It doesn't take a lot of effort or time to make what could be a serious mistake. One subtle thoughtless move can have long lasting consequences. Often these mistakes can be made in the very location that should be our sanctuary; our bed. I think I may have made such a move about an hour ago.

I was in my usual end of the day location; the right side of my bed, with a few books, my calendar, and a couple of magazines near me and my laptop on my lap. My beautiful dog Carmen was on the floor on the left side of the bed. She hasn't relocated to the floor on the side I sleep. I think she still sees that as Ashley's territory. I've not moved to the center or the left side of my bed. Perhaps we are just creatures of habit. She looked at me with that same look that she gives me every night. I gave my usual response, "You can come around to this side." Sometimes she does for a short time. I scratch her head, and sometimes she will even nod off, but in the morning when I wake up she is on the other side again. Tonight I made one foolish subtle move. I patted the top of the coverlet. In a matter of seconds she was on the bed with her head on my chest.

It was a moment of weakness and I wasn't thinking clearly. I was feeling extremely sad and wanted company. I have a number of people who have said, "Call me anytime you need to talk." Talking isn't the issue. I need someone to call when I don't want to talk or feel anything. I haven't found anyone yet who is capable of helping me numb feelings. It would be nice to say that I snuggled against Carmen, had a good cry and felt better. I did some sobbing, but I kept thinking about the fur that Carmen sheds in the van. I don’t want that on my bed. I also kept thinking, “This dog is almost 70 pounds. I can’t lift her off the bed and make her stay on the floor.” She usually follows me everywhere. I got up to go in the kitchen. She stayed on the bed. She knew that once she was off the bed she may never be invited up again. She finally followed me. I took my time getting a drink of water. I prepared for bed carefully and slowly flossing and brushing, hoping she might forget. As soon as I was on the bed she jumped on the bed too. I told her to get down. I am now on my bed alone. Hopefully I won't waken with a dog beside me. It is not what I want for my new normal. I love Carmen. She is a great dog, but she is a DOG!

I've been working hard at being okay this weekend. Most of you will tell me that with the recent deaths of a spouse and father that I don't have to be okay. As a parent to grieving children I don't feel like I have that luxury. Besides, I don't like feeling sad and gloomy. I'm just not good at it. I don't enjoy a good cry with a sad movie. I am hoping that Monday arrives with hope and light.

Free Verse Draft

Torn between the holy and the haunted
Going forth with caution, yet undaunted
Bring me life from death
Renew with each breath
The dreaded disease still gnaws at my soul,
I'll cling to you. You make me whole.

Let your light shine in my darkness.
Sustain me through the fiercest storms
Recreate with my broken pieces
Rebuild my life 'til I'm newly born
Three in One make me one from three
Brokenness, loneliness, and misery

The dreaded disease still gnaws at my soul,
I'll cling to you. You make me whole.
You bring life from death
Renewing with each breath
Make use of my life, Renew my soul
No longer torn; you’ll make me whole.

Not Light, but No Longer Dark

I've made it to Saturday morning without dying my hair black or being rude to happy couples. I've made it through the anger and bitterness and have been left with the loneliness and sadness that I carry more comfortably. The three of us made it through the debate with anyone ending any relationships, and yes, we laughed. When I got home I was grateful for Carmen, the dog who loves me more than anyone deserves, to meet me at the door. Alex and Lisa had taken her to a park while I was gone, so she was pretty excited.

During the 3am hour Sophia called from the sleepover several times. Carmen and I went and picked her up. Carmen stayed with her until she was settled, then came back to my room. Sophia tells me she misses her daddy more when she isn't at home. A similar sleepover incident happened recently when David was sick. Then, she was worried about him getting enough care without her being there. Sophia has been going to sleepovers for years without incident. It shows how much of a struggle this is for her, and that those early morning hours can be difficult for children too.

Today is the Lee School carnival. I am dreading it. It will be the first large school activity this year. It will be the first time I will see people who may not know that David has died. Those interactions don't usually bother me, but I don't usually anticipate them; they just happen. It was also a family activity we shared for the past five years. Even when David was very sick, two years ago, we wheelchaired him through the carnival so that he could be with the kids. That was when parents and teachers became aware of just how sick he was. When the kids started at Lee we told everyone he had cancer, but at that time he looked okay. It wasn't until a few years later at the carnival that we started meeting eyes filled with fear and pity. Thankfully the staff and parents at Lee have been amazing support through the years. They have loved and cared for Judson and Sophia and offered friendships and support to David and me. Many came to the visitation or funeral- even Sophia's teacher for this year, whom we had never met. I will be okay. I know that I will have many friends there who will surround me and speak for me if I lose my voice when someone asks, "How is your husband?" Even so, these "firsts" are difficult.

Warning: If You Hate Whining and Complaining Read No Further!!

I hate all married couples. I don't like the ones who are constantly arguing and bickering with each other over the most ridiculous things. I don't like the ones who share a great love and respect for one another. This is what I get for not sleeping; although I certainly wasn't staying awake on purpose. I get cranky and irrational. I feel intolerable, insecure and ineffable, inconsequential, and incoherent...dare I say, PISSED OFF! Yep, here I go again. Grief is not a straight line. We work through stuff and circle around to the same emotions. I know this is temporary and there will soon come a time again when I enjoy being around happy couples who remind me of the good that lived between David and me. I actually didn't care being around bickering couples before we ever started dealing with cancer. I know every couple has their struggles, but please don't share it with me during dinner or couple's night out. I don't referee and I don't like to choose sides. I usually think both people are wrong!

I have spent most of the day on the phone- sometimes two phones because I was on hold for so long. I have canceled accounts, negotiated balances, and talked with many people from India. They all offer their condolences- no one suggested sati. I tried to take care of some of this long before David died and before he needed so much care. He referred to it as throwing dirt on his grave, so I stopped doing it. Considering his health the past five years, I should have had the electricity changed to my name years ago. Unfortunately that would have been seen as giving up.

I've also been looking for stuff. I can't find the death certificates that I need to mail. I know where I thought I put them. I can't find a pair of satin pajamas that my sister gave me. They are perfect for September nights. I try to have a belonging place for everything. I don't like to spend time searching for things. I don't like being absent minded. Could the pj's and certificates be somewhere together? I have managed to keep up with my cell phone and my car keys.

I feel dark. My younger friends would call it goth or emo. I am thinking of wearing all black, and saying things like, "life is pain" to complete strangers. Perhaps I will dye my hair jet black to match my mood. I could go see my Korean friend, the only man who has held my hand recently, and ask him to paint my nails black. (my manicurist for those of you who are confused- btw he would refuse me and tell me I want pretty color, maybe french manicure). I may find a group to smoke Camels and read poetry. Maybe I will go where the Friday night daters are and move from table to table letting couples know, "Eventually one of you will die before the other."

I am supposed to meet friends to watch the debate. He is a republican and she is a democrat. They are not married, just dating so I think I should be able to tolerate them. I'm wearing brown plaid shorts, brown tee, with my brown hair and naked nails (very Liza Doolittle) taking yummy cream colored artichoke dip and pinkish buffalo chicken dip from Super Suppers (at the Village of Cherry Hill). I will behave respectfully and light in spite of my dark mood. I am sure within a short time we will be laughing and joking. All the same, I will be pulling for the darker candidate!

Insomnia

It is 3:30 in the morning. I have been awake since around 2:00. Usually if I awaken I have no problem going back to sleep. The past few nights I awaken and seem to stay awake. At this point there is no reason to continue to keep trying to sleep. Perhaps I have caught up on the sleep that has been interrupted the past few years. Perhaps I am just doing what people do when their spouse has died.

This is the loneliest time. There are no distractions. I am aware of how large and empty my bed has become. I am awake enough to clean, paint, sort or whatever needs to be done. I don't dare get up because I don't want to awaken the children. Tomorrow night will be different. They have sleepovers, so I can get up and move around as I want. Perhaps tomorrow night I will sleep.

I read another widow self help book. Again, it was frustrating because there was the assumption that the women reading the book were older women. There was a short chapter on younger widows. It was not helpful. To summarize, the author simply restated in several ways that it is difficult to be a younger widow. She talked about the injustice, loneliness, added responsibilities of being a single parent, all information of which I am aware, but nothing helpful.

Blogging isn't helping to make me sleepy and I don't seem to have much to say. Perhaps it is time to log on to facebook and play scrabble...

Help for Hurting Kids

in my hurry to post this I didn't read it and realized that I had stuff wrong. My apologies to those of you who get an e-mail every time I post. Now, in case you hadn't caught on yet, you know that editing is not one of my spiritual gifts.

This summer my friend Laura, whose daughter Melissa is friends with Sophia told me about the family of one of Judson's friends. Judson, Pierce, and Syd have been friends and our families have interacted loosely with each other. I knew both of Syd's parents pretty well and knew Pierce's dad, because we all ran into each other at parent pick up. (My kids could ride the bus home, but it takes about an hour and I have met my closest friends while waiting on kids to get dismissed from school.) I knew the younger siblings well because Bo and Simon are close in age to Sophia and younger siblings are always fascinated by what the older sibs are getting to do. I didn't know Lisa, (Bo and Pierce's mom) well, because she owns and manages Super Suppers across town, which is not conducive to parent pickup.

