Today is my mom and dad's 50th wedding anniversary. I really wanted to do something special to commemorate the day. But, things didn't turn out as I had planned. I submitted their anniversary information and wedding photo to the Kenosha News so that they could be included in the Sunday write up. But, because I mentioned that Mom had passed away, the Kenosha News called me and told me that they couldn't run it. That hurt more than I imagined.

Wesley Methodist Church is going to include a simple write up in the service program tomorrow. And, I am bringing flowers for the alter to commemorate the day. I am sure that will be lovely.

I am also going to give my dad Mom's journal entry from October 26, 2012 — their 49th Wedding Anniversary. I hope it will warm his heart to hear how much mom loves him.

Below is a picture of my mom and dad on their wedding day. I don't know what I did to deserve such wonderful parents. I love them with all my heart.

Happy 50th Anniversary, Mom and Dad. I celebrate you today and every day.

Have you ever done something that you thought was a good idea at the time, only to find out later -- well, perhaps it wasn't? I suppose everyone has. I'd like to share a recent experience of mine.

As many of you know, my mom kept journals. These, of course, are sacred treasures to me. Although, I am not devouring them at the rate that I thought I would. It is simply more painful than I thought it would be right now. Anyway, I did read my mom's last journal -- the one that started in December of 2012 (right before she learned of the cancer) and ended only weeks before she passed.

I decided that I was going to read this journal backwards. I figured that it would be too difficult for me to relive the last year of mom's life in linear fashion, with the cancer progressing. I thought it would be easier and more comforting to me to make the trip backwards -- starting with the cancer at its worse and ending with her being cancer free (or at least unaware of its presence). I was wrong. It turns out, mom seemed more at peace in the final months of her life, even as she knew her death was approaching.

I would like to share with you one of her entries. She wrote this less than two weeks after we learned the cancer had metastasized to her brain. At this time, her mobility was very limited. She needed a walker to go even short distances. But, she was determined to get her exercise in! (I know that she wouldn't mind me sharing this, as she had also written in her journal that she wants to continue talking to everyone, even after she dies.)

Saturday, October 13, 2012

Everyday is a gift. Some gifts are "better" than others. Today came with a gray wrapper - RAIN and CLOUDS. If I had judged gifts from my mom by the wrapper, I would never have opened them. She put things in brown paper bags and stapled them shut. Christmas, too! Inside were always beautiful, hand-made things. LESSON: Open the gray day and see what's inside. As soon as I finish my tuna-on-toast breakfast, I'm going for walks in the hall.

Mom,

I will not be participating in the Relay for Life this year. There is a part of me that wants to apologize for this. But, if you could call me on the phone, I know what you would tell me.

You would say,

"Kerry, you can do the Relay for Life another year. Right now, you just need to take care of yourself. Please, you have been through so much in the last couple years. Just get a good night rest, pack your things tomorrow, and get ready for going to the cabin. Go and have a fun. And, when you walk down Camp Highland Road, think of me. I will be with you."

There may not be a luminary with your name on in at the Relay for Life this year, Mom. But, a light like yours will never burn out. I carry it with me, always.

Kerry

 

Before Conrad started Kindergarten, I worked at home every Thursday and Friday. It was a very special time for me. Not only was I able to enjoy my career, but I could be with my little guy at the same time. Every Friday evening, after my "grueling day at the office" my mom would stop by to pick us up. We would go out to eat somewhere simple, like Arby's. Then, SHOPPING!!!
  
This summer my employer has been very generous, allowing me to work at home on Fridays. It is a joy to work in my home office and hear Conrad's playful chattering in the background. My dogs lazing at my feet. My cats nosing around, too. Then, I hear the side door rattle and eventually open. (It has a tendency to stick.) The dogs bark. And, for a few seconds my mom is there.

Her shoes clunk against the wood floor. There is breathful exasperation. (She always hated how that door sticks.) Then she sings-songs her "hellloooo!" It is my mom. She has come home! She is standing in the doorway -- "Puppers" and "Mogli" running to greet her. She never sits. She just stands there patiently waiting -- cooing to the dogs. Examining the latest and greatest contraption that Conrad presents her with.

And then, as quickly as she came, she is gone. And I sit and I cry -- longing for what will never be again.

People tell me memories are wonderful. They say they will bring me peace and happiness. 

But, right now, I don't feel it. I only feel the loneliness of an empty doorway.

No one ever told me grief would be like this.

No one ever told me that...

The first thought I would have upon waking is, "My mom is not here."

The last thought I would have before sleeping is, "My mom is not here."

I would see the sun, but not feel it.

I would hear the laughter, but not embrace it.

The sound of your voice is what I would miss most.

The silence would sting so badly.

Nothing would matter.

Life would lose its purpose.

Time would not heal the pain.

The things I once loved would no longer be mine.

I would die too.

Dear Mom,

You are more than my mom. You are my best friend.

You are more than my best friend. You are my mom.

Not even death can take that away.

