The Beginning of the End

Probably the biggest hurdle to getting back in to blogging is knowing that I need to to blog about losing Grama before I can blog about anything else. And the kids' Halloween candy...that delicious goodness is also a hurdle.

I know you'd all, and by you all I mean Bestie Kim and Christene Johnson who are my only remaining readers, would still read if I just jumped into Samuel's epic melt down over wearing eyeliner on Halloween night and just completely skipped over the last 2 months.

With that said, for myself, I need to write about this. I was explaining to Bestie Maryanne yesterday that I've come to a good place: I have a deep wound but it is sufficiently scabbed over. To write about it will reopen that and I need to do it because I don't believe I've "dealed" with it. I'm a processer and I do that through writing/journaling and I have not had the time, nor the courage, to begin to do that.

November is blogging month and I guess bloggers try to blog once a day during blogging month. I'm hoping to blog once a day for the rest of the month and redevelop that muscle and maybe do a little healing in the meantime.

It was Wednesday, August 2nd, and I was having brunch with Bestie Kristan at French Press. I told her that Grama had worsened and that Hospice Sherry had called me that morning to tell me she thought it was nearing the time for me to come. Only the day before I had spoken to Grama on the phone and she was confused, restless, journeying back through time and asking me to be with her "in the end." As usual she was funny; I said "Grama, you really think it is close?" She replied, "Yes. Maybe this week or next." There was a long pause while I collected myself and she added dryly, "Or maybe a year." Hilarious.

Over our quiches Kristan encouraged me to go, she reminded me I would never regret the time.

All morning long I had been praying for God to show me whether or not it was indeed time to go. How can one predict death? How can a person just put a life on hold in Oregon indefinitely to go sit in Montana while one life ends? I was torn. I desperately wanted to be with my Grama. I wanted to hold her hand, to comb her hair, to kiss her face. I was tired of updates over the wire and wanted to be there. Grama had never asked much of me and she had clearly asked me the day before to be with her.

I wrestled, round and round, with the question of "what if?" What if I go out there and spend a few weeks, a month, and she doesn't die. Am I ok with that? Am I ok going out there and then not going back until it is time to bury her? What if she's right and she knows and it really is close? How will I forgive myself if I don't go and she dies without me kissing her one more time.

I prayed to God, "If I should go to Montana, give me a sign." I was going to set out my fleece: if Al was supportive and said to go, I would go. If he was hesitant and worried about coverage in the office I would wait it out until Gigi worsened.

After brunch with Kristan, I called Mom while driving to the office. "I don't know what to tell you" she said. "I will just pray that God shows you through Al if you should come or not." My jaw dropped. That was exactly what I was praying. I told her that and we both marveled at how God moves and works and orchestrates. God still speaks to us. If we will listen, God still speaks.

So I went to work, talked to Al and awaited his response. Without even asking to think about it he said, "You need to go."

Wow.

Humbled at God speaking so clearly to me and humbled at Al's kindness.

Sweet Deb had said she would drive out there with the kids and me if when it came time Jeff couldn't go with us and then just fly back to Oregon. Hot Jeff decided he couldn't go with us for an indefinite amount of time but would fly out for the funeral and then drive us home so Deb and I set our sights on Friday deciding that tomorrow, Thursday, we would use to pack and get ready.

At 5:00 that same, long afternoon Hospice Sherry called and asked what I had decided. I told her I would be coming on Friday. She paused. "Should I come sooner?" I asked. She said she thought I should, Grama seemed to moving quickly through the last stages of the dying process. I hung up quickly and called Deb to see if she could leave by 8:30. She could.

There would be no words for my surprise when I saw my Gigi 23 hours later.

Faithfulness I Don't Deserve

My Mom was able to arrange for Gigi to stay in her little apartment! Praise Jesus. Hospice will just come there instead and the nursing staff will give her extra care than what is expected of them for an assisted living home.

They love Gigi there and were eager to keep her there and let her be in her home.

It was such a huge relief for my Gigi; Mom said she was so happy to get to go home. My Mom sounded like a different person than the one I talked to this morning...she sounded more like herself and I felt peace.

