I’ve been wondering lately why my mind won’t remember the 13 1/2 wonderful years that I had with my amazing husband.  Why is it that my mind is obsessed with that last year, the year when I was forced to watch him slowly decline into a shell of the man that he’d once been.  The ironic cruelty that he, of all people, would get brain cancer.  Why can I not remember the happier years instead?

Yesterday afternoon Noah & I were in Mt. Pleasant, running errands.  When we were done we hung around to have dinner with Wade & Katie, my second oldest (by one day 🙂 and his fiance.  The wedding is in June!

Mt. Pleasant is where we lived for the first year and a half of our marriage.  There was a lot of turmoil in those first months of our marriage.  Eight months after we were married, Larry’s first wife died very unexpectedly of pnuemococcal pneumonia.  She dropped the boys off for New Year’s Eve Weekend and never came back.  Blending a new family with a cloud of grief and fear was not easy, but in the end we managed to do it.  Even with all of that, while driving the familiar streets of Mt. Pleasant, those memories came flooding back, and with them came a glow of  warmth and longing.  Suddenly that oddly designed little house in the rural subdivision, that had never been quite big enough for all five of us, seemed like the most perfect place in the world.

How I wish there were a car that could go “back to the future” to fix what’s gone wrong.  I would love to be back in that kitchen again, where Larry first started taking over dinner when he would come home from work.  At first I thought he didn’t like my cooking, but then I realized that cooking helped him to relax and unwind after a stressful day at work.  He never used a recipe and sometimes it wasn’t quite edible, but he loved to cook … and I don’t.  I can cook, quite well when I want to, I just don’t like to cook.  Perfect match.

I’d forgotten about the dishwasher too.  The one that Larry thought was broken, because he didn’t know how to run it.  My brilliant corrosion engineer husband… I loved it.  I showed him how it worked and he decided that we were going to use it that night, because neither of us enjoyed washing dishes too well.  We didn’t have any dishwasher detergent, so Larry put dish soap in the both cups in the dishwasher.  We laughed so hard as the kitchen proceeded to flood with millions and billions of tiny soap bubbles.  There was no way to stop them, they just kept coming out of the dishwasher.  It was like something out of a Steve Martin movie… maybe for the next Cheaper by the Dozen.  Or I could write my own sit-com?

And then there was Lady… our little white Spitz/Chihuahua puppy.  Not sure what you’d call that…Chitz?…Spichi?…yeah, nothing works there.  Picture a white Chihuahua body with freakishly long legs and bat-like large ears.  That was Lady.   She started out so tiny and guaranteed not to shed; Spitz don’t shed.  Chihuahua’s shed.  Lady shed, 24/7/365.    Lady got carsick from they day I brought her home and everyday after that when we attempted to take her anywhere in the car.  Lady’s first act of adapting to her new home was to walk over to the heat vent and take a dump, on it!  Good thing she was so cute!  That little Lady brought so much healing to our family.  She could jump vertically and land in Larry’s arms.  When you told her it was time to go to bed, she would hide her head behind a pillow so you couldn’t see her.   And her favorite thing was napping with her daddy!

The boys were younger then than Noah is now.  I can barely remember them being that young, except for Scott.  I spent more time with Scott because he wasn’t in school yet.  Drew was already so grown up when I met him, he’d taken over being the man of the house for his mama.  I’d missed most of Wade’s little years because I’d had to work.  I remember pulling over to the side of the road by a farm once with Scott, so we could watch the miracle of a calf being born and the calf’s first wobbly steps.  I worked with Scott on how to spell his name one day,  going to pick his brothers up from school.  The next thing I knew he’d taught himself to read, and he was only 4!

As crazy as those first years were… I’d go back in a heartbeat if I could.  But that is not possible.  Nor is it part of God’s plan.

Hebrews 12:1-3 (NIV)

¹ Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, ² fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. ³ Consider him who endured such opposition from sinners, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart.

Praying for the day when the future glows as brightly as the past.  Good Grief!