Laura told me that Bo had been diagnosed with cancer. I immediately called Patty (Syd and Simon's mom- are you getting lost yet??) so we could start brainstorming how we might help this family. David and I cried for days before I could finally pick up the phone and call Bo's family to offer support. We had no idea at that time just how short his time was and how much this family would come to help us. I told Lisa, that we were in a good place for now and I was available to help.

Cancer can be hell for adults. As much as we hated this journey and believed David was too young to be dying from prostate cancer, we were always grateful our children were healthy. Ten year old boys should not get lung cancer! Bo is athletic, very active, and according to Sophia was the 3rd grade "hottie" that all the girls but her had a crush on. (Sophia prefers the quiet geeky boys and has chosen not to discuss her love life with friends at school.) Patty gave me the link to Lisa's blog, which helped me to get to know her even better.

Bo is doing very well now, but once you have been touched by cancer your life changes forever. You have learned that the impossible does happen and sometimes it happens to you. I believe we get to make those changes play out in a positive or negative way, if we take control and participate. Lisa is not a whiner. She is a doer- a world changer, who looks beyond herself to see the needs of others.

Local readers, please follow the link below and if you know of any children between the ages of 8-12 pass the information along. If you don't know of any, pass the information along to your principal, school teacher, minister, physician, or anyone else who would be able to get this source to the people who need it.

Interestingly enough, many experts think that one should not begin a support group until several months after a death. I disagree. Right now, my kids are attending school, orchestra, piano lessons, and everything they did before David's death. They often worry now that they are different from the other kids, or that they might become teary without warning and no one will understand why. I know there are other kids in the community who have lost parents to cancer (two families at Lee school last year), but I do not know them. Maybe you do.

Thatamuch?: The Answer


(This blog entry has been brought to you by Super Supper's located at the Village of Cherry Hill. It's about time!) --Sorry Lisa- It's corny, but I need to do something for you!

Seeking Truth and Wisdom

My sister Terry and niece Kelly are returning to Florida tomorrow. They can do this because they were able to finally get gas for their car. When I was in TN and NC I paid as much as $4.79/gallon for gasoline. Many stations were out of gas and there were long lines where there was gas (remember the 70's? makes me think I should be in the back seat listening to Donny Osmond and playing with a Malibu Barbie doll). My brother-in-law found gas by going out at 5am where a station had just gotten a delivery. My nephew went out at midnight and was denied gas (Florida license plates in NC are not helpful) because they had a limited amount, even though his tank was on empty. People are freaking out! They have closed schools, and closed government offices to save gas. Meanwhile, in Columbia Missouri gas is $3.39/gallon. There are no lines or empty pumps. I can easily fill the tank for my inefficient van (yes I am ashamed and yes I am thinking about trading in- remember we were a family of five only a few months ago), yet my family to the east can't get a few gallons for the fuel efficient cars. Why the difference?

I don't know enough about gas, oil, delivery patterns, and business to discuss this intelligently. It has something to do with the 15 Gulf Coast refineries shut down by Hurricanes Gustav and Ike that haven't yet to come back on line, cutting the nation’s petroleum supply by 22 percent. Distance from the Colonial Pipeline could be adding to the problem. I do know enough about humans and psychology to know how we can make a real problem worse. When we are told there is a crises we believe it. Often our responses will perpetuate or increase crisis because we panic and fail to think through our behaviors before acting. If people see a long line, they think perhaps they should be in that line as well. Turns out many of the people waiting in line have more than a half tank of gas. Many are wanting to top off their tanks to avoid a bigger crises. While there are valid reasons for a gas shortage in the Appalachian mountains, I believe it is perpetuated by people's fear. They are willing to pay exorbitant prices to protect themselves from the risk of not having gas. This causes the prices to rise, long lines at the pumps and high volume sales, emptying pumps sooner than normal.

So what has this to do with death, grief and living? When we are told how life should be we often believe what we are told and it becomes our truth. When we are living in grief many people tell us how we must feel and respond. I've heard, "You can't possibly..." or " "You must be...." We have to find our own normal. If we look at how people have grieved throughout history and how people in other cultures grieve there are some similarities and some differences. We each must listen to our own hearts and identify our own needs. If we live out someone else's prescription for emotional and spiritual health we may have to deal with side effects that are unwarranted.

As a young mother I wanted to be the perfect parent. I wanted to give Alex every advantage I could. I read all the books available. I read that when an infant cries you should never pick him up. I read that a crying infant needs a parent's immediate reassurance. I read let them cry for a limited time, so that they don't learn to manipulate you (oh, those conniving newborns) . I read that a good parent keeps their child with them at all times and attends to their needs before the crying starts. After 44 hours of hard labor, very little sleep, and a lifetime drive to do everything just right, I was becoming a little wacky. One of the best shower gifts I received was a Calvin and Hobbs book from my friend Robert. He had no children, like me was a bibliophile, and had no idea what to get for an office shower. His wife was embarrassed by his choice. At some point I put down the baby books and started reading Calvin and Hobbs. I started laughing as I realized that one day Alex would probably live to be six like Calvin and into mischief, no matter what the details were of his infancy. I realized people had been raising children for years without how to books and most had survived. I started trusting my instincts and worked on developing a relationship with the person whom I was to raise to independence. In the end all three of my children were treated differently based on their personalities and their needs at the time. Sophia and Judson still have years to go, but Alex has turned out to be a great person. I had lunch with him today, then did a little shopping and we had a good time. I don't think I damaged him too much. '

In grief and life in general we have to learn to listen to ourselves as well as the experts. I have a large amount of books on death and dying and on grief. I have learned much from what I have read, but I also realize that just because it has been published it isn't necessarily true. I must think for myself and take responsibility for myself and my family. As a Christian I also believe that great wisdom comes to us through others and through the Holy Spirit. Wisdom (Sophia) is personified as being the first creation of God (see Proverbs 8:22). Yet we have learned not to trust the wisdom that we are given. The best counselors do not give advice, but ask the questions that help a person find the answers that they hold inside.

My nephew David left this morning. I have a banister that look great and four toilets that all work now (remember we were a family of five only a few months ago) and children that have experienced some healing through the love of their cousins. I enjoyed my lectionary group today. It is hard not to be in NC to help my siblings, but it would be harder not to be in CoMo to help my kids. We will go see Seusical on Friday evening. We have friends from church and school in the show. Hopefully that will make up for all the painting and cleaning I have planned for the weekend!

More Ramblings

I have felt more like myself today than I have in months. Friends who I have chatted with on the phone have commented that I am laughing again. I am not exactly sure if there has been a specific trigger or if it just is. When I took Judson to school this morning he was actually happy. He was chatty about the day ahead; no tears, no angst. I think it is the first time we have had an easy morning this year. Perhaps it is having another adult in the house. I am less likely to mope about if there is someone to witness my behavior. I don't think I feel more like myself because I spent the morning at the dentist office and the rest of the day dealing with pain. (note to all caretakers- you are not too busy to see your dentist! Call now and make an appointment. In the past few years I've made sure David and the kids got to the dentist, but not myself.) It may have been because someone at the dentist office and later two other friends shared some of their personal struggles with me. It is good that people see me as well enough to listen to them. Maybe going out in public with no makeup wearing old jeans helped. It was nice to realize at the end of the day that the jeans and shirt are really too big for me and I can size down. Perhaps it is the large amount of ibuprofin and chocolate I've been popping today. Whatever the reason (if there is one) it has been good. I have missed me!

I stopped at the church to check my mail. I'm gearing up for the return to work. While there, I picked up a large envelope of many cards and letters that have been received by the church for David's memorial. It was nice to read the kind words about David. It reminded me that I still have many thank you notes to write. I also still have many loose ends to deal with concerning David's death. I was able to give my sisters a list of things that needed to happen for my mother (trips to SS office, banks, etc), but still haven't done them myself.

My nephew David continues to be so helpful. He leaves tomorrow to return to his home in Florida. He has been a great influence on Judson and Sophia. The sanding and first coat of paint on the stairway banister, railings, and ballustars are done and look great. He has found various things that have needed fixing and has just taken care of it. My dad would be so proud of him. I know this is a time of grieving for David as well. I can imagine my father saying with tears in his voice, "That's what I want to see; my family taking care of each other." I hope to post the song and video that David, Jack, and Kelly put together.

As for me, tomorrow is lectionay discussion group. I am ready to get this sermon wrapped. I have also been brainstorming new ministry ideas for Bethel. There is something about mundane work like sanding, painting, washing dishes, and mowing that let's my brain run free while my hands are busy. I would like to restart the language tutoring program our church did with Lee school two years ago. I was too overwhelmed to make it work last year. People from Bethel met with kids from other countries that were struggling with English and played word games, read stories, or whatever the teachers recommended. Lee has a large international population. I know what it feels like to not know the common language. These kids are usually brilliant and catch on quickly, but at first it is hard. Not having a good understanding of the language not only makes academics difficult, but it has great social consequences at a time when they are needing friends.

I've been e-mailing back and forth with my friend Lisa, who wants to help get some support groups going. I usually hate support groups. I studied group therapy and group dynamics in grad school and loved leading therapy groups for survivors of abuse, a group for former psychiatric inpatients, and even assisted with a group for sexual perpetrators. (every one needs grace and help- no one is beyond redemption). Support groups are different. They are usually led (loosely) by people who have had a common experience. They often have no structure and turn into a time for people to whine and compare wounds. A support group can be great, but it involves so much more than a common theme for it to work. Lisa has suggested a structure that I absolutely love. She dealt with her 4th grader's lung cancer this summer with grace and courage. Like me, she doesn't want pity, but wants things to get accomplished. Bo is doing very well and now they are wanting to help others. To me, that is the best thing we can do in life. Deal with our own stuff, then use that growth and knowledge to help others deal with theirs. When we use what has caused us harm or pain to bring good to others, then we have participated in redemption.

