January 16, 2014

unveiled

The sun was setting, and in the distance

a curtain of rain

veiled a rainbow.

A pocket of clouds lay just beyond.

A whisper of hope veiled in the clouds.

A promise that everything would be ok.

We had just come from a service where a husband and three kids the ages of my children had said goodbye to their mother.

Their mother, now with unveiled face, healed from her cancer and resting in the arms of Jesus.

Their mother, whose greatest wish conveyed throughout the service is that her children would remain steadfast in Him.

I walked along the shore with my only daughter only hours after that service, my reflections mirrored in this veil

these words from Corinthians coming to mind as I imagined what is must be like to say goodbye to my children

But we, with unveiled face, beholding as in a mirror the glory of the Lord are being transformed into the same image, from glory to glory just as from the Lord, the Spirit.
2 Corinthians 2:13

My friend is healed, beholding the Glory of the Lord.

And those of us left here somehow, after a glimpse of His glory behind the veil are left to be transformed into the same image, from glory to glory….

In the Greek, glory, doxa, one definition translates to this:

splendor, brightness

of sun, moon and stars.
magnificence, excellence, preeminence, dignity, grace
majesty…a thing belonging to God.

In the dusk of that evening,

I reflect that my friend belongs to God
I reflect on the dignity and grace of her last days

the sun reflects in the sky and the moon rises

and my daughter
reaches beneath the moon, reaches forward, reaches for new possibilities… hope

I wonder why some of us are left behind, and some of us are taken
and see how there is too much transforming left to do
so I too
will reach beyond myself
reach forward, stretching to places uncomfortable and unknown

and someday, when all is unveiled
I will behold His glory
and understand

January 3, 2014

old acquaintance

Should old acquaintance be forgot
and never brought to mind
Should old acquaintance be forgot
and days of auld lang syne

Through this year’s holiday season of gathering, reflection, change, these words ring true to me much more than a passing chorus.

Bits and pieces of these past days…a house full of teenagers, college students, Christmas cookies being decorated…

My grown kids returning home for the holidays, still looking for reindeer elf and candy and handwritten notes….and wanting all of us to open Christmas presents in onesies…..

A holiday wedding, dear old friends giving away their firstborn daughter, the first baby born among our friends, radiant in her beautiful dress as my husband’s college roommate tearfully walked her down the aisle…

Among all this, my mother,
89 years old
whom we remind, “It’s Christmas morning, Lola,” as my kids climb into bed with her in pajamas,
thinks the new year we are ringing in is 1990.

Scotland.org states the words auld lang syne mean “long, long ago.” The chorus translates to:

Should old acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should old acquaintance be forgot,
And long, long ago.

To live with someone with Alzheimer’s deepens the meaning of this New Year’s traditonal song, for each day lives out someone who has forgotten old acquaintances, faces, names, even the names and faces of the ones who care for her daily

and long, long ago is forgotten.

Yesterday mom asked me if her mom and dad were still around, as she was thinking of going home to the Philippines to take care of them. They have been gone for more than fifty years.

As the last refrains of auld lang syne fade out
and I reflect on the fireworks show bringing in the new year

I will cherish even more the snapshots of this holiday season,

the not so perfectly decorated big fat Christmas tree crashing to the floor

at the very moment a rat was trapped, the one chewing up the engine of my car

…….screams issuing everywhere …(the tree was eventually restraightened and rescued by fishing line tied to the door)….

the dozens of homemade decorated Christmas cookies baked for hours and consumed in minutes.

the silly games shared with old friends
the conversations shared with old friends,

ones whose weddings we stood in
launched careers with,
birthed babies
raised preschoolers, then adolescents
and now watch these very children launch their own careers and share their father/daughter dance.

What’s amazing is that even the kids seem to take in the significance of this……the old acquaintance part….the kids who rode around together in the neighborhood, played for hours in Disney costumes, filmed Star Wars spin off videos, shared picnics in the park…they too want to record the significance of changing moments…

for as our families shift, grieving losses…

loss of childhood, loss of control, loss of parents, evolving parental roles…..and welcome new relationships, and new dynamics in relationships…

our hearts are made bigger as we broaden our family circles, as we hold hands and hug tighter through these seasons of change.

And yes tears are shed as we long for the old days
when our kids held our hands and snuggled
and we laughed and played together.

Now our laughter is deeper and our tears source from a deeper well
and these friendships

deep, familiar, part of our core

remind me of one of my favorite verses:

for now we see in a glass dimly,
but then we shall see face to face....

I am grateful for these moments of friendship that are full on, face to face….
full of laughter and tears,
full of rejoicing, and loss,
friendships that have spanned over 25 years…

though someday, these moments may be forgotten,
they will be forever cherished.

November 18, 2013

seconds measured

47.4 seconds.
That is my son’s best time in the 100 yard freestyle, the time he just swam at the 4A Florida State High School meet last Saturday.