I read some articles tonight on grief, mourning and "anticipatory grief"--what we are going through right now. I was relieved to hear that all this weight and grief and anger and sadness is all normal. I guess it is also normal that one night I will write an angry tirade and then the next morning feel peace. Hmm...like the last 24 hours?

I'm not ashamed to say I am scared...I'm afraid of grief. I'm afraid of unbearable sadness and loss. I can't imagine not having Gigi in this world with me and I'm afraid I just won't be able to handle it. I know that sounds really melodramatic but that's just how I feel.

So back to the title: faithfulness I don't deserve. In my skewed sense of a holy God I thought, "Well He is being faithful to Gigi and to Mom..."

Isn't that what the enemy wants me to think? Doesn't he want me think that because I get mad I don't get God's faithfulness anymore. But that's not how it works...I can never, ever, ever earn the faithfulness and redemption of a blameless Savior which would mean I can't un-earn it either. I simply get His faithfulness, mercy, grace and redemption because I believe in Him. It seems almost too good to be true.

My Mom said tonight that she and Gigi had a talk about their faiths tonight and that they discussed that this is the time, more than ever, that the "rubber meets the road" per se. Will the profession of a Saving God and the belief in eternal life with Him all Gigi's life be what she clings to in the end or will she fail to trust in Whom she's believed at the most crucial time? Without question, she's holding tightly to Hope; she will meet Jesus with confidence.

Gigi's daddy died when she was a little girl and she has felt his loss her whole life. Tonight she told Mom she's been thinking about Heaven a lot; Mom said, "You'll get to see Bobby." and Gigi replied, "And my Dad."

Who, without Hope in a living Savior, can speak with such confidence?

While the journey ahead of me and my family seems fraught with grief and mourning intertwined with grace and peace, it appears to me that Gigi's path is straight and short and her reward is in clear sight.

May we all be able to die so well.

A Follow Up to My Drunken, Weepy Post

I woke up this morning with this verse below on my lips; thank you Jesus for speaking to me even when I don't trust You and doubt Your promises.

Because of the LORD’s great love we are not consumed, for his mercy never fails. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. Lamentations 3:22

And this one, which my Mom read to me this morning:

Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding. Proverbs 3:5

The Long Goodbye

I make a lot of jokes about drinking too much wine but the truth is I really don't drink very much. I don't even drink once a night but tonight...well tonight is a little different. I've polished off a whole bottle of Riesling and am going strong.

I wouldn't be a good alcoholic though because I don't feel numb at all. Not one little bit.

Gigi went to the emergency room for the 2nd time in 6 days this afternoon. Tonight the ER physician was brutally honest with my Mom: she is the final stage of congetive heart failure, she needs to move out of her little assisted living apartment in to a nursing home where Hospice will to comfort care until the end. He said no longer than 6 months.

For 30 years I called Gigi, "Grama" but since Samuel came along we've started calling her "Gigi", short for Great-Grandma. Tonight in the bathtub I heard Samuel tell Emily that Gigi was too sick and she was going to die. Emily said she wanted to go and hug her Gigi.

I know some of you have experienced unbearable, unimaginable grief and I'm not trying to "one up" or try to get a bunch of sympathetic comments or anything...I'm just writing. I'm just wondering. I'm just processing.

The one thing I keep thinking about is how Grama knows what is happening; she cried when Mom told her she had to go to a nursing home. She understands...she knows she won't see another Winter, she knows she won't crochet another blanket or do another puzzle and she has to walk that journey herself. I can't walk it for her. Mom can't walk it for her. With all the love and support she has, she still has to do this alone.

I wonder if she senses when the end will be or if she is wondering like the rest of us.

When Uncle Bob got sick and the end came the last 2 weeks were brutal. Horrific. I couldn't go see him, I was afraid, but everyone told me it was horrific. And there we all were--just waiting. Waiting. The Hospice team said it was time and we all were there just waiting. And hours turned to days and days turned to more days. 2 weeks in all and we all prayed to God for mercy and it didn't come and it didn't come and it didn't come until finally...it was over. And I thought I understood God is soverign and I thought I had found peace but when I heard my Mom say tonight that she was praying for God to be merciful to Grama I got so angry I almost screamed. I want to know where the mercy is. I don't know that I can see it right now and I don't have the courage to believe in it.

