Memorial Weekend Reflections

Saturday of Memorial weekend, Trent and I were running errands as we drove past the cemetery where my sister and grandparents have been laid to rest.   Can I just say I hate the cemetery.  I hate that 29 years after my sister passed, I still can't help but cry when I think of all that we missed.  I know I will see her again.  I know that she is free of the pain and difficulty that would have been hers had she lived.  This mortal life is not an easy thing to experience.  To me she was perfect and consequently, what 9 year old wouldn't receive all that heaven has to offer.

I have concluded over the years, that it is me I feel sorry for.  I can't seem to forgive myself for not holding her hand the last day she was alive.  I didn't know how close she was to dying.  She spent the day moaning as she lay in the rented hospital bed that had been in our living room for months.

I hated the continual reminder of what was to come.  I just wanted to remember her as she was, a beautiful girl with her long, strawberry blond hair and blue eyes that sparkled.  Not the girl who was now blind, deaf and unable to talk due to paralysis. 

Early on, when we first learned her prognosis was terminal, she had told me she was afraid to die.  I still cling to my faith that what I told her at the young age of 15 is as true today as it was then.  That she would be free of the pain and that grandpa would be there to meet her, to welcome her home.  That she would not be afraid, but happy and at peace.

Maybe that was one of my better moments.  The one that haunts me still is that her last day, I focused more on myself and trying to avoid the pain, than embrace it and her head-on.   I talked to my mom about the moaning and crying.  My mom said, "She just wants to be close to you."  Rather than hold her hand and spend time with her, I stayed in my room with my adolescent interests, trying to drowned out what I referred to at the time, as the constant noise.  By the end of what seemed a day that would never end, I begged my mom to take her to the hospital where she could get something for the pain.  My parents, I think, had wanted to have her pass at home, but decided to take her.

The next morning, we went to school as usual.  When I came home, I noticed my dad's work truck in the garage.  My dad never took a sick or vacation day from work--ever.  I immediately knew that something was up.  I called my aunt who was watching my baby brother to see what she knew.  Rather than answer my question, she told me to hold on.  My mom came to the phone.  I tried to wrap my brain around my mom being at my aunt's and not at the hospital with Becky.  That is when my mom told me that Becky had died in the hospital earlier that day.  While I was home in bed that night, my parents tried to load her in the car.  When she stopped breathing, they had called an ambulance.  She had stopped breathing 3 times on the way to the hospital, but started on her own each time, finally taking her last breath later that morning with my mom at her side.

Even though I knew she was terminal, because of the location of a benign tumor growing in her brain-stem, I still didn't recognize the end.  I didn't take the opportunity to hold her hand or say good bye.  I would like to think that I have learned something from this.  That perhaps this experience has helped me appreciate the fragility of life and increased the number of times I have said something I otherwise would have left unsaid.  Still, I take things and people for granted at times and there is definitely more room for improvement.

Here's to my dear, sweet baby sister, Rebecca  Helen Mills.  I named my baby after you.  You are always in my thoughts.  If you had lived, I know we would have been there for each other.  Mom always said you and I were most alike spiritually.  I like to think we would have been there for each other through thick and thin and would have understood each other, shared the same values and goals and been best friends.  You are one of the biggest reasons I try to be the best person I can be.  I want to be worthy to be with you some day.  To me you are perfect and each day I strive to be worthy to dwell with you in God's presence.

I do not like to think of your body in a grave, but I will put aside those feelings, to take my children there each Memorial Day, so they can feel the sacredness and solemnity and know that I have not nor ever will, forget you.

Colds and Callouses

I am spending my day in bed, nursing a cold.  Trent told me I should read and relax and "stay off the computer", he said.  "Why?"  I had to ask.  "It stresses you out to be on the computer.  Don't do it.  No Computer."  "Nonsense."  I said (well, maybe not those exact words) - and here I am, hours later, typing away.

I began writing my 3rd chapter of  my book - Day 3 of my count down before I moved out in the dead of night to hide out until after my now ex was served with the protective order I had taken out on him.  That got me questioning the order of things and so I pulled out  my journals and began reading...  that, of course, brings back all sorts of memories.  The problem is, I poured out my heart in my journals during the worst of times.  I know there were good times.  I alluded to them and even mentioned that my entries made everything sound so bad with my marriage - but there were good times too.  Unfortunately, they only lasted for a few hours or days.  I mentioned how my first husband would blame me for our problems, and tell me I was weird, that all his previous girlfriends had liked doing this perverse act or that.  Wish I'd known about those girlfriends before I married him.