47.4 seconds.
a time when each breath was intentional
each stroke intentional
each kick intentional

47.4 seconds
not just halfway, but all out. Each stroke and breath all out, pushing to the limit, pushing past weariness and pain, driving body past barriers until he touched the wall to finish.

There was a flurry of movement all around as surrounding athletes pushed limits through resistance, water, to record best times, driving at All- American speeds: 44 seconds, 45 seconds 46 seconds.

Behind those seconds are hours and hours of work. Miles and miles of yardage logged to get the speed, endurance to be able to charge through those few seconds all out.

Hours put in early when the moon and stars still fill the sky.
Hours put in in pouring rain and cold temperatures.

Swimming ….a truly inspirational sport, one of true discipline
as the one standing on the blocks, poised to move forward, every muscle tensed, anticipating the start
is the only one who knows the preparation, the hours and yards and conditions endured to ready himself for that brief race.

I have fought the good fight, I have stayed the course, I have finished the race….2 Timothy 4:7

It is the last push that determines the winner.
The last reach, the last stroke head down
lungs bursting
arms burning
legs burning
in the final reach for the wall.
The final time.

The glance at the clock that records time is only a measure of the discipline and perseverance endured to reach that mark of 47.4 seconds.

In our own moments, we endure those seconds of push in life where we are beyond ourselves
grinding through resistance, the churning waters that surround, laboring past the pain and weariness

that place beyond ourselves that is glorious and exhausting

that place where we can help another
or bring a smile to a face by a simple act of kindness
or see a terminal situation in a new light, though the situation has not changed

those are moments of glory.

Psalm 89:17 says, “For you are the glory of their strength.”

These are the moments, lasting a bit longer or shorter than 47 seconds, that inspire us through the hard places,

These moments of inspiration push us to look beyond the pain to reach for something greater to better ourselves, or even greater, to better someone else.

There is great gain in launching into deep waters. In going beyond limits to do something impossible or unattainable. And whether or not that thing is attained or just beyond grasp there is victory in the trying, in the drive to get to wall to the place beyond your limit. To bring you beyond yourself into the unknown. To places beyond borders.

Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders
Let me walk upon the waters
Wherever you would find me

“Oceans” by Hillsong

We become tired and weary of the places we are called to go, determined by choice or by circumstance…to care for the widow, the orphan, to be the single mom, to juggle the finances, to walk with cancer.

We think we can’t propel past the pain and weariness to move forward, one motion at a time, one stroke at a time, one kick at a time.

Somewhere deep in our soul, we find the guts to move on. Faith gives us the push to move forward.

Triumph comes not in the time or the medal or the accolade because most of the time there is none. Triumph comes in the strength attained that often times unknowingly inspires another to find the same.

October 28, 2013 Image

vulnerable

yesterday I watched those young actors on Glee act out and experience raw at the same time the grief of their friend, I think what is so moving about their pain, so touching about their vulnerability onscreen and in real life, that their gift of song that expresses their pain is so touching

pain and beauty side by side
seen in the most vulnerable moments

but on this side of the screen, we mask our hurt and pain, afraid to be exposed, to be vulnerable.

we do not hold the pain out in front of us, instead cover it up and move on
when we are dying inside

one of my favorite verses tells us

he gives us beauty for ashes
the oil of joy for mourning
the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness

as I have cared for my mom over the past few years
I see the most painful moments, the ones that cut me most deeply,
are the ones where I am most vulnerable,
the ones that expose my emotions most raw
the ugly ones, the hurtful ones, the scared ones, the grieving ones

the following is one of those…….

……kathy, you who have been caring for your mom for 14 years, I give this to you…..to the others I met at the caregivers conference I give this to you….we may be exposed, raw, naked, but we are not alone….

naked

naked
even the word is unsettling
naked i come from my mothers womb, naked i will depart

but now before me, is my mother
naked, helpless,
as i was when i came from her body

the hands and limbs that once bathed me, dressed me, held me
are now the ones that i must help bathe and dress

but its too hard to hold
this reversal is too painful
too vulnerable

to see her naked before me
too unsettling,

for now i am the one exposed

she is the one depending on me

when i was a little girl
i was completely attached to my mother

i always needed to know where she was
i needed to sense her presence
i cried if she did not come home
when she said she would be home

now her eyes scan the room for me,
watch my moves

she is the one to question,
“where are you going?”
she asks, “where am I?
is this my home?”
i tell her no, this is my home
she says,
“i want to go home.”

this helplessness, her utter dependence on me
physically and emotionally
leave me feeling helpless

because without my mother here,
who is there for me?

