And in the end...

My grandmother passed away on October 29th at around 7:45 in the morning.

She went peacefully.  With my grandfather's name on her lips.  She knew where she was going.  She knew what she was going to do when she got there.  She wasn't afraid.

Tomorrow it will be a week.  My dad and aunt went to get the ashes from the funeral home, and brought them back and promptly sat them on her mantle.  The urn is cold and gray and decorated with what looks like a Greek pattern.

We all came to her house last night and took things that were meaningful to us.  I felt like the Thenardiers from Les Miserables.  Who wants this?  Anyone interested in that?  You want back this thing you gave her? 

Clothing was taken from the closets and put in large black trash bags.
Jewelry boxes were opened and displayed.  Nothing of real value, except sentiment.
China cupboards were emptied and the contents arranged haphazardly on folding tables.
We all walked around with our hands behind our backs, surveying the loot like museum artifacts.

Everything came with a memory.  Things that did not hold sentimental value were put in a pile to be donated along with the toaster and the like.  As we would touch objects, we would recall the moments we remembered with them.  The coffee mugs.  The items she would ALWAYS have on the coffee table.  The things she had hanging on the walls for as long as any of us could remember.

I remembered this key chain she had- pappy gave it to her.  It had a $20 bill in it ever since I could remember.  She said it was there for an emergency.  An emergency she never had, apparently, because when we went through her purse it was still there.  Her purse was actually stolen once in a store.  The robbers took her wallet and chucked the rest of the purse out of the car window.  They should've kept the keys.  There was probably more money in the key chain than in her purse.

We also came across all this stuff she never used.  Like.  Ever.  Like, hadn't seen the light of day since their wedding day.  She had everything labeled- that was her thing.  Little tiny bits of paper with her polite handwriting on them.

"Bought this from a little old peddler man.  My first real ring."

"The scratches on this chest are from Newton jumping up on it to look at the window."

"Candles given by maybe Francie Frank I'm not sure."

And on and on.  Everything was a treasure.

Liam wanted in on the action, of course, and so I told him he may only pick the things that made his heart sing.  "If you pick something up and you can feel your heart sing, you may ask permission to have it.  Everyone needs to be mindful of everyone else."

He came home with a coffee mug, a small blue vase, a baby food maker, some wind chimes and other outdoor items, kaleidoscopes, some small cars, and a pocket knife in the shape of a train.  Some absolutely amazing treasures for a 3 year old boy.  He held the pocket knife in his pocket like it was going to jump out and fly away if it wasn't grasped tightly.  He was so proud.

I took silly things.  A cup I remembered drinking from.  Door stops I had always admired.  A locket I found.  Some wooden boxes I thought were cool.  The glass bottle of water she always kept next to the fridge because she didn't like cold water.  A few boxes of table linens she never ever opened.  Everything odd and old and precious to me. 

Andy was given his choice of pocket knives and also requested a signed head shot of a band leader from the 40's.  She had apparently sent away for it when she was young because the envelope only said her name, the street she lived on and the town.  Who needs a house number?  He quietly followed me around the house, taking objects from me and carefully arranging them in boxes to be taken home.

By the end of the night I had six boxes, a small side table, and a bench my grandfather made.  It was sobering at best.  I had never wanted anything at my Nanny's house but Nanny.  Her giggle.  Her laugh.  The way she would get down on her knees and play with her GREAT grandchildren.  The way she loved Pappy.  And us. And Liam.  How she'd never smile for pictures because she always hated her smile.  How she always dreamed of red hair and freckles...

Those things can only live in my heart, not in my home.  So I will take this moment to re-evaluate.  Why am I keeping clothing "just for nice"?  Why do we have dishes we never use?  Use them!  Because it's not the boxed items that people went for first last night- it was the worn stuff.  The table with the scratches.  The dumb plastic cup you always reached for.  Those are the things that create memories- not the linens that haven't been out of the box since the 40's.

And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make.

Because I could not stop for death...

It kindly stopped for me.
The Carriage held but just Ourselves – 
And Immortality.