I think I'm surprised how heavy this grief is already. I wonder if it is more regret than grief. When I moved from Montana to Oregon I knew it was to start a new life with Jeff and I know this is the life God has for me but tonight I feel so far away and all I want to do is crawl up in to that bed and lie with her and tell her I love her.

We have a trip planned out there at the first of July and my first reaction is that I don't want to go now because if I go I don't want to leave. Not until it is over because I can't say that final goodbye. There are no words to tell her how much I love her and how thankful I am she helped raise me and how I will never, ever, forget her or stop missing her. How do you do that? How do you walk away and get in a car and frive 18 hours knowing you won't be back until it is time to lay her next to her son? I simply can't do that.

We talk just about every other day and our conversations are so light and casual.

I don't know where I was going with that. I'm a little drunk.

I actually have to go to work tomorrow so I need to go to bed. I just needed to write and this is where I do it. I'm probably going to turn in to one of those rambling bloggers that write all in one paragraph and don't capitalize or punctuate. Shut this damn thing down if that happens.

FAQ Friday

How did you come up with your kids' names?

Ok, seriously LOVE this question. Next to telling you my birth stories this is a favorite thing to write about and one that I haven't! Thanks for asking!

I'll start with Samuel since he is the oldest. Oh little Samuel Edward...

When Jeff and I started praying for a baby we had no idea our journey would last almost 3 years. By the time I finally got pregnant I didn't care what we had but deep down I wanted a boy. I had always seen myself as a mother of 2 boys and really couldn't imagine mothering girls.

At our 20 week ultrasound when the tech announced it was a boy, I was thrilled and we started discussing names. I had loved the name Samuel forever and felt a connection to the story of Hannah praying for a son.

On the other hand, Jeff's dad's name is Herbert James (called Jim) and I also loved the idea of naming our son Herbert James and calling him Jack, another long time favorite name of mine.

In the end, we just fell in love with the tune of "Samuel Edward". Edward is Jeff's late grandfather's name; Grandpa Ed was Jeff's biggest fan, fishing buddy and the sweetest man you would have ever met. He died in 2003 and naming Samuel after him in 2006 seemed like a tender way to honor the man who would have adored Jeff's son.

Samuel has ended up being the perfect name for our precious boy. In February, I was even more convinced it was the perfect name when God called Samuel in his bedroom late at night. You may remember the spine tingling answer Samuel gave me the day after he asked Jesus in to his heart when I asked him how he knew Jesus didn't already live in his heart, "God told me", he simply stated.

And finally, in most recent months I have gotten really into the genealogy of the Niles side and have found out that "Samuel" is a Niles family name that was given to many of the men in my line and was the middle name of my grandfather's favorite uncle. How perfect and cool is that?


And now for little Roo...

Emily May Irene Henderson joined us in 2008 and we knew from the moment we heard she was a girl what we would name her. I have known since I was an adult that if I had a daughter I would name her after my Grandma Emily. To read more about Gigi, which you should because she is awesome, click on the label "Gigi". You'll be glad you did.

May is a family name: Gigi's mom was Beryl May, Gigi is Emily May, my Mom is Della May and I'm Jennifer May. When I was a kid I didn't like the name, mostly because I was a kid and kids are difficult and one way they are difficult is to gripe about their names. I was pretty typical. Also, there was a boy in my 4th grade class named Jonathan May and the kids would tease me and say I was going to marry Jonathan and my name would be Jennifer May May. Kids are so stupid.

So up until about a month before I delivered Emily we were just going to call her Emily Irene, the Irene being after Jeff's grandma (Ed's wife). One night Jeff and I were feeling her move and groove in my belly and he said that he thought we should name her Emily May Irene so she could be named after me and carry on the May tradition. It seemed so sentimental and sweet to me that I was surprised it hadn't been more obvious to me before. My Mom was ELATED!


Here's a picture of Emily and Emily when Roo was 2 months old and we took her to Montana the first time. I will never forget the look on Gig's face when she met her namesake for the first time at the Montana airport...it was magical.

Now just for fun I will tell you why we call her Roo...

