My friend, Kristin, sent this to me today via FaceBook (she received it via her team's chaplain at work)...I wanted to record it here, both for you to see (because I think it's filled with hope and inspiration) and because I want to have it some place where it's easy for ME to find as well....
Standing at the Gates of the New Year
Sacred Mystery, waiting on the threshold of this new year,
You open the gates and beckon to me:
“Come! Come! Be not wary of what awaits you as you enter the unknown terrain,
Be not doubtful of your ability to grow from its joys and sorrows.
For I am with you. I will be your guide. I will be your protector.
You will never be alone”.
Guardian of this new year, I set aside my fears, worries, concerns,
I open my life to mystery, to beauty, to hospitality, to questions,
To the endless opportunity of discovering you in my relationships,
And to all the silent wisps of wonder tht will draw me to your heart.
I welcome your unfailing Presence
And walk with hope into this new year.
Joyce Rupp
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Friday, December 19, 2008
The flake report - from my 3rd floor perch
Well, the weather-folk were right! The snow storm arrived as predicted. It's around when I started working at 7 am, there was 7 inches of fluffy white stuff on the ground. It shows no sign of stopping.
The flakes are a mixed crowd.
Some wander aimlessly...very floaty and light. Others make a bee-line to the ground.
Not much wind, either. So, the floating flakes seem to be floating of their own volition and not because they are propelled by wind. It's quite lovely.
I haven't actually been IN the snow yet, so I'm not sure if it's the right material for a snowperson or snowball. I'm hoping it's at least a little wet, though, because there is certainly enough of it to make a whole village of peeps.
For now, until meetings wrap for the day, I am enjoying it all from my bird's eye perch, with a cup of coffee and the sounds of neighborhood snowblowers filling the air.
The flakes are a mixed crowd.
Some wander aimlessly...very floaty and light. Others make a bee-line to the ground.
Not much wind, either. So, the floating flakes seem to be floating of their own volition and not because they are propelled by wind. It's quite lovely.
I haven't actually been IN the snow yet, so I'm not sure if it's the right material for a snowperson or snowball. I'm hoping it's at least a little wet, though, because there is certainly enough of it to make a whole village of peeps.
For now, until meetings wrap for the day, I am enjoying it all from my bird's eye perch, with a cup of coffee and the sounds of neighborhood snowblowers filling the air.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
I love weather.
I love that my Dad's family chose to live in the midwest when they came over on the boat from Italy....they chose it in part because of the offering of four seasons. Where we're from in Italy, it gets very warm in summer, but in winter, it only gets as cold as early spring does here in the Midwest. Never any snow in the valley where they live, only in the mountains. There were lots of other considerations, as well - having a job lined up, a support network close by, etc.
But, the ability to enjoy all 4 seasons was important to them, and I'm grateful.
Lately, it has been snowing a lot. And, I find myself observing the very different "kinds" of snow that are falling....feeling like the Eskimos have it going on to have so many wonderful words to describe snow.
Yesterday, for example...the flakes were falling with a PURPOSE. They had somewhere to BE. Big, heavy flakes, not much wind. The flakes were falling like rain....straight down.
Today, the flakes are falling more leisurely, with less purpose. They are smaller and more fluffy, somehow. They are floating more than they're falling...like the journey from sky to land is so much more important than getting to ground. Yesterday, the flakes had a job....today, they are playing.
There's another storm watch advisory through Friday now - although the really big part of the storm isn't going to hit until rush hour tomorrow evening. Since I have to go to the brick and mortar office, and yesterday a 40-minute trip took 2 1/2 hours, I'm sort of not looking forward to the hazardous road conditions.
BUT...I'm also kind of excited to see what kind of snowflakes I get to meet tomorrow, too....
I love that my Dad's family chose to live in the midwest when they came over on the boat from Italy....they chose it in part because of the offering of four seasons. Where we're from in Italy, it gets very warm in summer, but in winter, it only gets as cold as early spring does here in the Midwest. Never any snow in the valley where they live, only in the mountains. There were lots of other considerations, as well - having a job lined up, a support network close by, etc.
But, the ability to enjoy all 4 seasons was important to them, and I'm grateful.
Lately, it has been snowing a lot. And, I find myself observing the very different "kinds" of snow that are falling....feeling like the Eskimos have it going on to have so many wonderful words to describe snow.
Yesterday, for example...the flakes were falling with a PURPOSE. They had somewhere to BE. Big, heavy flakes, not much wind. The flakes were falling like rain....straight down.
Today, the flakes are falling more leisurely, with less purpose. They are smaller and more fluffy, somehow. They are floating more than they're falling...like the journey from sky to land is so much more important than getting to ground. Yesterday, the flakes had a job....today, they are playing.
There's another storm watch advisory through Friday now - although the really big part of the storm isn't going to hit until rush hour tomorrow evening. Since I have to go to the brick and mortar office, and yesterday a 40-minute trip took 2 1/2 hours, I'm sort of not looking forward to the hazardous road conditions.
BUT...I'm also kind of excited to see what kind of snowflakes I get to meet tomorrow, too....
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
What a ride...
Reflecting back on the past year, my head feels heavy with all of the grieving my family has done. Two of Mom's 4 sisters died - one, #2/5 - Paulette, died in April; the other, #5/5, Pat, died in September.
Dad's health turned a corner for the worse in June, he spent all of June in the hospital before being released with oxygen and a portable iv pump. He rallied a bit, but never turned the next corner to full recovery. He was home, getting used to the "new" normal and finding a groove....when his defibrillator fired in September. That seemed to mark the start of the final decline. He was in for a week, out for a week...and then in again until mid-October.