We slowly drove – He knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For His Civility – 

We passed the School, where Children strove
At Recess – in the Ring – 
We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain – 
We passed the Setting Sun – 

Or rather – He passed us –
The Dews drew quivering and chill – 
For only Gossamer, my Gown – 
My Tippet – only Tulle – 

We paused before a House that seemed
A Swelling of the Ground – 
The Roof was scarcely visible – 
The Cornice – in the Ground – 

Since then – ‘tis Centuries – and yet
Feels shorter than the Day I first surmised the
Horses’ Heads Were toward Eternity –
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

My grandmother is dying.

She's got cancer.  Does anyone die of anything other than cancer anymore?  Ugh.  My Pappy (her husband) died of pancreatic cancer.  My mom's parents died of bladder and lung.  Now my last Nanny, my favorite one out of any of them, lung as well.  Not smokers lung, just...that's where it lives.

She's hallucinating now.  It won't be long for her.  We thought it was going to be yesterday, so we all dropped everything we were doing and ran to her.  In the car I prepared this whole heartfelt speech to give to her.  I came in holding Liam and went to her bedside and I delivered it with gusto.  Sobbing and crying the whole time.  But I said what I needed to. 

I told her, "Nanny, YOU DID AWESOME.  You have raised us to be good people who love God.  You've taught us to pray.  You've been our prayer warrior.  Make sure you check in with Jesus before you go running to Pappy.  And when you find him, tell him we miss him every day.  Tell him we all found wonderful spouses and he'd love them.  But Nanny, you've done AWESOME.  And it's okay to go now.  We love you so.  Very.  Much."  And through the morphine and the blank expression on her face...she started to cry.  Her eyes were closed but her mouth crinkled up and she whimpered.  I repeated over and over- "I.  Love.  You."  She held my hand and wouldn't let it go.

Pastor Trevor came.  He prayed over her.  Read her scripture.  Assured her of her Salvation in Christ.  Prayed over her.  Prayed with us.  He took Liam over to play with his children, which worked out so well.  He brought us supper.  MAN, we're going to miss this guy.  He isn't even my Nanny's pastor.

So we sat.  And we waited.  Hospice nurse came.  "Could be hours...could be days."

So we sat.  And we waited.

breath...1...2...3...4...5...6...7...8...breath...1...2...3...4...5...6...7...8...breath...

Her heart is strong, but her body is failing.  I was reading their systems shut down one at a time- digestion first.  Heart and lungs last.  When you're sitting there watching someone die, your mind does weird things and goes weird places.  You start contemplating the meaning of life.  You start wondering how you will go.  Just because I have MS doesn't mean it will kill me.  It's not going to help my case though. 

I was sitting there on the sofa with my cousins, watching the breathing and knitting a blanket for a long awaited baby, contemplating how the end of life is SO MUCH like the beginning of it.  You're pregnant for SO LONG, and then you finally can't stand it and you must deliver.  Your brain stops loving the kicks and the caress of the belly, and you sorta get angry about it, which is the fuel to help you push that little sucker OUT.  When death is immanent, you make your peace with it.  You don't WANT it to happen, but you allow yourself to explore it mentally and you become "okay" with it.  If that's possible.  And then you start to see the suffering of the patient and the care givers and you think- okay, this NEEDS to happen.  And in that is the strength to get you through the actual breathing of the last breath.

breath...1...2...3...4...5...6...7...8...breath...1...2...3...4...5...6...7...8...breath...

Nobody knows our last breath.  Not even us.  I wouldn't want to know.

So we will continue to sit.  And wait.

Peace be with you.

Liam's birthday was last week!  Hip hip!

I kept it EXTREMELY low key this year, and that's not a lie.  My anxiety level was so high, I was about ready to call the whole thing off.  The "theme" was Toy Story Drive In.  So I borrowed a projector and my parents set up the garage as a movie theater.  I rented a popcorn machine, which I think the adults liked as much as the kids.  We made tacos to eat.  There were under 30 people there- 10 of which were little ones.  It was fun!

I planned to invite my good friend from up north- one of those people who upon the first meeting, there was some instant clicking going on.  Lots of laughter.  Talking.  Smiling.  Hugs when departing.  You know the kind- natural friendships.  So I invited her to Liam's party.  She bought train tickets.  She and I began to plan our visit.