I’ve been struggling today with flashbacks.  Very vivid, very strong, clear, painful flashbacks.  Perhaps this is due to the fact that I’ve been packing up boxes of books and CD’s from the bookcase that sits in the corner where Larry’s hospice bed was… the corner where Larry died.  I’m not sure.  At any rate, I felt compelled to post this piece that I wrote last fall near the one year mark of Larry’s death.

My intent with this piece is not to cause anyone to have anxiety or depression as a result of reading it, but rather to know that questions are a normal part of the grieving process.  It’s okay to wonder things like “where is heaven” and “do you miss me too”?

I would also like to emphasize that each time I have questioned God on the location of heaven I have received an image… a picture in my mind of Jesus.  In one arm Jesus is holding my beloved Larry and in the other he is holding me.  I know this is true!  In this way the Holy Spirit is reminding me that even though we are apart, we are still connected in the love of Christ.  And it doesn’t really matter where heaven is… only that heaven is!  This I also know is true.

This image of Christ’s embrace has gotten me through almost every day since Larry died.

How Far is Heaven?

By Shelley Ann Brandon  October 12, 2010

I was there.  I wasn’t just in the room, I was there!  No one was closer to Larry physically, emotionally, mentally or spiritually than I was.  I was there.  I held him in my arms for the two plus hours that it took for his body to labor through the delivery of his spirit into the hands of our Savior.  I was there.  But I still don’t get it.  My husband died literally in my arms.  My head was on his chest; I felt each and every body wracking breath that shook my soul as well as his.  I heard every heart beat no matter how faint, even the last one, struggling to hear just one more – oh please God just one more – even though I’d been praying for God to please stop Larry’s suffering – Please God no more, don’t make him go through this anymore.  I can’t take it… I can’t take it. I was there when Jesus stopped the suffering and took Larry home.  I was right there, breathing in his last breath, but I don’t understand… where did he go?  I know he went to heaven.  Larry’s relationship with Jesus was his greatest source of pride, his comfort and joy.   Even though his right side was completely paralyzed, he was reaching for heaven with his left arm just that morning when Noah and I woke up.  Noah even asked me why daddy’s arm was in the air.  I know where he went, but where is that?  Where did he go?

How can someone who was so full of life one year before, someone who was larger than life, someone who brought brightness to life wherever he went, how could he just not be here anymore?  What happened?

How can this man who I love more than my own life be gone? We promised each other that we would never leave, that we would grow old together, how could he leave me?  Larry was everything to me, he was my husband, my best friend, my business partner, my ministry partner, my lover, my dreams, my future, the father of my sons. How can he just not be here anymore?

After everyone had left the house and the hospice nurse and I had washed Larry’s body and put him into some clean pajamas, I let the dogs back into the house.  These wonderful poodles that had so faithfully guarded their dying master would no longer go near the empty body of their dead master.  The dogs had figured it out, but I was still holding on.  Where was he, where had he gone?  Where is heaven, anyway?

I finally allowed the hospice nurse to call the undertaker to come get him.  I didn’t want them to come get him because I knew that when they took him away I wouldn’t see him again this side of heaven, and I don’t know where that is.  While we were waiting, Layne (the nurse) and I were talking, and I was holding Larry’s cold, lifeless hand.  I had to keep pushing down on his fingers to keep them curled around mine.  My hands were already starting to feel empty and lonely.  I tried to kiss his lips, but they were cold and stiff, he wasn’t there, he’d already left.

I was there.  Oh my love, I remember the moment you left, but I just don’t get it.  Even now, a year later, I still don’t get it.  If I close my eyes I can hear your laugh.  Certain songs can bring back moments so real that my body aches to touch you one more time, to lay my head against your chest and feel your arms around me.  The scent of your cologne on my pillow each night,ummmm , yummy.  Oh, how I long to smell your neck again. Where are you?

Where is heaven?  Is it beyond the stars? Or is it all around us on the other side of a mirror that we simply cannot see through?  Are you millions of light years away?  Or are you as close as my next breath?  Each and every one of us is only one heartbeat away from God, so does that mean that you are only one heartbeat away as well?