In just the year of time I covered in my reading, he had locked me out of the house twice, kicked a hole in the wall, thrown a sack of flour at me while I sat at our new computer,  torn the latch off the wall,because I locked the screen door so I could leave the main door open for the breeze and didn't get to the door to let him in in time.  He didn't feel that he should have to ring the door bell or knock to be let in his own house.  He didn't like it when I retorted that he had locked me out two days earlier and I lived here too.  There was a reference to his girlfriend, Samantha,, that at the time he had denied having an affair with (only to admit to it 6 years later after I left him), and threats to go meet up with his other girlfriends if I didn't get my act together (he said it in not so nice words though).  That's not the worst of it, but I'll spare you the details.

When I re-read my journal entries, it is hard not to want to beat myself up emotionally for staying through  such emotional abuse.  I am so grateful for my sweet husband who builds me up continually.  This morning, as I looked in the mirror, first thing out of bed, I commented on the leftover mascara under my eyes, and my funky hair in the words, "Man, I look hashed this morning."  Trent  told me not to say that about myself.  That I was so incredibly beautiful and I should never forget it. 

What a stark contrast from the name calling I received daily with my first husband.

My ex does deserve some points.  He did say, repeatedly in a letter I saved, that it was probably his fault that things were bad between us and that he wasn't blaming me.  He said that some day I would realize it and leave him.  I was a glutton for punishment I guess, because it took me 7 years to do it.

I  marvel how things change given the amount of experience one has.  My realm of experience was so limited then, I couldn't imagine life without Horace (I do believe that is how I've referred to him in the past).  I loved him so much it hurt to think of life without him, even minus his drinking and smoking, swearing, and cheating, and damage to our belongings, including me.  Now, I find it hard to remember why I stayed.  If I hadn't stayed as long as I did, I wouldn't be with my sweety pie now.  I wouldn't have had my two oldest kids.  I wouldn't appreciate what I now have in my current marriage, and I wouldn't be the strong, independent, successful, self-assured woman I am today - even if I do think I look a bit hashed in the mornings!  So - maybe my heart is a bit calloused because of my first relationship and I'm having a hard time getting to the sweet, juicy tidbits of reasons for loving my first husband, but I'm better for it.

PS - That doesn't mean I would wish my experiences on anyone else to teach them what I learned the hard way.  Learn from my mistakes!  Don't repeat them!

Surviving Boot Camp, unwelcome zits and More

Boot Camp:

I attended my first Boot Camp at the 2013 Storymakers Conference in Provo, Utah this past Thursday.  It was a bit intimidating to meet with Abel Keogh and 3 other writers.  We each had about an hour to read our 15 selected pages and then get feedback from the others.  I sat to Abel's right.  He began with the woman to his left.  They knew each other, having both served in the same mission at the same time; Romania, I believe.  Her story was amazing.  She was helping her mother write her memoir about escaping from the oppression beginning just prior to Stalin's death.  It was very well written and gripping.  Abel began with his critique and then we went around the table from his left.  That meant that I got the last turn every time.  The first time around, we had only 3 minutes for me to get my 2 cents in.  Not that I minded.  It's just that everything I had to say had already been said and I didn't feel I had much to add.  Not sure that I added much to our group.  I certainly gained a lot for myself.

The 2nd story was a fantasy taking place in the Garden of Eden with an Arch Angel that gave up immortality to save the day.  We started on chapters 3 and 4.  It was an original idea that I wouldn't have thought of and well written.  I wished I had read the first two chapters because I felt myself lost and trying to make sense of who was who.  I shared these comments in a positive way.

I went 3rd because the man who would have gone third had not copied his pages yet and needed to do this during the break.

I became emotional a few times as I read through the 15 pages.  I got it back together each time, but how embarrassing!  Then I had to wait until after the 30 minute break to hear what people had to say for the most part.  That was difficult.  I started second guessing myself.  I was most shocked to hear the men say they would definitely read it.  I figured women might find it interesting or gripping.  Everyone was hooked and wanted more.  I have a few things I want to change to clarify some questions, but I'm thinking posting the first chapter and asking for feedback would be helpful. 

It was suggested that I swap the sub title and title of my book to:  "Recognizing the Signs of an Abusive Relationship:  Lessons learned in love and loss."

What do you think?

