Lush Life

Myself and my band, Zaffiro! performing Lush Life. October 4th, 2014 at Sweet Red in Albany.

Dream

The following is a poem written by my son, Tristan.

I,
who have dared to dream,
have seen the truth in lies
and hope in schemes,
have realized the visions of true serenity;
of peace in war,
rest in calamity.
I have been there,
done that,
loved it,
lost it,
gained it...
only to give back
thru pieces of tranquil lost,
will unseparated,
hate for my fate,
in whole for the sacrifices
that took place.
The hole in my soul burrows deep.

For only I know
the gifts that are given
sent from above
don't always resemble
the peace,
the fig tree
the olive branch,
the dove.
The promises of peace
that seem to cease
as the sun beacons the rise,
illuminating the darkness
catching the moon by surprise
giving it no choice
but retire and sigh.

I,
I who want more,
I who want so much more,
giving flight to my excite
incorporating greed in my breath
which pumps the veins
which pursues the lies
that American Pie has dished up as truths
which highers the heights
but I'm lower than lows.
I'm rags to riches
than riches to rags
how low does this go
before the have nots
are the not so's.
The kick downs,
the beat downs
the let go's.
But I who dare to dream
But I who dare to dream.
I want more
I want so much more
~Tristan DeMers

Shake Down

It was recently brought to my attention that I might possibly be going through a "mid life crisis" a "menopause crisis"; certainly a crisis of some sort.  Apparently one of the signs of said crisis is quoting of the scriptures, a lot. And crying. 

I had a rough day yesterday so this seemed to ring true for me actually and I wondered if indeed I am going crazy, losing my mind, mid life bonkers, menopause madness,  just plain nuts! 

After an afternoon of tears and conversations with my husband intermixed with fiercely whispered prayers to God that alternated between demands to Him to keep His word and questions of what exactly is going on here, I collapsed exhausted into bed with little peace, but some contentment. 

Awake at 3:33 this morning I allowed my thoughts to wander and float where they wanted but eventually began to anchor them to docks of scriptures.

Signs of a crisis in my life.

The death of my father last December shook my world like nothing else had. It was indeed the largest life quake I've ever experienced, I think if it could have been measured it would have been off the Richter scale. I'm still experiencing the aftershocks, some 6 months later. 

God has "put a million, million doors in this world for His love to walk through" and one of the biggest doors was my dad. That door was slammed shut with such finality, the sound of it still reverberates, echoing down the lonely chambers of this broken heart. 

And now I've been brought face to face with some questions I have no way of getting around, out of or ignoring; Who do you love? What have you placed your trust in? Who is the source of your joy? Where does your peace come from?

I thought, but I didn't stop to think. I know, but I didn't stop to find out what I know. I trusted, but I didn't stop to see who I was trusting. Like David, "when I felt secure, I said I will never be shaken".

Hebrews says " At that time his voice shook the earth, but now he has promised, “Yet once more I will shake not only the earth but also the heavens.”  This phrase, “Yet once more,” indicates the removal of things that are shaken—that is, things that have been made—in order that the things that cannot be shaken may remain". 

My life has been shaken.  What I thought was, wasn't. 

Ever tried to stand on ground that isn't solid? Experienced an earthquake? My reaction alternates between being in and out of control of the situation. I spend most of my time trying to balance, find my footing, keep upright. What causes me to do that? Fear of falling. Fear of being crushed by something falling.  Because falling hurts. (Being crushed can be deadly!)  It's embarrassing and it leaves me exposed and feeling helpless. The main thing I do when I'm on unsolid ground is look for something to hang on to. I look for what is solid, not shaking, secure. 

The only thing solid and secure in my life, in the middle of this lifequake, is the eternal, unchanging, solid  Word of God. That's it. It is the only thing in my life that cannot be shaken and remains when all else has been shaken and removed. The shakeable is revealed by the shaking. A shake down.

I can give frilly, surface answers all day. But the longer I live, the more I realize how quickly time passes. What looked like years,  looking back, now I see were mere minutes.  I honestly don't have much time for what is surface and frilly, what can be shaken, what is temporary, what can be shaken, what is fleeting, what can be shaken. The more my world and all that is temporary is shaken, I have 2 choices; allow myself to just let go and be crushed by it all, or hang onto the only solid thing I have and let myself be changed. I choose of course, to shout into the wind, the storm, the rain. Not that I haven't let go a time or 2 and slid around, but with every ounce of faith I've been given, I will get back up and hang on. To His word. Because It. Is. All. I. Have!