Love,

Kerry

As I signed on today, I was surprised to see that many people are still reading this blog. Of course, I have not been posting very regularly. But, that is not because my mom has escaped my mind or my heart. This grief is suffocating at times. And, it is a huge energy zapper. This week has been slightly better. And, it is my hope to start writing again, more regularly. I have some very important things to share. Today, is just a simple letter to my mom.

Dear Mom,

Yesterday I was thinking about all of our triumphs during our year with cancer. At first I was very sad, thinking that somehow your death erased our triumphant moments. But, then I realized that is impossible.

Nothing can take away your phone call, telling me that your esophagus was back to its normal size. Did you know that after that phone call, I ran out to the warehouse (I was at work) and gave Charlie the biggest hug ever? I also went out back, behind the warehouse and yelled and screamed for joy! There was no hiding my elation.

Or how about the time in October, a couple weeks after we learned of the mets to the brain, you and I went to the zoo and then to a check-up with Dr. Ritch? We saw the doctor in the hall who told us that you only had months to live. I looked him square in the eye and said, "Look at my mom! Look at how wonderful she is doing!!" Then we rode all the way to Barnes and Noble with the sun roof open.

One of my favorite triumphant moments was the time you drove yourself to church. It was late fall and you were tired of waiting for Dad. So, you hopped in the car and drove yourself to church. I was waiting in the parking lot for Dad to drop you off. And, you pulled up, driving yourself! I jumped up and down in the parking lot, pumping my fists in the air. You were wearing a bright pink scarf.

Then there was the time that you butt-bumped yourself all the way down the stairs to your basement. You were having difficulty walking and stairs were especially hard. But, you were insistent on getting downstairs to go through some of your things with Craig. I can remember Conrad standing at the bottom of the stairs cheering, "Go Mimi, Go! Go Mimi, Go!" You have the greatest fan club in the world.

Right before Christmas, we had a very important appointment with your doctors to see how the cancer was responding to the treatments. You were very afraid that day, thinking that we would receive bad news. But, I will never forget the look on your face when all of your doctors told you that the news couldn't be better. Many of the tumors were no longer visible. The other had shrunk significantly. You were so surprised. Your eyebrows were raised, and mouth open in a smile of astonishment. You, Dad and I went for lunch at Oscars after that appointment. Christmas music never sounded more wonderful.

Love,

kerry

A little bird came into my life today.

I think she was hit by a car. When I saw her, she was fluttering in the road.

I stopped, put her in a fuzzy towel, and stroked her head gently.

"It is okay." I told her. "I will hold you and keep you safe. Then you will go home to God."

When I held her, she didn't fight. She wasn't scared. She just looked at me with calm and peace in her one brown eye.

She passed away soon after. I laid her to rest in the tall grass.

In our short life together, she had given me the best gift of all. The chance to love her with all that I have.

Rest in peace, little bird. I won't forget you.

A Daughter's Envy

Envy is a healthy emotion that inspires us to reach for our grandest desires.

So, what do I do with this envy I feel toward others who have their mothers this Mother's Day?

As hard as I try, I cannot reach my mother. She is no longer here.
 
But someday, Mom, I will reach for you again as you hold your hand out to me from heaven.

And, I will never let go.

Someone said something offensive today that made me want to respond with a phrase my mom would use. Remembering her words made me smile.

"It is better to remain silent at the risk of being thought a fool, than to open your mouth and remove all doubt."

I think Abraham Lincoln first said this. Thanks, Abe. And, thanks Mom.

Mom was with me again tonight!

This evening as I was playing the piano, I was wondering when Mom might "speak" to me again. It has been a couple of weeks since I noticed a confirmation that she is nearby.

After playing a few songs, I went upstairs to start getting the room ready for bed. One of Mom's journals was sitting on my dresser, so I thought I would try to read a few entries. The journal reading has been very emotionally difficult for me. But, tonight was different. I laughed so hard at some of the things that she wrote that I cried! The words were so much my mom! Below is part of her entry on October 15, 2012.

"Something Kevin just said as we are talking at the table. It's 'negative' but I'm going to laugh about it all day because it is one of those really true observations. The 'light at the end of the tunnel' is a freight train. (Here she drew a smiley face.) See how a 'negative' can make you laugh? Because we all have survived and will survive FREIGHT TRAINS."

As I was reading this, and laughing my butt off I noticed a noise outside of my window. Guess what it was? A TRAIN! It was thunderously loud and the horn was blaring. We live a good mile or more away from the nearest tracks, and it isn't often that we hear trains. Occasionally, I hear them on a walk, but rarely do I notice them when I am in the house.

Then, to squelch any bit of doubt in my mind of the miracle I was experiencing, I continued to read the journal entry of that day. Mom was talking about miracles and wrote about running into Michou Hujik in the bathroom at Froedtert that day. She was excited about the "miracle" and went on to say this:

"O.K. So chance encounters in bathrooms are not miracles? Yes, they are when they brighten our days!"