A Plan in the Making

One more Sunday then I will be back at church. I've been thinking a lot about how this is going to work (thank you Mary C.). I usually managed okay when David was sick. There were a few times I wasn't sure I would make it. I remember leaning over to David during a hymn and whispering, "I'm leaving and I'm not sure if I will be back to preach." I was so empty and felt I had nothing to offer the congregation. I left the sanctuary and told a friend, "I can't do this today." She and her husband prayed for me and then I was ready. David was relieved I returned. More than once as it got closer to time to preach I would feel the need to say, "I won't waste your time. Let's sing and go home." It hasn't happened yet. I seem to do my best preaching when I am the most broken and exhausted. (thank you Henri Nouwen for writing, "The Wounded Healer") It isn't that I don't have anything prepared. It is just that what I have prepared no longer seems relevant. Thankfully in the past five years of David's illness, this was not a common occurrence.

When I prepare a sermon I usually have about an hour of material. I watch people's response to see if I am getting somewhere or if I need to move in another direction. It is more work, but it is better than writing twenty minutes that ends up not working. Most public speakers can tell when they have lost their listeners. Many have nothing left to do, but complete what they have started. I have outlines that can help me take a different approach. It is kind of like the children's series "Choose Your Own Adventure" books. I can focus on different aspect of the scripture based on what people need to hear. If eyes are fixed and glassed over, or gazing out the window then it is time to move on or reword. If there is eye contact, nods, laughter or tears, then I know that it is working and I need to stay the course.

One thing that can be a problem are conversations before worship. The time to tell your pastor you are unhappy with something is not right before the service. It is also not a good time to make a verbal request (write it down and I will put it with my notes) or to ask the pastor about a personal crises. The last thing I need is for a few people to hug me, look at me with teary eyes and say, "I don't know how you are going to do this." NOT HELPFUL! Five minutes before worship I want to be thinking about worship. I want to breathe God and feel God, so I can help others experience God. I have to prepare for true worship the same as anyone else. The other big no-no is never talk to me during the prelude. My favorite pianist is playing and it is part of my worship. Music takes me where I need to be to lead others in worship. For just one hour a week I insist that the focus for anyone around me be centered on Christ. It is a small part of our lives to give.

I have decided that I need to have a way to let people know when they need to see me as the Rev. Bonnie Cassida or Pastor Bonnie and when they can interact with me as just Bonnie. I want my congregation to be able to minister to me and care for me. They are good at it and I need it. It is part of my belief that we are all ministers with different gifts. So, here is my solution. When I arrive at church on Sunday's early in the morning I will have my street clothes on. At some point before worship I will put on my robe. Once the robe is on it is a sign that my focus is worship. I will be glad to pastor everyone, but I can not discuss my own personal well being. When worship is over I will remove the robe, then I can accept all the support, love, and hugs people have to offer, and do whatever is needed. I just can't let myself get teary before worship and have to pull it together. I need all my energy to do my job.

Judson had a good day at school. I am relieved. Sophia is getting back into her routine. She had violin class today and felt lost because she missed the first class last week, but I am sure she will have no problem catching up with her class.

My nephew David has helped me sand the varnish off of the balusters on the stairway in the entry of our house. He has done most of the work. We should be able to paint them tomorrow. He took me out for lunch today. That seemed kind of odd, because I feel older and responsible. I have to keep reminding myself he is an adult. I don't need to treat him like a kid. The more he is around the easier it is to see him as a peer, rather than a younger person.

profile picture and general info maintainance

The new profile picture is dedicated to my sister Rhonda, who found it disturbing that her little sister had only one eye! I actually find the smile in the photo more disturbing. It doesn't seem to go with the blog; the hair in the face kind of fits the mood better. Besides, I've been told by my young adult readers that it is a really hot photo. I'm not accustomed to being hot, so it was fun for a while.

Also, I've had people sheepishly tell me they have been reading my blog in the same way that they might inform me that they have been watching me shower. It is okay to read the blog. This isn't my diary; it is public. I have people I have never met reading it. I know, because sometimes I get an e-mail from a complete stranger with comments on something I wrote.

I certainly write for my own well being. This is very cathartic. I write a lot of things that I never make public. What I post here is what I think might be helpful for letting friends and family know how we are coping, without having to call. You are still welcome to call, I just have people all over the US concerned on how the kids and I are doing. Leave a message if I don't answer. Tell me if you want me to call you back or if you are just calling to let me know you care.

I also post, because the weeks after a death are difficult. Those who are grieving are often encouraged to get over it and move on, when they are where they need to be. I hope that by sharing some of my very personal thoughts and feelings, others will come to understand the grieving process better. I also write so that others who have similar feelings will know that they are not alone. I happen to believe that I am an very emotionally healthy person, so I don't mind sharing some of my crazier times. They are not really crazy, just human. As a former psychiatric counselor and pastor I am very familiar with crazy. Most people are not crazy. Those who are do not usually know it. I trust that if I am someone will be kind enough to speak up.

So read, respond by adding comments or sending an e-mail and remember one eye is not crazy it's hot!

Can You Hear Me Now?

I was dropped today- at least it has felt that way. I have written before about "being carried," but I haven't gone into much detail. It is the best way I can describe what I feel when I am able to move gracefully through a time of crises. It is probably a combination of adrenaline, denial, and determination, but there is more to it than that. It is prayer.

I believe in prayer. Some of you may find that an odd statement for a Christian minister to make. You may think that it is a given. Yet, not all Christians and not all ministers believe in prayer. Some still pray as a spiritual discipline, but there is no expectation for any results. Some offer rote prayers that are spoken without thought or feeling. Some do not pray at all. I have had people who have professed Christianity for more years than I have been alive tell me they do not know how to pray. I have friends who are not sure about the existence of God, a higher power, or something out there, but they told me that they prayed for David with hope that some how it could make a difference. (I believe it did).

I breathe prayer. Sometimes my prayers are formal, but often they run throughout the day as I seek wisdom, and love strangers. That mom that looks like she is going to smack her kids in the grocery store...I look her in the eyes, with what I hope is a kind expression, and offer a prayer that she might feel a sense of peace. I may not like her parenting techniques, but I do not know what she has experienced in her life. I know that my judgement or disapproval will not improve the situation in any way. So I pray. I pray for people invisible to me in ambulances and helicopters. I pray for my children constantly. I pray for my parishioners and family. I don't pray because I am a righteous good person. I pray because I am so helpless. But I don't just pray. The words, "Be ye warmed and fed," have left too many people cold and hungry. Prayer should move us to action. The words should cause us to seek out coats and food for others. David would often refer to it as putting hands and feet on our prayers. I try to let my prayers move me to action. I pray because there is some great mystery that binds us together in ways which we do not understand, but are real.

I can feel when people are praying for me. There is a sense of being carried through whatever life is offering. There is a sense of safety and love. There is a sense of the peace that goes beyond any understanding. Sometimes I feel that I might know who is praying for me at a specific time-not every prayer every time. But there are times when I sense specific people with me-loving me and offering peace. I've prayed with people and felt heat or something like and electrical current. Now, for those of you who are my atheist/agnostic friends- (if you have stayed with me this far) you may be mumbling words or phrases like "imagination, power of suggestion, seeing what she wants to see, psychosomatic etc. But does it matter? Do you need to have an understanding of how the process works to believe in it and use it? I am still not real sure how all of you are reading what I have been typing, but I write it and you read it. I understand some of the general concepts, but I could not recreate the same process on my own. I click on "publish post" and believe that you have access. So it is with prayer. For me, and for many others there is a power found. I believe it is the Comforter, the one who is often referred to as The Holy Spirit.

All that to say, when I feel I am being carried I am not weighed down by the grief and confusion. I am functioning in what looks normal to most people. When I say "I was dropped" today, it means I felt the heavy load of grief, despair and loneliness. I had to focus on breathing. There was a physical heaviness about me. I don't think the Comforter dropped me. I don't think people stopped praying for me. I think I got a taste of what often gets held back from me. I couldn't feel the strength and presence. I felt alone. I am going to have to continue to deal with those feelings in small amounts to reach a place of healing and move forward in life.

Why today? Perhaps the adrenaline that carried me through speaking at my father's funeral has left. Perhaps it is that this is my first day back in Missouri. Maybe it is because worship was that good this morning; Sustaining enough for me to be able to feel those difficult emotions and come through on the other side without drowning in it. Perhaps it is because worship reminded me of another time I was in crises and grieving. I came to understand some of my history better.

This morning I went to Calvary Episcopal with the Anderson family. I left my children and nephew at home asleep. We had arrived in town so late, that it was after midnight before the kids finally got to bed. There have not been many Sundays when they have been allowed to miss church. They love worship and usually want to go. Last night before going to bed I gave them the options of Calvary, Bethel, or staying at home. Judson and Sophia both wanted to stay, so I let them.