If I look and sound fanatical, so be it. If standing on the solid Word of God in the midst of all the insanity and heart ache looks crazy? It's alright by me. I'm in the best company when I'm ok with being  "a spectacle to the world, a fool for Christ. ''

My world was rocked, the door was slammed, the sound still echoes, the loneliness is deep, the tears seem endless. But His word remains forever and will forever be my portion, my sanity, my salvation, my strength, my refuge, my restorer. 

In Christ and Christ alone, I stand. It may not look like it on the outside, but I'm standing on the solid rock of God's word. 

I have not been given a spirit of fear; but I have been given Love, Power and a Sound Mind. 

Signs of a crisis? Menopause Madness? Perhaps. 

If spouting scripture is a sign of madness and crisis.... I think I'll be here for a long time.

Growing

I am going through a book by Susie Larson titled, "Your Beautiful Purpose". I plan to blog my entire journey through this book, but feel led to go ahead and share the first question in Chapter 3. This chapter is titled "Wait On God".
Before asking the first question, the instructions were to read Hebrews 12: 5-11. I have mixed the Message and the ESV versions:
"And have you forgotten the exhortation that addresses you as sons?

My dear child, don’t shrug off God’s discipline,
    but don’t be crushed by it either.
It’s the child He loves that He disciplines;
    the child He embraces, He also corrects.

God is educating you; that’s why you must never drop out. He’s treating you as dear children. This trouble you’re in isn’t punishment; it’s training, the normal experience of children. Only irresponsible parents leave children to fend for themselves. Would you prefer an irresponsible God? We respect our own parents for training and not spoiling us, so why not embrace God’s training so we can truly live? While we were children, our parents did what seemed best to them. But God is doing what is best for us, training us to live God’s holy best.  For the moment all discipline seems painful rather than pleasant, but later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it."

Question: When God points out growth areas in your life, are you more apt to shrug off His words, crumble in a heap underneath them or take them to heart with humility and confidence? Why?

Answer:  Although I do not remember a time when I didn't know Jesus, looking back over my life, there are clearly marked moments of growth.  Knowing and learning to recognize the discipline of God is a process in itself.  As a younger person, I attributed a lot of hardships as the devil seeking to destroy me. I rebuked many attempts by God to grow me and ordered many messengers from Him to get behind my back.   I also was so judgmental in attitudes I had toward others; I could not and would not hear them because they did not "look" or "sound" like God to me.  The question Susie poses  above follows the same pattern as the parable of the farmer sowing seeds in the field (Matthew 13: 3-9). Many times when God tried to discipline me, I shrugged it off. The seed blew away because it fell on shallow ears and a dry heart. There was nothing available to receive and nourish that seed of discipline.  Other times I heard and even acknowledged that seed of discipline only to crumble and not know what to do.  Instead of asking God for wisdom and trusting in His love for me, I let weeds of doubt and low self worth choke out the bigger picture; choke out the fact that a loving Father was trying to grow me.  Currently in my life, I'm more likely to take the seed of discipline to heart. Not that it doesn't hurt, because I'd be lying if I said it didn't.  But I'm no longer crushed by it, nor do I ignore it.  The soil of my heart is more compliant to the discipline of God and when someone tells me something that hurts or offends, instead of being defensive, getting angry or chalking it up to the enemy, I lean  in - I ask God if there is truth to what was said.  If there is (and usually there is some truth) I bring it to the forefront of my prayers. I ask God to make me humble of heart, and to make me aware of the behavior, action or habit He is ready to change in my life. I also ask Him to make me sensitive to His promptings so I don't live my life in blind ignorance, but live in awareness of my actions and words.  To be perfectly honest, if there is truth to the accusation it actually saddens me.  I'm kind of appalled and even embarrassed by what's been pointed out - I feel exposed. But I remember who God is and I choose to ignore how I feel and lean in and onto  a loving God trusting that  God wants to work on something and He's perfectly capable of letting me know what He wants to do.  I find that even if I'm not guilty of an accusation, I still learn something. Sometimes it's just to see that I've grown enough not to be crushed by an untruth! God wastes nothing.

God uses anything and anyone to accomplish His will in my life and in the lives of all believers. I've learned that He truly means what He says when He tells us in Isaiah that "My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways My ways.  As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are My ways higher than your ways and My thoughts than your thoughts."

