I miss my G'ma.

This is nothing new.  Missing G'ma.  I think about her every day in just about every situation that's going on around me.  I know this is normal and to be honest, it does not make me as sad as it used to.  I'm able to reminisce without tears, but sometimes those tears do fall.  Ella misses her 'grammy' a lot, too.  We talk about her a lot and we end up having dreams about her on the same nights.  I think that's neat.


I have never really been able to put into words exactly what G'ma meant to me or to our family has a whole.  G'ma and I weren't the kind of people who were too lovey dovey, we just knew how much we loved each other and left it at that.  Her passing came too fast and I was definitely not able to talk at her memorial service, although I had the opportunity.  Besides the fact that I knew I wouldn't be able to speak without sobbing, I just couldn't put any words together or memories in a cohesive thought.  I don't regret not taking advantage of that moment, but again, I think about her all the time and miss her like crazy and I try my best to honor her memory and make her proud.  I also want to be able to describe her to Annie when she gets older since she didn't really get to know her.  So, while I was finishing up "Bittersweet" this evening, one of the final chapters is called "Blueberries" and right from the beginning it reminded me of G'ma.  Now, the chapter is about the author's G'ma and clearly there are some differences in hobbies, etc. but the overall thoughts and memories that she wrote about her G'ma and how she will remember her are the exact words I've been looking for.  I guess I'm sort of plagiarizing her thoughts, but I've never been an original.  :)


Once again, I want to transcribe the chapter for you.  I hope you take the time to read it as I'm sure it will be uplifting for those who have had any type of loss in their lives.

Blueberries

An excerpt from "Bittersweet" by Shauna Niequist

My Grandma Hybels passed away on Sunday night with on of her daughters at her side.  Earlier that day, she'd been surrounded by all five of her children and her pastor, and they prayed together, kissed her, held her hands.  She was not afraid, and she was not alone.

At her eighty-fifth birthday party this summer, it was apparent to all of us that the cancer had returned and that it was overtaking her body, even thought she didn't want to admit it to anyone.  As the fall progressed, so did the cancer, and just after Christmas, she was moved to a hospice center.  Her last weeks were filled with visits from her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren, until late one night, she passed way gently in her sleep.

When, in the weeks before her death, the cousins shared some of our childhood memories with Grandma, there were three things that came up over and over: blueberries, cinnamon toast and beach glass.  Grandma made the very best blueberry pie, and when my cousin Cameron learned that Grandma recently passed her recipe on to his little sister Melody, he told Mel that he expected Grandma's blueberry pie every time he comes to Chicago.  We all remember picking blueberries with Grandma at DeGrandchamp's in South Haven, which, for out-of-towner's, is widely known as the Blueberry Capital of the World, complete with a Blueberry Festival, Blueberry Parade and Blueberry Queen.


At Grandma's cottage we ate blueberries straight out of the bowl in the mornings, and in muffins all day long, but our favorite was her fresh blueberry pie, with a scoop of Sherman's Ice Cream - the second most famous export to come out of South Haven, right behind the blueberries.


In the last days of Grandma's life, she had no appetite and everyone who visited her worked hard to find something the sounded good to her - macaroni or pudding, something.  At a certain point, nothing worked.  And then my Aunt Marilyn found one last bag of frozen blueberries in Grandma's freezer and brought it to the hospice center.  Grandma said that she'd been saving that bag for her great-grandchildren, but admitted that they did sound good, and she'd just have a few.  For the last few days of her life, those frozen blueberries were the only things she ate, and for anyone who knew her, that doesn't surprise us a bit.


My brother remembers sitting on the carpet watching Dukes of Hazzard at the cottage, because the rule was that if you had already been swimming, you had to sit on the green shag carpet - no wet buns on the couch.  When we were done at the beach for the day, Grandma would line us all up in the front yard and spray us all off in one fell swoop, first all our fronts and then all our backs.  She was forever fighting against sand in the cottage, but with so many little feet, I think the sand generally won.


