October 19, 2010 I’m remembering a terrible day. Not because I choose to focus on the bad, but because it is such a contrast and reminder of what I’ve felt through this year. I remember the day vividly. It was another rush to the hospital. It was another time to jump into my role, to remember my duties and do all the expected things and handle it. Since Dad had passed, and even before, I was the one who knew what she wanted. I had reminded her to have a “hospital kit” at the ready; a cosmetic bag with all the necessities she needed at the hospital. I had the lotions, makeup, perfume, satin pajamas and slippers. Things she needed to be a patient but not feel like a patient. She couldn’t do the “patient” thing. She still had to be herself, and that meant looking fabulous so she could feel better. I understood. After I found out the reasons, I felt foolish for never “getting it”. When she would go into the hospital, there would always come a time when she would be horrible to me. Angry, upset and so awful that I would emphasize to her that I always knew I would be the one to take care of her, but that didn’t mean I signed up to be treated badly. That like it or not……..I was it. And, then………I finally asked the right question. In order to make her lungs function efficiently enough to let her recover, she had to be overloaded with steroids. I never, ever connected “steroid rage” with anything other than bodybuilders and athletes abusing them. But, in one moment of clarity, her doctor told me about “steroid induced psychosis”. In other words, because of the volume of steroids needed to get her lungs functioning, they had to give her enough steroids to send her into a rage……………this was a huge “Aha” moment. Though it was always tough to take, with this knowledge came understanding. And even for her, it helped. She knew it happened but hadn’t understood it either. So, a year after her death and two years after one of the toughest times, I remember that moment. I remember being in a lounge at the hospital, over-the-top emotional and so full of conflict that I could barely breathe. I had to leave the room to save myself. I had to get away, leave her completely alone and deal with what was happening. I called my sister in law, and for the first time, I let myself say the words that “I just can’t do this”. She reassured me, let me know it was ok to walk away and confirm that I wasn’t an awful daughter. I wondered then, how I would feel when this battle was over. Would I be relieved? Would I be upset? Would I wonder if I had done everything I could, and would I be content with how things played out? And, now; it is a year later. And, now; I have spent a year having validation for the goodness and class of my mother. I always look at life for the lessons that can be learned. From one tiny woman’s passing I have learned volumes. I have learned that leaving the world with no blemishes, a few good secrets and an organized life is honorable to those you leave behind. That loaning money to someone and never, ever advertising it and how, (or if) they paid you back isn’t important. To know you could do that for someone means you cared in a quiet, respectful manner. I have learned that keeping cards people give you means you cared about the thought they had for you. That though I am a person who says possessions and “things’ don’t mean much to me, they mean something to those that see what you felt was important. I have learned that leaving an organized household and life behind makes it easier for those that have to handle the remnants. I have seen the complete, unending love of a young woman for a noble man. I have seen the frailty of someone trying so hard to keep it together, for the sake of pride. My heart breaks at the evidence of the struggles. Quiet struggles and subtle moments when the figures came hard, the writing was weak and the confusion peeking through. I have seen a life lived with authenticity. What she said and what she talked about truly were the things that mattered to her. I have seen a woman capable of unbelievable forgiveness and belief in what lies ahead. I have seen a woman who may have needed those around her to validate her, but in return, provided remarkable support and concern. I have seen the supreme example of “never, never, never give up”. Her grandkids were terrified of the “nana talk”, but knew there was no one who supported them more. I knew she would talk too much about me, but I also knew that there was no one prouder or more confident in my abilities. When I wouldn’t want to bother anyone with the minutiae of my life, I knew she would be the one that would be interested. I have learned so much in the past year. I have had great validation of my mother’s life. I have come full circle from the angst and disruption of the care-giving to know that she was honorable. We can laugh at the humor in some of the moments, make light of the foibles and even tease about the tough times, because more than anything……..she died with integrity, class and a legacy of love and care in her path. In spite of the toughest moments, we all came out better for it and I know that I wouldn’t have done a thing differently. I am proud of how my mother lived and touched at the grace with which she died. A year of milestones has passed. With the best of her around us, we move on.