The seed of discipline planted in a heart of good soil does indeed yield a bountiful harvest. A harvest of peace and righteousness and a life of marked by maturity in God.  I want to be a woman loved and disciplined and for my life to reflect the discipline of God. A marked woman, if you will. A disciplined woman is indeed a loved and cherished woman. I place all confidence in the loving, consistent character of God.

The discipline of God  is always marked by His love and mercy and there is no shame in His discipline.

Memories

This is where I'm posting memories of my dad. These are posts I posted on his Facebook wall.


AUGUST 13, 2013
I love to listen to my dad's deep rumbly voice as he shares memories and stories with me, and anyone who will listen, actually.

We had an interesting conversation over lunch:
Dad: "You're different".
Me: "Whoa, really? How, like I'm "weird" different"?
Dad: "No... you're a different flavor".
Me: (intrigued now) "So, like a bacon and bourbon flavor"?
Dad: "You are Africa. You were influenced by Africa growing up. You're a curry flavor".
Me: "Hey, I like that"!!

Man, I love my dad. Love him. He's a treasure I keep discovering the more I spend time with him.



JUNE 16, 2013
I nearly cried today as my dad bumpily made his way up the ramp and through the door today. Just to still have him in my life brings me so much joy. I love saying "dad" to him because that means he's still here to say "dad" to. No, he is not biologically my father, but he is my real dad because he loves and cares and cherishes me like a father should. And to me, he is and will forever be, my dad. Happy Father's Day, Patrick! I LOVE YOU!!!


OCTOBER 19, 2012

I set dad up with all his paints, thinners, brushes, apron, everything! I left the room and assumed he was beginning his painting of Fred. Instead I heard him talking and came back in to find him fully relaxed spouting philosophy. He said "there is a lot of fear in taking that first stab at the canvas. Because once you do that first possibility of failure is overwhelming. As long as you leave it blank you're safe"! I love my dad.

NOVEMBER 11, 2012

This is the story of how my dad received the injury that left him a quadriplegic.

The story of my favorite Veteran.

It was a warm Sunday afternoon in late October. The year was 1957 and a young Marine had the rare gift of being alone in the barracks. He had just settled in for a good reading of a mystery novel he had been trying to finish when a buddy walked in and invited him to go out to eat. He didn't want to go, he was comfortable and was enjoying this solitude, but the friend persisted and the Marine eventually gave in. They picked up another friend, a girl, and the 3 of them went out to enjoy an Italian dinner. The food was good and their spirits were high as they headed back to the base. The young lady talked them into letting her drive, she was excited because it was a new truck and went pretty fast! They laughed and teased her about not being a good driver, but in the end, they let her drive. They drove back through some hills, driving faster than was necessary. They came upon some railroad tracks and the high speed at which they were moving caused the truck to become airborne. It never landed fully, but bounced, rolling over and over before finally coming to a rest. When the dust cleared, the girl, thrown some distance, lay dead. The friend of the Marine was in pain, but could walk. The young Marine lay with his face in the dirt, unable to move and only conscious for a few moments before mercifully falling into a coma. 3 weeks later the young Marine, just 20 years old, learned that he was paralyzed, would never walk again and was given no more than 10 years to live. He went on to fight through thoughts of suicide, adjusted to life in a wheelchair and went to OSU where he earned multiple degrees, eventually earning his Masters degree in Psychology. He became a counselor and has helped hundreds of people with family, life and of course disability issues. He is a published poet, cartoonist, artist and writer. He's been overlooked, ignored, called names and treated as inferior. But, in my heart, he is and forever will be, a hero. He's an amazing human being who I am proud to call my Dad. He's my favorite Veteran. Oh, and those 10 years... have stretched into 55 years. Appropriate that he is a Marine, for Semper Fidelis describes him perfectly. I love you, Dad. Your daughter, Lonna

Grief

December 4, 2013

There's no silence louder than the silence after the machines stop. Today at 1:10 pm, my dad was healed; finally and completely. Thank you for your prayers. My heart is completely shattered. My precious dad, what will I do without you?

December 5, 2013

"Great is Thy Faithfulness, O, God my Father,
There is no shadow of turning with thee.
Thou changest not, Thy compassions they fail not.
As Thou hast been, Thou forever, will be."

December 6, 2013

I woke up to find this text from one of my darlings.