We fought over who would get to sleep in Grandma's bed with her, the big brass bed, and in the mornings, we all loved having cinnamon bread from Bunde's Bakery in the sunroom, the toaster and the butter dish in the corner always ready for us.


One of our favorite things to do at Grandma's cottage was to search for beach glass, because Grandma collected it in jars like a precious treasure.  Every few days we'd take out all the pieces and spread them out on the dining room table with her and she acted as though we'd found gold every time.


When we came to visit Grandma for the last time, she gave each of us a box, one for each child and grandchild.  In each of our boxes, she had packed up every baby picture, every card we'd given her, and an assortment of family memories and newspaper clippings.  Late one night I  spread the contents of the box all over my dining room table  - baby pictures of my dad that look just like Henry, an invitation to my parent's wedding, and another invitation to my grandparent's wedding.  I found a note that my dad wrote to his dad, who passed away when I was two.  The contents of that box helped piece together childhood memories long forgotten and bits of a past I never knew.


One thing that brought her great joy in the last several years of her life was the time with her great-grandchildren.  Grandma held them and soothed them, played with them on the floor, and collected pictures of them to show her friends and sisters.  It was a very moving thing to watch Grandma care for our children in much the same way she cared for us when we were small.


Luka was born less than two months ago, and my cousin Larissa and her husband, Matt, knew, in the first terrifying hours of Luka's life, when he was hooked up to  monitors and things seemed to change from moment to moment, that Grandma was praying consistently for Luka's health.  And even though she was very sick, she insisted on visiting Luka, and wanted to hold him every chance she got, even when he was fussing.


Just last week, after Grandma had moed to the hospice center, her health declining by the day, she was delighted to hear the my cousin Jake's wife, Sara, gave birth to a son named Logan.  While Grandma never wanted to bother anyone about anything, that morning, she wanted to make phone calls to tell people about the birth of baby Logan.  In many ways, that's all you need to know about my Grandma, that days before the end of her life, her greatest concern was not for herself, but for a child, and for the health and safety of her family.


Above all else, even above the blueberries and the cinnamon bread, what we remember about Grandma, what we knew was most important to her, was her faith.  She prayed for us consistently and asked us pointedly about where we were going to church and what we were learning from our Bible reading.  She modeled for us, more than anything, her deep belief that faith is the center of everything, the foundation upon which all else is built.


At the heart of Grandma's faith was servanthood.  She didn't want to be the center of attention and didn't ask hardly anything of anyone.  Even at the very end of her life, when she needed something from the nurses, she'd ask, "Would that be too much trouble for you?"  They teased her and finally started telling her, "Jerry, this is about you!"  Anyone who knew he knows that she never, ever thought it was about her.


On the last afternoon Todd and I spent with her, we talked about the importance of faith.  She told us that all she wanted at the end of her life was to know that each one of her children and grandchildren trusted Christ with their lives.  I don't think she cared a bit if we went to good colleges or not, or how we looked, or if we made a lot of money.  She cared about our spiritual well-being and prayed fervently and consistently for each one of us.


If you opened Grandma's refrigerator, t looked like and she ate was yogurt, cottage cheese and sour cream.  But if you took a closer look you realized that there were odds and ends of all sors of things in those reused containers - bits of casserole, leftovers, slices of pie all stored in rinsed-out yogurt and cottage cheese containers.  She also took crackers and sugar packets from restaurants, and used bread bags to store almost anything.  Grandma never wasted a thing and was never extravagant.  She didn't spend on herself and lived with great frugality, preferring to give to her church, to missions, and to her family.


Although she lived simply, she gave generously to us.  And possibly even more important, she modeled to us her deeply held belief that money doesn't buy happiness, that it isn't ours in the first place, and that wastefulness and extravagance lead to bad ends.  In a world where financial mismanagement and recklessness seem to be the norm, we consider it a gift to have learned another way from Grandma.


