Before and After

Today I decided I might want to start posting now and again to catalog my passing thoughts and I came upon this draft from the fall of 2009. It interested me because the list of events ends where a whole new chapter in my life began. I'll let you peruse it before bringing you into the present:






Fall seems to me a much better time to catch up on the news than Christmas; everything is so busy then. In the autumn, the busyness of summer travel is pretty much done, people are settling back into their routine, and it's a nice time to reflect. In case we haven't been in touch, here is a whirlwind update of the last year: Bought a new(er) car; became church pianist by default; took up guitar again; flew with Tim in small plane (Piper Dakota) to North Carolina; spent day in Fredericksburg, VA; spent day in Washington D.C. with Kayla; saw Wicked! in Omaha with family; started house shopping; celebrated Railroad Days in Omaha/Council Bluffs with Kayla as special guest; went to Randall reunion in SD; spent 4th of July at Grandma's cabin in ND (with special guests Charissa and Jeff and Kayla); saw Footloose! featuring Angela Barber at the Pinewood Bowl; spent my birthday at Lake McConaughy with siblings and Bohlenders; gave up on house shopping; left church that was falling apart (goodbye, Glenwood); found new church family (hello Golden Hills!); and most recently flew to Portland, OR in Cessna 172 and spent Labor Day weekend with Jeremy and Krissy (and saw the H-4 Hercules aka Spruce Goose).

I think that hit most of the highlights.

. . .

That is where the old list left off. It just so happened that about a month after that Labor Day weekend in Oregon I realized I was pregnant. The thirty-eight weeks that followed led us to May 20, 2010, which is the date that marks the "before" and "after" division in my life: before Samuel died, and after Samuel died. That event is the reference point for my memories now.

That spring of 2010 we bought a house and moved to town, leaving behind the country life that we enjoyed so much and also a lot of the driving that we didn't. We wanted to be closer to things like stores and hospitals and Tim's work when we had a new baby.

May 15: Tim and I went to a movie that Saturday night, Iron Man II, and I remarked that the noise must be keeping the baby awake because he was really kicking.

May 16: Golden Hills church members threw us a shower. We assembled Sam's crib, complete with airplane-themed crib set.

May 17: I had a Dr. appointment, but not for the baby. I had some allergies that caused me some breathing troubles, so saw someone for that. I wish it had been for the baby.

May 18: I had a midwife appointment, the last one of the day. Lydia couldn't find a heartbeat with the Doppler so went to find an ultrasound machine. Meanwhile I tried not to worry until I knew there was reason to worry. When she came back with a doctor and told me she was concerned, I started to worry and then to cry. They did an ultrasound, and there was only silence. They kept me for another hour to get blood samples, and all I wanted to do was go home so I could tell Tim. I didn't call because I knew he would worry about me driving home, and I didn't want him to be alone with the news while he waited for me. When I walked in the door at 9:00 I said, "Well, we're having our baby tomorrow." And he said, "What?" And I burst into tears.

May 19: My induction was scheduled for 7:00 the next morning and we spent the day hanging out with family in our room and wandering around the hospital while labor got started. At 6:00 pm I got an epidural and fell asleep.

May 20: At 12:45 A.M. Samuel John Tanner was born in a room filled with people who loved him and held him, and wished we could have known him alive. Finally, we knew it was time to let him go. Tim's dad and my brother supported Tim as he carried his son down the hall and handed him over to the hospital staff, weeping. His heart was broken. My heart was empty, like my womb. I had no tears.

The summer of 2010 we spent a lot of time boating on Lake Manawa; it was a good stress-reliever for Tim, who felt a lot of anger after losing Sam. Thanks to Marlyn, who lived close and could drive the boat, we went out at least once a week. It was a good summer. The fall of 2011 we found out once again that we had a baby on the way, but this time we didn't broadcast the news until Christmas, just in case. The spring of 2011 we cried when we found out we were having a girl. Somehow it felt like losing Sam all over again, losing our hopes for a son. Later we were glad; our girl would be her own person with her own identity. We wouldn't have to dress our son in clothes that were meant for Sam, holding him up as if to say, "See, here he is after all, just a year overdue."

One week into the summer of 2011 our little girl, Skye, was born, and a new chapter in our lives began.

Tomorrow is the second anniversary of Sam's birth. This year I feel more sadness than I did last year--in fact it's the most pain I've felt since we first found out he had died. When we lost him, I didn't know what we were missing out on because he was our first child. Now that we have a beautiful daughter who laughs and crawls and claps her hands and is learning to walk and talk--now I know and I think of what he might have been like and I miss him and I'm so sorry I didn't know when he slipped away.