The service had all the elements needed for me to focus on God. It felt safe to sit between Clay and Michelle. Safe from what- I do not know- with what I have experienced in the past few months I allow myself some irrational fears. I think I was safe just to be. I had no responsibilities for anyone else. No one had any expectations for me. The service was familiar enough so that I didn't feel lost. Different enough, so that I needed to focus to stay with it. I was reminded of how close I came to becoming an Episcopalian at one time. When I felt called to the ministry I refused to just go to a baptist seminary because I have always been Baptist. I visited a lot of churches during that time and read a lot on denominational polity. My friend, Joel who was a Baptist turned Episcopal Priest, finally told me to give up my search and embrace the fact that I was more Baptist than most Baptists. I loved the liturgical worship, but I do not care for church hierarchy. It works great for many, but not for me. I do not have a bishop, instead I have an area minister. Muriel offers pastoral care, resources and support, but has no authority over me nor my congregation. I have no real power over my congregation. (I think I have mentioned my control issues-must be in control of me- don't want to be responsible for anyone else) They can dismiss me at any time and hire whomever they want. I remind them they are responsible for their spiritual life and growth. I am only responsible for offering the tools and encouragement. Each Baptist church is independent from the other Baptist churches, uniting for missions and work.

When I was a freshman in college I found myself drawn to the Catholic Church. I had experienced a very difficult year. On one Saturday night I had innocence and trust torn from me in a violent way. I had lived through a situation that left me broken and afraid. The next morning I went to church, thinking that my hurt was so obvious. No one knew- there was no reason they would. I wept as I played the Largo from Dvorak's Symphony No. 9 in E Minor, From the New World, as the offering plate was passed. It was my offering to God of my hurt and fear. Later I was told that it was the best I had ever played. No one had seen the tears, but I believe they must have heard them coming through the keyboard. That fall an obnoxious young man kept asking me to go out with him. I had no interest in dating, him, but I knew he was Catholic. I finally told him I would go to church with him. He took me to St. Lawrence, a beautiful, historic church in downtown Asheville. It became my spiritual refuge. Every Sunday morning I would go to my Baptist church, play the piano and be an active part of the congregation. But every Saturday night or early Sunday morning I would go to Mass, where I felt like it was just me and God. Both churches met my needs in different ways. One was no better than the other. My mother was greatly disturbed that I was going to mass, so I learned quickly not to say anything about it. I knew no one at the Catholic church and except for the passing of the peace and a few smiles and nods after service had little interaction. I remember being shocked one Sunday, when someone approached the cosmetic counter where I worked in the afternoons and said they remembered seeing me at mass earlier that morning. I had convinced myself that I was invisible when I was at St. Lawrence. Most ministers do not want people to feel invisible in their church, but it was what I needed. It has taught me to allow people to move in and out of my church to worship without having to be connected to the congregation. That connection is important, but it is not the only purpose of church.

Looking back I understand better why I found comfort in the liturgy. At the time I just knew that it sustained me from week to week in a way that my tradition did not. I needed to worship, not just with my mind and voice, but my body. Crossing myself and kneeling were healing acts, allowing me to find good and God in the physicality of worship. It allowed me to find or create goodness in my body. I am certain I would be a lesser person today if I had not spent those years at Mass. Therapy and counseling would have been good, but I got those later. The spiritual healing gave me what I needed to begin the emotional healing.

I remember that sometimes David would pray face down on the floor with his arms outstretched. It helped him focus and listen. It let me know when I walked into the room, not to start babbling about what I was going to prepare for supper, but to be quiet. I've tried it a few times, but couldn't focus with my face pressed into all the allergens in the carpet. What works for one, may not work for another.

It is good to have my nephew David here. The name has caused concern for a few people. Without thinking I've talked to friends about David washing dishes, teaching Sophia guitar chords, or playing games with Judson and Sophia. I've heard the concern in their voice as they have asked me to repeat myself. Then I realize I need to refer to him as "David my nephew" instead of just David. He and Sophia wrote a song together. He has talked to Judson about times when he didn't want to go to school. We are grateful for his willingness walk with us for a few days.

Back in CoMo

I am home. My nephew drove most of the way. I took over a little before St. Louis. We both got a chance to sleep on the way. We all sang along with CD's and played word games. I was around 14 when he was born. His family moved to Florida, but would visit a few times a year. As he and his big sister Kelly got older they would spend a week or so with my parents during the summers. I got to know David as a sensitive boy who always wanted to do well and please people. When I moved to Charlotte, NC at 22 I didn't get to see any of my nieces and nephews often. I have not gotten to know many of them as adults. I can still see the sweet boy that David was, but there is great maturity that comes with that sensitivity. I have to remind myself that he is not that young. When I was his age I was divorced with a young child. I also got the opportunity to spend time with my other nephews, Jeffrey and Brian. They are in their late 20's and early 30's. Turns out, that people's lives go on, even when I am not there to watch!!

Going Home

I am getting ready to get on the road. NC, TN, KY, IL, and finally MO. My nephew, David has offered to go back with me to help with driving and getting things taken care of at home. I have an amazing family.

Should I Stay or Should I Go Now...

I gave the eulogy at my father's funeral today. Most people told me they could not imagine doing anything so difficult. It came so easily. When I was deciding if I could speak at my father's funeral I realized that I couldn't imagine trusting anyone else to do it (yes, I have just a few control issues). It was a joy to tell the story of his life and to share his values with friends and family. We all have a story to be told. Each day that we arise we are adding pages to that story.

I had not packed my robe and stole. When I got to the church I realized that I didn't have my notes with me. Even so, I felt a sense of peace and calmness. Thank you for the many prayers that filled me with that peace and calmness. I don't usually preach with notes because eye contact is too important. You either know your stuff or you don't. I know my father, and I had organized my thoughts, so notes were not necessary.

We returned to my mother's house after the funeral. It is one of the few times that everyone has been together. Usually at least one grandchild has not been present at family gatherings due to school or career obligations. I was glad that my children were getting to know their cousins. I grew up with my cousins. My kids have never lived near extended family.

My siblings and I met together to talk about options for our mother. I am grateful that we can work together on something like this. We easily agreed on things, probably because we all want her to be well cared for and happy. We do not have to be defensive and protect ourselves from each other, because we will each look out for each other's best interests.

We gathered in the living room and sang, accompanied by my nephew on guitar. We knew the words to the songs that he had written because we all listen to his CD. I don't know if he truly realized until tonight that we had actually been listening to and enjoying his talents. Our family has always gathered to sing. We are usually around the piano with my sister or me playing. Sometimes we grab mics and have our own karaoke party. It it is always fun and difficult to stop once we start. We sang together at our grandmother's funeral, but thought it would be too difficult to sing today.

I plan on leaving early tomorrow morning and driving straight through to Columbia. As I sit here and listen to owls, frogs, crickets, and other insects it is tempting to stay. The forecast for tomorrow is beautiful. I could spend more time with family. Within a few miles is the Blue Ridge Parkway. Downtown Asheville is a funky place with plenty of vegetarian restaurants and antique stores. It is a great place to be.

I've had many people assume that I would move back to NC once David died. Many more think I will now that my father is dead. I have even been told by some that it is what I should do (refer back to my top 10 list). But, Columbia is home to my children and to me. I moved there for my career, not just David's. Many people in NC do not realize that I have been the only Senior Pastor for the past two years. David was on medical disability and did not have the energy nor stamina for the pastorate, even if we were job sharing. He did preach a few times a year and he taught classes. He was my constant advisor and I sought his counsel. I have no concerns about pastoring without him. I am more than capable and look forward to stepping back into the pulpit. I love Bethel church and I am grateful to be a part of the work that they are doing. My children attend excellent schools. We each have a large social circle in Columbia, beyond our church. My children do not need to be uprooted, and more importantly we simply do not want to move at this time.

I am willing to help care for my mother, but I am the only parent my children have. They must be my first priority in everything I do. My mother has five children and we will work together and share in her care. I cannot become a primary caretaker again, so soon after David's death. I've had too many years where I have not taken care of myself. I am emotionally and physically tired and need a chance to heal and recover. But it is with joy that I will work and plan with my siblings to see that our mother is happy. I will find rest and recovery and I will do whatever needs to be done.

I have always planned to return home to the mountains one day. But it will be because it is the right thing for me and my family. I always assumed I would not return until the children graduated from high school. That may change, but for now I am where I need to be and want to be. I am ready to be back home and once again try to find a new normal. I am ready for Thai food at Cooper's landing and to share a beer sampler at Flat Branch pub. If the weather is good on Sunday I may take my bike on the Katy Trail or take my dog hiking on the Wagon Wheel trail at Rock Bridge. I need to be near my places of refuge and with the people who have walked so closely with me these past five years so that I can continue to grieve the losses that have experienced and continue the healing journey.

I am taking a break from writing my father's eulogy. There is much to be said. I decided that I would go ahead and speak at my father's funeral. He wanted it, and I want to make sure that we celebrate his life appropriately. It is good to reflect upon his life from birth to the end. It takes the focus away from the last few days.

I appear a little saner today. There was the incident where I was greeting people who were bringing food while still wearing my sock monkey pajamas, but I am still on central time. I realize that once I leave the bedroom where I sleep, it is difficult to get back to shower and change clothing. Tomorrow I get ready before I start interacting with people.

Alex arrived in Asheville. Sophia and Judson know that Ashley died. We sat on the red clay over David's grave and wept for our losses.

I was late getting to the visitation because my car would not start. I am hoping it is simply the battery. I didn't have time to hook it up to jumper cables or wait on a tow truck. It is still in a parking lot south of Asheville. Alex and my nephew Kevin are going to and take care of it for me. I am so grateful. I still have the eulogy to finish and the order of service to write before the funeral tomorrow.