Well, guess what -- reading my mom's journal entry about freight trains and hearing one outside my window brightened my week! So, I am just going to have to take this as a miracle. Thank you, Mom!

Today, on my mom's 71st birthday, I have decided to give myself the gift of "being". I will not succumb to mine or others' preconceived ideas of how I should feel or what I should do on this day. Instead, I will allow myself to experience each thought and feeling as it occurs without judgement—let each pass through me like a cleansing spring shower.

So far:

I felt the emptiness of waking up again in a world without my mom.
 
As I got out of the shower, I noticed how much my legs resemble my mom's legs—bringing me a sense of wonder and comfort.

Putting on my eyeshadow, I felt extreme compassion and love for the person in the mirror. I wanted to reach out, run my hand down her cheek, and hold her.

I enjoyed being outside in the driveway, in the cool, moist spring air—if only for a moment.

And, as always, the first iced tea of the day is delicious.

My mom's cousin Mark sent me this video snippet from their most recent high school reunion. I cannot tell you the joy that this video has brought to my day! She is simply the most beautiful, happy soul. Thank you so very much, Mark!

Today, as I sit at home, especially sad -- even with the warm sunshine beaming in the window (or maybe because of it) -- I search  others' blogs for some comfort in my grief. Not finding anything but more pain, I decide, "What the hell. Why not write some words of comfort myself?"

In my last post, I wrote about unwrapping the miracles of the grey day. And you know what? We received a wonderful, absolutely beautiful miracle that day! My daughter Alicia was offered a part in an upcoming musical at the Racine Theater Guild -- "A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum".

As most of you know, Alicia was especially close to my mom. My mom was more than a grandmother to Alicia. Mimi was Alicia's best friend in the whole world, in every way. Naturally, Mom's passing has been very difficult for Alicia. I have been praying that Alicia receive something to help her find her way.

Thursday afternoon, the director from a show that Alicia was in last fall, called her. He wanted to know why Alicia didn't audition for his upcoming show. Alicia told him, "Because it is a musical, and I don't sing."

His response? "You do now!" 

Alicia was given a part on the spot. She starts practice tomorrow. I cannot tell you what an amazing gift this is! Alicia is never, NEVER, happier than when she is involved in a play. It is like all of the hurt and confusion of life falls away and exposes Alicia in her purest form. Simply magnificent.

My mom loved nothing more than watching Alicia perform. While part of me is sad that my mom won't be here for this show, a bigger part of me is certain that she will be.

Made it though the one-month anniversary and feeling stronger for that today!

I needed to remind myself to get my butt out of bed this morning and unwrap the miracles of the day. So far, the only thing I have found is another grey, rainy day. But, like Mom always said, the best presents come wrapped in brown paper bags.

Today is the one month anniversary of my mother's death.

It has been the worst month of my life.

If I live to be my mom's age at passing, I have to live another 360 months without her.

Today, this thought is unbearable.

They tell me it will get better with time.

But, for now, all I can see is a vast stretch of loneliness and grief.

I miss you, Mom.

Like many mothers and daughters, my mom and I spent lots of time together shopping. We particularly enjoyed bargain shopping for odds and ends that we really didn't need. I cannot tell you how many times I put some little treasure in my basket, only to hear my mom say, "Don't buy that, Kerry. I have one at home that you can have." And, not only did she have one. She would often have something even better. And, she always knew exactly where it was!

Last fall when my mom's health had declined to the point that a shopping excursion was no longer an option, I was picking up some groceries at Trader Joe's. I saw a young woman and her mother shopping, as if they had all the time in the world to be together. Tears filled my eyes. There is nothing that I wouldn't have given at that moment to have my mom by my side, healthy, happy, and completely carefree.

A couple of weeks after my mom died, I was at the Dollar Store with my friends Jen and Susan. My friends wanted to get some cheap dog toys for their pups to destroy. Although shopping  was the farthest thing from my mind, it occurred to me that I should see if the store had any multiplication flash cards. My son Conrad is in the third grade and currently learning his multiplication facts.

As luck would have it, the store had tons of addition, subtraction, and division flash cards. Heck, they even had flash cards for little kids learning their shapes and colors. But, not a single pack of multiplication cards! Jen and I searched the shelves and dug through the boxes, and still came up empty handed. I was a little disappointed and thought it a little strange, but decided that I would check another Dollar Store later.

When I left the Dollar Store, I went over to my parent's house. I was going to visit my dad and work on putting away some things from the funeral. When I walked in the front door, my dad, who has been busying himself by cleaning things out,  proudly announced, "I cleaned out another drawer! Got rid of just about everything in it. But, I saved one thing. Here..." he said as he handed me a Multiplication Fast Facts Wheel. "I thought Conrad could use this."

Some may call this situation a coincidence. But, I am absolutely convinced that my mom was communicating with me. Now, whenever I see a mother and daughter enjoying the day together, and I feel the familiar surge of sadness swell up inside me, I remind myself what my mother told me that day. She was not trying to save me a dollar. Instead, she was telling me that she will always be with me.