I miss you so much. When is the pain supposed to go away?  Scripture tell us that there are no tears in heaven, so does that mean you don’t miss me?  Where are you?  And where am I supposed to go from here?

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Where do I go from here?  I go to the cross.  I go to the embrace of Christ… one arm around Larry and one arm around me… apart and yet still connected…

And questions are okay with God… after all, He’s the only one with all the answers!These pictures where taken at the Compassion International Headquarters in Colorado Springs on our last vacation together before Larry got sick.  We were both sitting in the lap of Jesus… a life size bronze sculpture they have in their lobby.   Coincidence?  I don’t think so…

After a lot of discussion and prayer, Noah and I have made the decision to move.  After the decision to move was made, the next decision was where?  Several options were tossed about in our talks, but what we decided was most important to us was staying close to family, or more precisely… staying close to where Noah would be able to grow up knowing what it means to be a Brandon.  This is very important to both of us.  Noah needs to know who his daddy was and what kind of man he was.  With all of this in mind, we finally settled on moving to Allendale, MI, the same town where Larry’s younger brother lives with his lovely wife and their three sons.  This is the best solution to an unhappy situation.

My house is a beautiful house.  We have totally remodeled the house cosmetically and it looks wonderful.  New triple pane windows with a transferable life-time warranty, same with the sliders and front door.  New oak floors through out, finished the basement, new cabinets, new appliances, & granite counters in the kitchen, new oak interior doors & trim… this house looks good…except for the clutter!  I need to box up the chachkis and knickknacks, I need to take the pictures off the walls (which I just finally got up before Christmas) and I need to get the unnecessary “stuff” out of here.  I’ve done this before – many times!  We’ve lived in this house 7 years, that is the longest that I’ve lived anywhere since High School graduation.  I know how to get a house ready to sell.  I just can’t get motivated.

Part of this may be due to health issues.  I’ve been dealing with kidney stones for the last month.  Part of may be due to grief issues.  I’m not sure.  The fact is that I want out of this house as much as Noah does, so why do I do nothing about it day after day?   I tell myself each morning exactly what I’m going to accomplish.  By noon I have to accept that I’m going to accomplish nothing.  I look at it, the stacks of stuff, and do nothing about it.  I can’t really blame it on needing to do it alone, I’ve had to do it alone before.  Larry was always busy supporting the family, and I packed up, de-cluttered and staged the house before I even knew what staging was to save money and get the house sold.  This feels different though.  Overwhelming.  I’ve never gone through the whole process completely alone.  I’m not sure what to do… where to start… how to begin.  I don’t have Larry to talk to about everything.  I have Noah and the dogs, they mess things up as soon as they are cleaned.  None of them pick up after themselves.

I don’t know how to do this.  I don’t know how to be single, I don’t know how to sell/buy a house by myself, and I don’t know how to find the motivation to do it.  Any suggestions?

This is a piece I wrote a year ago.  I’m still facing the same emotions regarding Valentine’s Day, not as overwhelming in their strength this year, but still sad… perhaps more melancholy now.  I would like to encourage you to make everyday a celebration of your love for those special people in your life.  Don’t wait for one  greeting card day, that day may be too late…

Valentines. They used to be lopsided hearts cut out of pink and red construction paper and messily glued on to a homemade card with paper doilies and glitter. Or little cards with Be Mine sayings attached to candy, placed into the sacks of each classmate and then eagerly scoured for the sweets and perhaps a special note while eating sugar cookie hearts and red kool-aide.

I can still remember the first Valentine I received from Larry. We had known each other for 3 weeks, but we were already very much in love. The card was very simple, the front covered with pictures of the little candy hearts with phrases on them. Right in the middle of the card was a yellow heart with the words ‘Marry Me’ on it. Two weeks and three days later Larry asked me to marry to him. Every year after that Larry gave me roses and a Valentine card that expressed his love for me and I gave one to him. We always gave cards that expressed our thankfulness to God for bringing us together and our joyful anticipation of the many years ahead. We never anticipated that those years would be cut short by brain cancer.