"Got my Christmas present.
I haven't been able to stop crying. I'm laying in bed looking for background photos of orchids, to remind me of grandpa, and all of the sudden the heartache went away and I knew he was in my room. I thought to myself, "we still have to get those tattoos grandpa." And I heard his voice in my head say "yes we do sweetheart." I felt warm from my head to my toes. He is here with me mom. With all of us. We just have to sit quietly and listen. You can feel his spirit. His warm loving soul. Now I can sleep peacefully knowing he is with me and you. He always will be. I love you so much mom. Good night."

Needless to say I'm a mess after that. But in a comforting, reassuring way. Thanking God that He is kind and He remembers us.

December 6, 2013

Sometimes 24 hours doesn't make a difference at all. Even 48 hours doesn't.

December 7, 2013

Grief; it feels as though something in me has been torn from me and it hurts so bad. While I wait for time to do what it does best, I want to be so aware during the wait. I want to lean into the raw pain and learn something. I'm not sure what I want to learn. But I know there is something there. I asked God why He hates divorce so much but lets us experience such a horrendous separation that leaves us raw, jagged, our pain blowing in the wind for all to see. In all His wisdom, He hasn't answered that question. Which in itself is an answer. And so by sheer faith and belief that God remembers and has compassion on me, I stand on the words of God Himself, through David:
"But I trust in your faithful love.
My heart is filled with joy because You will save me.
I will sing to the Lord.
He has been so good to me."

December 8, 2013

The Lucky Sad ~
"Blessed are those who mourn"

"Flash floods of tears,
torrents of them,
erode cruel canyons,
exposing long forgotten strata of life laid down in the peaceful decades: a badlands beauty. The same sun,
that decorates each day with colors from arroyos and mesas, also shows every old scar and cut of lament.
Weeping washes the wounds clean and leaves them to heal, which always takes an age or two.
No pain is ugly in past tense. Under The Mercy every hurt is a fossil link in the great chain of becoming.
Pick and shovel prayers often,
turn them up in valleys of death".
~Eugene Peterson

"Blessed are they who mourn, for they shall be comforted".
~Jesus Christ

December 9, 2013

I slept well for the first time last night. After an afternoon with friends and being able to talk and get some good spiritual input, and insight, I feel as though the grief is moving from my chest to my back. I can breathe a little better. Standing on sheer faith is easier said than done. But like a climber in a severe snow storm, I'm hanging on BY FAITH. And I will bless the Lord no matter what. With Job, I say "Naked I came from my mother's womb, and naked shall I return. The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.”
I also believe "He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.”

My Redeemer lives.

Thank you all for your prayers, support and love.

December 10, 2013

On Sunday night, while out with friends, I ordered a glass of wine. I just needed one. Anyhoo, the young girl who took my order said "do you have some ID I can see"? I nearly cried. I told her she made my day. Her face turned red when as I showed her my ID I also told her I am 50. She was a little flustered, but pulled it together enough to tell me a few minutes later; "to be honest, you don't look 50 at all".

Bless the hearts of the kind and the honest.

Comfort during mourning can come in a variety of ways... being told you don't look old when you feel positively ancient is one of those ways.

December 11, 2013

The prophet Isaiah was given the following to share with us:

"For my thoughts are not your thoughts,
neither are your ways my ways, declares the Lord.
For as the heavens are higher than the earth,
so are my ways higher than your ways
and my thoughts than your thoughts.
“For as the rain and the snow come down from heaven
and do not return there but water the earth,
making it bring forth and sprout,
giving seed to the sower and bread to the eater,
so shall my word be that goes out from my mouth;
it shall not return to me empty,
but it shall accomplish that which I purpose,
and shall succeed in the thing for which I sent it."

As so often happens, the word of God ruminates in my mind and as I let that happen, I see more than the words, I begin to understand. If you've ever noticed, as you read and re-read the same words, they deliver a different message to your heart. Same words, no adding, no taking away, but your understanding is broadened.

I believe that we, as believers, are the living Word of God. We all possess within us the Word that waters, sows, and feeds ourselves and those around us. When God has accomplished what He purposed to do in and through us and when He succeeds in what He sent His word to do in and through us, we return to Him, not empty, but victorious.

My dad did not return to God empty. My dad had accomplished that which God had purposed and dad succeeded in the thing for which God had sent him. God's Word returned to Him in the form of my dad and all the things dad did that made a difference in lives around him and in eternity's eyes.