In my last conversation with Grandma, we talked a lot about heaven.  She told me she was so excited to go there and that she felt like it was taking a long time.  One of the reasons she was most excited about heaven is because there she'll be reunited with her husband.  For a woman who had been widowed for more than thirty years, I can't imagine the sweetness of that reunion.  She spoke in great detail about wanting to see her sisters and brothers and looking forward to a time when age and disease and pain are gone.


We'll miss Grandma terribly.  We'll think of her every time we eat blueberries or find a piece of beach glass in South Haven.  But we know, with as much certainty as we know anything, that she is in heaven, free from pain and disease, reunited with Christ, with a husband she's missed for three decades, and with sisters and brothers she loved dearly.  And for that, we're so thankful.


The best way to honor my grandma's life, I believe, is to live with the faith, simplicity, prayerfulness and kindness that she lived with every day.  When any of us - her children, her grandchildren, the many people she touched and walked with - live simply in order to give generously, when we serve without wanting recognition, when we put the needs of others above our own, when we pray for the people we love, we will honor the legacy of this tiny, lovely, godly woman, my grandma, Gertrude Hybles.

Well, if you've made it down this far, I hope that touched you as much as it did me.  I felt like I was talking with my G'ma again while reading this as we had those same conversations in her last days and faith was so important to her as well.  I miss knowing that G'ma was praying for me and my family every day.  I want/need to be like that...I want to be like her.  I hope when we see each other again that I will have made her proud.

Blessings and Curses

Over the past year I've been reading and re-reading a book called "Cold Tangerines" by Shauna Niequist.  

I started reading this book as part of my women's group, but have since gone back to reread a few passages that really meant a lot to me and some that have new meaning.  The excerpt that I want to share with you actually should have had a lot of meaning to me the first I read it, but I think something inside me just didn't want to admit how much it was talking to me!  As I've faced another loss in my life and realize that I need to go seek help/advice/support, this passage has made me realize what I've probably known all along...even though I see many blessings that have come from the many tragedies in my life, I still consider myself "cursed".

Blessings and Curses

There are things that happen to us, and when they happen, they give us two options.  Either way, we will never be the same, and we shouldn't.  These things can either strip us down to the bone and allow us to become strong and honest, or they can be reasons we use to behave poorly indefinitely, the justification for all manner of broken relationships and broken ideals.  It could be the things that allows everything else to turn, that allows the lock of our lives to finally spring open and our pent-up selves to blossom like preening flowers.  Or it can be the reason we use to justify our anger and the sharp tones in our voices for the rest of our lives.*  

One of my dearest and oldest friends, Jon, married a girl I grew up with.  In the middle of the night two years later, Jon called me because he had just found emails that made it clear to him that his wife was cheating on him.  Soon after, she left and never came back.  Less than a year later, they were divorced, and the day they went to court, we threw a party for Jon, not to celebrate the fact of the divorce, but because it didn't seem right that he would go home to their empty apartment after the courthouse.  We grilled out and drank icy margaritas with salty rims, and sat on the back steps of our townhouse, watching the bugs circle the porch light.

Jon had every right, you could say, to let his life be defined by that day, by that year, by that woman, by that betrayal.  But what he did instead was a marvelous thing to watch.  He laid himself open and vulnerable to life and God and therapy and close friends, and began the breathtaking process of becoming more than what he had been in a thousand different ways.  He is softer, in the best possible way, and when you talk to him, you know that he's been down to the bottom and fought his way back up.  He listens more closely and prays like he's talking to a best friend.  I knew him well for years before she left, and although I would never wish upon anyone the searing pain I saw written on his face during that season, what God did in his life through that event makes me believe God's goodness even more than I did before.

In May, three years ago, I stood at the back of a church and cried great big happy tears as he married Christina, a beautiful and smart woman who loves him with a steadiness that feels like a sailboat's keel.  There's something immovable about her, and it feels like just the right thing for the zig-zag path of his life.  Their sons, Gabe and Will, are darling grey-eyed miracles, and when I see Jon with them, I know that it seemed like God was being cruel that year, that middle of the night when he called me.  But he was not.  What I know now is that his kindness burns through even the deepest betrayals and invites life from death every chance we let him.  There are things that explode into our lives and we call them curses, and then one day, a year later or ten years later, we realize that they are actually something else.  They are the very most precious kinds of blessings.