A few people have asked me to share the words that I spoke at my mom's funeral service on this blog. I hope that her inspiring spirit helps you find peace, comfort and courage.

When I started writing this piece, I wasn’t sure what I was going to say. I wanted to pay tribute to my mom’s life while at the same time offer some comfort to all of you. Rather than attempt to reflect on Marguerite Conrad in her entirety, only to fall miserably short, I decided to try and capture a fraction of her essence in a single snapshot of our time together. This is only part of the story. Some may call it the end. But, I know that it is really the beginning.

A few years ago on Mother’s Day, before “cancer” had entered our lives, I gave my mom this small, handwritten journal titled “Things My Mom Taught Me.” I wanted her to know the many ways, big and small, her love had shaped my life.

Here are a few excerpts from that journal:

1. No one can make you happy, except yourself.
2. The edges of brownies don't have any calories.
3. The most special gifts come wrapped in brown paper bags.
4. Wishing (really hard) can make a difference.
5. Independence.
6. The best story is nonfiction.
7. To make another person feel good, listen. Just listen. And listen well.
8. Bald eagles can build a next 20 feet deep.
9. Never take 15 teenager ANYWHERE! Especially to a foreign country.
10. The best way to get rid of something is to poison it - slowly. (Ask me about this one sometime.)
11. It doesn't matter if you play the piano well. Play anyway and play often.
12. When it comes to learning, follow your heart. When it comes to loving, follow your head.
13. Before you retire the single most important household appliance is your vacuum cleaner. After you retire, the single most important household appliance is your husband. Choose both wisely.
14. Work to understand and appreciate people who are different from yourself.
15. Life offers no guarantees.

I remember sitting at my desk one day, adding excerpts to the journal. Suddenly overwhelmed by sadness, I realized that while my mom had done a wonderful job preparing me for life, I was totally unprepared for her death. I remember bowing my head and sobbing deeply at the thought. One day I would be in this world without her. I cried aloud, “What will I do when you die? How will I go on? Please teach me.” 

Although I truly wanted to ask my mom those questions, the words never made it into the journal. After all, it was a gift of happiness. And, her death was far, far off. I would cross that bridge when I came to it. Little did I know, the river was building momentum.

Then the cancer came. Friday the 13th of January, 2012 we received the diagnosis. Our lives would be forever changed. We don’t have time today to discuss the many, many lessons that we all learned over the past year. And, I am certain there are many more lessons to come. At some point, I will write about the lessons I have learned and post them on my blog. Today, I am going to share with you just one lesson – perhaps the greatest lesson my mom ever taught.

A few weeks ago, I was sitting on the toilet in the bathroom as my mom was getting ready for bed. At the time, she was no longer able to walk, but she could still sit up unassisted. And she was capable of managing most of her personal care. Still, I wanted to sit with her and talk with her as she washed up. I didn’t feel obligated. I just wanted to be with her.

I will never forget being in the bathroom with her that day as she looked at me and said, “Kerry, I have been thinking a lot about my purpose in life. Everyone needs a purpose. I have been wondering what purpose I can serve now that I am disabled and will continue to decline. I will need more and more help, and will be less able to give anything in return. Then, it occurred to me. I am a teacher and always have been. Now, my purpose is to teach you all how to die.”

That evening, when my husband Charlie gave me a kiss goodnight, I told him what my mom said. Tears rimmed his eyes and he looked at me with such love. He said, “Your mom is a wise lady, Kerry. But, she is wrong. Mimi is not teaching us how to die. She is teaching us how to live.” He couldn’t have been more right.

In the last months of her life, my mom felt the decline in her health daily. One day it was a slight tingling sensation in her legs. The next, double vision; numbness; inability to navigate stairs; inability to move her right leg; inability to move her left leg; inability to walk, turn over in bed, sit up, or even hold a mug of coffee. And yet, every day she woke up at 5:30, got out of bed, ate a bowel of Special K, and unwrapped the miracles of the day. She spoke of the miracles often.

What were the miracles? Simple things. A phone call from a friend; the laughter of her grandchildren; a tasty piece of chicken; a meaningful sermon; a warm cup of coffee; a husband willing to cut the legs off the bed so she could get in it; a sunny day; clean sheets; a good poop. (Now the poop may sound silly, but when you are no longer able to feel yourself having a bowel movement, a good poop is a great relief.)

Although she hid it well, I knew that my mother’s death was approaching. End stage cancer is not a gentle wave, far out at sea, rolling in quietly. It is more like a freight train, with its lights blaring brightly, horn roaring fiercely—an unstoppable force that caused the ground beneath me to quake until I was so greatly shaken that the very idea of getting out of bed in the morning seemed impossible.

But, I got out of bed everyday, because my mom got out of bed everyday. And, she shook my dad and brother Kevin out of bed everyday, too, at 5:30 in the morning. In fact, Mom told me once that she never wanted to spend an entire day in bed. Once in her life because of a nasty flu, she was forced to stay in bed for a full day. But, she never, ever wanted that to happen again.