I love that death holds no sting and abounds in victory.

Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His saints. (Psalm 116:15)

My prayer for you today is that as you go out; living Words of God to the world around you, living Words of life to your fellow believers that
"you shall go out in joy and be led forth in peace;
the mountains and the hills before you
shall break forth into singing,
and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands."

December 12, 2013

In the process of this grief I have been reminded once again of the huge blessing God has given me in the form of my husband. As Rollie and I talked last night he shared how nearly every night for the last 7 years he and my dad shared at least 20 minutes of "man" time. Being the only 2 males in the house, they often commiserated (about females and hormones no doubt) behind closed doors as Rollie prepared dad for bed. They caught up on each other's day, made plans for what they wanted to build, talked about their favorite shows, etc. But dad lent a listening ear to Rollie's father heart as well, giving advice when asked, but mainly just listening in total understanding. My dad became Rollie's dad as well. I cried when Rollie shared that every night he would literally tuck dad into bed; arranging his foot on a pillow in order to prevent bed sores, and lastly, pulling the covers up evenly around dad making sure everything was snug and that dad was comfortable. They would tell each other good night and dad would always thank Rollie.

I love that my dad had a hand in shaping my husband into the man he is becoming. The gift of my dad goes on and on.

I don't deserve all this goodness in my life, but my heart is oh, so grateful.

"Grief will always be with you. It won't always be a blanket, but it will always be a thread running through your life" .
-Rollie

December 13, 2013

"Eternal God, unchanging,
Mysterious and unknown
Your boundless love unfailing
In grace and mercy shown.
Bright seraphim in ceaseless flight
Around Your glorious throne
Their voices raised both day and night
In praise to You alone

Hallelujah!
Glory be to our great God!
Hallelujah!
Glory be to our great God!"

December 14, 2013

So grateful for the beautiful distractions in the midst of all my sadness. This afternoon our local movie theater, The Pix, showed "It's a Wonderful Life". It was free to the public. We took our granddaughter and Mollie to see it. It was Gabby's first time to see it and she really enjoyed it, as did we. It was so nice to watch human kindness and selfless giving take place on the big screen. It reminded me how wonderful life really is. In spite of all the hardships, the losses, the sadness we experience from time to time, all in all, it's a wonderful life and I choose to live it with the gratitude my dad did and with a thankful heart for all the goodness and mercy God has provided along the journey. Thank you, Albany for the small town feel you provide us during this holiday season. And thank you, Marcia for telling us about the movie!

December 15, 2013

It was an incredibly rough day. Lots of firsts. Thankful for my closet and sink desperate cries for strength that are heard by God. So thankful for His compassions. One breath at a time.

December 16, 2013

I was tired when I posted last night. So tired that as I read my post this morning, I realized I didn't use enough punctuation.

I have a walk in closet with a door. It's the quietest room in my house and God and I have spent many tear filled, minutes in there. Other times, it's at my sink when I'm brushing my teeth that the tears flow and tooth paste laced pleas for help are blubbered out. Only God can understand them. He's the only One who needs to understand them.

There are many sides to my grief right now. I've lost my dad, who was my anchor. He kept me grounded and could set my world aright with a word or 2.

My fear of abandonment has been brought back up and is staring at me, challenging me and my faith in the Word of God.

Loneliness and fear are along for this journey as well. Loneliness at the thought of having no one to talk to who can understand me like my dad did. Fear of everything; getting old, being lonely, getting sick, having no one to lean on and help me.

So today, I read James. He had these wise words for me:

"Consider it a sheer gift, friends, when tests and challenges come at you from all sides. You know that under pressure, your faith-life is forced into the open and shows its true colors. So don’t try to get out of anything prematurely. Let it do its work so you become mature and well-developed, not deficient in any way.
If you don’t know what you’re doing, pray to the Father. He loves to help. You’ll get his help, and won’t be condescended to when you ask for it. Ask boldly, believingly, without a second thought. People who “worry their prayers” are like wind-whipped waves." (1: 1-8, Message Bible)