My nephew David has written an incredible song about my father. We will play it tomorrow as accompaniment to the slide show. It captures my father and his love for trains, motorcycles, and family.

The visitation was nice. It was scheduled for two hours, but the line went out the door and it lasted for more than three hours. It was surreal to see all these people that I knew early in my life. I left Western North Carolina when I was twenty two. While I would return to visit family I had lost touch with many people. My girlfriends from elementary and high school, Cynthia, Darinda, and Melinda came. Seeing them made me cry, but it wasn't too long before I was laughing way too loudly. I love to laugh and I laugh too loudly according to Sophia. She often tells me I have a weird laugh.

Tomorrow is a challenging day. It will soon be midnight and I still have a lot of work before the funeral service will be ready. I am going to post this without reading over it and hope that it is somewhat cohesive and helpful.

Sanity, Storms and Sandwiches

It has been such a difficult day. At this point I don't remember many easy days. My widowed aunts tell me it will get easier. One lost her husband and mother within a month of each other. I remember how my heart broke for her during that time. When she tells me it will get better I believer her.

My father was a photographer and an obsessive compulsive organizer. Photographs are indexed, filed and coordinating discs are labeled. My brother-in-law is a film producer. He has been putting together a photo video. My niece has been sorting through photographs and marking ones to be used. We've all looked over her shoulder from time to time and smiled at the memories that the photographs bring. There were some I didn't remember seeing. I flipped through the album and saw pictures my father had taken at some point during the last four years at my house. One was of David standing in the front yard holding me in his arms as though he were going to carry me over the threshold. I couldn't remember when they were taken or when David had been strong enough to lift me since we had bought the house. Yet there were the photographs challenging my memory. I could no longer breathe. I headed for the woods behind my parents house. It was where I would always go as a child when I needed to be alone.

I realize lately that I am doing things that could cause people to question my sanity. There was the singing into the phone in the motel parking lot that I wrote about yesterday. People ask me if I am okay and I look at them as though they are unstable and respond plainly and simply, "No." So much for the quick easy smile and "Fine." that I would normally give, regardless of the situation. Last night I started to take a walk through the woods. I used to do this with no problem. It was a cloudy night so there was no starlight or moonlight to guide me. The stars are usually so clear here because there is little light pollution. The paths are not as clear and it had been too long. At some point I realized how crazy it was for me to be out in the woods in the dark, so I returned to the house.

Today when I went into the woods I was frantic. I was so broken. As I walked past the pasture beside the woods the horses stood very still, the only movement was their eyes following me. I decided that I would walk to the cemetery where David is buried. I had not gone there through the woods since my parents had sold the adjoining property. I respected their decision and respected the privacy of the people who had bought the land. Today I didn't care. I dared anyone to stop me. I doubt they would have tried to stop a woman loudly sobbing who was climbing trees, barbed wire fences and cursing. My nose was running and I had no tissue. I cursed the ugly aquamarine mobile home that someone had placed too close to my parents property line. I cursed the broken down cars that someone had left in the field. No, I was not approachable.

When my parents bought that land there were old cars on it. They had them all removed and kept most of the area naturalized. My father was a lover of wildflowers of the Great Smokey's. He protected endangered species like ladyslippers, jack in the pulpit, and trillium. Yet a few years after selling the land there are old cars on it again. Why would anyone do that? We used some of the land to grow corn and tobacco, but did so respectfully. When the land was ours it was used for hiking, camping, and picnics. It was valued as an important part of our mountain heritage. So I cursed loudly to the old abandoned cars. I would follow the fence line to a place where I could cross easily. I had gotten my tetanus shot updated a few years ago when I went to work in the Dominican Republic, so I figured the worst that could happen was torn clothes or scratched skin (as a child I was always warned about rusty fences, nails and lock jaw). When I found a place in the fence that sagged I would grab a tree and lift my body over the fence. I had not realized how many times that land had been divided by fences. The oldest ones had been there when I was young, but now there were new fences. Finally I reached the end when I saw a new barbed wire fence that was also electric. Turns out I wasn't completely crazy. From the electric fence I could see the opening of the cemetery through the trees. I followed the fence, but could not find a tree I could climb to get over it. I retraced my steps to return back to my parents house. As I was returning I kept thinking I will not give in and I will not give up. I realize that all the events and stresses of the past few years have not been designed specifically for me. I happen to be in the path. Still, today I felt like Job, when his wife told him "Enough! Curse God and die!" I felt as though I were being challenged to cling to or let go of my faith. I refuse to deny the goodness and love of God. I am being carried through the storm. Yet being carried through the storm means that you are still in the storm.

A friend recently shared with me that when an eagle is in a storm it allows itself to be carried into the center of the storm and is then lifted up through the storm until it is rising up above the storm. The eagle does not escape the storm, but uses the storm to lift it higher. It does not fight the storm, but uses the storms energy and currents to rise above to a better place than beneath the storm. Today I felt as though I ran face first into the eye of the storm.

I realize I am not crazy, I am just living within a crazy context during this part of my life. I also realize that I am being lifted and carried by the love and prayers of many. There are better days ahead. There are also harder days ahead. But better or worse, I still do not walk alone.

Alex flies into Asheville tomorrow. I pray that he has an uneventful flight. He has had to deal with the death of our dog Ashley today. I am grateful for his girlfriend Lisa, who has stood by him through this difficult time. I can't tell Judson and Sophia yet, but will have to do so before we get home. I just don't know how to tell them about another death. I know that a father and grandfather are very different from a dog, but they do not remember a time when we did not have Ashley as part of our family. Lisa will care for our doves while we are gone. Laura has taken Carmen to her house.

Visitation is Thursday and the funeral is Friday afternoon. I plan to return home Saturday. I know this is quick, but I also know that my children will have missed a week a school. I want them to have one day as a buffer before they return to school on Monday. We need the feeling of comfort that the day to day routine brings. I know there are decisions to be made for my mother. I also realize there are still loose ends from David's death that I have not completed. I am the only one who can deal with the logistics of David's death. I must fill out forms, fax death certificates, and be primary caregiver for my children (although I have an amazing support system around me). I won't keep my children out of school and I can't leave them in Columbia, while I return to NC. This is a difficult reality for me. I've counseled people in the "sandwich generation" who have had to care for children and a parent at the same time. It isn't an easy place to be, especially so soon after being a caregiver to my husband.

If you see me singing in the parking lot or cursing inanimate objects please be patient with me. I'm dancing in the storm, but I know I will be lifted up to a higher saner place. I can only do crazy for a short time.

My father died this morning. I did not get to see him before he died.

I was awakened by the song, You Rise to Meet the Day this morning around 5:00. It was in my head, but I heard it as clearly as if it were playing on the radio, so I rose to meet the day, with fear and anxiety of what was ahead, but with determination and a desire to face what needed to be done. My sister called to let me know that they had maxed out Dad's medications and were no longer going to shock his heart. She said that they had all been with Daddy through the night and were gathering to sing to him. She put the phone up to his ear so I could talk to him. She said she would call when they were ready to sing. She called when I was in the motel lobby. Terry put her phone on speaker and I stepped outside and sang to my father "It is Well With My Soul, with the rest of my family. Just know, if you see someone alone singing into a cell phone, they may have a good reason. I continue to learn not to judge people without knowing their story.

A few hours later Terry called again and told me that the physician recommended that they give permission to remove Daddy from the ventilator. They were all willing to wait until I could get there to say good-bye. Part of me wanted to ask them to wait. All four of my siblings had made it to the hospital. I still had five to six more hours to drive before I could get there. I knew the right answer was to let him go. I suspect that he was already gone. His body was only continuing because of the interventions. This was not about me. This was about giving a man what he wanted for his last hours on earth. This was about my family who had been at the hospital over night and letting them have some rest and peace. I've been with other families in the ICU as they waited for a loved one to die too many times to ask my own family to stay any more. I also know that the longer it is delayed the more difficult it can become. I told them to go ahead and remove the ventilator and I would be there as soon as I could. I snapped at Sophia who was playing with an i-dog (a very obnoxious sound) and continued to drive. Later I apologized to Sophia.

Another call came later to let me know he was gone. There was a rest area in sight, so I was able to pull off of the road and we all had a good cry. I made a few phone calls and allowed the children to buy overpriced candy from the vending machines and we continued on toward Asheville.

After getting gas and going through a drive-through I received another call. Terry told me that they could not use Daddy's organs since he was a cancer survivor, but that they could use his eyes, soft tissue and bones. I gave my consent right away. When I got my drivers license my father and I talked about organ donations and what we wanted to happen to our bodies when we died. We shared a similar philosophy that the body is great while your using it, but when you're finished with it, let it do as much good as possible for others. They planned on doing this about 4 pm and it looked like my time of arrival would be about 3:30 -if traffic was good. I asked that they call me and let me know before they started the removal. I wanted to see him first if at all possible, but I didn't want my desire to interfere with his donation. I met Terry at the hospital and the chaplain took us to the morgue to see Daddy. My brother-in-law. Jack stayed with Judson and Sophia. I gave Daddy a kiss and told him I loved him and I was finished. I didn't need even a full minute with him, but those few seconds were so important to me. By the way, my father had the most beautiful brown eyes. They were so dark they were almost black. It was one of the few features I did not get from the Cassida family gene pool. As a child I wanted to have black eyes like him.