When she was born Samuel was only 22 months old and couldn't say "Emily" so he called her "Emmy"; we all started calling her that and in a sing-songy nick-namey way I called her "Emmy Roo" one day and it sort of stuck. A few days of calling her Emmy Roo and Hot Jeff shortened it to "Roo" and that REALLY stuck. Now, 2 and half years later if you ask her what her name is, 85% of the time she will tell you "Roo". It makes me smile every time. It also makes me smile when I hear Samaria and Caleb Brown call her Roo (I'm not even sure they know her real name) and when my friends call her Roo. There is something really endearing about it; like they know and love her.

How did you come up with your kids' names? Did you call them their names before they were born or did you have a pet name for them before they were born/a part of you family?

I've Been Thinking...

Bestie Traci emailed me a couple of days ago saying her Grandmother came to her son's recital and was on an oxygen tank! She couldn't believe how old her grandparents were getting and that when she brought it up to her mother she found out they were even getting Meals on Wheels. Soooooo, this got me thinking...

Why are all these fabulous things like meals on wheels and assisted living wasted on old people?

Ok, "wasted" perhaps the wrong word choice. It makes me sound like I hate old people. I don't hate old people.

My sweet Gigi recently sold her home and moved in to an assisted living apartment in the city. She seriously has her own little apartment in a 2 story building in which she has all her meals prepared for her, her laundry done for her, her apartment cleaned (even the bathroom!) and the option of having her bed made, which she does herself. They have bingo and bible studies. They have a van that takes them places like the store, the library, church. Its pretty awesome.

Am I the only 30-something here who really wants to move to an assisted living facility? Food, laundry, cleaning? It sounds like heaven instead of what it really is...the last move before heaven. (Sorry, had to go there. You know you were thinking it.)

Seriously, sign me up. Put me on a waiting list because it sounds down-right dreamy. And what if they had assisted living for young families? They could have built in kid gyms where we could all take our kids and let them play while we sit around and play pinochle and drink margaritas iced tea.

We could have Grey's Anatomy night and big facility wide Survivor pools. The van could take us wine tasting on Saturday and to church on Sunday.

I mean really, why should you have to be incontinent to have all the fun?

So I was talking to Cary on the phone today while making myself a delicious little lunch. And the first thing you should know about Cary, besides that she doesn't eat "man food" is that she's always super curious about what others eat. Mainly so she can judge them but also because she finds herself in a black bean rut quite often.

So anyway, she asked me what I was making and I said, "a little sandwich spread with some leftover pot roast I have" and she said, "what"? And the 'what' was in this high pitched tone like I had just told her I was eating a baby.

I guess I just thought everyone made sandwich spread with leftover pot roast. Kind of like how my Mom thinks everyone eats corn with spaghetti.

In case Gigi has never sat you down and showed you how to make a really yummy sandwich spread with leftover pot roast--here you go.

You take some left over pot roast and throw it in a Cuisinart or some other food chopping apparatus and toss in some pickles. And onions if you like onions, which I don't. And you blend it up until it is like tuna fish spread. Only it isn't tuna fish spread; its way better. Because it isn't tuna fish, it is yummy left over pot roast. Then you mix in some mayo and maybe a fuzz of mustard. Dash of salt and pepper and boom, Bob's you're uncle and you have a delicious sandwich spread. Although wheat bread is my bread of choice, you just have to have this on really soft white bread. And it is so good with sour cream and onion chips and crunchy carrots. Mmm, and don't forget the diet cherry coke. It is also good on crackers. Or a spoon.

An alternative to this is chicken breast and I think most people just call that chicken salad but whatever.

Gigi-- Montana Road Trip, Part Two

I would like to write that Gigi was on her death bed, we went and saw her, she's better and I'm happy. I cannot imagine the amount of flack I would get from you chumps if I went and pulled a stunt like that. You were all so kind with your comments and emails regarding Gigi and I just love all of you for it. Its just that its kind of a long story with a lot of medical jargon and the ending makes me cry and I will have a hard time making it funny but here goes.

Gigi may have been faking the I'm-Going-To-See-Jesus deal just to get us out there for her birthday.