And yet, here she was, dying of cancer. New debilitating symptoms presented everyday. At some point she would become bedridden. She may become blind, severely cognitively compromised, and even fully paralyzed. Did those thoughts stop her? No. She did what she could, controlled what she had, and loved every moment that life offered. I remember sitting at the kitchen table with her one evening, reading aloud a passage from a book. She reached out her hand and ran it ever so slowly and gently down my hair and the side of my face—a lifetime of love expressed in one, fleeting moment.

Late afternoon on Saturday, March 9th, Mom was resting in her easy chair. Sitting beside her, Mom looked over at me. She said, “Kerry, it is time for me to go to bed. I won’t be getting out of bed again. Please call Craig and tell him that I won’t be here next week.” With the help of the hospice nurse, Dad and I transported Mom to her hospital bed one last time. On Sunday, March 10th, having experienced one full day in bed, Mom decided it was time to get up. It was time for her to go home to be with her God.

It is hard to believe that a week has gone by since my mom died. Without a doubt, it has been the most difficult week of my life. And, as I understand grief, it may get worse before it gets better. Every single one of us gathered in this church today is grieving a tremendous loss. Mom had a way of touching the lives of every person she met. A world without her is simply unimaginable. And yet, we are forced to move forward in our lives. And so I return to the questions that I first asked when writing this journal. “What do we do now that you have died? How do we go on? Please teach us.”

The answer is really quite simple. But, the action will not always be easy. Get out of bed. Then, go unwrap the miracles of the day.

Mom had a very strong spiritual sense. Her and I spoke many times about God, faith, the journey she was about to take, and that we will always be together because love is eternal. She understood the difference between dogma and the Divine. She welcomed people of all different faiths into her life, knowing that there are many channels to God. The only doctrine that she outright rejected was anything that left one feeling alone or unloved.

In October, shortly after we learned that the cancer had metastasized to her brain, Mom had an experience in nature that can only be described as Divine. She was walking with my dad and their little dog, Luci. When they came to the end of the road, Mom decided to venture into the field. One of the trees had caught her attention and she wanted to get a closer look. As she approached the tree, she was filled with an intense feeling of unconditional love. She received the message that she was special. Very, very special. Never one for attention, Mom turned away from the tree. The communication subsided. She decided to look back at the tree, to see if the experience would return. The message surged like the opening of a floodgate. Once again, she was told that she was indeed very special and loved unconditionally.

When she shared this story with me, she cried. She couldn’t understand why she was special and why she was being told this. She said that she never saw herself as “special” and that she didn’t deserve this attention. I explained to her that God loves and cherishes every one of us beyond earthly comprehension. Only God knows why she was selected to receive this direct communication.

Like my mom, I too have received spiritual messages while in nature. For me, these messages did not come all at once, but over the course of several months. I was told, “Yes, she will die. But death is not the end. She will go on. And, so will you. Life is eternal.” 

Less than a week before her death, Mom and I met with Pastor Jo to discuss this funeral service. When selecting music, I suggested that we play “Annie’s Song” by John Denver. Not only do my brothers and I fondly remember Mom singing this song when we were children, but it is my hope that the lyrics and melody will speak to everyone, of any faith, that has ever felt the sense of peace, hope, and love that the natural world—our everyday miracle—offers. My mom, Marguerite Conrad, is no longer here. She is everywhere. Allow her spirit to fill your senses and penetrate your being wherever you are.

At the end of this reading, Mom's good friend Ruth played a special tribute to my mom — Annie's Song, by John Denver. I invite you to listen to enjoy the music that can be found at the link below.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C21G2OkHEYo

I took my mother out of her box today.

I found rocks and bits of gravel.

It is now absolutely impossible for me to ever believe in only a material existence.

This conclusion is not based on my grief or the fear of my mother being reduced to nothing.

Instead, it is based on everything that she was and remains to be.

Since my mom died, I have been feeling her presence. I believe that she has even directly communicated with me on a couple of occasions. Today, I would like to share one of those stories with you.

In the last few weeks of Mom's life, she became severely disabled. She was no longer able to walk, stand (even with assistance), scoot herself backward in a chair, or change position in bed. Her greatest source of anxiety was moving from laying down in bed to the wheelchair and vice versa. In fact, she became terrified of these transfers. The only thing that would set her mind at ease was having me help with the transfers. It wasn't that I had any special training. I certainly didn't. I think she just appreciated that I would sit with her to help calm her nerves, talk with her about what we both thought the best procedure would be, and reassure her that everything was going to be okay.

Every single day, Mom would thank me for being there for her. She said that I seemed to understand and anticipate what she needed. She stressed how important my "patience" and "understanding" were to her. Every time she told me this, she cried.

In response, I would tell my mom that I was not doing anything special. After all, she would do the same for me without a moment's hesitation. I didn't care what we were doing -- I only wanted to be with her. I loved her more than anything and would do whatever I could to help her feel safe and comfortable. Then, I would change the subject and suggest that we go read a book or have some ice cream. I hated to see her sad and didn't want her to dwell on her increasing dependency. I just wanted to enjoy being together.