This year I’m facing my first solo Valentines day in 15 years. I decided a few weeks ago that even though I would not be receiving a Valentine from my dear husband, I could still take one to him… sort of. I had a Valentine wreath made up and took it to the cemetery. It hasn’t made this Hallmark holiday any easier to deal with emotionally though. This was not a day that I was expecting to bring this much pain. To be honest, I hadn’t even thought of Valentine’s day in the list of dreaded firsts. I’d skipped right over it.

Aisles of cards, heart-shaped cookies and cakes, bouquets of roses, TV ads featuring loving couples exchanging cards and beautiful gifts of sparkling jewelry… Everywhere I look I see reminders that I am once again on the outside looking in. I’m no longer the unpopular girl at school who didn’t receive the special valentine or the special note, but I’m no longer part of “we” either.

This holiday is for children and couples. Being torn out of my status as a wife – half of “we” – makes this even more difficult to cope with. This was not my choice. Every reminder that I no longer qualify for couples only events brings back the loneliness of my widowhood. No Sweetheart Dance for me, no card with the tender words of love from the man that I love and miss so much that I ache with it.

Valentine’s Day may seem trivial as holidays go.  A day made up for sole purpose of spending money. I disagree. The money isn’t the purpose of Valentine’s day. What is important about Valentine’s day is that you are intentional about taking the time, finding a meaningful way to communicate to the most important person in your life…. the other half of your “we” that you love them, that you love being married to them. Everyday should be Valentine’s day.

I recently read a wonderful post by Randy Elrod titled In Search of Heroes – Where Are The Female Mentors.  You can read this and his other fantastic blog entries at http://www.randyelrod.com.  His posts always make me think.  This particular one also made me respond.  I ended my response with a the statement, “I don’t know why women feel they are too busy to be more than friends.”   I went back to his post again today to read some of the other responses and the last line of mine hit me squarely in the chest, why do I pretend to be too busy to be more than a friend.

I have a few – a very few – very close friends.  Those friendships are held close to my heart and I cherish every moment spent with these women, whether in person or on the phone.  Age isn’t part of the equation in my friendships, neither is status or economic situation.   I can’t even explain what brings this little group together other than our mutual love for Jesus Christ and our off the wall sense of humor.  When one of us hurts, we all hurt… so pretty much we are always hurting, but we always manage to laugh til we cry when we are together.  That’s how we ‘self-medicate’, because after all, laughter does good like a medicine… These women are more than just friends to me.

I also have a larger group – thanks to Facebook a much larger group – of women that I love and communicate with.  I cheer them on and chuckle with them, and I call them friends, but what is the dynamic in this?  I do truly love these women.  A lot of them are friends from my childhood.  Some of them are women I would never have gotten the chance to know at all if it weren’t for social media.  But do I, or even can I make a difference in the lives of these women?  Will we ever be more than friends?

Randy was talking about mentoring.  There is a vast need for mentoring among females and not just for young women, but for women at all stages of life.  We need to come along side each other and say… “I’ve been where you are, let me help you through this.”   We try to do it all, don’t we?  I’m a good one for buying books about the stages I’m in.  When Larry got sick I bought every book I could find… but I was so busy with everything that was going on that I had zero time to read the stupid things.  They all got donated after he died.   I’ve been friends with young women and continue to be.  It’s nothing formal, but they know I’m here and they can come hang out or call or email or whatever whenever they need me.  Having 4 sons, I love this!  If they wanted something more formal, I would be open to that.  But I’ve never thought of it as mentoring until I read Randy’s blog.  I’m not a hero, but I think there is some untapped hero in each of us that we need to share with each other.

I challenge you ladies, this week…. find one woman to reach out to and say, “I’ve been there, let me help you through this.”  Let’s be more than just friends, o.k.?

This is an older post that I wrote about two years ago.  January 24th is also the anniversary of the day that Larry and I met in Casper, Wyoming at a Corrosion Control Conference.  It’s been two years since the accident and 16 years since the day we met and yet both days seem like yesterday….