I wish I could have gotten to Asheville sooner. I realize now that I was in shock yesterday morning when Marla called me. I couldn't focus to pack. I found myself going from room to room uncertain of what I was looking for. I couldn't remember what I had packed already and what I needed to get. I finally threw a bunch of clothing in an additional bag, filled up a backpack with numerous shoes, cleared out my make up and hair care product and bagged them. I figured I could find out what matched and what was appropriate when I got to NC and buy whatever was missing. Judson and Sophia packed for themselves. We will see how that works out. I was so frustrated with myself that morning. I have two pair of eye glasses and couldn't find either pair- partly because I kept getting distracted and forgetting what I was looking for or where I had looked. I wasted time in a fog, but now I realize I didn't choose the fog. I was on overload. Years ago, David would have stepped in for me. I just had to manage as well as I could. I was aware enough to let friends make phone calls to change some appointments and talk with the children's schools and strings instructors.

I wish I could remember my last conversation with my dad. I know that the last time I called my parents he was not at home. I had planned to call back later that day. With David, I had the chance to say and do everything I wanted before he died. My father just left without warning. Both ways suck! (I don't let my kids use that word in that context, but my thesaurus doesn't offer anything more appropriate). My Dad had been wanting to come to Missouri to check on me. I had decided that the last trip was too hard for my mother and that I could visit them the last weekend in September. I was only a couple of weeks away from seeing him.

My wishes and regrets are typical. I've heard others go through the list many times. It hurts that my father has died. Yet, I am so aware of how blessed I have been to have a good father. I've always known that my father loves me and he never has hesitated to tell me how proud he is of me (and all my siblings). He used to get teary when I would play the piano at church or in school. He went to every one of my graduations and acted as if I were the only one in the class graduating. He attended musicals and shows snapping photographs of me, my siblings, and all of our friends as though they belonged to him as well.

Many decisions still need to be made. We recognize that most of these decisions belong to our mother to the extent that she wants to make them. She is exhausted and still in shock. We reassure her that she has done the right thing for Daddy from the time she called 911 to the present. We worry about her and try to figure out what she wants when she doesn't seem able to tell us. One of the symptoms of Parkinson's Disease is hypomimia, or masked face. Parkinson's can cause a person's face to become less expressive, making it difficult to discern their affect. I never realized how much my mother's expressions told me what she was thinking. Who will dress her? Who will drive her where she needs to go?

We all worry about what the future holds for her. She was so dependent on my dad. So many people depended on him. I remember reading that many caretakers are more likely to become seriously ill and die than the people for whom they care. They are too busy to notice the symptoms and signs that something isn't right. They dismiss the symptoms as part of being tired and stressed. They spend so much time getting medical care for their loved one that they put off getting their own routine physicals. I remember that I put off getting a mammogram until Sophia, who had seen way too many pink ribbons, asked me if I had taken that test. She told me she didn't want two parents dying of cancer, so I called and made the appointment. It was only a few hours out of my afternoon and I was able to tell her that her mommy had very healthy breasts. If she had not asked me it would still be on my long to do list.

We are still deciding on visitation and services. My father had wanted me to speak at his funeral and I need to decide if I can do that. I am so overwhelmed with grief. I find myself missing David more than ever. When someone hugs you there is a point where it becomes uncomfortable for one or both of you. We can lean on another person for only so long before we feel the need to stand on our own feet. I try to be aware of that and not cling to people longer than their comfort span. I miss being in someone's arms and not needing to be aware of their comfort level or my comfort level (sometimes I want to break away!) but simply be comforted. If there is someone in your life to freely hold on to and hug, do so often and long. It is a precious gift.

We have stopped somewhere in Southern Kentucky. We are a little north of Nashville Tennessee. I will leave Carol in Nashville with her brother, then finish the drive to Asheville. The trip has been good. We have listened to music to make the trip easier. Jakob Dylan, Coldplay, Bob Fitts, and The Frey have kept us going.

My father is still alive. He has coded a few more times. My oldest sister, Terry asked the nurse what her instructions were for reviving my father. At this time they have no DNR consent form on his chart. He has the paperwork at home, but of course in an emergency one doesn't think to open the safe and grab paperwork. All siblings agree that we should not go to extreme measures. My mother also agrees, but right now she is still hopeful. Tomorrow when the doctor does rounds they will let him know our wishes. I am relieved that we are united on this.

Terry called me when she was with Dad so that I could talk with him. I let him know that I love him and that I am proud to be his daughter. I told him I was on my way there, but if he needed to go before I could get there that it would be okay.

It is hard to face the probable death of my father so soon after losing David. These are the two most important men in my life.

Second Corinthians, chapter four has been going through my head encouraging me since we left Columbia. For those of you who read the Bible it is a good chapter to review. For those of you who are not biblical, but curious the following is a short excerpt:

2: Corinthians 4: 7 But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. 8 We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; 9 persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. 10 We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body. 11 For we who are alive are always being given over to death for Jesus' sake, so that his life may also be revealed in our mortal body. 12 So then, death is at work in us, but life is at work in you.

Update on My Father

My dad has just gotten out of the cath lab. He had two major arteries completely blocked. The doctor said that it looks like he has had major heart disease for years and that his heart had been doing its own bypass. They put a stint in so that heart can be working with the help of medications, but his heart has had severe trauma. He is on a ventelator and they will not be able to measure brain functioning for a few days. They don't know how long he was out before they were able to restart his heart. They have restarted it at least 3-4 times.

My father would not want to be kept alive unless he would be able to return to a functioning life. I don't want to loose him, but he had made it very clear that he didn't ever want extreme measures to keep him alive. We already have so many elderly people in our family with various forms of dementia from injuries and illnesses. My father survived lung cancer and a couple of major strokes. He has been living with an aortic aneurysm for years, which he assumed would give him a quick easy death one day.

I will continue to keep friends updated through blogging. It is easier than mass e-mailing and cheaper and quicker than multiple phone calls. My phone bill after David died was mind boggling. We never use all of our minutes, but went way beyond during his last weeks and after his death. That means that for now I am not going to answer most calls. Feel free to leave a message telling me that you care. If you need me to call back, then let me know and I will. Several have asked me to call them while I am on the road to let them know I am okay. For now I will just check in with my siblings. I love and need my friends, but I am going to have to focus on family right now. I promise you can all nurture me, take me out for coffee or whatever when I return! I will need you then too.

I will probably break up the trip into two days since I am getting a late start. I will try to find wireless access and give an update tonight.

Thank you for all the e-mails and phone calls. I know without a doubt that I am loved.

Another Crises

I have just learned that my father has had a major heart attack. My sister Marla said that the fire department called her and told her to go to the hospital and that it does not look good. I have called my other sisters and brother, as well as my church and some friends for prayer support. Judson, Sophia, and I are going to pack and drive to Asheville, North Carolina today. My friend Carol told me yesterday that she wanted to go to Tennessee to see her father this week for his birthday. She will ride with me and stay with her family.

My father is an amazing man who has been caring for his mother and my mother for several years. He helps my mother, who has parkinson's disease, get dressed and through the day. He spends half his week at a nursing home caring for his mother. He helps her get dressed, combs her hair and gently put her lipstick on her. He feeds her and when she is finished he helps feed other residents in the feeding room. Sometimes she is aware that he is doing all of this, sometimes she isn't. It doesn't matter. He knows she would want lipstick, so he does it. What is overlooked with most caretakers is that he also continues in the day to day responsibilities of maintaining the home.

I ask for prayers for all of us.

Random Ramblings

I have developed the bad habit of having my laptop in bed. I know it is poor sleep hygiene, but I started years ago when David began spending more time in bed. He wanted me beside him. I could do my work and be near him. It is a change I need to make before I officially go back to work. I often realize that it is past 2am before I stop.

Beside me sleeps a child who was inconsolable earlier tonight. This is truly the most difficult part of David's death. I would gladly carry the emptiness and loneliness that his death has brought to me, if I could just comfort my children. They do okay, but okay means that they cry. I know that I don't need to fix them. Crying is normal and healthy in their situation, but oh, how it pulls at my heart. It reminds me of when they were infants. Their cries would cause my body and heart to ache until I could attend to them. I had to fight hormones at times to give David space to be father. He also needed to comfort them. Now I hold them, if they let me, when they cry. But like me, sometimes they need to be alone in their rooms with their tears. I try to discern when they need their space and when they need their mom.

I enjoyed worship this morning at Broadway Christian Church with my friend Mary. Again I am reminded that corporate worship isn't just about me and God, but participating in a community of believers where we share one heart. I can do this with other believers whom I do not know, but I do experience a better sense of community when I am with someone I know. There are many ways that I worship throughout the week. Singing, prayer, piano, walking the dog, hiking and meal times are all forms of worship in my life. Still, scripture teaches that we should not neglect gathering together to encourage one another (Hebrews 10:23-25). I was encouraged today and in spite of all that has happened recognize that I am blessed.

I have only two more Sundays before I am back in the pulpit. Mary asked me about the plans I had made for emotional support on that Sunday. I have not thought much about it. I have been reading the texts for that Sunday and toying with some sermon ideas, but I haven't thought much about what it will be like to be back for the first time without David. It is definitely something to start preparing.

Judson and Sophia went with me to my book club today. We discussed The Shack, by William Young. It isn't a book for children, but at this time in their lives David and I thought that it had something to offer them. They began reading it about a week before David died. They were glad to go and be a part of the discussion. Thank you, Brian for sending the book to David. We have all found it very comforting.