My faith life has been forced into the open. Many questions have arisen, that faith in God alone has been the answer to. I know what the word of God says and it's easy enough to quote and "believe" until it's challenged. Then it's grit your teeth and hang on for the ride sister. And I am hanging on. By faith, my dad is with the Lord. It's what God's word promises us. Now that dad's gone, I have only God's word to stand on. But I've never seen heaven, never been there, can't prove by sight that it's there and that dad is there. Faith believes in what it cannot see. Faith is CONFIDENCE in what I hope for, and ASSURANCE of what I do not see. Confidence in the word of God and assurance that God doesn't lie and His word is true and everlasting. And here's an amazing cycle; Faith comes by HEARING and HEARING by the Word of God. If I don't read and "hear" the Word, my faith will not be. I walk by faith, NOT by sight. (2 Corinthians 5:7)

By faith I am not abandoned because God will never leave me or forsake me and will always be with me. Plus, He is a father to the fatherless. (Isaiah 41:10 and Psalm 68:5)

By faith I will never be lonely because again, God never leaves me. He promises that to me. He says He will be with me to the end of the age. (Matthew 28:20)

By faith I will not be afraid because perfect love casts out fear and He is perfect Love. And He has given me a sound mind. (2 Timothy 1:7)

By faith my mom and dad are with God, because to be absent from the body is to be present with Christ and precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His saints. (Philippians 1:23, 2 Corinthians 5:8, Psalm 116:15)

By faith, I will see my parents and other loved ones who are already in Heaven. (Matthew 22: 31-32, 1 Thessalonians 2: 19 & 20, 1 Corinthians 13:12).

By faith today, I fix my "eyes" on Jesus, look fully into His face and trust that He who began this work in me will complete it and He provided my parents to be with me as long as I needed them and He was always there providing for me even when they were here, and He will always be with me providing for my every need along the way even if I can't see it right now. Today I lean into whatever comes my way knowing that as James said, my faith shows its true colors when under pressure. I trust God to mature me and develop me through everything that comes my way no matter how uncomfortable, painful and unpleasant it may be at the time. God makes use of everything and He is always at work in me. And boy does He have His work cut out for Him!

It is a walk of and by faith. Until He calls me home to live with Him, I will never, ever walk alone. Oh, how He loves me. Tears, bruises, heart aches and doubt; He loves me unconditionally and forever.

December 18, 2013

One step. One day. One event. I am rebelling every step as though I can somehow bring him back if I just go very slow and put everything off. So far, it's not working and picking up his ashes yesterday was very unkind to my imagination.

They were in a box, then placed in a bag, a blue plastic bag with handles, and handed to me. "This? This is what my beautiful dad and all his brilliance has been reduced to? This small box? Weighty, but small. " And for a millisecond, I knew the answer was no. No it's not what he's been reduced to. It's the remains of what he no longer is in need of. It's like the bag they give you at the hospital to put your belongings in because you don't need them while you're there. He has no need for that body now.

The peace of that knowledge was ever so fleeting, but left in its wake a magnificent sense of well being and Truth. It has remained with me even now and even though I try to grasp that millisecond of "knowing", I can't. But what God left behind is bringing me so much comfort and hope.

Before I even got out of bed yesterday, I read this scripture from 1 Corinthians 2, " For the Spirit searches everything, even the depths of God. For who knows a person’s thoughts except the spirit of that person, which is in him? So also no one comprehends the thoughts of God except the Spirit of God. Now we have received not the spirit of the world, but the Spirit who is from God, that we might understand the things freely given us by God.". I cried when I read it because I really understood it. I think the fleeting moment at the funeral home was just a whisper, no a breath, from the thoughts of God. A breath so light, but it was all I needed.

Today I keep going. Always strengthened by Him. Always remembered by Him. Always breathed on by Him. May my awareness be heightened and my heart be always expecting. Yours too.

And I'm so thankful for a dear friend who left his job in Corvallis to be with me when I picked up the precious ashes of my dad and then took them with him to lovingly place them in the urn I chose. He even promised not to swear in front of dad! Ha ha. Dad was a Marine though, so nothing shocked him.

I'm grateful at the kindness of friends. So grateful.

December 21, 2013

Urns picked up, programs folded, memories glued, slide show completed, and I'm still not ready.
I thank you for your prayers today as we celebrate the life of my beautiful dad, Patrick Mulrooney.
"I'll let the memories keep you close to my heart until we meet again, dad. I'll love and miss you forever".