It's dark today, almost like night and cool and rainy.  It always seems in the  dead of summer that it will be summer forever, that it couldn't possibly ever get cold again.  And then there are days like today that remind you that it will.  The leaves are starting to change, and the clouds have decidedly different presence than the one they had all summer.  They are brighter, more aggressive, fighting the sun more directly than the summer clouds who seemed more content to let the sun lead the way.  These clouds mean business.

The slight turn of seasons reminds me of last fall, and it strikes me that my life as changed almost beyond recognition since then.  In the process of breaking my heart, life or God or something - not that I don't believe God moves in these ways, I just don't want to immediately blame him for a crime he didn't commit - also delivered me to the life I've been wanting.  And I can spend all my life and all my soul and all my words on the pain of what happened to me, or I can take this glimmering gift and run.

The day I left my job at the church was the darkest day of my life so far.  It felt like a curse, a punch in the face, a slice to the core.  It made me feel like my luck had run out cosmically, and from then on, all I could expect was rain.

But the only person who decided my life was turned to dust was me.  The only  person who is still deeply troubled about what I've lost, even in the face of what I've gained, is me.  I would never have wanted it this way, but something bright and beautiful has been given to me, and I'm in grave danger of losing it, squandering it, becoming a person who cannot find the goodness that's right in front of her because of the sadness that she chooses to let obscure it.*

Now we're talking about celebration.  Celebration when you think you're calling the shots?  Easy.  Celebration when your plan is working?  Anyone can do that.  But when you realize that the story of your life could be told a thousand different ways, that you could tell it over and over as a tragedy, but you choose to call it an epic, that's when you start to learn what celebration is.  When what you see in front of you is so far outside of what you dreamed, but you have the belief, the boldness, the courage to call it beautiful instead of calling it wrong, that's celebration.

When you can invest yourself deeply and unremittingly in the life that surrounds you instead of declaring yourself out of the game once and for all, because what's happened to you is too bad, too deep, too ugly for anyone to expect you to move on from, that's that good, rich place.  That's the place where the things that looked for all intents and purposes like curses start to stand up and shimmer and dance, and you realize with a gasp that they may have been blessings all along.  Or maybe not.  Maybe they were curses, in fact, but the force of your belief and your hope and your desperate love for life as it is actually unfolding, has brought a blessing from a curse, like water from a stone, like life from a tomb, like the actual story of God over and over.

I would never try and tell you that every bad thing is really a good thing, just waiting to be gazed at with pretty new eyes, just waiting to be shined up and - ta da! - discovered as fantastic.  But what I know is that for me, and for my friend Jon, and for a lot of people I love, we're discovering that lots of times, not every time, maybe, but more often than not, there is something just past the heartbreak, just past the curse, just past the despair, and that thing is beautiful.  You don't want it to be beautiful, at first.  You want to stay in the pain and the blackness because it feels familiar, an because you're not done feeling victimized and smashed up.  But one day you'll wake up surprised and humbled, staring at something you thought for sure was a curse and has revealed itself to be a blessing - a beautiful, delicate blessing.

There have been a thousand moments when I have felt the weight and the sadness of this season, appropriately. But then there have been some moments where I have felt the blessing and beauty of it, too.  Seeing our baby's face on the ultrasound, eating ice cream with Aaron, having breakfast at Annette's and taking Spence for a walk, walking on the pier by myself today after lunch at the Phoenix Street Cafe'.  There is a particular beauty to this season, not the obvious everything-is-perfect beauty, but a strange slanted pleasantness that surprises me and catches in my throat like a sob or a song.