A few days before she died, my mom looked up at me from her wheelchair. She had tears in her eyes. She took my hand and said, "Kerry, the only thing I pray for is that you are someday rewarded for everything that you have done for me."

I told her that my actions didn't merit a reward. Again, I said that I loved her and that "the only thing that I wanted was to be with her." I would care for her for the next 20 years if God would allow it. But, that wasn't to be.

Several days after she died, I stopped at the Panda Express for lunch. As silly as it sounds, I had a feeling that my fortune cookie message would offer me some comfort amidst my grief, and I wanted to immediately open it. But, I refused to give into this feeling because I didn't want to be disappointed. So, I ate my lunch before I opened the cookie.

When I opened the cookie, this is what I found inside:

(Scroll Down)

(Scroll Down)

(Scroll Down)

(Scroll Down)

(Scroll Down)

(Scroll Down)

(Scroll Down)

(Scroll Down)

(Scroll Down)

(Scroll Down)

(Scroll Down)

(Scroll Down)

(Scroll Down)

(Scroll Down)

Naturally, I was shocked when I read this. Those were the exact words that my mom had been speaking to me for weeks! It was crystal clear that my mom was telling me that my "reward" awaits me. She knew exactly what I wanted -- to be together.

Please know that I do not believe that this message was meant only for me. If I thought that, I would have kept this to myself. This message is for anyone who has ever lost a loved one and longs to be reunited. You will be together again. Just ask my mom.

What Hurt Today:

1. Discovering that the crematory spelled my mom's name wrong on the cremation certificate. She would hate that!

2. Seeing a rotisserie chicken at the supermarket and not being able to buy one for my mom.

3. Watching Conrad swinging his feet wildly with excitement as he played the WE and not hearing my mom say, "Look at what a good time he is having!"

4. Alicia's tears.

5. Not seeing my mom near me. Not hearing my mom near me.


What Helped Today:

1. Talking the funeral home into taking $450.00 off the bill. Mom would love that!

2. Eating pizza rolls with my dad and Conrad.

3. Knowing that my mom can feel the good time Conrad is having.

4. Hugging Alicia.

5. Feeling my mom near me.

I am pretty wiped today. So, at this point, I am only going to provide the basics about Mom's funeral so that people can plan accordingly. I will write more soon, sharing the story of Mom's last days in this life.

A memorial service will be held at 11:00 am on Monday, March 18 at Wesley Methodist Church (4600 60th Street, Kenosha, WI). A visitation, also at the church, will precede the service from 9:30 to 11:00. In lieu of flowers, memorials to Wesley Methodist Church and Hospice Alliance would be greatly appreciated.

Below is one of the few requests that Mom wrote down regarding her funeral arrangements. I wanted to share this with everyone ahead of time so that people can start thinking about what they might want to share.

"I think it would be nice if you had some memory books, blank books for people to write their favorite stories about me. There might not be many stories, but that's OK. At least what you get will be a different viewpoint of me. I always thought those books were nice for the family that is left. I enjoyed contributing to them."

Mom died last night at 9:30 in her home surrounded by family and friends.  She was with me this morning as I walked up the driveway to my house. She will be with us all forever. Of that, I am absolutely certain. I will write more of her passing and give information regarding services soon.

Mom has been "sleeping" for almost 24 hours. Her intake is limited to the moisture from us swabbing the inside of her mouth, and the medications that we administer every two hours. While she is now completely unresponsive, I am certain that she can still hear us. The last comment that I made to Mom that she replied to with a murmur was, "Craig is coming tonight, Mom. He will be here soon."

It is Saturday morning at 10:00. As I write this, I am listening to the gentle breathing of my beautiful mother as she sleeps. In my entire life, I have never known my mom to sleep past 6:00. I wonder if she will scold me when she wakes up for letting her sleep so late, especially when her brother and family is in town from California for a visit.

I am now staying at my parents house. I sleep on the couch only about 10 feet away from Mom's hospital bed so that I can tend to her nightly needs. She doesn't need much during the night. Just someone to help her sit up, get a drink of water, and give her some medicine for her coughing which tends to worsen at night. My dad worries that I am overdoing it — that I need to be home with my husband and children. But, I know that I need to be here. Moreover, I want to be here. Being with my mom and dad right now brings me joy. This is the way it is supposed to be.

Yesterday morning, after I left for work, Mom had a series of 4 to 5 very short seizures. It was very frightening for my dad and brother. When I learned of the seizures, I immediately called Mom's hospice nurse and headed home to be with her. She was sleeping, very deeply in her easy chair when I arrived.