December 23, 2013

There could not have been a more fitting farewell for such a prince of a man. 3 men; 2 ministers and a good friend, conducted the service and it flowed so beautifully. There were beautiful tributes, tears, laughter and a few surprises. Gabby decided she wanted to say something for "Grandpa Pat". We didn't plan for this and as she took the stage, Paris turned to me and said "Oh, this is gonna be good". And it was. When she was done with her short, beautiful speech, she then said " I have a song to sing that I made up that I heard in a movie".... that's when I thought, "uh oh... get that kid off there!" But she sang a lovely little tune and just before she plunked the microphone down, she announced "that was from Rapunzel!". It was awesome, and dad would have LOVED it!

Yesterday, Rollie and I finally pulled it together and did some Christmas shopping. It was sweet because we have bonded even more through this and cherish every moment we have together. Sad at times as I found myself more than once, looking for something for my dad, or thinking "dad would like that!" then remembering he wasn't here to open anything. (Another sweet side note: We stopped for dinner afterward and the restaurant wouldn't let us pay. I nearly cried at the kindness.) This broken road has had petals of kindness sprinkled all through out it. Thank you, God. .

I think considering dad before I do anything will linger with me for awhile. It was such a way of life for us for 7 beautiful years. Every time I leave the house, he crosses my mind; "is he ok? did he take his pills? Will the girls remember to check on him?" Almost as quickly I remember, he is in the most capable Hands ever and will never need or want for anything again.

And we walk on. Limping a little. We lost such a huge part of us. But in a way, we walk on stronger. Stronger because our faith has strengthened us.

Our work on this earth is not over. Our assignment is still before us. I don't doubt the pain of grief will hit me like an unexpected punch in the stomach frequently,( hopefully growing less frequent) but I also know my Heavenly Father will be right there to guide me through it and help me stand a little taller.

I pray my life will honor my parents, honor my God and count for something in the end.

Thank you to every one of you for being with me every step of this way. Thank you for your prayers, your visits, your flowers, your tears, your stories, your hugs, your cards, your words of encouragement. Thank you.

Graduation

My beloved dad, Patrick, died on December 4, 2013. I was on my way to pick him up from the hospital to bring him home when I received word that he had coded.

It was sunny and cold. It was 10:45 in the morning, I was talking to my husband on the phone with the phone sitting in the cup holder. I was letting him know I was on my way to pick up dad and that we were having cod and fresh broccoli for dinner. Dad loved fish and fresh vegetables.

There was a momentary sound of silence during the conversation which indicated a text message. I looked at it and it was from Chris, dad's caregiver. It said "Your dad coded, please hurry". Instantly I couldn't breathe and my chest was burning. I was afraid I wouldn't make it as the traffic was so slow. I told my husband "oh my goodness... I can't breathe... just got a text saying dad coded... talk to me please... oh God.."

I was shaking so badly. But I managed to get to the hospital. My legs were so shaky but I forced myself to walk normally, not run.

When I arrived in his room; room 204, the place was a frenzied mess. He had about 10- 15 people in his room. They wouldn't let me in, but I could see them frantically working on him. They were using paddles to try to get a stable heart beat and in between were taking turns doing CPR on him. Shannon, the respiratory therapist, stood at dad's head manually pumping air into him every 5 seconds or so.

Chris, dad's caregiver was standing in the hall, crying. I wanted to go into dad, but a member of the staff wouldn't let me. She kept saying "you don't want to remember him this way". Who was she kidding? I wanted my dad to know I was there, that he wasn't alone, that I loved him. Who cared what he looked like? Certainly not me.

At one point, Dr. Ralalsky came out of dad's room to talk to me. My husband Rollie had arrived at this time. He told both of us that he suspected a clot. He wanted to administer a "clot buster" to dad. He explained that because dad had compromised blood flow and therefore not much oxygen for nearly an hour, that if dad did come out of this, chances were he would have some brain damage. He asked us if we thought dad would want to live with brain damage. In disbelief, I replied "You know my dad. He has a master's degree in psychology. He's brilliant. All he has is his beautiful mind. Do YOU think he would want to live with brain damage"? He shook his head; we all knew that would be so wrong.

At about 11:30, they finally let me come into the room. They also let Rollie follow me into the room, although I wasn't aware of it. I walked to the bed where they were still working on him and said loudly and clearly, "dad!". He instantly opened his eyes, which drew murmurs. He looked at me and I said, "I love you, dad. I'm here". He nodded his head. I could see a little fear in his eyes.