After book club we visited the home of our friends Ben and Carol. They have recently returned from Hawaii where they taught nutrition to people who will work in third world countries on the mission field. We enjoyed looking at pictures and hearing stories about their work. Sophia and Judson were so excited to get to see our friends, yet we were all aware of David not being there. I imagine that may have been part of what led to the tears.

The evening was spent preparing for the week and washing dogs. I took Carmen on a run before bathing her. The evening air was perfect. It is the first time I've run in months and it felt wonderful. I will have to build up my endurance again, but it is a start.

It isn't even midnight yet, but I am bringing this to an end. It is harder to write with someone beside me, even when they are sleeping.

Music to Remember

Sophia has been wearing one of her daddy's ties this evening. When I sent her to bed she gave it to me and asked if it smelled like Daddy. I buried my face in it and found a comforting scent, not that of David, but of my sweet daughter. She told me it made her feel happy to wear it and suggested that I wear it. It has been a teary day for me-not the sobbing type, but where they come easily and quietly. I'm sure she wants to help me feel better. So, I am wearing a tie with my nightshirt as I write this.

I recently wrote how a scent can bring a vivid memory to the surface of our minds. I had several people share with me examples in their lives, but even more who have told me about songs that revive memories. I've learned that Smoke on the Water, or anything by Heart, but especially Barracuda, brings me to the mind of some friends from elementary and high school. David used to tell me, "If I knew you when we were in high school you would have scared me." I would remind him that when I was in high school he was in college and probably would have been glad to meet someone like me.

My sister and I talked about the power of songs. My nephew recently recorded My Cup Runneth Over With Love, after hearing my sister play it on the piano. She e-mailed me the recording. What an amazing song of gratitude and love and what a talented guy! If I can figure out how to post from my ITunes account and get David's permission (my nephew, not husband!) I will post it for you. Another friend sent Dar William's You Rise and Meet the Day. "And they will know the true and humble power Of love that made it through the darkest hour"-is one of the many great lines.

There are several songs that bring David to my mind. I've been working on a list, which the kids have enjoyed reading. Of course, Servant Song is at the top of the list. Here are some others:

It is Well with My Soul: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/It_Is_Well_With_My_Soul A hymn I had heard all of my life, but one Sunday as we were singing I really heard it. Phrases like “Lord haste the day when my faith shall be sight” and "That Christ has regarded my helpless estate," carried meaning that had gone unnoticed before. David and I were doing pulpit supply (substitute preaching) at a small Presbyterian church in Southern Indiana. We had driven up from Louisville KY to what seemed the middle of nowhere. Yet there was this stone church, surrounded by pasture land with a beauty that makes you wish you had a camera in the car. The sanctuary was as majestic as the exterior architecture, holding a sense of holiness and worship. At that time we were dating. I was unsure about risking a second marriage. As we sang this hymn our eyes met and there was this intense connection where we both knew no matter what came in our lives, “even so, it is well with my soul.” What a powerful experience to realize that the faith that you carry is shared with and understood by another person. The years that were ahead of us were mystery and possibility. We didn’t know to fear a vicious cancer that would feed upon our lives, devouring, until it ripped us apart from one another, testing the words we sang. Yet it has continued to be true. Even now, it is well with my soul.

This Guy's In Love With You http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oqmhXmTsCPw
Close to You http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QUDshT19j8Q
The Look of Love http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7yP4c0tKFOo
At unexpected times David would hold my face in his hands or wrap his arms around me and sing to me- like when walking through the mall or in the car at a traffic light. He usually picked love songs from the 60's and 70's-- Burt Bacharach songs were a popular choice. I realize that sounds a little silly, maybe even insane or scary to many people, but I loved it. I had grown up on Lawrence Welk and Broadway musicals. As a girl when I thought about dating I imagined wearing beautiful dresses, dancing, and singing love songs. Pizza Hut (the restaurant in my home town when I was a teen) and a movie were a great disappointment! With a few lines from a love song David could make me feel beautiful and loved.

Bad Boys by Inner Circle http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rugUc3tgjYg
...But not like you think. I was studying at David’s apartment one day and he had the television on WHILE WE WERE STUDYING!! I don’t remember the show that David was watching, but it was followed by Cops with the opening song, Bad Boys. David would sing it in a rich operatic voice, with a slower tempo enunciating the words in a way that would have impressed his college voice instructor. I laughed until tears rolled down my face. This meant he continued to perform this one for many more years and many more laughs.

You are My Sunshine and Mr. Moon.
David sang these songs over and over to Judson and Sophia from the day they were born.

Death Cab for Cutie, Plans
I Will Follow You Into the Dark http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z6rhQS0qCGs
What Sarah said, by Death Cab for Cutie http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F5W3RhkI2SU

These two songs seemed to capture an aspect of the life that we were living that isn’t usually captured in song. The CD was released in 2005 and is probably still the one I most often play when driving.

A Matter of Perspective

It's time for a perspective adjustment. In my early twenties I played piano for worship at a brain and spinal cord injury rehab center. Once a month my church would gather with the rehab patients and turn our hearts and minds toward worship. It was my monthly dose of perspective. We offered a time when people could share their joys and concerns for prayer. There always seemed to be more joy. Someone would overjoyed to demonstrate how they could hold their arm up a couple of inches higher than the week before. There would be no mention that they could not stand, move their other arm, or any of the other valid complaints.

I have not made a top ten list of things that bless, please, soothe, or thrill me to counteract my pissed off list. It was a good exercise of self-expression. I usually live in gratitude and have been doing it long before Oprah made it popular. More than once David would call me Pollyanna. I would make a happy little comment and he would reply "Ooh! Let's play the glad game!" Here lies the struggle that David and I often lived as pastors and as humans. How do you keep it real and honest and live a life of genuine joy and gratitude? As Christians, how do we live as if knowing Jesus makes a real difference in our lives? How do we live in unity with the impoverished, broken and mistreated and be honest with our songs of praise? How do I fully experience the grief of losing a husband and friend while feeling the freedom and opportunities that are now mine?

Part of our problem is that we have developed a dualistic mindset. We do not give ourselves or others the opportunity of complexity. We insist on either/or. You are either a liberal, or you are a conservative. You are either happy, or you are sad. You like either Coke or you like Pepsi. Yet I am liberal on some issues and conservative on others (really!). I often feel happy and sad at the same time. I don't usually drink soda, I am an ice tea fan.

Not only do we limit ourselves, but we limit others. If we know where a person stands on a particular issue, then we make assumptions about where their allegiances would fall on other unrelated issues. It seems easier to box people into categories. Unfortunately those boxes are not usually large enough.

So I have had a couple of sad days. Those emotions cannot define me as a whole person. Today has been a better day. Partly, because I got out of the house early in the morning to take care of errands. But also in part because I chose to focus on some of the positive aspects of my life. I can only live in a dark place for so long before I start seeking the light. I try to give myself opportunity to feel a variety of emotions. I don't want to be known as the sad person, the angry person, or even the happy person. I want to be seen as a genuine person, living in reality while embracing hope.

Top 10 Things that Just Piss Me Off!!

*My kids have to deal with all of this.

*People who seem to think they know me better than I know myself.

*That most of what I find on widowhood is written for older people.

*The little bit of information that I have found for younger widows hasn't been helpful.

*I can't get my wedding ring off. I've gained about 40 pounds in the past five years. Most of it appears to reside in my fingers.

*I continue to have word confusion- like telling Judson he needs to move the clothes to the microwave instead of the dryer. I don't realize it until the kids laugh, so I wonder how often I just don't catch the mistakes?

*That my Outlook e-mail program just shuts off without warning and I am going to have to figure out why. David would have relished fixing it. I just want it to work.

*That I have been spending so much time in front of my computer screen typing that my eyes hurt, so I type with them shut, because I need to write.

*That I have become so self-centered in working through this process that I don’t realize that typing with my eyes shut is no big deal. Thus I fear I am becoming whiny.

*Whiny people.

*That I keep thinking I need to change the word piss in the title because it might piss someone off.

*That I feel the need to change the number ten since I've gone way beyond ten at this point.

*That I feel the need to say or do so many things because it will make other people more comfortable.

*When I reread posts from the past month and I see all the mistakes I've made. I do know the difference between breath and breathe, but twice I have used the wrong word.

*Is it funny or just poor taste...The national Funeral Director's Association's national convention is coming up in October. Their logo for the event is a ticket imprinted "Ticket to Paradise"

* I can't get the song, Two Tickets to Paradise out of my head. Paradise by the Dashboard Light would be better, but as soon as I start typing the song in my head changes back.

*That I am going to probably make a list of Things that make me happy or Things for which I'm thankful tomorrow, so that people won't think I'm becoming bitter.

Confessions of a Rebellious Pastor

I have been on an emotion overload today. This means I've not answered my phone and have avoided interaction with people as much as possible. My lab, Carmen has looked at me with her big brown eyes as if to say, "So it is going to be one of those days...that's okay we'll walk tomorrow." Normally she jumps up and runs to the door when I grab my keys in hopes of hearing, "Load up!" Today she knew we were not going anywhere. I went back to bed, wrote and slept. Carmen seems capable of moving in and out of frantic activity and major depression. The weather helps. She loves to get in the creeks when we go for walks, but she hates the rain, so today it was a good day to stay home.

