could be listed. The blooms of this plant speak and remind. God is faithful.
I often joke about writing a book, but it is on my bucket list. Last year, I packed it in my teacher bag and read it at a variety of schools. I loved hearing the students’ comments.
“You need to add more animals”. “It needs more mystery”. Their comments caused me to change several parts.
As the year continues, however, it seems like every day is another chapter title. This past week, as it was the last week of January, thoughts of summer flooded my head. “Summer Island” seems like the perfect getaway, wherever it is located. As I continue to battle the COVID-19 waves of hate from others over mask wearing and the hope that my father will make it until the end, the final destination of Summer Island beckons and provides hope.
Today, the nurse’s communication regarding my father seemed like another setback. “He was sick last night and is not communicating.”He doesn’t want to eat”. Memories of my mother came back like a wave in the ocean. He also moved to another room due to a neighbor with COVID-19. Many things changed when my mother moved from Freedom Village to Waterford. I guess this chapter title could be “memories” or something else more catchy like flashbacks.
As the journey continues, more chapter titles will emerge. But what will they be?
The text came in the middle of the day. ” Here is a little note from your dad who feels he is locked in prison. No more visitors allowed. My hearing aids are not working, the one for my left ear is as quiet as a mouse and the one for my right ear is lost in this great cathedral. Who know where it may be? For entertainment I have a TV but the sound I cannot hear because my ears are not the way they should be. So believe me, I have a ball laying in bed and sleeping the day away. Dad.”
Sigh. What does one do with a text like that?
I often text I love you, but it doesn’t seem to work.
What is one to do? He has to be there. What about the vaccine? Will this help?
Everyone is frustrated with the pandemic. I hear it all the time. I see it in people’s eyes. Unfortunately, the frustration comes out in what I call ” word vomit”. The anger spews out like hot lava. For my father, it comes out in the written word.
The only answer is love. Keep loving the people who are frustrated. Keep loving the people who are angry. It’s the only way.
A Journey Worth Remembering 