My mother in law had other plans.

"She's not welcome.  And I couldn't possibly have a good time if I knew she was going to be there."

Really?

"I think she's loud and opinionated.  She makes me feel awkward."

Pot calling the kettle black much?

"I don't want her there."

--So what, pray tell, would you have me do?

"I don't know.  I could be the adult here, but I don't feel like it.  I don't want her there."

At this point, I erupted.  (I feel it prudent to mention I was in the bathroom at the time.  Liam was opening gifts for his ACTUAL birthday DAY, my parents were downstairs, we had just finished cake...  And for those who aren't parents, there's a little siren which goes off when kids realize their parents are on the phone.  It's much like a dog whistle...but it encourages kids to just run WILD and get into every possible thing they can get their grubby little paws on.  This requires multi tasking.  AND ANOTHER THING.  I hate talking on the phone.  Just laying there talking frustrates me to no end.  Multi-task.  The end.)

What I said went something like "ARE YOU KIDDING ME?  FINE.  I'LL UN-INVITE HER."

"Well I mean I just-"

"STOP TALKING.  I SAID I'D UN-INVITE HER.  WHAT ELSE DO YOU WANT?"

"I know how this sounds."

At this point, I wanted to reach through the phone and grab her.  Yes, I know how this sounds.  You are CHOOSING to make a poor decision.  "I could be an adult, but I choose not to be."  One thing my MIL loves are peace signs.  She's a grown up hippy.  But not the kind who does sit ins and rallies for the whales.  No no.  She wears peace signs.  They're on her walls.  In her art work.  On her shirts and earrings.  Peace peace peace.  Except for unwanted guests.  Except for people she decides are "not one of us."

This is like claiming "I'm pro-life!  No abortion!  Save the babies!"  And then in the next breath condemns "illegals" to get out of our country.  I'm pro-life!  Just.  Not YOUR life.

Our pastor is leaving our church.  It saddens me GREATLY because we love him and his family.  They are our best friends, quite literally.  They have three great kiddos, and we all have lots in common.  For a church who practices "peace," we're not seeing much of it.  Many times where strong opinions are voiced, the need to be heard outweighs the need to practice peace.

We went out for breakfast the other morning.  Andy ordered eggs over easy.  The waitress came to our table bearing his eggs and a terrible look on her face, "Sir.  I bumped your toast and it broke your egg yolk.  I'm SO SO SORRY.  I can take it back."  Andy looked at her and gently said, "Oh I don't care.  I'll break it myself here soon!"  She breathed a sigh of relief, "Thank you so much.  You wouldn't believe how people get so upset over that."

I could choose to love refugees entering our country out of fear, but I don't want to.  They should get their papers like everyone else.  Women and children be damned.

I could choose to speak to the pastor about my concerns, but an anonymous letter seems like a more valiant way to get my point across.

I could choose to look at my waitress making minimum wage as a person and ignore my broken yolks, but, eh, she should get a better job anyway.

I could choose to be an adult, but I don't want to.

As an aside, my inlaws never made it to the party.  My MIL had a high BP and went to the ER and they found out she had strep.  She's got a medical heart issue- I'm not sure what it's called.  But high BP could be fatal.  Maybe it's time to let bygones be bygones and let go of some hate.

My friend was gracious and did not attend the party.  She changed her train ticket for Thanksgiving, which seems like an awesome time to be together with the people you love. 

Grace and Peace be with you.
(And also with you.)

It's Me! Only...better.

In the last 10 months, I have been on a quest.  Better me.  Better life.  Better family.

Move forward.  Move up.  Just move.

After the Great Barfing of 2015 (let us never forget...) life went on.  My MS remained in remission...until it flared again.  I could feel everything, it wasn't a relapse.  It's just all those ridiculous shots I was giving myself?  Yeah, not working.  Not even a little.  More lesions on my brain.

Then came the great schism of the insurance companies.  Geisinger stopped "participating" with Pinnacle.  What does that even mean?  Well for starters, I got to find all new doctors for myself AND Liam.  OBGYN to pediatrician, neurologist to PCP.  Go ahead and transfer all those files and find someone new to confide in.  You'll be fine.  You mean you've been going to the same OBGYN since you were 16?  Awww.  That's adorable.  Go ahead and find a new one.