He had a usual blood draw on a Monday, and the Doctor called to advise him to go to the nearest ER to be admitted. His kidneys were failing as a complication of heart failure and the heart failure drugs weren't working any more. It seemed unfathomable that we were hearing "there's nothing more we can do".
I spent so much time on the road and in the hospital with him, that the months from June until he gave up the fight in October, are a blur. Stuff got done; bills got paid...but clearly, I was on autopilot.
Dad died very early in the morning, in his sleep, on Sunday 10/12.
They had tried one last thing - the addition of a 2nd inotrope, a "cousin" to the first - on Thursday. On Friday, he really seemed to rally, and we were hopeful that he would at least be able to return home the following week...although it was clear that he was closer to the end of the process, so we weren't fooled into thinking a full recovery would be had.
He was alert. He was talking. He laughed. He had a great appetite.
Then, on Saturday, his blood pressure dipped dangerously low in the morning. It came back, but stayed low-ish throughout the day. He was very weak and winded. He began having strange dreams and talking in his sleep. I got to feed him dinner Saturday night. He wasn't in any pain, but was increasingly uncomfortable.
He wasn't an outwardly emotional man, so we didn't really verbalize a lot....but we shared some long looks...and as I stared intently into the hazel-green-brown eyes that are remarkably like my own, it was clear that we both knew the score. It was very real and very surreal all at once.
I know how he really had a hard time dealing with others crying in his presence...so I did my best to wait until I got to the hallway to fall apart.
He called his Mom at 10:30. We talked until 11. Mom and I tried to negotiate with him to let at least one of us stay with him and then we'd switch in the morning. He told us he wanted us to go home so we could both come back first thing. We left around 1130. He died an hour and a half later.
I know there's always a debate over whether it hurts less when you get a chance to say goodbye with a gradual death or whether it's sudden and unexpected. I got to experience both this year. I can confirm: both suck.
I'm really at a loss for words. Some days are better than others - but really, the grief and sadness are still pretty raw and at the surface. I know all that I'm feeling is "normal" and "to be expected"...and that grieving is not linear....and I trust what "they" say about the process, and that it gets better. I'm trying to honor what comes up and process through to a better place. And...life is really miraculous and there is still so much to be grateful for here in the land of the living...I KNOW this.
But some days, I feel so overwhelmingly and profoundly sad that I do wonder if maybe they're wrong, because I can't see my way clear to the time when I'm not so sad. It seems so remote.
We spent our first holiday without him last week - and it was just weird. I kept looking for him at his usual spot at the end of the table, and when I didn't see him, I felt like he'd be coming in the door any second. His absence was clearly noticeable.
I feel like a homing or orienting device...like a compass or land surveyor's token is missing....and I have to get reoriented to navigation without the steadfast support and friendship of my Dad.
Dad's health turned a corner for the worse in June, he spent all of June in the hospital before being released with oxygen and a portable iv pump. He rallied a bit, but never turned the next corner to full recovery. He was home, getting used to the "new" normal and finding a groove....when his defibrillator fired in September. That seemed to mark the start of the final decline. He was in for a week, out for a week...and then in again until mid-October.
He had a usual blood draw on a Monday, and the Doctor called to advise him to go to the nearest ER to be admitted. His kidneys were failing as a complication of heart failure and the heart failure drugs weren't working any more. It seemed unfathomable that we were hearing "there's nothing more we can do".
I spent so much time on the road and in the hospital with him, that the months from June until he gave up the fight in October, are a blur. Stuff got done; bills got paid...but clearly, I was on autopilot.
Dad died very early in the morning, in his sleep, on Sunday 10/12.
They had tried one last thing - the addition of a 2nd inotrope, a "cousin" to the first - on Thursday. On Friday, he really seemed to rally, and we were hopeful that he would at least be able to return home the following week...although it was clear that he was closer to the end of the process, so we weren't fooled into thinking a full recovery would be had.
He was alert. He was talking. He laughed. He had a great appetite.
Then, on Saturday, his blood pressure dipped dangerously low in the morning. It came back, but stayed low-ish throughout the day. He was very weak and winded. He began having strange dreams and talking in his sleep. I got to feed him dinner Saturday night. He wasn't in any pain, but was increasingly uncomfortable.
He wasn't an outwardly emotional man, so we didn't really verbalize a lot....but we shared some long looks...and as I stared intently into the hazel-green-brown eyes that are remarkably like my own, it was clear that we both knew the score. It was very real and very surreal all at once.
I know how he really had a hard time dealing with others crying in his presence...so I did my best to wait until I got to the hallway to fall apart.
He called his Mom at 10:30. We talked until 11. Mom and I tried to negotiate with him to let at least one of us stay with him and then we'd switch in the morning. He told us he wanted us to go home so we could both come back first thing. We left around 1130. He died an hour and a half later.
I know there's always a debate over whether it hurts less when you get a chance to say goodbye with a gradual death or whether it's sudden and unexpected. I got to experience both this year. I can confirm: both suck.
I'm really at a loss for words. Some days are better than others - but really, the grief and sadness are still pretty raw and at the surface. I know all that I'm feeling is "normal" and "to be expected"...and that grieving is not linear....and I trust what "they" say about the process, and that it gets better. I'm trying to honor what comes up and process through to a better place. And...life is really miraculous and there is still so much to be grateful for here in the land of the living...I KNOW this.
But some days, I feel so overwhelmingly and profoundly sad that I do wonder if maybe they're wrong, because I can't see my way clear to the time when I'm not so sad. It seems so remote.
We spent our first holiday without him last week - and it was just weird. I kept looking for him at his usual spot at the end of the table, and when I didn't see him, I felt like he'd be coming in the door any second. His absence was clearly noticeable.
I feel like a homing or orienting device...like a compass or land surveyor's token is missing....and I have to get reoriented to navigation without the steadfast support and friendship of my Dad.
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