Fortunately being a good mom is more important than wallowing in self pity. I may have shown up at parent pick up in sloppy jeans and wild hair, but I showed up on time and with a smile. I made pleasant polite conversation with other parents and choked back the sarcasm that comes so easily to me. I realize that not everyone appreciates my sense of humor. The darker my mood the darker the humor. Today is piano lessons day, so instead of going home after school we went for ice cream and grabbed a couple of gallons of paint before lessons. Perhaps if I have paint in the house I won't go back to bed tomorrow.

Today I wanted to park in front of Gentry Middle School, get my kid, then zoom past the parents who were patiently and properly waiting in the pick up line. I am usually a good citizen in the line. I've seen those few who cut through or don't follow the rules. I've also seen that there are usually no consequences other than they got their kid and on with their lives. I would never break the rules. The system is actually equitable and fair. But today I was feeling like being bad and rebellious. Instead, I parked at Bethel park and walked over to get Judson. This is a perfectly acceptable way of obtaining a child from Gentry. Still, it felt good to walk past the cars lined up on the circle. As Judson and I walked away I refrained from giving the finger and yelling, "Suckers!" After all, I was just trading out the line in front of the school for the line in Bethel Park's parking lot.

I am a rule follower. I am glad to challenge authority and be a part of changing the rules, but I go through the appropriate channels. Until the change has been made, I respect the rules. Still, I have a broad streak of rebellion in me, that I am often trying to keep under wraps. I can usually find healthy, even worthy ways to allow this streak to play out in my life. Still, I don't like being told how to live life. This is part of the essence of who I am. My mother says that I have always wanted to do things my own way and that my first words were "I can do it by myself."

David wanted to name Sophia "Miriam." While it is a lovely Hebrew name- it means rebellion- I was certain I would never name a daughter of mine rebellion! I preferred the lovely name, Sophia a graceful Greek name, meaning wisdom. That is a name for a girl to grow into! The birth certificate was delayed a day. David also liked the name Sophia, so we decided that would be the first name. At some point I realized that if rebellion is paired with wisdom, then that is powerful. Great things have happened when people have rebelled with wisdom. So our daughter is rebellious wisdom and is growing quite nicely into that vast name and the possibilities it implies. I try to embrace rebellion with wisdom. I usually feel most rebellious when I have a sense that thing are just not right (you know, like my husband being dead). I'm feel driven to do things differently and bring change. While I can't change his death, nor would I even want to consider the realistic consequences of that venture, I can change some aspects of how life plays out following the death.

I know I have rebelled against the known stereotypical ways of grieving and tried to find my own path. I try to do it with as much wisdom as I can muster. I know that as a pastor I am watched to see how I will respond. David and I were aware that we were not just a family dealing with cancer, but spiritual leaders dealing with cancer. That comes with a great sense of responsibility. We decided living transparently was best. I try to continue that as I learn to grieve.

While as humans there are commonalities in the way we do anything, including grieving, there are also differences. We can't go through a checklist and be done. The Kubler-Ross Stages of Grief, while helpful isn't Laws of Grief. More than once I have counseled with a grieving person who is upset because they aren't getting it done in the correct order or at all. Some have been concerned that maybe they are stuck at a stage because they had read something that gave them the correct time frame to move through the stages. Most professionals no longer use the stages other than a guideline. We may go through some of them and not others. We may move in and out of different aspects of grief.

Unless grief responses are putting someone in danger (not eating, suicide risk, substance abuse etc.), or are keeping one from functioning in their daily life (not bathing, not caring for children, not getting out of bed at all) then perhaps a person is where they need to be at that time.

One month

Strange day. I woke up very aware that this is the one month anniversary of David's death. I had every intention of going to my lectionary group this morning. (For those of you who do not speak churchese: The lectionary is a book or listing that contains a collection of scripture readings appointed for Christian worship on a given day or occasion. Within my tradition it cycles through three years. It includes a reading from the Hebrew Scriptures, a Psalm, an Epistle reading and a Gospel reading.) I am a part of a group of ministers that meet weekly for prayer and to discuss the texts for sermons. We share ideas, learn from one another and challenge each other. We are from different denominations, and backgrounds so we get to see the texts through fresh eyes. I love this group; the academic discussions, the incredible prayer time, but most of all I love the people. I was focused on writing this morning (I write things other than this blog) and got a late start, then decided not to go. I know my time to return to the pulpit is not far away and I need to start thinking about the upcoming months. I also knew I was going to visit David's primary medical team at Ellis. I think the two together would have probably been too much. Both groups have very special people, who have loved and cared for David and myself. David had attended the lectionary group with me a few times. I will never forget telling them that last treatment had failed and how they literally gathered round us and prayed powerful prayers, each one different and touching. Funny how I can take all the pain and difficulty a day can bring, but I feel the need to portion the compassion and care people offer. I am much better in the giving role than the receiving role. What a shame. Maybe one day I will learn how to simply take in and feel the love the world has to offer. Maybe one day I will let myself go to two places in one day where people are going to be caring.

I had touched base with David's nurse Mary a few days ago to find a good time to drop in, leave a card, have some quick hello's and hugs then leave. I agreed to call today, when I would be on that side of town and we would find a time. I knew going back would be hard, but also important. I know many people would not want to return to their husband's treatment center, but we had shared so much of our lives with these people. Over the years David and I grew to love and care for them, as they loved and cared for us. They had celebrated the successes with us and grieved the failures. It takes very a special person to be able to tell you that life is ending; to do so with mixture of compassion, and straightforward honesty is a true gift.

When I got to the hospital Mary was in the lobby waiting for me. She knew I wasn't ready to see everyone. For today it was just the primary palliative care team we have been with for the past several years. She kept her arm around me as we went upstairs. I have leaned on this woman literally and figuratively for several years. She has been the person that I called anytime I had questions. Tammy, another nurse and Clay, David's physician met me with smiles and hugs. I stayed longer than I had planned and secured church services to attend for two of the next three Sundays. Going back was easier than I had anticipated. You see, I don't have true bad memories of Ellis. Yes, it was the stage for some very difficult parts of our lives, but we always had wonderful people surrounding us in the face of difficulty. We always knew that they were not creating our situation, but informing us of where David was in his battle and fighting beside us. While I hadn't really planned on returning on the first month anniversary, it seemed like the right thing to do once I was there.

Yet when I left something just didn't feel right. I finished my errands and felt lost. I walked through a store, but felt empty. I didn't know where to go or what to do. I drove around aimlessly for a while. I thought about getting food, but wasn't hungry. I thought about grabbing my hiking boots from the back of the van and hitting a trail, but that wasn't right either. I felt full of so many varying emotions. There was so much raw feeling, that I couldn't really find words to describe how I felt, other than simply emotional. As I reviewed the day I realized it was that David should have been with me. Except for a couple of mammograms and picking up prescriptions I never went to Ellis without him. I've not been with that group of people without David. In many ways, in spite of the grief and loneliness, I am in a better place than I had been. I wanted Tammy, Clay, and Mary to know that while it is difficult I am okay. They know better than most people all that David and I had been through. Life is easier now and better in many ways. But damn it, David should have been there with me! It should be better with him and for him! Now please, please, do not see this as your cue to tell me that it is better for David. He isn't in pain, he is finally cancer free, he is with Jesus etc. You and I both know that is not what I mean. Do not try to preach to the preacher. That usually only makes the one consoling feel better and the one who is grieving shut up. So listen to the hard stuff. I am not talking about an "eternal peace, heavenly, face to face with Jesus kind of better." I am talking about a "selfish, earthly centered, I want my husband and family restored to me, this isn't fun and I refuse to play this game any more" type of better. Seriously, I've been a pretty good sport about all of this the past few years. It seems unfair that in spite of my good attitude, it ends with me as a widow. I don't want David to rest in peace. I want him to rip up carpet with me while talking about the upcoming election, how the kids are doing in school, and what we are going to do at church during the advent season. I have acknowledged his peaceful death and how glad I am that the suffering is over. But this is the other reality you must know and it must be acknowledged too.

Once I came to terms with emotions of the day I returned home and continued to write until time to pick the kids up from school. Today was Judson's audition for honors orchestra. He felt good about the audition and we should soon learn if he made it.

Since I did something from my old routine today, it only seemed fitting to add something that I didn't do when David was alive. My friend Karen gathers a group of people each month at Kayotea's for a reading from a writer and open mike poetry (second Wednesday of each month at 6pm). I've never gone, because I've always had church responsibilities on Wednesday evenings. Tonight I went. I almost took some of my poetry, but decided it was too personal to read in front of strangers. Yes, I realize that I am sharing very personal stuff in this blog with anyone who wants to read it. I've intentionally left it open so that anyone can read it. Still, the other things that I've written are too intimate to share with just anyone. Debra Brenegan, the featured writer read prose and I found myself wishing that I had printed some of my poems and brought them. Afterward I got to catch up with Karen and her son Eze. They recently moved out of our neighborhood, so Eze is at a different school from Judson.

The kid's made it through the milestone day. Judson and Alex were aware of the one month marker. Sophia hadn't really connected it. Alex came over and helped with some yardwork, then hung out with the kids, while I left for Kyotea's. I returned home to find dirty dishes, the television on, and some unfinished homework- so everything was normal! Sophia participates in a gifted and talented program on Wednesdays (EEE). That means she has to do the school work that her other classmates are doing while she is away at home. She loves her EEE classes and has a tendency to do that homework on Wednesdays right after it is assigned, even though she has a week before it is due. That leaves her with little time to finish what is due the next day. Time management and organizational skills are definitely on our to do list for this school year.