The nurse was there within the hour. As soon as mom heard Heather, Mom awoke. Heather checked mom's vitals, called the doctor for a prescription that we can administer during a seizure, and explained what we should do if and when another seizure occurs. The most important thing is to keep her from hurting herself. If she is in her wheelchair, we need to keep her from falling out. If we are transporting her from her wheelchair to her easy chair, we need to lie her down on the floor and move any objects that she could thrash into. Heather said that we could start experiencing more seizures. Or, she may never have another one. There is nothing we can do to prevent it. We just need to know what to do if one occurs.

Mom tend to wax and wane from being very tired and sleeping to being very alert and social. Yesterday evening, mom was wide awake when my good friends Renee and Thom brought us a homemade meal that we can share with our family guests this weekend. Mom had never met Renee and Thom before, and I am so grateful that this meeting occurred. Renee is a very special person in my life and it meant the world to me to bring her and my mom together. Finally, Renee was able to meet the person who made me everything that I am today. The person who I would do anything for to keep her by my side. In turn, Mom met this beautiful friend of mine that knows my heart like her own. The friend who will be by my side for many years after my Mom has moved on.

Oops, Mom is stirring! I had better get to her side. I know she is going to want to get dressed and ready for her visit with her brother and family.

It has been weeks since I have written. For that, I am sorry. I made a commitment to keeping you all posted on Mom's health. However, my commitment to her is the most important thing in my life right now. I am sure you understand.

On February 14, 2013, Mom's oncologist told us that he is no longer able to treat her. Her platelet counts were simply too low to even consider chemotherapy. A platelet transfusion was not an option, as it may cause internal bleeding. On February 18, Mom received her last radiation treatment. That week we started home Hospice care.

As expected, her health continues to decline. However, for the most part, she is comfortable and not in any physical pain. Her mobility is severely compromised and her energy lessens with each passing day. One thing that remains intact is her beautiful spirit.

Mom is struggling with her inability to keep up with the many, many wonderful people who continue to support her with loving visits, phone calls, cards, letters, and gifts. She simply does not have the strength or the energy to reach out the way her heart wants to. Yet, she continues to cherish every loving gesture and refers to all of you as "miracles".

If you are unsuccessful in reaching Mom by phone, email, or otherwise and you would like to talk with her or visit, please feel free to call me. More than anything, I want these days to be filled with love and peace. 262-945-4872

I will try to write more often. Thank you all for your devotion.

 Tonight Mom and I are enjoying a new song playlist on my iPod. It is comprised of modern Psalms that Michelle Nielsen sent my mom to "bring a smile" to her face. Below is the list.

1. Build Me Up Buttercup (The Foundations) 
2. Daybreak (Barry Manilow)
3. Because You Loved Me (Celine Dion)
4. Sunrise, Sunset (Fiddler on the Roof)
5. Just the Way You Are (Billy Joel)

Thank you for the wonderful gift, Michelle.

I apologize for not posting as regular as I know many of you would like. Things have become very difficult, as Mom is not able to walk. I am hoping that we can all get some respite now that her radiation cycle is complete. The daily trips to Milwaukee are especially draining.

The biggest obstacle of the week has been getting Mom down the garage stairs to the van. Without the use of her legs, stairs are absolutely terrifying for Mom. On Sunday, my Uncle Roger, Cousin Brian, Aunt Karen and their granddaughter Cameryn made an early trip to Kenosha to help my dad build a ramp. By the time I arrived at my parents house around 1:00, the ramp was complete and the family was heading to lunch. I cannot even describe how grateful we are to have such a loving extended family.

Today we met with a physical therapist who taught us the best way to transport Mom from her wheelchair to the car, a chair, or the potty. On our way home we stopped at a special store that sells all kinds of disability equipment and bought a disc that will allow us to turn Mom when she is in a standing position. It is like a "Lazy Susan". Mom calls it a "Lazy Mimi". But, Mom is not lazy at all. Her strength, determination and resilience are absolutely amazing. 

Every day Mom is blessed with an endless stream of cards, phone calls, visits, and prayers from her family and friends. Every night she tells me, with tears in her eyes, how lucky she is to have you. She is so very grateful for your love and support. We all are.

It has been a difficult week. With Mom's mobility hardships, once simple activities like putting on socks or moving a cup of coffee from the counter to the table are challenges. Add a daily trip to Milwaukee for radiation treatments to the mix and you can begin to imagine how exhausting this week has been. And yet, Mom continues to push ahead. Her spirit and determination are nothing short of pure inspiration. I only wish that I could take her place for even a day.

As hard as this week has been, I am happy to report that Saturday was an excellent day.

Mom, Charlie and Conrad set out on an adventure. Mom had been asking Charlie to take her to the gaming store. When I say "gaming store" I am referring to one of those cracks in the sidewalk where Dungeons and Dragons basement dwellers socialize. No, Mom has not taken up a new hobby. But, as always, she shows her love by taking interest in the hobbies of her loved ones. And, gaming is my husband's passion. After perusing the shelves of comic books, dice, and warrior figures, the threesome met me at the Super China House Buffet. This too was another first for Mom. She was determined to spend the afternoon "Charlie style" and we had a great time trying new foods and just being together.