Nothing good comes easily.  You have to lose things you thought you loved, give up things you thought you needed.  You have to get over yourself, beyond your past, out from under the weight of your future.  The good stuff never comes when things are easy.  It comes when things are all heavily weighted down like moving trucks.  It comes just when you think it never will, like a shimmering Las Vegas rising up out of the desert, sparkling and humming with energy, a blessing that rose up out of a bone-dry, dusty curse.

When I lived in Santa Barbara, every time I drove to Las Vegas, I always got scared that I was lost, that I would die in the desert, eaten by a coyote.  The road was desolate and the truck stops eerie and silent, and I always began to lose hope - there was no Vegas, no city in this bleak desert.  We were sure to die, right on the side of the Pearblossom Freeway.  And then, every time, there it was, like a mirage, like a happy ending.

We become who we are in these moments.  I have a friend who falls back, whenever things are too hard, to an event in her life that happened over a decade ago.  It's the thing that she uses to justify cruel behavior, wrecked relationships, terrifying swings of emotion.*  But wouldn't it be great, wouldn't it be just like God, if that terrible thing could be the thing that lifts her up and delivers her to her best, truest self?  I know it can, because it happens all the time, because it happened to my friend Jon, and because it happened to me.

*(Ding, ding, ding!  That's me!!)

An update on life

Dude...what a last couple of weeks THAT was?!?!  I really don't want to relive the last two weeks as I'm sure most of you know about it, but briefly, my G'ma got a surprising diagnosis of metastatic cancer and not surprisingly decided to forego treatment.  Thankfully she did not have to deal with the illness for long as she passed on March 11th.  I know she is in a better place and I am at total peace.  I just have to get through those first few times when I want to call her and then realize that I can't.  


What I really want to write about in this post is my girls.  I am so very proud of them and all the changes and experiences they've gone through in the past couple weeks.  I'll start with Ella as I was more worried and sad for her throughout these past weeks more than anything.  Ella has had a very close relationship with G'ma from the moment she was born.  G'ma was there for her birth and then spent three weeks with Stephen and I as we transitioned into our new lives as parents.  I truly cannot imagine what I would've done without her, but that's another story.  Anyway, Ella and her 'grammy' have shared numerous memories and moments that will always mean a lot to Ella and to me, so it broke my heart to have to tell her that 'grammy' was ill and was going to go to heaven soon.  G'ma had a few conversations with Ella in the past about her going to heaven someday and what that meant and although at the time I didn't really want to hear my G'ma talking like that and also didn't want Ella to be scared or sad earlier than necessary, it ended up making this whole situation a lot easier!  Ella obviously was sad, but faced the news with bravery and asked a few questions and our answers seemed to comfort her.  As we went down to FL to help G'ma in her final days, Ella spent the first week with her cousins (and awesome Aunt and Uncle, who without them everything would've been 100 times more stressful and difficult) as I wasn't sure how hectic things would be or how sick G'ma was.  It was clear when I got there that G'ma didn't have much time, so I definitely wanted Ella to have some final moments with her.  We ended up staying another week and Ella was able to stay with me and she and 'grammy' had more special moments together that we will always treasure.  Ella was so sweet and so understanding and didn't let the changes in G'ma scare her.  The night G'ma passed Ella was spending some time with some friends from college and when we brought her back to G'ma's we sat her down and told her G'ma had gone to heaven.  I could not imagine what it was a like for her to have seen her earlier that day and have  had a conversation with her and then after leaving for a few hours 'grammy' being gone.  Ella again was very sad and it broke my heart because she said, "Now I won't have a grandma anymore."  I know she still had questions, but wasn't quite ready to ask them.  She still has her sad moments from time to time and says she wants to "talk to grammy" or wants to "see grammy" and all I can say is, "Me too".  She and I are grieving together, but I still am in awe of her innocence, bravery, love, faith and courage.  I hope that she and I can keep G'ma's legacy alive and that I can raise her as well as G'ma raised me.