Ok, not true. Just me trying to make this story funny. The truth is once we got there it was as awful as I thought it was going to be. She was so nauseated, so sick, so depressed. She rallied for us but it was evident she was feeling really crappy. My precious Mom, who by this time was so overwhelmed she could barely speak coherently, called a meeting of all the who's who at the nursing home for a meeting on Friday (we got there late Tuesday night and went to see Gigi first thing Wednesday morning. Keep up.). Friday was also Gigi's birthday and she couldn't keep anything down, was struggling to stay awake and was overwhelmed by the company, phone calls and excitement of the day. She tried to make it to the in-house meeting but got so sick she had to be taken back down to her room.

The meeting was great, I mean really positive. The ladies working Gigi's case are an impressive bunch of women and after reviewing everything decided perhaps her Lanoxin, a medicine for her CHF, was making her toxic. And a little side note, if one more of you teases me for saying Gigi had a congenital heart disease instead of congesitive heart failure I'm going to beat all of you. You can read all about Lanoxin making you toxic here. Sho' nuff, a simple blood test showed Gigi was toxic from the Lanoxin. And seriously, every time I tell someone that Gigi was toxic I want to bust out in Britney's "Toxic" song. Shout out to you Brit. Also, try saying "toxic from the Lanoxin" 10 times fast.

So by Saturday morning they knew Gigi was toxic and had adjusted the meds. By THAT AFTERNOON she was feeling a little better. Amazing. By Sunday she was not vomiting, had eaten breakfast and sat in the courtyard with us while the kids rode their bikes (they have a great courtyard area for the residents). By Monday, our last day, she felt like leaving the center and hanging out at my Mom's house. Can you believe that? I could not believe it. She was perky and had an appetite. Wow. What a difference taking you off of the medicine designed to save your life but is really killing you can make.

So yes, Gigi is better for now. Bottom line, she still has congestive heart failure and a whole host of other things wrong with her. On top of all of that she is in chronic pain so I get it that she is in the twilight of her life but somehow, some-amazing-God-gifted-how, I am at peace.

One night, for some reason, we had 2 cars there. Ours and my Mom's. We were packing up to leave and Jeff suggested he and Nana take the kids home and I stay and visit. I gladly took him up on it. After they left I moved from the chair to the foot of the bed where Gigi lay stretched out. We sat and visited for a while when she stretched out her arm and patted it, motioning me to come and lay with her. So this 32 year old adult woman curled up next to her Grama like I was 4 again. I laid my head in the crook of her arm and chest and she tickled my face. She said it reminded her of when I was a little girl and she would babysit me and I would sleep in her bed with her. She told me I was particularly afraid of thunderstorms and would sometimes lay on her arm so long it would fall asleep but she was afraid if she moved me off of it I would wake up and be afraid again.

That night after I had left and was driving back home to my Mom's I realized that when Gigi dies I will be at peace. No regrets, just peace. Jehovah Shalom, the great God of peace gave me an amazing gift, one that right now I can't even fully appreciate but I know that someday I will bask in it. For now, I store it close to my heart; I know its there and I know someday I will call upon it in the midst of immense sorrow and loss. For now, what I carry outwardly is deep gratitude for the peace that's tucked away.

Montana Bound

Could Hot Jeff be any more perfect? Last night when he came to bed and found me crying and writing over Gigi he said, "You should fly out there. Get online right now and see what the tickets cost to be there for her birthday". So I did and they were $588 a piece! So we laid in bed in silence for about 30 seconds when he said, "I have some vacation time and have been wanting to take a road trip with the kids. Lets leave on Tuesday".

So we're leaving in the still-dark morning and driving 15 hours (without kids so most likely 17 with kids) to Montana to spend Gigi's 84th birthday with her. We called her this morning to tell her. I had Samuel tell her and she got so excited she actually giggled. Then she cried a little bit. Then she giggled a little bit more.

The car is just gassed and loaded and I just got back from Walmart to get a whole boat load of snacks and water. I've got the portable DVD player packed and don't think the irony of the family who just went all Little House on the Prairie on you and is now packing a portable DVD player and like 72 hours worth of Bob the Builder, The Wiggles and Pixar movies is lost on me. Yeah, its a little disturbing but so is leaving your kids along I-90 because you can't stand their screaming anymore. 6 of 1; half dozen of another I suppose...