That evening, Mom, Conrad and I watched a two-hour special episode of Little House on the Prairie. It was the show where Mary, whose greatest dream was to become a teacher, loses her sight. At first I thought  the story might be too depressing. But, it ended on a positive note with Mary fulfilling her lifelong dream by becoming a teacher at a school for the blind. We had a wonderful time, snuggled in blankets in front of the T.V. and eating a late dinner of fish sticks and pizza pockets.

Tomorrow, Mom begins her second week (and last week in this cycle) of radiation. As I fall asleep tonight I will be asking God and my deceased grandmother for continued strength for us all. But, especially for my mom. We have many more adventures to share.

As I write this, Mom and Dad are headed up to Froedtert for Mom's first treatment in this next cycle of brain radiation. My parents will travel more than two hours every day for the next two weeks. I wish Mom could just stay home, read her books, organize her treasures, go to coffee with her friends, and see her grandchildren off the school bus. I wish Dad could just stay home, putz on his computer, walk Luci, and go to breakfast with his buddy. But, I am so very grateful that the doctors are actively treating the tumors. And, I know that Mom is, too.

We had a wonderful weekend. For that I am also grateful. On Saturday Mom, Charlie, Conrad, and I went to the Civil War museum and to lunch at Culvers. Sunday, Mom and I went to church, out for breakfast, and then headed to her house to put her feet up.

Unfortunately, Mom's feet have gotten painfully swollen. When I came to pick her up on Sunday, she wasn't able to get her shoes on and her socks were biting into her skin. We managed with some low cut socks and moccasins. That afternoon and evening she put her feet up and I went shopping for some comfortable socks. This morning before work, I stopped by to help her with her feet and they were looking much better. She was going to call her doctor today to report this problem. Perhaps it is time to wean her off of the steroids. 

Tonight my heart is a little heavy. I wish Mom didn't have an evening appointment. Those are especially difficult on her. I am hoping that the rest of these treatments are going to be scheduled earlier in the day. I just want things to be a little easier for both Mom and Dad.

I am going to post Mom's treatment schedule when I receive it. Please feel free to give Mom a call, send her a card, or stop by for a visit. She would never ask, but I know that your simple, loving gestures make a world of difference.

Your prayers are getting through!

The MRI from last Wednesday shows no significant growth in the brain tumors from the MRI that Mom had done on January 4th.

The doctors are being very proactive and will be starting another cycle of brain radiation on Monday. Mom will receive 10 treatments of radiation that will be targeted at the tumors (as opposed to the full brain radiation she received last October.)

We are one happy family today. And, we are looking forward to visiting the Civil War museum on Saturday. Life couldn't be better at this very moment.

Mom's new motto:

"Fake it until you make it!"

If she was "faking it" at dinner tonight, I'd sure like to know where she put all of her roasted chicken and mashed potatoes!

Today's story is dedicated to Michelle and Gloria. Thank you.

One morning, a couple of week's ago, I stumbled into my bathroom to begin my usual morning routine. As I approached the sink, I noticed that it was inhabited. Now, I know that many people get totally freaked out by spiders. But, not me. When I find a spider in my home, I either leave it alone, or move it to a more suitable location. I think I get this from my mom. She doesn't mind spiders in the house. She says that they "take care" of the other insects. Plus, I am the kind of person who is saddened when a tree falls.

My plan was to gently coax the spider onto a piece of toilet tissue and free it in the basement (which is a creepy -crawly buffet for spiders in my old house.) But, the spider didn't know my good intentions. She saw me coming and climbed down to her safety inside the drain. I could see her sitting there on the drain wall, waiting patiently for the danger to pass. Not knowing how long she would stay there, I called to my husband and told him not to use the sink. (He is used to the crazy lengths I will go to save a critter.)

I thought that I was going to have to wait until after my shower before the spider came out. But, to my surprise, she was a gutsy little thing. This time, I outsmarted her and plugged the drain, eliminating her only escape route. I managed to persuade her to step onto the tissue paper. As I carefully wrapped the sides of the tissue loosely around her, I noticed that she curled herself up into a tight little ball. There was nothing left for her to do, but hunker down and hope for the best. Quickly, I took her down to the basement and set the tissue on the floor. She was free.

As I got ready for the day, I thought about how that little spider and I are a lot alike. Sometimes I feel so incredibly frightened, that I want to curl up in a ball and wait for the danger to pass. Limited to a consciousness inside a human brain, I cannot see the bigger picture. All any of us can see is what we experience. We are born. We live. We die. That situation renders us almost helpless. But, unlike the spider, we have the ability to reflect on our limited awareness.

Some people take comfort in being part of the "supreme species" -- the human race. It makes them feel strong and secure. I, on the other hand, take comfort in knowing that I am not much different than any other animal on this planet. I have my conscious limitations, just like the spider in my sink. She didn't know that I was bringing her to a better place. I don't know where this cancer journey is going to take us. But, I have faith that wherever it leads, ultimately we will all be in a better place. Someone who can see the big picture will carry us to eternal safety.