The new neuro stared at my chest the whole time.  "My job is to keep you out of a wheel chair for as long as possible."  He so pointedly remarked.  Wheelchair?  What?  I didn't think I was that bad?  He showed me my MRI (up until now I'd never seen one) "All these white spots are lesions.  You need another medication."

My new med was proven to drop your heart rate in the first dose, so you needed to be under the care of a doctor for 8 hours to make sure if I dipped, I didn't dip too far.  And if I dipped too far...well.  Someone to bring me up again.  They came to my home and took my blood.  Blood didn't make it to the lab in time (snow storm).  Had to have it drawn again.  Then the doctor who was supposed to come the very next day to do the first dose quit.  Two weeks later, they found a new doctor.  He was a slight fellow, interesting enough to make the day progress quickly.

MuckFest came and went.  My team was wonderful this year.  This year it was different.  Last year was awesome, but this year was more...spiritual somehow.  The one member of my team, Linda, had lost her husband at Christmas.  Our pastor and his wife were on my team.  Zoi, my new aunt, was on our team.  Lives were changed.  I was in the ER with breathing issues 4 days ahead of time.  Anxiety, they said.  I believed it.

The MS Fitness Challenge came to town.  "You're signing up."  Andy told me.  So I did.  I kept making calls and filling out forms until they HAD to include me.  My trainer's name is Lydia.  She's absolutely beautiful.  (Andy says she's not his type.  Okay? Um?  Good?)  She's got gazelle-like qualities that make me feel like a 30 year old mommy with MS.  She's so incredibly nice, it makes me excited to work out with her.  I'm lifting weights like a boss.  I'm TWICE the person I was 2 years ago when I was flat on my back, unable to maneuver my leg.

6 months later, no new lesions.  No change.  "Condition stable."  To God be the glory.  See you again in 6 months to check again.

I twitch now, which is like, ugh.  Seriously?  Makes me look like some Tourettes patient.  It's not too bad, just irritating.  Gets worse when I'm nervous.  The end.

I will tell people, "MS saved my life."  And nobody gets that.  When our marriage was failing, MS stopped us in our tracks and gave us something new to fight against.  We started talking, and I mean REALLY talking.  My husband became more compassionate.  I became someone I liked again.  MS gave us a common cause.  It's "our" disease to fight.  So we fight it.  Because of MS, I was challenged to lose weight.  Lots of weight.  People see me in the grocery store and don't know me.  I say, "It's Libbie? Libbie George?"   "OH!  We didn't even recognize you!"

There's something extraordinary about being the best version of yourself you can possibly be.  It's like being me...only better.

May I Write Again?

I'm embarrassed.

Last time I wrote was the new year...January.  It's October.  This isn't the way friendships are supposed to go but...  sometimes life just picks up steam, you know?

I can't even begin to form the words to express what an amazing place I'm in right now.

Liam is three years old today.  Three.  Years.  I re-read my blog entries from his entrance in this world, and my stomach just ached.  Seems all so far away.  The majority of my friends are on baby number two!  I've held many friends through miscarriages.  I've celebrated 1st, 2nd, 3rd birthdays with all their children.  It's just been busy.

There's been times I've concocted blog entries in my head.  What I'd say to the masses about a particular subject. (Something witty and original, of COURSE!)  But honestly, who cares?  So many times a friend will post a blog entry and I'm like- blah blah blah.  Sorry.  I'm not a blog reader.  But I came back to my page here to read about my labor and I saw- over 11,000 hits.

People are reading.

So I'm coming back with my tail between my knees stating, I really really want to write again.

So I will.

Careful, mom.

Okay here's a riddle to start your new year:

What smells like puke, makes you go through half a pack of TP, and causes your out of town guests to stay longer than they wanted to?

Give up? That's okay. So did I. 

It's the GI bug, of course!! And when five adults and one toddler run through it in 48 hours, you would give up too. Did I mention we have one bathroom. Did I mention five adults. Did I mention I have a two year old who isn't well versed in the art of throwing up. 