I don't know how to end this, so I'll borrow the ending from Elizabeth McCracken's book, An Exact Replica of a Figment of My Imagination: "It's a happy life, but someone is missing. It's a happy life, and someone is missing. It's a happy life--"

at the risk of being disowned . . .

Family Photos

This is our new kitten, Bandit. We named him after the Barber family cat of yesteryear who was also grey, and because we thought it would be funny to have Smokey and the Bandit as pets. We transported him from Ronald and Mandy's in the glove compartment. He seemed to be happy there.






This photo is over year old now, taken at the dog run in Lincoln probably in June of 2007. . .



as was this photo.



And I just had to include Fred because I love him.

Thank you

Thank you, my friends who long ago gave up on checking here for new posts, thank you for remembering that today, of all days, there might be something new worth reading.

It is the eve of Autumn.

The thought crossed my mind a few days ago that the season would be changing soon and for an instant I dismissed it as an insignificant thing, but in another instant I literally felt the crisp air and the energy brought on by a brisk walk on the Wabash Trace and was filled with excitement. Yesterday I was thinking about the upcoming holiday season and it energized me so much I was giddy with plans to host Thanksgiving dinner at my house. (Just a thought.) Today we were talking about the pictures on our walls and Tim mentioned his John Deere wall hanging and I remembered that we had several wall hangings and table runners I had forgotten about that were seasonally appropriate so instead of doing homework I ran around cleaning the clutter off of my tables to make room for my apple tablecloth and scarecrow coffee table runner. Now the clutter is on the floor but the tables look great. I feel good right now.

A lot has changed in my life since I last wrote, so let me catch up for a bit. We have a new grey kitten named Bandit. He's no Bubba, but he's cute and we love him. Last month I started school again. I'm taking online classes and hope to finish my MBA in three years (less if I get ambitious, but I'm taking it slow for now). I have a new job (thank the Lord) as of two weeks ago! I still work at Glen Haven (the nursing home) but now I'm the administrative assistant instead of a bath aide and I enjoy it. It's nice, too, not to be ashamed when people (especially friends from college) ask what I'm doing for a living. Administrative assistant may not seem that great either, but it's a heck of a lot better than a CNA and eventually my boss wants me to take over Human Resources, which will be wonderful experience that will help me get even better jobs in the future. I'm optimistic. Tim and I are part owners in an airplane, and we plan to be mostly out of debt in five years (that's five years too long if you ask me, but at least we have a plan).

We moved to a bigger house a little over a year ago, which you may already know, but only recently did it begin to feel like a real home. The transformation began when Tim rearranged the office to make it more suitable for studying (just for me). For the first time we have shelves and memorabilia and pictures and diplomas up on the walls and it makes all of the difference in making the house feel like ours. Also, two weeks ago my mother and stepdad and grandmother came down from North Dakota to bring us a full-sized dining room table (we've never had a table that could seat more than four), and it looks great. That helped make the house more homey as well, but I haven't told you the best part: they brought me a piano, a gift from my mother. I've never had one so I've been practicing at my church when I go to clean, but it's not very convenient. When I walked into the study and saw it sitting there I cried. I play it every day; it's a constant temptation for me, and I have to sit for at least a minute or two almost every time I walk by. I can't thank you enough, Mom.

So life seems pretty good right now. I'm sure there are challenges ahead; school will get tougher, finances are always an adventure, and there's the eternal question: what next? How long should we stay here, when should we have kids, should we move to Wichita? Lincoln? North Dakota? We just don't know. But we're happy, and we'll just roll with the tide as it comes.

Thanks again for checking in, and in case you thought I forgot, here's the link you were looking for. :)

Love to y'all, and happy Fall.

In Memory

Bubba Tanner
2005-2008

Bubba joined our family in September of 2005 when Tim took him from his mother and brought him to our home, riding on the dash of the pickup, crying the whole way. I remember thinking that the rest of his family must have been exceptionally cute, because despite being the last of the litter he was completely adorable. He was joined a week later by Tigger and Fred. Tigger disappeared shortly after, so Bubba and Fred were left to grow together as brothers.

Bubba, despite his preppy appearance, was an adventurer. He was always the last one in at night (if he came in at all) and was impatient to leave the house shortly after waking from his nap. Never one to cuddle much in the summer, in the winter he was eager for any warm lap he could find. Aloof and yet appreciative of affection, his personality made him Tim's favorite and the two of them shared a special bond.