Now Annie of course is too young to know what's going on, but I am so glad that there are memories and pictures that I can share with her about her short time with G'ma.  And I would also like to brag about how much of an angel she was on this 2 1/2 week journey.  It all started on our plane ride down that she slept all the way through...even through horrible turbulence where I was sure we might be meeting Jesus before G'ma.  Her sweetness continued through the trip as she gave G'ma tons of smiles and squeals of delight and would always reach for and hold one of G'ma's fingers...sweet, sweet memories I will always cherish.  Also within those 2 1/2 weeks, Annie reached several milestones all before turning 5 months old the day before we left FL.  The main event was that she cut not only one, but two teeth (the front two bottom).  I was truly shocked that she had her first two teeth before 5 months of age.  She was definitely more cranky than usual, but it could've been a lot worse.  For her, who really only cries when she's hungry or overly tired, her crankiness from cutting two teeth really wasn't as bad as it could've been.  We stocked up on Tylenol and Ambasol and she took a lot more naps!  She is now a big fan of her Sophie giraffe to chew on.  She is not a fan of the teethers that you put in the freezer.  She is also now rolling over completely front to back and back to front and pretty much gets around by scooting on her back.  She definitely doesn't sit still anymore.  I can't leave her on the couch for a few seconds anymore.  She also reaches for everything.  At first it was just the dangling toys on her playmat, but now it's pretty much everything in sight.  Cups, utensils, hair, jewelry, dogs, paper...nothing is safe! :)  The girl is also growing like a weed.  I know I say this every month, but I'm really curious what her 6 month check up stats will show.  As for eating, we weren't really able to continue with solids while in FL, but as soon as we got back we started with avocados.  They are so simple to prepare and so yummy for mommy to snack on, too!  Anyway, I definitely think she liked it better than the rice cereal we tried her on (once) at 4 months.  I was a little overzealous then with starting solids.  She definitely wasn't ready, but I was curious.  Now, I'm looking forward to making as many homemade foods for her as possible.  We're going to stick with the avocados for a couple more days and then move to sweet potatoes.  I can't wait!  I'm also hoping my hubby will let me get one of those baby food makers.  I know, I know...they're not necessary, but the self-steaming option and pureeing, etc. is so much easier in an all-in-one gizmo in my opinion.


I know there will most likely be at least one more post regarding me and my grieving of my G'ma, but for right now I am still thinking about what we all went through those 2 1/2 weeks and the memories that were made, milestones achieved and growing experiences for a 5 y.o. and the adults that were had.  I'm proud of my family and proud of our faith.  Our God was with us every step of the way and showed His mercy, grace, love and strength in every situation.  


Before I end this post, I also have to give props to my awesome husband. He drove down from MI a week after I had already been in FL knowing that G'ma didn't have much time left and wanting to be there to support me and say goodbye to G'ma.  But more amazingly than that, he took care of my G'ma in more than just a doctorly way.  I don't really know how to explain it, but I truly could not see another man being comfortable in an uncomfortable situation and so selfless to take the night shift, have difficult conversations, help prepare end of life needs, make several phone calls and have to tell people off to get the job done that should've already been done, write the obituary and many other things all while being there for me and the girls and our needs.  I'm still in awe of him and always will be.

I don't know where to start...

...so, I'll start here (and sorry in advance if this isn't very eloquent).  These past few days I have had the curse and privilege to indirectly experience my worst nightmare as a mother and a wife.  This past Saturday, 2/5/11, our area had a little freak snow storm that was not expected by most, if anyone.  We were called to have about an inch or two of snow, mostly coming in the evening.  Well, snow started around 1p and it was falling faster and heavier than predicted.  I was driving it in as it started falling, thankfully not on the interstate, but I was shocked by the intensity and lack of visibility and was nervous as I was just driving a couple miles to a friend's house.  Little did I know at this same time a family was traveling on I-94 where conditions quickly worsened to whiteout conditions.  Apparently they had just pulled to the side of the interstate as they saw cars ahead of them getting into accidents.  Their van was then hit by a semi truck.  A 37-week pregnant woman was sitting in the back seat of the van with her husband and her parents were in the front.  The pregnant mother was transported to a nearby hospital where she died and her baby was delivered, but had no heart beat.  The baby was able to be revived and ventilated.  For the past three days numerous people have been praying for this family and the father (who had minor injuries) and had just lost his wife and now had to stay strong for his little one and pray for a miracle.  Sadly, after three days there was no improvement or brain activity.


