These are not so much simple things. They tear at my heart strings. I will at least try to end on a happy note.
Having a simple gift that was meaningful to the sender and meaningful to you not be understood by the messenger.
When your 14yo texts you and asks, "which bones does (someone you love) have cancer in? I'm doing some research."
When a doctor tells your someone you love that kidney failure is essentially one of the least painful ways to die. (I cannot here and now articulate why it was said and what was meant by it, just that I know why it was said and what was meant by it and it hurts my heart.)
Feeling completely overwhelmed by being of the sandwich generation. I will be frank. No one can be all things to all people. It's just not possible.
Friends, each who are already carrying their own burdens, who are willing to bear yours for a few minutes--even throughout the day--and even during the holidays.
Texts from friends, some who are already under their own shadow of sorrow:
"Life is made up of little things."
"I am so sorry. Can I help you with something?" (You always know who are the ones who mean well and who are the ones who really mean it.)
"Keep your chin up. You're one of the good ones. One of the happy ones. Don't let life bring you down."
Hugs.
Love.
People who are not afraid to cry with you.
The miracle of being able to put a dent in the just started Christmas shopping. Home. In my pajamas. Under the comfort of my quilts. Just 8 days before Christmas.
A dear friend who was serious when she offered to order stuff for me with her free two-day shipping so my kids will have a Christmas.
Tuesday, December 17, 2013
There are no small things
A text from my daughter while we were at a doctor's appointment that was much longer than we expected. "Do you guys need anything?"
I get to work and my boss (who had, when I told him I would be late today, replied, "Don't worry about work if you need to be with your family") informed me they moved the office party until tonight instead of last night because they weren't sure I'd be able to go last night.
A friend I only met while her mother--a former coworker and friend--was suffering and dying from breast cancer (I've only met her in real life twice and once was at her mother's end-of-life celebration) messages me her number via Words With Friends. In case I need anything.
The way my brothers randomly text me to see if I'm OK. And thank me for being there for Mom. My sister does that too, of course, but that's expected. :)
And this, which words won't do justice, but it's the best I could capture at the moment:
The tall thin blonde hooked up to some infusion or another in the chemo room. She stopped and grabbed my arm on her way out. She wanted me to know the value of my presence here today.
She told me briefly about how when we was diagnosed with MS having her husband by her side was such a blessing. She had noticed as I held mom's things, took care of the papers they kept handing her and told me how having someone by her side to handle the little things is no small thing and that I couldn't know how much it meant but that it was meaningful and a blessing. Someone to take care of the details.
She may have mentioned angels--and I wasn't sure if she was talking about me being an angel or about angels attending me and my mom for at that moment she herself was an angel. She said Heavenly Father was blessing me and my family at this time. I asked her if I could give her a hug and she said yes so I did and we hugged and I felt loved and blessed in a supernal way by our brief encounter.
Sunday, December 15, 2013
Because I really don't do bleak
Just got some awful news. Why am I writing that here, on this seemingly forgotten space? Because the best way for me to deal with hard things is to look harder for and appreciate the good things in my life. I want to hold on to and remember them. For awhile now this might also be my therapy page, so who knows what one might find here should one stumble upon this place. My sentences may be fragmented. You will most likely not get the whole story, or even half of it. But I will record here the simple things that keep me going through whatever lies ahead. But it's my space and I can write if I want to.
A phone call from my daughter asking if my mother (who'd been fasting all day for some medical tests) had eaten yet and offering to go to Rhumbi and pick up a salad (or rice bowl--I can't remember which) with salmon for her grandmother. Because she knows my mom just got some awful news and she also knows my mom likes salmon and because she too feels the compelling need to do something to make this better. I love especially the detail of the salmon. Of remembering what my mother ordered just a few weeks ago when we all had lunch together. Of wanting especially to pick up something that would sound good to my mother. I cannot even tell you how deeply that touched my heart.
The way at least four or five times hospital staff and volunteers asked--not just my mom, but also me--if there was anything we needed. Anything they could do or get for us. The way they bring me a special order of apple-cranberry juice on pebble ice. The way there is no limit to the number of warm blankets they will bring my mother, who has not been warm for hours.
Several simple and seemingly (but not) small gestures from my husband: getting in the car Friday morning and finding a full gas tank. We didn't know what lay ahead that horrible awful no good Friday the 13th, but it was a blessing to not have to waste time filling the car with gas to get me where I needed to be. Coming home well after midnight to find leftovers from the dinner I had planned to attend with him in the fridge. Comfort food, not less. Just what I needed, despite the late (or early, as it were) hour. And a handful of peppermint candy--a particular favorite of mine--under my pillow.
Meeting my mother's good friend. I need to write more about this friendship, but I'm not sure when or how. How do you explain to someone who doesn't believe she believes in God that I believe her friendship with my mother is a gift from God? Indeed I know it. And how, upon first meeting her, I believe we will become friends as well. Indeed I want to be her friend. And how do you find words to tell someone thank you for being that kind of the friend to your mother, who has often wished and wanted for just such a friend?
A phone call from my daughter asking if my mother (who'd been fasting all day for some medical tests) had eaten yet and offering to go to Rhumbi and pick up a salad (or rice bowl--I can't remember which) with salmon for her grandmother. Because she knows my mom just got some awful news and she also knows my mom likes salmon and because she too feels the compelling need to do something to make this better. I love especially the detail of the salmon. Of remembering what my mother ordered just a few weeks ago when we all had lunch together. Of wanting especially to pick up something that would sound good to my mother. I cannot even tell you how deeply that touched my heart.
The way at least four or five times hospital staff and volunteers asked--not just my mom, but also me--if there was anything we needed. Anything they could do or get for us. The way they bring me a special order of apple-cranberry juice on pebble ice. The way there is no limit to the number of warm blankets they will bring my mother, who has not been warm for hours.
Several simple and seemingly (but not) small gestures from my husband: getting in the car Friday morning and finding a full gas tank. We didn't know what lay ahead that horrible awful no good Friday the 13th, but it was a blessing to not have to waste time filling the car with gas to get me where I needed to be. Coming home well after midnight to find leftovers from the dinner I had planned to attend with him in the fridge. Comfort food, not less. Just what I needed, despite the late (or early, as it were) hour. And a handful of peppermint candy--a particular favorite of mine--under my pillow.
Meeting my mother's good friend. I need to write more about this friendship, but I'm not sure when or how. How do you explain to someone who doesn't believe she believes in God that I believe her friendship with my mother is a gift from God? Indeed I know it. And how, upon first meeting her, I believe we will become friends as well. Indeed I want to be her friend. And how do you find words to tell someone thank you for being that kind of the friend to your mother, who has often wished and wanted for just such a friend?
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