The Last Five Days, Fifteen Hours and Thirty Minutes

I’m sitting down now.  Really sitting, not doing.  I haven’t done this in a few days.   I am emotionally worn out, but not as emotionally worn out as others. I am weary, but not as weary as others.  I have no complaints. 

Life is truly a mystery and death an even bigger one.  The range of emotions that have run through our lives in the last five days, fifteen hours and thirty minutes is vast. 

Confusion, Surprise, Fear, Worry, Anxiousness, Relief, Gratitude, More Worry, Hope,

Concern, Panic, Scared, Horror, Disbelief, Sadness, Anger, Thankfulness, 

Heartbreak, Love, Compassion, Respect, Inspiration, Irritation, Weariness, Gratefulness, 
Solemn, Blessed, Protective, Holiness, Determined, Amazed.

It reminds me of the road signs you see as you head through a mountain pass.  Sharp turns ahead, slow down.  Steep grade ahead, downshift.

It’s a good thing God doesn’t give us the ability to foresee the future otherwise we might not ever take a step forward for fear of what might lie around the next corner.

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Our oldest son broke his arm last Thursday.  At the time it seemed like a u-turn in life and a downward spiral.  To look at it you would have thought he had two elbows.  It was hard to watch him be in such pain.  Surgery was a real possibility, but after several doctors, nurses, x-rays and some “happy” pills all was right again and a cast was the solution.  Eight weeks and it will be a faded memory.  It will become a part of life and a great story to tell family. (Ok, so maybe not such a great story seeing how all he did was trip coming off the baseball field.  May have to add some flourishes to it over time to make it sound good.) 

He’s strong.  So very strong and in the midst of the pain and realization that his baseball season was over, he said the pain was simply his weakness leaving his body.  His weakness leaving his body.  What weakness?  I only saw and see strength.  On the dark car ride home, he said that after going through this, he felt he could do anything.  Where does that strength come from?  I so admire his ability to handle so much at such a young age.  Baseball season will be difficult, but know that he will find the positive in it and keep moving forward and counting down the days until summer ball (49 days).

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Then…

Our very close friends…

Our broken-armed son’s best friend’s brother…

Unexpectedly heaven bound on Saturday morning…

A climbing accident took his life.  His younger brother, our son’s best friend, was in our home when the news came over the phone.

Horrific.  No other words.

How quickly life is put into perspective. How quickly life is turned upside down and shaken violently in front of you.  Why? How? I don’t understand. How could this be?

The days have been long for their family and our prayers, so many prayers, have been upon them day and night.   Helping however we can by being there and not being there, listening, praying, holding them tight, laughing, cooking, organizing meals, remembering with them, making phone calls, anything to keep busy and numb the loss.

I cannot imagine.  I cannot.  Yet they comfort those around them with their unwavering faith and strength.  I have truly been a witness to God holding this family in His hands and easing their pain.  And, there is so much pain. 

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Then…

My husband’s mother…

A mini-stroke on Sunday morning…

So many tests done and prayers said, and family surrounding her for us while we are across the country in a different state.  There have been texts with updates, improvement in her hand, speaking better, up and walking more, and hope filling her through us that this will be a short episode and a quick recovery.  Our hearts worry. 

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So much going on in such a short span of days and hours.  U-turns and rollercoaster rides of emotions.

We will become stronger through all of this in our family and in our friendships.  Our caring for one another will be deeper.  Something positive has to come from all of this.  Some good needs to come from these things.  It must.  We try and find meaning and purpose in times like this.  It is our nature to want to understand and know “why?”  It’s only natural to want answers, I think. 

So, today as you go about your day.  Be polite to those around you. Love the ones in your life a little more.  Do something nice for a neighbor.  Listen instead of speak.  Pray instead of argue.  Let our hearts guide us to help and nurture others instead of ourselves.  Give instead of take.  Through this kind of living, we learn the world is a good place and there are good people helping others.  I know the next five days, fifteen hours and thirty minutes will have more ups and downs, but we will be thankful for all that is ours in this moment.