Thankfully this family has a deep faith.  The father has been keeping a blog since he found out he was going to be a father last June and he continued to update it after the accident.  His deep faith and trust in God and the way he was able to get through these last few days is absolutely amazing to me.  I can not imagine going through what he has gone through and dealing with it with such grace.  He has praised God every day and was able to sing hymns last night after he took his precious baby off life support and held her while she went to be with her mother and Jesus in Heaven.  


I am well aware that there are tragedies like this every day.  This is not the first time I've shed tears over a patient's story.  For some reason though this particular story and family have really impacted me and my husband.  I've tried to chalk it up to the fact that it's because I'm a mother and wife and again, could not imagine dealing with that type of pain and loss.  It's definitely made me hug my kids a little tighter and say 'I love you' a little more.  But, like I said earlier, this IS my worst nightmare.  If you know me, you know I have abandonment issues and the thought of being alone (for life, not for a few hours...or days) freaks me out to no end.  


This father and husband has amazed me and shown me what trusting God in every situation really means.  I hope I will never have to understand this man's pain, yet I hope I can also learn from this tragedy and not only live every day like it's my last, but also to not sweat the small stuff like I almost always do and remember to praise God in the good times and the bad.

In Loving Memory of Gator

It's taken me almost a month to be able to sit down and get my thoughts together after a whirlwind of events that surrounded our holidays. There's only one word that can describe our final days of 2007 and that would be 'bittersweet'.

We had to say goodbye to our best buddy Gator on December 22nd after a freak incident where he suddenly went lame in his hind legs on the 20th. We were praying and hoping that he had had some sort of stroke where all he would need was time and physical therapy. We were not able to spend $2500 on an MRI to give us an exact answer. Another possibility was that he had a bulging disc in his back that could require surgery but that sometimes time and physical therapy would also help. Unfortunately, right before we were to leave for FL he took a turn for the worse and began to lose some other reflexes and he also lost his deep-pain sensation that he had still had after his accident which was a good sign at the time. So, we were told that at this point there was nothing left for us to do. So, Stephen and I dropped Ella off at a friends house and we drove to say our last goodbyes. I know to some people who don't have dogs can't understand what I'm talking about, but I can't tell you how hard and painful it was for me to do this. First , I had never lost a pet before, but Gator was more than just a pet. We had rescued him when he was 3 1/s months old and from the get-go he had health problems. We have spent several hundreds on dollars on him (complaining the whole way), but we were so happy that we were the ones to rescue him because most other people would've given up on. Anyway, all of his other problems were either fixable or maintainable. Unfortunately this freak incident where we will never really know what happened was not fixable. We sat with him for about and hour and told him how much he meaned to us and that Ella, Rhys and Pepper loved him. He looked so miserable and I just wished he could come back home before he had to leave us. I didn't think I was going to be able to stay in the room while Gator was put to sleep, but I couldn't leave him after all. I buried my face in his neck and bawled like a baby and told him what a great boy he was and that I loved him so much.

Ever since then our family has felt empty. It's been quiet and lonely and ever person and animal has been affected. Ella misses him a lot and we have a story that we're sticking to with her, but I still think she thinks she going to see him again someday. I feel horrible that my 2 1/2 y.o. daughter had to lose her best friend at such a young age.