We discovered that my husband’s tumor had begun to grow back when he had a grand Mal seizure while driving us home from his parent’s house on January 24, 2009. The seizure started on County Farm Rd at the entrance to Pearl Lake. Larry’s right arm flew up and back, his head jerked back to the right and his face became very distorted. I could hear Larry try to tell me something, it sounded like, “okay.” I told Larry to pull over and hit the brake, instead his right foot pressed down fully onto the gas. I yelled repeatedly for him to hit the brake, but he couldn’t respond. He had lost consciousness, his eyes were rolled back, and his mouth was foamy.

Our seven-year-old son, Noah, was in the back seat. I could hear him screaming, “I’m scared! I’m scared!” We were headed toward a T-intersection across a highway/main street of Sheridan, MI, at 8:20-ish on a Saturday night, with the gas floored. My normal reaction to anything that I consider a crisis is to gasp and freeze. And what I consider a crisis starts pretty small – like something falling off the kitchen counter. I tell you this so that you see God in what happens next.

God told me to put the car in Park. I found out by watching Myth Busters the following Saturday night that that automatically puts the car in to neutral, which stops feeding gas to the engine.

I then grabbed the steering wheel and turned it to the right as hard and fast as I could. (“Jesus Take The Whee”l) The car finally turned to the right on the sidewalk in front of the building on the other side of the highway – a building that just happens to be a CHURCH. We missed a parked car and went back across the highway heading straight toward a very large tree in the front yard of a FUNERAL HOME.

Before we got to the tree we lightly struck a LIGHT POLE on the front passenger side, just enough to slow us down and we stopped about ten feet later.

The car was not hit hard enough to cause any airbags to go off – nothing hit Larry in the head.
Larry was buckled upright in his seat – he couldn’t fall over and hit his head.
Twice we were headed towards a head on collision – didn’t happen
We crossed a main street/highway twice on a Saturday night – no traffic and no pedestrians
ALL THREE OF US WALKED AWAY WITHOUT SO MUCH AS A SCRATCH, A BUMP OR A BRUISE!

I fished his cell phone from coat pocket, fortunately his right coat pocket, and called 911. I was able to tell them easily where we were and since we were still only a few miles from Larry’s parent’s house his father was able to come quickly to get Noah.

It took about 7 minutes for the ambulance and first responders to arrive. It was only about 1 minute or so before that that Larry woke up. Hearing Noah say, “Daddy I love you so much! Do you remember me?” Broke my heart.

When the ambulance did arrive, the EMTs were the same two women who’d taken us to Lansing the first time in November. I had to crawl out Larry’s side because my door wouldn’t open anymore. After they had him out and onto the stretcher one of them helped me out and when she saw me she said, “Oh I remember you, are you all right?” She opened her arms to me and held me while I cried. She already knew the first part of our story, God was holding out His arms.

I didn’t have my cell phone with me that night and Larry’s phone is filled with business contacts. The only personal phone number in there that I could find was our son, Drew, in Virginia. Our son, Wade, had changed his number the day before – not in there. Our son, Scott, had gotten a phone for Christmas, but it had never gotten programmed in. So the only one I could call was Drew. On the way to the hospital in the ambulance I called Drew and in a near hysterical state asked him to call everyone else for me. And he did. I didn’t know until the next day, but he’d even called my parents in Nebraska for me. He kept everyone updated for me. He’s actually better at that than anyone else in our whole family – even me. He once called us from Virginia to tell us that the high school gym was on fire. I can see the high school gym from my back door – didn’t know a thing!

I was praying all the way to the hospital that someone would be there, I so didn’t want to go through this alone. After we got there and I walked into the ER waiting room, our son Scott and his girlfriend Shanae (who had both been with us at Larry’s parent’s house, but left earlier than we did), and my friend Leslie were there. I went out to get a bottle of water from the vending machine and when I looked up our Pastor was there. A little while later our friends Chris and Tara came to the ER to see how things were going. Chris is an ER Dr. and the one who initially diagnosed the tumor. It was his night off, but he was there. We’re never alone, God is always with us.