The company we keep

When I became a parent, I knew my only goal was to raise kind, competent and capable kids. I didn't need to spoil them. They didn't need toys and prizes. They needed structure and love to create the environment to let them thrive and become adults that would contribute, care and grow with the world. The most treasured moment as a parent is when you witness a kind word or action, completely unprovoked by you as their parent. When your children step up to help, politely interject or contribute in some positive way to any situation.........part of your job has been done. In that same light, when they choose good friends to surround themselves with and an envrinment to thrive in.......you've laid a foundation for a promising future. In that same way, we as adults need to reflect on the company we keep. Do we surround ourselves with people who push us, encourage us and nurture the best possible person we can be? Do we have people around us who set the standard for growth, care and compassion? Do we wish to breathe the air of people who push us to be better every day or do we need to measure the effects of people who seem to take that air away? I find myself in a conundrum at times when I have people that I care about deeply in my life, but who also seem to suck the air out of a room. Deep down, they are caring people, but their surface need for attention and drama creates a cloud around them. Who they are capable of being and who you hope they can be is clouded and blurred by the drama, habits and additional factors that change who they are on a daily basis. "What can be" is much different when you step away and see "what is". In our children, we raise them to be all they can be. "What can be" is formed by "what is". The friends who inspire us to thrive are living a life of "what is". They set the standard of what we hope to be in kindness, compassion, the need to be inquisitive, positivity and joy. The friends who challenge us are the one who we see as the possibility of "what they can be". I see the good......because I look for the positive. But, sometimes we live through the bad........."what is" is a difficult place to acknowledge. Looking at our friends, maybe we need to see what we would advise our children about. Does he/she make you a better person? Do they encourage, nurture and support all you wish to be or do they draw all the attention because of their needs? Sometimes who we want to be as a parent, is possibly the best advice we can give ourselves for who we choose to include in our lives. We are the company we keep.

Cameron and heaven

10-21-93
God truly works in mysterious ways. Like through the mouths of babes on the way home from gymnastics. I think a beautiful fall sky filled with clouds from a cold front moving in prompted this evening’s discussion.

“Where’s heaven, Mom?”
“Up beyond the sky.”
“But where Mom?”
“Past outer space.”
“How high Mom?”
“Too high Cameron.”
“How do I get there?”
“Well, I hope not for a long time, but God will pick your time.”
“But how do I get there?”

Before this time we had discussed the difference between our body and our soul due to Cameron’s passing interest in cemeteries. “Our soul goes up in heaven to be with Jesus”.
“But can I wear my tennis shoes?”
“You probably won’t.”
“But what will I wear?”
“A long white gown and wings.”
“How do I get wings?”
“God will fit you with your very own pair when He’s ready.”
“But what can we do up there? Will you go with me, Mom?”
“We don’t really know what you do because no one can come back to tell us. I know that you will have many friends there though.”
“Can we play, Mom—what do they have to play with?”
“Not toys like you have now, but you’ll have other things to do. Maybe you could play hide and seek.”
“Oh Mom—I’ve got a great idea. We could bounce on the clouds.”

What a nice thing to remember when I see a beautiful cloud formation……….Cameron’s bouncing clouds.

Getting Started

In 1989 I began what would become, my most treasured possession. I began my verbal scrapbook of life with my, then, child. Over the years, it would become a snapshot in time of small and large events in our lives. To me, it was more memorable than any photo I could take of my children. Over the next few days, months or years, I will start posting some of the entries. I vividly remember the night I began writing about my son. The entries are small and large bytes of mundane moments in our lives or in the world around us. I am sometimes prolific and at other times have gaps in the time. However, each time I open the journals that carry these stories, I am carried right back to the moment. The dedication at the bottom was when I finally decided to share some of the writing.............

Excuse me, God? Are you truly confident that you wanted me to mother this little boy?
I certainly don’t question your abilities or plans, but the gift you bestowed upon my life
is certainly worth looking into.

I look at Cameron as he sleeps in my arms or embraces me with a precious
“eskimo” kiss and really wonder how you happened to reward me so.

Several times in my life I’ve felt your presence. Most often during the bad times
when you rescued me, for your own reasons. I have never prophesied
your presence, but rather, accepted you as a silent partner.

As I lay in my hospital bed…you blessed me with family, friends and health,
As I reached one of the loneliest and least-directed times in my life, you
brought me love. And then, when I believed I would never
bear a child, this magical little boy began to form.

That you entrusted me with this miracle of nature is proof that you sanction my life.

I have carried many responsibilities and accepted them as duty.
I accept this as a gift.

Through his eyes, I see wonder.
Through his laugh, I feel joy.
Through his touch, I feel warmth.
Through his trust, I build strength.

Strength for the morning, strength for the night, strength for the family
and strength for the challenge. He runs to me with expectation.
I run to him for life.

Life in its fullest sense.
As you intended it to be.


To my father, my hero.
You are the quiet strength, unfaltering resolve and unconditional love that has made me who I am.
You are the epitome of family and the example of the rewards, sacrifices and importance of believing in what lies ahead.
I love you.

Kyle