Our First Loss

Originally posted on October 2, 2005

I can't believe it. We lost! And we lost to Alabama who we hadn't played since 1999 and we loss to them twice that year! I don't understand how a team can play so different from the past four weeks. The Gators looked absolutely horrible. That could even be an understatement. Chris Leak (who I've never thought was that great) was horrible, our defense was horrible, our receivers were horrible and I'm sure some people will think that Urban didn't have a great game. But, I really liked most of the plays he called, especially the trick plays. The fake punt that we did and ended up getting a first down on 4th and 2 was awesome. And then we went for a touchdown on 4th and goal and I thought that was a great call. Granted, we didn't get the touchdown, but it was early in the game and we needed something to spark the team and Urban had said that "if we can't score on 4th and 1 or 4th and 2 then there's a bigger problem". So, I'm all for going for it. And when you look back at it, if we would've just kicked the field goal we would've lost 31-6 instead of 31-3, so who cares?!?!
Anyway, I'm sad. I'm upset. I would've be happier if #1 USC lost, which it totally looked like they would. Arizona St. was ahead most of the game, but they dropped the ball (literally) in the 4th quarter. So, I'm faced with te reality that FSU is still undefeated and it's totally by luck. They're schedule is such a joke and they really don't have a big game until they play us and that's the last game of the season! I really thought that we could go all the way this year even though people thought (and still may think) that Urban Meyer is overrated since he hasn't really coached a major team in a major division (like teh SEC). But, I believed and still do, but we just need some undefeated peeps to lose, too!

September 11 revisited

Originally posted on September 11, 2005.

There are a lot of things on my mind tonight, please bare with me. First off, my husband and I just finished watching the documentary of Flight 93 on the Discovery Channel. I didn't expect it to effect me as much as it did. Hearing first hand accounts from family members and hearing the actual calls that the people on board made to loved ones made it more real to me than ever before. It was sad to learn the backgrounds of the 40 men and women who were on that flight. They all seemed like wonderful people, fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, daughters, sons, grandparents, etc. The documentary said that the youngest person on board was a 20 year old college student, yet to me the youngest person on board was a 3 month old fetus who was in the womb of a women who had been trying to get pregnant for 5 years. That really tore me up. Becoming a mother has definitely changed me and anything like that rips at my heart. Obviously, it is horrible that any of these people had to die, no matter what age or background. And seeing re-enactments of what supposedly went on was a little much for me and had me saying to myself to the TV "do this!" or "do that!" and I had to remind myself that this was not a movie for me to yell at the actors and tell them to do what I would do. I couldn't imagine being on that plane. Part of me thinks that I would be so upset and so determined to not die that I would totally kick some a$$ no matter what the cost. But, then part of me thinks that I would just be paralyzed with fear that I wouldn't do anything!

I definitely don't want to end this on a sad note, but I definitely want to remember these people and everyone else who died in this tragic event. I'm glad that the past 3 years there have been special shows and events to memorialize Sept. 11 because I'm afraid that everyone besides the victims' families have 'gotten over it', in a manner of speaking. I also do not want to make this about othe current events and talk about things that are highly disputable (i.e., the war), but Sept. 11th also reminds me of the fact that we still need to be fighting terrorism...WHEREVER it is. And I don't care whether people believe that we went into Iraq for oil (which is obviously not true) or for supposed WMD's. The fact is that we got a horrible ruler out of office AND have helped a lot of Iraqi's even though the media doesn't show that. And more terrorists have come out the woodworks over there, so we still need to be doing something about it! Do I think our plan wasn't planned out well enough? Yes! We went in w-a-y too fast, made everything look easy, and then wasn't prepared for the rest of the problems we're facing over there. But, I also believe that we should be focusing more on Afghanastan. We don't hear about that fight anymore and it is frustrating that it seems we're no closer to finding Bin Laden and it doesn't make any sense to me that we aren't just a little bit closer at least!
OK, I'll get off my soapbox. The last bit of this blog was not meant to offend anyone who has different opinions. Feel free to respond and leave comments. But, as I say that, if you're one of those people who believe we should bend over and take it up the rear because you believe sticking up for ourselves is "not the answer", then please don't bother.