The EMTs that took us to Lansing were both Christians and the driver has a son who is a miracle survivor of a heart birth defect. The night nurse in the Neuro ICU was a Christian and one of the few nurses who will pray with her patients. She prayed with us at 1:30am, before she even had Larry hooked up to the monitors. I got to stay with Larry the entire time. Not one nurse made me leave at night.

Every nurse we had was a Christian, the anesthesiologist was a Pastor’s son. Everyone who came in work with or treat Larry left with a bigger smile and a lighter heart than when they came in.

We know that God was telling us that Larry’s tumor was growing back and needed to come out again. It was beginning to grow closer to the right motor strip which could cause weakness or paralysis on the right side. When the surgeon was telling us this Jesus told me, “I’m at My Father’s right side, everything is going to be okay.”

God is so amazing. He is in every detail of our lives and He loves us so much.

Romans 8:15 (New Living Translation)

¹⁵ So you have not received a spirit that makes you fearful slaves. Instead, you received God’s Spirit when he adopted you as his own children. Now we call him, “Abba, Father.”

On  January 29, 1964 my parents received a telephone call from Lutheran Family Social Services.  This was a phone call they had been waiting for for months, but didn’t expect quite yet.  They weren’t prepared yet.  The call went something like this:

“Mr. & Mrs. Zalman, we have a baby girl for you if you’re still interested.  You can come to Omaha tomorrow to see her and make your decision then.”  Decision?  My parents had been waiting for over 9 years to have a baby.  Conventional methods weren’t working, for no apparent reason, so this “decision” was already made.  But formalities had to be followed. 

The next day my mom and dad drove the 2 1/2 hours to Omaha to see the tiny baby girl who LFSS had waiting for them.  The four-week old baby girl had dark brown, almost black, hair and big blue eyes.  In the photographs she appears to fit perfectly in her new mother’s arms.  LFSS wouldn’t allow mom and dad to take me home that day, they had to wait until the next day just to make sure that they REALLY wanted me… really?  The only decision they had to make that night was what to name me.  They really weren’t prepared for this phone call yet.  I think several names were tossed around.  One was Roberta Sue, after my daddy Robert.  I love my daddy, but I am rather glad that name didn’t win.  No offense to the Roberta’s out there.  My actual name was chosen from the newspaper of all things!  My parents are both avid newspaper readers.  One of them stumbled across a movie ad for either The Balcony or A House Is Not A Home.  I’m not sure which movie, but I do know that it was a Shelley Winters movie.  My mom’s name is Sheila, so that cinched it, Shelley it was.  I was given her middle name of Ann along with it the next day when it was time to take me home and then the three of us left the hospital to head back to the central Nebraska town that would be my home.

This was 47 years ago, long before car seats were even a glimmer in the eyes of the auto industry.  My car seat was the arms of my mother.  My mother.  She may not have given birth to me and I may not have the genes of my father in my physical make-up, but in the first moment when they looked at the tiny baby girl lying in the bassinet waiting for someone to love her, I was forever grafted into their hearts.  I became their daughter and they became my parents.   So it is with God.  When we look to him and say, “Father, I believe!”  We are forever grafted into his heart and He in ours.  Not physically born of Him, but definitely born for Him.   Just like me .  Not physically born of my mom and dad, but definitely born for them.

My birth-mother carried me inside her, under her heart for nine months; knowing that in the end she would go home without me.  She wanted me to have what she couldn’t give me.   Two parents, a complete home.  She gave me the two greatest gifts she had to give…. Life and a family.   Sound familiar?  Jesus came to give us life in abundance and when we place our faith in him we are all members of the body of Christ – family.  We are adopted.  Being adopted into God’s family is mentioned 3 times in the book of Romans in chapters 8 & 9.  I encourage you to read it for yourself!

John 15:5 (New Living Translation)

⁵ “Yes, I am the vine; you are the branches. Those who remain in me, and I in them, will produce much fruit. For apart from me you can do nothing.