who is there to comfort me when i am down
or run to when i have exciting news
or sit with a cup of coffee to share my day

even grown daughters need their mothers

she is here

trapped in this jar of clay
with a fading mind
but still a treasured spirit

some days she cries and asks for her mother

she says she wants to go to her

i tell she’s not here anymore, she’s been gone a very long time
she looks at me with crestfallen face
trying to remember
then recollecting
“oh…”

she looks at me and tells me
“i’m ready to go.”
ready to go where mom?
“up there.”
she smiles and points to heaven

this treasured spirit
in a jar of clay
yearns for her heavenly home

her fragile mind has broken free
from the restrictions of this world

this world that knows time
hurts, anger, pain,
overcommitments, stress, sorrow
guilt

all have been shattered
by this disease called Alzheimer’s
a blessing in disguise

for we are called to live in the moment
to love in the moment
to enjoy only the thing set in front of us
to hold on to the smiles
to pray
to hold
to touch

sometimes the grief is too much to bear
so a hold and touch is too much to give

the nakedness is too much
the rawness is too much
from grieving the person
she once was

she once was
just like me
vibrant
full of laughter and life
the center of her family
caring for their needs
and keeping them together

who says she is not keeping us together now
in prayer

at night she says to me
“thank you for taking care of me.
may God bless you for all you do
i always pray for that.”

so i continue to care for her
this treasure in this jar of clay
and when this jar is finally broken
i will be able to pick up the shattered pieces
and hand them back to the Father she loves

the spirit that yearns for Him
will go home

October 23, 2013

stuck in the middle with you

Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right, here I am stuck in the middle with you.

Last night this song is playing at Uno’s while I eat pizza with my kids. I tell them this is a song that talks about my life right now…stuck in the middle with you. They roll their eyes and keep eating their pizza.

It’s homecoming week at the house, a time when the kids both want me around and push me away. When they want my opinion, then silently warn me with their eyes to back off. A time when the purse strings are wide open for all the stuff… jewelry, shoes,makeup, costumes…when the car is rolling for errands, rides to the float parade…

It is also a week with a lot of doctor appointments and follow ups for my mom, first to the primary, then arrangements for home health to draw bloodwork, then to the cardiologist for an echocardiogram for a new murmur they hear.

Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right, here I am. Stuck in the middle with you.

A mirror, a two way mirror.

I see my daughter, choosing what she will share, averting conversations, hugs, kisses on the forehead, gradually taking a few steps back, and me doing the same to my mother, avoiding painful, quiet conversations, needy hugs, a kiss on the cheek, taking a few steps back.

for my daughter, it is independence

for me, it is sorrow

The sorrow of not having the relationship the way I do now with my daughter on the good days–the days out to lunch, or perusing the racks at Marshalls, or grabbing a Starbucks together–the days I used to have with my mom.

I need to let down my guard and have the silent hugs, and take the kisses on the cheek, and take the hand that wants to be held

for that is what a mother needs from her daughter,

and what a daughter needs from her mother

at 15, or 52, or 89

Fathers, be good to your daughters

Daughters will love like you do

Girls become lovers who turn into mothers

So mothers, be good to your daughters too

–John Mayer

My mother was so good to me.

Am I a daughter who loves like she did?

Selflessly, putting others first?

I have such a hard time right now, putting her first.

She is so kind and gentle

while I fight for myself and what I want

and see that in my daughter too

fighting for who she is

to carve her own way, not mine

even though I may try to direct it.

It is so hard to see her, my daughter, mirroring the fight I have myself…

wanting independence,

to be free of this constant care and worry for my mom.

Mom tells me she’s ready to go.

I ask her why.

She tells me she doesn’t want me worrying about her so much. Isn’t that what we do as mothers–worry about everything being right?..hair, makeup, the right outfit, friends, relationships, the right fit?

I’ve done that since my daughter was a toddler. I do it now

I do it for my mother at 89, she does it for me.

I walk in the door, dressed up to go to dinner. She motions me towards her, she adjusts my skirt,

“That’s so pretty,” she says, turning her hand in a circle.

“Turn around.”

I sigh, turn grudgingly around.

“Fix your hair,” she says, pointing at my wild mane.

“OK mom,” I say, turn on my heel and walk away.

The next day I do the same to my daughter as she readies herself for homecoming. She’s frantically curling her hair with a wand into little ringlets.

“Aren’t you going to fluff those out,” I ask

“No, mom,” she says. “I like them that way.”

“What about your makeup, aren’t you putting on your makeup?”

“Yes, mom.”

“Pull your skirt down.”

I pause.

I am my mother

My daughter is me.

The lines are blurred in these moments of female-hood

Three generations under my roof

Three fights for independence

one, wanting to be free to be herself,

one, wanting to be free of her physical limitations

one, wanting to be free of the worries of both

for here I am,

stuck in the middle with you

seaglasslife

life, laughter, joy, sorrow all tumbled into one

sandwich generation

unveiled

old acquaintance

seconds measured

vulnerable

stuck in the middle with you