Would you please pray for us? I would love if you would pray blessings and safety over our trip, peace and comfort for Samuel & Roo and energy and patience for Hot Jeff and me. Please pray our time with my Mom and Gigi is rich.

I'll be blogging about our trip while I'm there and will certainly have some fun this-crap-only-happens-to-us stories.

Yes, I know what day it is...PYKM is just one post down.
You're getting a 2-for-1 Monday...

Gigi

I've been reluctant to write this post because I know you all like the funny ones but I can't sleep tonight (and I can always sleep) so I decided to get up and write about why I can't sleep.

Gigi is my Grandma Emily, my Mom's mom, and she lives in Montana where I grew up. Once we had Samuel we started calling her Gigi and now its stuck and she loves it, so Gigi it is. Gigi is who Baby Emily is named for.

My Mom had me when she was very young and my Dad split so that left Grama to help raise me, which she did gladly. She took me to a VBS at a Baptist church across the street where she lived and I liked it so much I made her take me on Sunday too. Pretty soon we had my Mom going too and before you knew it the two of them came to know Christ as their Savior and I followed suit when I was 11 (there is a whole lot to this story that I'm leaving out).

Grama has worked her whole life...and I mean worked hard. Even after she retired she worked at the local senior center helping to prepare meals to earn a little extra money. The hard work has left her body nearly crippled with arthritis.

You would never hear her complain though so in May when she began telling my Mom about the pain she was in and stopped going to coffee with her girlfriends we all knew something was up. To make a long story short she was diagnosed with spinal stenosis, which means her spine is narrowing and putting horrific pain on her joints, all a part of the arthritis that riddles her body. Oh and did I mention she also has liver failure and congenital heart failure? Yeah, she's a walking time bomb but nothing, until now, has ever kept her down. Not even her failing heart. And, before I forget, I know you're wondering, she'll be 84 on Friday.

So in May my Mom had to make the difficult decision, along with Grama, to put her in a nursing home. She's gotten where she can barely walk, needs more care than my Mom (who has to work full time) can give her and needs a lot of physical therapy. Her doctors initially said it would only be for 3-4 weeks, like a rehab stint, but since she's "gone in" her health has declined and she doesn't appear to be going anywhere anytime soon.

Her pain is worsening and is now having to be controlled with heavy narcotics that make her really sick to her stomach. To fight the nausea they treat her with an anti-nausea that makes her sleep all the time. They are considerably limited to what meds they can treat her with because of her heart condition. Its this Catch-22 that sucks more than I ever thought anything could suck. She has gone from being a really vibrant, spunky, feisty old lady to merely existing and sometimes the thought of her in that room makes me so sad, so sick, so pissed that I can barely breathe. And in tonight's case: I can't sleep.

Since I moved to Oregon in '98 I have called her almost every day. We rarely go more than 2 days without speaking. She's got a cell phone and I can call that and still speak to her and I am really, really grateful for that. She has a roommate that she likes and she seems to like the staff and nurses--more things that I'm thankful for. She is, however, so unhappy and so desperately wants to go home. I can't imagine being faced with the prospect of going into a place and never coming out. I find myself wondering, almost daily now, if she will leave only to go Home and be with Jesus.

Because of her heart condition I always thought she would die suddenly. I would have never imagined this slow, dwindling death. Its in these teary nights that I think about God's mercy and His will and I wonder how it all works and I question if I know how to pray or not.


I also think about playing endless hours of cards. I think about riding around in an orange truck she called "Shasta" ("She hasta have gas. She hasta have oil."). I think about learning to make french toast, and No Bake cookes. I think about the look on her face when she met my children for the first time. I think about her seeing my Uncle Bob, her first born son who died in 2007, in heaven and how she will run to him, pain free, and hold him and tell him how much we've all missed him. Mostly I think about kissing her and telling her I'm sorry for all the times I was a punk and that even if the whole world forgets her I will always remember her and she has made a difference.

* Oops...got a comment regarding the congetal heart disease. I meant congestive. I was tired and can't keep it all straight.