Salvation came through a pair of these babies:

You can only listen to other people yarf for so long until you're ready to take a long run in a short gym. Speaking of gym- those are my husband's gym shorts I'm wearing. Because I own no more baggy clothing. 

When everyone left and we Rug Doctor-ed the last "just about made it"s out of our oriental rug...we knew we just needed to get out of the house. On New Year's Day, you've got slim pickins.  But we found a place with nothing but huge bouncy things like at a carnival. $9.50 per parent and Liam was free. Only thing is- people over 200lbs need not apply. 

Sigh. Welp. Glad I lost that weight. 

This amazing kid skipped the 4 and under ones and just went to the top of the biggest slides pronto. At one point, he had scaled the top of this very daunting slide and was sitting there patiently watching his 30 year old mother do her best to fling her leg over the top of this INCREDIBLY UNSTABLE blow up obstacle. "Careful, mom." He says. 

Careful, mom? Mom? What happened to, "help me, mommy!!" ??? Now he's like my mentor at the top of this carnival attraction??? Mom?

Earlier in the day I was standing in the bathroom trying desperately to do anything with my hair. Liam comes in and hugs my leg, "Happy, mommy?"

My heart melted. Yes! I am happy! You make me that way! Every day I get more attached to you and I love you more and I make you promise me you'll never grow up. But you will. And IF I've done my job correctly, my happiness and wellbeing will STILL be important to you. And BECAUSE I've done my job right, I will tell you- I'll be okay! You GO and do whatever you want! Whatever makes YOU happy! 

In the meantime...

You're going to need to go to Nana's now. Because you may be feeling better, but mommy is not. And selfies on the toilet are unbecoming. 

From my potty to yours, Happy New Year, friends. 

Christmas 2014

It started out as any normal Christmas.

Andy got home in time for the Christmas Eve service and our annual post-service-party went off without a hitch. We invited everybody, and everybody came. 

My Christmas movie uploaded and formatted successfully. All packages were wrapped carefully, Santa's milk and cookies (and one tiny carrot for Rudolph) were shoved ever so mindfully under the tree, along with a note stating "thank you for presents" scribbled lovingly over with stickers and other unintelligible pictures. 

I foraged the trail to the modest pile of gifts- plugging in the tree and turning on the music- and adding a "OH WOW HE WAS HERE!!!" Just for effect (which got an audible gasp from the second floor and a little happy dance with tiny feet).

I try not to post pictures of the gifts for FB. While people are posting "wrote this from my new iPad!" I tend to try to lose my phone and all forms of communication with anyone else but those around me. Pictures can be taken with the real camera. Video can be captured with the real video camera. In my small mind, Christmas should be quiet and intimate. 

And then my inlaws came. And Liam started throwing up and Andy broke out with a fever of 102.1 and began running the other direction. My inlaws and brother in law were held captive to a second Christmas morning consisting of "open a gift, clean up Liam's puke, open a gift, wait 20 minutes so Andy can go to the bathroom." And then my mother in law started with it. And in our tiny house with one bathroom, pure medlam broke out. 

One might say- well that escalated quickly. And one might be right. This is where you find me now. Sorta laying in bed, flannel PJ shirt, Andy's gym shorts and a plastic bag and roll of paper towels by the bed. Andy evacuated himself and Liam and his brother and went to Nana's. 

The fact of the matter is- life has a way of doing this to you. One day you're writing about all the things you must get done, and the next day none of that matters. As I was sitting in the funeral service for our dear friend Alan, they were speaking about how kind and generous of a man he was. How he used to drive 15 miles to follow his mother home from work every night, to make sure she was safe. (A revelation to her as she loudly exclaimed mid-service "I didn't know that!") One day you're planning meals and shopping for the best prices and the next day, you're just puking it all up. 

There's no ending to this post. No parting words of wisdom about prioritizing. About what really matters in life. About how when they contractor says "we could potentially put a second bathroom in here" and you're like "no, that's okay" how you should be slapped. 

It's almost the new year, so we'll count on health and well being then. In the mean time...I gotta go.