The final critique was of the first two chapters of a murder mystery.  I'm a bit squeamish when it comes to swearing and talk of female gender body parts and pubic hair, so that took me by surprise.  He said he was most interested in hearing my perspective having been in an abusive marriage.  That surprised me.  I do wish that the book could be written without the swearing because after growing up in a home with plenty of it and then my first husband using a swear word or two every sentence, I prefer to avoid profanity.

I love working at an elementary school where I don't hear foul language and to be married to a man, who with his Methodist background and upbringing refrains from swearing.  For me, staying away from profanity is what I need to do to feel the influence of the spirit in my life.  I never want to be without that guidance in my life again.

Conference Highlights:

I have to say that my favorite instructor was John D. Brown.  I found his information applicable and something I could use immediately to help in my writing.  Hannah Bowman, an agent from back east, also gave great information which enabled me to get my whole book mapped out in 15 minutes.

I can now say I have definitely  met my 100 licensure points for my teaching license.  I am now ready to upgrade to a level 2/3 license thanks to my first two years out of college working for Jordan School District.  That means I am completing my 3rd year of working as a teacher.  Yippee!

The other items that stand out to me had nothing to do with the conference, however.  My face breaking out was a huge inconvenience for  me.  I'm 45 years old.  Shouldn't my face start to cooperate by now.  I don't know if it was due to the stress of Boot Camp and needing to be observed a couple more times by my principle last week, or what, but I have to say I'm dreading being seen by anyone today - and I'm usually not that vain!

Finally, spending time with my best friend of over 30 years, Kelli, was amazing.  We giggled hysterically as usual.  We stayed up until the wee hours talking about things I don't think I ever knew about her growing up.  I realize that I may have lost the sister that was most like me to a brain tumor, but Heavenly Father gave me Kelli to be able to be close to.

Mothers' Day:

Mothers' Day has been amazing so far.  It began with breakfast in bed - scrambled eggs, Greek strawberry yogurt and enormous strawberries and watermelon. 

Chalyse had dropped a present by a couple hours before I returned home from the conference.  I waited to open it up this morning.  "Beautiful Day" body spray, lotion and shower gel.  She knows what I like.

Then I had two treasure hunts to find my other gifts.  First - my favorite candybars:  Twix and Snickers and second:  Each clue led to a piece of a charm bracelet - with each charm representing a member of my family with their birth stone.  There was also a picture on the computer - my last stop - of the concrete rounded benches I want for our gazebo where climbing roses wend their way through the metal framework to the top.  Some day, I hope to have electricity to the fountain that sits in the center of the gazebo.  I think it will be a beautiful place to sit and ponder in the summer evenings when things have slowed down and cooled off.

A week of injuries

At this very moment, I am listening to Trent groan as he tries to get dressed to head to Sunday morning meetings.  Yesterday afternoon, as I was working on our new Little Flippers website (I do hope I can get it finished) Steven came running upstairs.  "Mom, dad has hurt himself.  You need to take him to the doctor.  He spurted blood all over me."  My initial reaction wasn't one of shock and dismay, but rather, "Here we go again."  You see, if Trent is working on the yard or a home repair project, you can pretty much guarantee that he will injure himself.  Not all of the injuries have required Instacare or ER visits, but a good portion have.

As I drove him to Instacare yesterday, we laughed about his previous antics.  The highlights include him putting a nail through his hand while building our chicken coop; taking part of his ear off while putting together some shelves for our storage room (13 stitches and me going in to shock as he was stitched up to put him back together that time).  Then there was the tumbling head over heels over the wheelbarrow as he ran pushing a "lazy man's load" at break neck speed where he hit a bump that sent him flying and did literally almost break his neck.

Not to mention the injuries from rugby.  I never did tell him to stop playing.  I just insisted early on playing a sport where he was frequently kicked in the head that we get disability insurance on him.  He quit a few years after that.

At a certain point in life, you begin to question whether you are too old for certain things.  For example, I asked myself that exact question this past Monday.   About the time I was heaving  my body over a blow up obstacle at Classic Skating and came down just as my 6 year olds foot was coming up and booting me in the eye, I was thinking, "I'm too old for this."  After spending the past week using purple and blue eye shadow to try and cover my first ever black eye, I'm thinking I may have experienced my last rodeo.  Who knows, my desire to prove to myself that I'm not that may still win out.

We spent a couple hours getting him stitched up.  He did go down to the bone and had to have internal stitches plus another 8 to close him up on the outside.