blog feed

The memory of the phone call came back in a flash. “Michelle, is this an okay time to talk?” It was my sister-in-law, Hope. I was sitting in the bleachers, watching Corey’s soccer game. “Of course, “I answered. Her news filled me with dismay. “It’s my dad. They said he has six months to live- liver cancer. He may qualify for immunotherapy, though. I wanted to let you know, in case I seem rather sad at Mom’s funeral.”

I recall sitting in the far corner of the bleachers, repeatedly saying, “This can’t be happening.” Would we be attending two funerals this year?

I also remember him attending my mother’s funeral and commenting on how he appreciated my brother’s eulogy and the different songs sang. He told my sister-in-law that he wanted a similar funeral, sentiments she didn’t want to hear.

Now, this morning, I answered another phone call with the news that her father had indeed passed. “You have to be kidding,” I said. “Of course I’m not kidding,” my brother angrily responded. I don’t know why I responded with those words. Strangely enough, I answered the call at Waterford, the facility where my mother passed away. I had signed up for SAIDO, the training for dementia patients and this just happened to be the day of training. The tears ran down my face as I listened to my brother share the details of how his father-in-law’s health deteriorated so quickly in the past few days. He was out for lunch on Thursday, enjoying a visit with his brothers, but Friday found him at a different state. It was too fast. Another funeral, another burial, and more tears.

Despite the shock at the sudden death, I rejoice over the spiritual legacy Phil left his family and grandchildren. I praise God for the family dinners they were able to enjoy in his last days. I am thankful that I was able to take their family photo the Sunday after my mother passed away and continue to pray that our heavenly Father will comfort and uplift them in their sorrow.

I woke up on Saturday, feeling a sense of excitement as I thought ahead to the excursion I planned for my father– visiting the Holland Art Museum. Filled with Dutch artifacts and masterpieces, I thought this would be the perfect way to distract him from his sadness. But again, I was wrong.

“I don’t want to go anywhere,” he answered, placing his hands on his head. “I am too tired.” Inwardly sighing, I sensed that no persuasive arguments would change his mind. “What about if we change some things in your room instead?” I questioned, remembering that the lighting needed to be changed. “I don’t care. Do what you want.” While I was disappointed that we didn’t head to the art museum, I rejoiced that he didn’t care how I redesigned his room!

My first step was to change the blank walls and add more family pictures to help him remember that his family dearly loves and adores him. I headed back to his condo where I somehow hauled his dresser back to Room 211. This arduous task included locating the cart, dragging the dresser to the cart, and then transporting the dresser/cart back to his room amidst many comments from the residents. “What ARE you doing?” they all asked. I am sure that it was quite a sight seeing me pull the cart with this dresser all through the hallways. However, it was totally worth it when I finished. I also added more lamps.

My next step was to create more color in the room. “What is your favorite color, Dad??” “I don’t have one,” he responded. I persisted.

“What about green? Blue?” “Well, I guess I do have one: orange.”

“ORANGE? Did you say ORANGE, Dad?” I could not believe it. After all these years, I never knew that orange was his favorite color.

“Yes,” he smiled. “Orange is a good color.” I didn’t know if he was just saying that to get me to stop asking him, but I was thrilled.

“Okay! Orange will work great!”

I ended up leaving to head to the nearest home store where I located another jewel– Scrabble letters that could be stuck on his wall. My dad and I played Scrabble for countless hours when I was growing up!

On Sunday, I headed back to Royal Park where I added the extra design elements. It is such a little thing, but the design of a nursing home room is important in the healing process. I found myself thinking of more ways to add fun to his room and hope it helps his grieving process.

• 

• 

• 

• 

“I love his Einstein hair!” my nephew always comments. My dad’s hair, unruly and wild, definitely looked like Einstein, but that ended with a haircut by Bev. Despite my dad’s desire to stay in his room, I wheeled him to the salon where he received a haircut and eyebrow trim.

During the appointment, Bev chatted about my mother and her enjoyment of getting her hair done. My dad, always cautious with his money, expressed reluctance to pay for what he viewed as frivolous. Bev shared how my mother would whisper, “If Bert says it’s okay, I will come and get my hair done!” My brother and I learned about my dad’s reluctance and purchased a hair certificate for my mother as a present.

While chatting with Bev, I thought of other times when we focused on Mom’s hair. When my mother was close to death at Waterford, she was supposed to get a haircut, but it seemed pointless so we canceled. While at Freedom, my aunt visited and marveled at my mom’s plethora of hair. My aunt was wearing a wig because of cancer treatments. While completing the funeral arrangements, the director asked if we wanted Mom’s hair done a certain way. Thinking that was definitely silly since it was a closed casket, we responded that it didn’t matter. At the funeral, when our family viewed Mom for one last time, I had to feel her hair for one more time. It still maintained its form, mostly because of hair product.

The day ended with me driving back on M-6, thinking about hair. It was another moment of remembering my mother.

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.

•