This verse has always brought to my mind a vision of grapes.  I love grapes, I love to look at grapes.  So much so that I’ve been decorating my kitchen with them for nearly 20 years. I’ve been called the original grape-nut, and with good reason.

Grape-nuts are such a simple cereal.  Hard enough to break a crown and only 4 ingredients, all of which I can pronounce.  I like that, at least the last part.  Each grape-nut is so tiny.  By itself it doesn’t seem like much.  It amazes me that something so tiny can bring a grown person to their knees in extreme pain.

Last week I spent three hours in the ER with a brand new experience – kidney stones.  From the pain I was experiencing, I was sure that this kidney stone had to be a full size boulder at least.  It took several days for this boulder to “pass”.  When it did, the rock that had been rolling my life was no bigger than a tiny little grape-nut!  What?!  This itty, bitty, little grape-nut nugget is the boulder that has been controlling my life for weeks?  How could that possibly be?  Are we so fragile that we can be brought down by something barely larger than a grain of sand… smaller than the smallest piece of gravel?

At least it took a river rock to bring Goliath down. Not me. Good grief! One little grape-nut and I’m on my knees.  But then, being on my knees isn’t such a bad thing.  I should spend more time there, in prayer, keeping my roots well grounded in my Vine.

I spent a week with my parents after Christmas.  My youngest brother and his wife had their first baby just before Christmas, so I had ulterior motives for the visit besides spending time with my aging parents.  My father is about to turn 81 later this month and his health has been declining for many years.  He still lives at home thanks to the efforts of my mother.  Her health is beginning to show the wear and tear though.

Holding my two-week old niece at the dinner table, watching her sleeping, angelic face, I was struck by the irony of life.  My niece is completely dependent on the adults who love her to sustain her and keep her alive.  She needs us to feed her, clothe her, and keep her clean.  She can’t go anywhere without someone taking her there.  My father has come to the place in his life where he is also dependent on others to take care of him.  He is completely dependent on my mother to sustain him.  Without her care he would be in a nursing facility.   He relies on my mother remembering to take care of him as much as my niece relies on her parents remembering to take care of her.

While I was there I attended the funeral of the father of one of my high school classmates.  The funeral was on my birthday, two days before hers.  In front of me sat a new mother with a very new baby boy.  During the opening prayer of the funeral service the infant was voicing his own invocation.  Not understandable to us perhaps, but just as dear and perfectly understandable to the Lord, and to Tommy Thomas who was listening in with the Father.  I’m sure both were having a hearty chuckle over the baby’s prayer, since both have a tremendous sense of humor.

When I came home Thursday the cycles of life hit me again.  Different cycles.  Not the early spring and late winter cycles that come back around and have so many similarities, but the late summer / early autumn cycles.  The cycles where the leaves of life are changing and beginning to fall off the tree.  This cycle can be rewarding and fun when you’re sharing it with the one you love.  It is just down right lonely when that one is gone and everyone else has forgotten you.  The house is empty.  Everyone else has their own life to lead, their own plans.  Sometimes I think I need a change.  I just don’t know what to change.  Maybe I’ll check the drier to see what cycles it has.  I know there is a “refresh” cycle… maybe that will help.  I’m not quite ready for the “wrinkle release” cycle, so I’ll save that one for later.

Maybe I’ll just take a nap.

Love Story… the movie that coined the phrase, “Love means never having to say you’re sorry.”  I’ve never heard a more ridiculous phrase.  If anything love requires from us that we humble ourselves and apologize or love will die.

On Christmas day I wrote a blog post that should never have been written on a public domain and has since been removed.  I let my frustrations, grief and anger find their release in writing, which is my therapy.  However, there is no place in any public blog for personal conflicts to be hung out to dry.  Writing is one thing.  Blasting my sons in writing, without warning of any kind, in such a public manner is another, and completely unacceptable.  I’m heartily sorry and will ask for their forgiveness in person.

Love means having to you’re sorry.  Love also means having to say a good many other things, it’s called communication.  Communication is the key to holding any relationship together.  Communication should not, however, take place in personal attacks on an open forum.

I am sorry. I love my sons very much and they truly are amazing sons.