Every scripture I knew had flown far away, leaving me feeling empty and useless. So I did the only thing I could remember to do, I sang. I sang the only song that came to my head, "Jesus Loves Me". As I sang to him,and stroked his brow, he closed his eyes. His features relaxed. I learned later that as I sang to him, his heart rate began to steady, his blood pressure came up, he "rallied" as the doctor would describe it later. I also learned that there wasn't a dry eye in that room. Everyone was quiet because they were all crying.

After I sang to him, I asked him if he wanted to stay with me, he nodded yes. I asked him if he wanted them to keep working on him, again, he nodded yes, as emphatically as he could. I told him he had to help. I then sang "Amazing Grace" to him. A song so fitting for him as he so often shared with me that he didn't understand why or how God loved him and had thought enough of him to save him, but he was so grateful and so amazed by God. After I sang to him the 2nd time, I bent close to his ear and prayed. I acknowledged God as our Creator, I thanked him for dad's life. I can't remember everything I said, but I do know I worshiped and acknowledged God as God. Rollie had his hand on my back the whole time.

Shortly after the prayer, the doctor said it was a good time to move dad to CCU and let machines take over for Shannon, the young man who had manually been giving dad air for over an hour and a half. I was allowed to hold his hand every step of the way except when we went through the door. Even with coordination, it resembled the 3 stooges when all three would try to get through a door at once.

As we walked I held dad's hand and told him what we were doing. I know I was so full of hope and at this point thinking I would be bringing him home. Dad seemed to still be with us at this point. In my hope, I don't think I saw the truth of the situation, that he wasn't going to make it this time.

When we got to CCU, the hospital chaplain (who had been with us since before we switched rooms) let me know other family had arrived. I left dad for a moment while they got transferred him to the bed and got him hooked up on monitors and air. I went to the waiting room where a few friends and dad's brother had gathered. I let them know what I knew, but again, I don't recall a lot of the conversation. I know a friend went to pick up Mollie. Paris was there already. I didn't want to be away from dad at all so I went back to his room where I took up my hand holding with him.

Soon, they asked if other family could come in. I remember being concerned because CCU has rules; only 2 visitors at a time, but they didn't seem to be concerned and set up chairs for people to sit. That should have also been a clue, but it wasn't. I just kept holding his hand and stroking his head. Thinking that he was just resting.

All the time I stood with him, my back was to the monitors. But my husband could see them. He said he watched my dad's heart beat slower and slower; going from 60 to 40, then 20 and even to 0 a couple times. I am so glad I never saw that. I remained the optimistic Miss Sunshine. I think I thought that all the love I had in my heart for him would keep him with me.

Finally the doctor suggested turning off the annoying beeping sounds. I agreed, thinking it would be more peaceful. He suggested taking the breathing tube out of dad's mouth. I agreed to that as well, thinking dad would be more comfortable.

Is love capable of that much denial? He couldn't comfortably breathe without his bi-pap for any real length of time and here I was thinking he'd be more comfortable without the oxygen/breathing tube?

There was some blood on his mouth where a sore had opened back up. I asked for a wash cloth. I got it wet with warm water and the thought crossed my mind "it's like getting the body ready for burial". I didn't realize that by this time, dad had already left his body and was being greeted by a happy Heavenly family. I carefully washed his face, remembering how much he loved to have his face washed when he was in the hospital.

Eventually I knew he was gone. The doctor called his time of death at 1:10 PM even though I think it was probably before that.

I was crushed. Shattered. Heart broken. Lost. Confused. In denial.

I held his hand for over an hour as we waited for family to come say goodbye. All my children, except for my son, were with me. Rollie faithfully by my side. My tower of strength, provided for me by God. My sister Bel and her husband came.

Before we left, we all joined hands to pray; my husband, our girls, Bel, Bobbie and me still holding dad's hand. We thanked God for dad. The kids prayed and made promises and recounted memories to their precious grandpa.

It was the hardest thing to do, gathering up his belongings and not him. Taking his things but leaving him. It made me mad. And I cried saying "this isn't right. I want to take HIM home".

I have never felt such grief. Such a tearing. I felt like part of me was in shreds. I felt like a bleeding, broken mess. I didn't know how I was even going to begin to heal. Dad had been the patriarch, the center force in our home for 7 years. He was our counselor, our centering. And our world had just been shaken to the core.

The next steps taken the next few days were shaky steps. Scary steps. Steps that challenged my faith, even seemed to mock my faith. Serious questions were asked by my heart. Serious answers were given to me by God.

The writings that follow are taken from my postings on Facebook. They are all posted under the heading "Grief".