**Our friends have started a blog and hope it will be shared as you see fit.** 

To Make It Worth The Pain

His Secret Is Safe In His Sock Drawer

His secret is safe in his sock drawer.

I won’t tell.

I understand.

There is a history and it repeats itself.

He wants to break the cycle.

He’s requested I purchase something special just for him.

Just for him.

Not for anyone else.

I do.

I leave it on his dresser for him and he says thank you.

I didn’t realize it was a secret,

Until today.

Putting black and green socks away into his dresser,

There it was.

His secret.  

The aforementioned purchased item.

He likes his neat and the one they share isn’t neat.

He voiced his opinion and requested change,

Yet history repeated  itself and nothing changed.

So he became the change he wanted to see.

He requested his own.

He received his own.

He hid his own.

His secret is safe in his sock drawer.

Oneline Workshop - Poem It Out - By Liz Lamoreux

My Poet Self

I consider myself a life observer.  (Yes, I participate in life also, but find great satisfaction in observing as well.) I find people fascinating to watch and listen to.   The little things in my day are added together to make one complete moment in time.   

Today I am exploring the world as my poet self.  What is my poet self? 

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It’s the me who sees the sunbeams dance in the stream of water over the kitchen sink.

It’s the me who washes the dirt from the white socks and the white towels. 

It’s the me who is surprised to see the reflection of my distorted face in the bathroom faucet.

It’s the me who hears the jubilant cheers from my boys as school is cancelled because of the white frost and 60 mph winds.

It’s the me who touches the cold window and fogs it up with my warm breath.

It’s the me who notices the baby green tulip leaves sprouting through the snow covered mulch shivering and wanting the sun to come back.

It’s the me who breathes in deeply the cornflower blue liquid as I pour it into the washing machine.

It’s the me who embraces the rush of coldness from the garage as I enter to gather a diet soda from the fridge.

It’s the me who enjoys the laughter from four friends on a snow day.

It’s the me who eats wiggly noodles from a Styrofoam cup. 

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My poet self is the one who observes the simple little things in life that make up the whole of my day.  My poet self looks for more, hears the quiet, loves the tiny details that would normally go unnoticed.   Have you explored the world through your poet self lately?  It's worth a try.

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Online Workshop - Poem It Out by Liz Lamoreux

Penning a Poem

Today I am starting a new e-course with Liz Lamoreux, called Poem It Out.  I’m really looking forward to it and so have decided to make April the month of poetry here in my little part of the blogging world.  I’m not a poet as such, but hope you will come along with me on this little “to rhyme or not to rhyme” journey and perhaps write a poem or two of your own during the next thirty days (or so). 

Poetry is an interesting art to me simply because there aren’t any rules really.   There are specific types like Haiku, Quatrain, Lyric, and Ballads, with strict rules and features, but there are also poems with more free verse style as well.  These are the ones I am attracted to for the simple reason that they open up your mind to think outside of the box.  The words don’t always fit into a neat little package, yet can deliver such a deep and profound message. 

I hope to share with you some of the writing from the class in the coming weeks.  So for now, as the wind is blowing sixty miles per hour outside my window, I leave you with a little Haiku from me to you.

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Poetry alive

Words singing to me sweet love

Penning words to you

The House Is Still

The house is still.  The grey cat meows looking for his brother.

I can hear our son snoring on the floor (heavy breathing really).

The spring birds are busy singing outside the bathroom window

And the breeze has forgotten to wake.

The hours ahead are a blank canvas.

No paint is set out or pens ready to use.

The day has yet to unfold

And I am slow to greet the sun.

Breathing in this quiet is my morning cup of energy.

This time when the house is still is a special gift for me.

My mind is clear

And my breathing is pure and relaxed.

The hustle of the day will come soon enough.

The children of the house will begin to stir and rub their eyes.

I wait quietly to delay the sounds

And breathe while the house is still.