We last saw Bubba on Thursday afternoon when I let him out after he had his supper. At bedtime I called for the cats like I always do. Fred came running, but no Bubba, which wasn't unusual but I was a little concerned since there was a thunderstorm on the way. The next morning he didn't show up when I called him for breakfast. Usually he shows up right around the time I leave the house. He still wasn't home when I got off work, and another night went by with no sign of him.

Saturday afternoon Tim went for a ride in the field behind our house to try out his new dirt bike. I was putting away dishes in the kitchen when he came into the house. He rested his hand on my shoulder, took a deep breath and said, "Bubba is dead." We rode together back out to the field, and I picked up our first pet and carried him back to the yard. I laid him in the grass while Tim found a shovel. Fred was by the house so I brought him over to where Bubba lay so he could say goodbye. He sniffed the body for a minute, then sat down beside it and just waited.

We buried Bubba by the garden shed in our back yard. Tim dug a hole, laid the body in, and said goodbye. I watered the grass with my tears. We filled in the hole together and put cement blocks on it so it wouldn't be disturbed.

The thing I will miss the most about Bubba is his voice. People who haven't been around cats much might not understand, but each one has its own distinct voice and way of communicating. Bubba's voice was pert, with a definite sassy tone which he brought out when we refused to let him outside. He was generally pretty laid back, but he had a wild streak sometimes. He'd put on what we called his “crazy eyes” with wide pupils, and would gallop around the house, or sometimes just follow around on our heels meowing incessantly wanting to be petted—but not held. Good times.

I am grateful for the time we had with him, happy to remember every time I gave him an extra scratch on the head just to show him I loved him. We have little to regret, I think. He was much loved and well fed, and the only way we could have saved him was to restrict his freedom, which none of us would have wanted. We miss him.

First Day of Autumn

James Whitcomb Riley. 1853–1916

"When the Frost is on the Punkin"

WHEN the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock,
And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin' turkey-cock,
And the clackin' of the guineys, and the cluckin' of the hens,
And the rooster's hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence;
O, it's then the time a feller is a-feelin' at his best,
With the risin' sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest,
As he leaves the house, bareheaded, and goes out to feed the stock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.

They's something kindo' harty-like about the atmusfere
When the heat of summer's over and the coolin' fall is here—
Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossoms on the trees,
And the mumble of the hummin'-birds and buzzin' of the bees;
But the air's so appetizin'; and the landscape through the haze
Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days
Is a pictur' that no painter has the colorin' to mock—
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.

The husky, rusty russel of the tossels of the corn,
And the raspin' of the tangled leaves as golden as the morn;
The stubble in the furries—kindo' lonesome-like, but still
A-preachin' sermuns to us of the barns they growed to fill;
The strawstack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed;
The hosses in theyr stalls below—the clover overhead!—
O, it sets my hart a-clickin' like the tickin' of a clock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.

Then your apples all is gethered, and the ones a feller keeps
Is poured around the cellar-floor in red and yaller heaps;
And your cider-makin's over, and your wimmern-folks is through
With theyr mince and apple-butter, and theyr souse and sausage too!...
I don't know how to tell it—but ef such a thing could be
As the angels wantin' boardin', and they'd call around on me—
I'd want to 'commodate 'em—all the whole-indurin' flock—
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.

(personal message to follow)

thank you NPR

i came home a little late today and decided to check my email before getting down to the business of cleaning up last week's mess after being gone for the weekend. almost as an afterthought i turned on All Things Considered just in time to hear a story about Adrienne Young. it was one of those fortuitous coincidences that made me feel that my life must be heading in some sort of general direction instead of just taking me in circles. Adrienne Young is a musician and strong advocate of sustainable agriculture, community gardening, buying local, growing organic, etc. in short, everything that i would like to be involved in myself. her singer-songwriter style and her musical themes drew me as well. i followed some of the links on her website and found the American Community Gardening Association, FoodRoutes.org, and Peaceful Valley, an organic garden supply company whose catalog i cannot wait to browse through. if i had turned the radio on five minutes later i would have missed the whole thing.

while browsing those sites i felt a tug in my center, a longing for these things to be my life, for growing things to be what i do. lately i have decided to make my daily prayer a prayer for direction, for myself and for my husband. he has many opportunities on the horizon; i, on the other hand, am dreaming of the time i can either afford to go back to school or quit work altogether. i don't know if hearing a story on the radio is the nudge of God telling me that i'll get there someday, but i'd like to think it wasn't for nothing.