If you know me well, you know I am not one to show my emotions with tears. You can cry in front of me and I'm your rock, I'm the one to hear you out and pray for you a ton, but chances are, no matter what, I won't cry with you.
It's not that I don't think what you are crying about is unworthy, it's not that I think you are stupid for crying, I just am not a co-cryer. Steven is just the opposite. If you cry, he'll probably tear up about it with you. My sister will not only cry with you, but she'll cry FOR you. Why she'll cry about an email forward that she herself has verified to be an urban myth. She's very in touch with that side of her emotions.
I don't know why I don't tear up easily or feel the urge to cry with others. It's not that I don't ever cry. I cry, just not a lot, not with others and it's a rare hap. Usually, it's more that I'm angry about something that brings about the cry rather than sad about something. It's like when I reach a point of crying, it's that I've finally had to concede that I can't fix something. It's almost like a battle between two worlds when I have to finally let go of the hope and hang on to the desperation for a period that is crying. If I had to list all the things that could make me cry, it would be numerous. If I list all the things I'd let make me cry, it'd be in the single digits because to really give up and cry about something is something of a concession I can't remotely own. The single digit list would be mostly comprised of people in hopeless situations (spriritual, health, financial wise, etc).
However, there's this book that makes me cry. And Honey, if you've never cried with a book, Lawwwww help you! I've loved this book for four years. I've bought it for a few others when their child entered kindergarten, son got married or had a special birthday.
Rarely can I make it through the book. I actually keep it on a shelf so I don't even have to look at the cover because it tears me up. It's a text that breaks me. The illustrations, however, are amazing, too. It gets right through my tough game face and bores right to the core of my soul. I HAVE to share the text with you because I can finally read it and not SOB through it.
The book is written by Karen Kingsbury and is titled, "Let Me Hold You Longer". It's one of those...............delicious books.
Here's the text, hopefully I won't end up in copyright jail. I'm not claiming as my own text, but won't deny it captures my feelings and makes me face the uncontrollable concept of passing time.
Long ago you came to me,
a miracle of firsts:
First smiles and teeth and baby steps,
a sunbeam on the burst.
But one day you will move away
and leave to me your past,
And I will be left thinking of
a lifetime of your lasts....
The last time that I held a bottle
to your baby lips.
The last time that I lifted you
and held you to my hip.
The last night when you woke up crying,
needing to be walked.
When last you crawled up with your blanket,
wanting to be rocked.
The last time when you ran to me,
still small enough to hold.
The last time that you said you'd marry
me when you grew old.
Precious, eimple moments and
bright flashes from your past--
Would I have held on longer if
I'd known they were your last?
Our last adventure to the park
your final midday nap.
The last time when you wore your favorite
faded baseball cap.
Your last few hours of kinderarten,
those last days of first grade.
Your last at bat in Little League,
last colored picture made.
I never said good-bye to all
your yesterdays long passed.
So what about tomorrow--
will I recognizeyour lasts?
The last time that you catch a frog
in that old backyard pond.
The last time that you run barefoot
across our fresh-cut lawn.
Silly, scattered images
will represent your past.
I keep on taking pictures,
never quite sure of your lasts...
The last time that I comb your hair
or stop a pillow fight.
The last time that I pray with you
and tuck you in at night.
The last time when we cuddle
with a book, just me and you.
The last time you jump in our bed
and sleep between us two.
The last piano lesson,
last vacation to the lake.
Your last few weeks of middle school,
last soccer goal you make.
I look ahead and dream of days
that haven't comet o pass,
But as I do, I sometimes miss
today's sweet, precious lasts....
The last time that I help you with
a math or spelling test.
The last time when I shout that yes,
your room is still a mess.
The last time that you need me for
a ride from here to there.
The last time that you spend the night
with your old tattered bear.
My life keeps moving faster,
stealing precious days that pass.
I want to hold on longer--
want to recognize your lasts...
The last time that you need my help
with details of a dance.
The last time that you ask me for
advice about romance.
The last time that you talk to me
about your hopes and dreams.
The last time that you wear a jersey
for your high school team.
I've watched you grow and barely noticed
seasons as they pass.
If I could freeze the hands of time,
I'd hold on to your lasts.
For come some bright fall morning,
you'll be going far away.
College life will beckon
in a brilliant sort of way.
One last hug, one last good-bye,
one quick and hurried kiss.
One last time to understand
just how much you'll be missed.
I'll watch you leave and think how fast
our time together passed.
Let mehold on longer, God,
to every precious last.
What'd you think??? What makes you cry??? Have you ever cried with a book???
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Oh, No It Jus' Di'iint!
I got a new treadmill, which will be referred to as a dreadmill from here on out.
Top 3 Reasons I call it a dreadmill:
1). I actually comtemplated when Lent was so I could give it up...missed that, plus I hadn't even started using it. I was like, "Lent is already passed....oh, no it jus' di'iint."
2). The delivery people delivered it and set it up a week and a half ago. I didn't figure out it didn't work until like 2 days after that. I was like, "broken...oh, no it jus' di'iint." The motherboard was blown. It's brand new. How could that be that I got a defective dreadmill?
3). A new one got delivered and set up today. It only burns like a 60 calories on a short run. PLUS, if you're not on it, it's not burning. I think that's a ripoff. Of course, 60 calories made me say, "oh, no it jus' di'iint."
Maybe tomorrow, I'll "suit up" and try again.
Top 3 Reasons I call it a dreadmill:
1). I actually comtemplated when Lent was so I could give it up...missed that, plus I hadn't even started using it. I was like, "Lent is already passed....oh, no it jus' di'iint."
2). The delivery people delivered it and set it up a week and a half ago. I didn't figure out it didn't work until like 2 days after that. I was like, "broken...oh, no it jus' di'iint." The motherboard was blown. It's brand new. How could that be that I got a defective dreadmill?
3). A new one got delivered and set up today. It only burns like a 60 calories on a short run. PLUS, if you're not on it, it's not burning. I think that's a ripoff. Of course, 60 calories made me say, "oh, no it jus' di'iint."
Maybe tomorrow, I'll "suit up" and try again.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
When I Grow Up..........
Remember when you were little and you'd think, "when I grow up...". Well, I remember what I thought when I was little, not that they were lofty or even productive aspirations....I used to think, "when I grow up........."
1). I'm going to go to Six Flags without planning it.
2). I'm going to eat only things I like for meals.
3). I'm not going to worry about anything.
4). I won't have to mind any grown ups.
5). I'll go on vacations once a month.
That's about all I remember thinking. I'm sure I thought of other things, but those are all I can really remember. It's funny what actually ends up happening when you "grow up." You don't go to Six Flags, if you do, you plan NOT to go back. You eat things because they are healthy and you want to live longer, thereby eating things you don't like. You worry constantly. At least, I do. I worry that I'll let someone down mostly. I spend a majority of my time "minding" other grown ups. My livelihood depends on that. I don't go on vacations once a month--others might like a vacation FROM me once a month, however. I just think it's funny how you have the thoughts of adulthood being freedom from anything when it's actually freedom from nothing. Isn't that weird? I don't know, I think it's weird. It was just a thought I had today. I realized how I work in order to play, I respond to things in order to please, and derned if that's not adulthood in a nutshell.
Here's a little snippet of Libby's latest...
1). I'm going to go to Six Flags without planning it.
2). I'm going to eat only things I like for meals.
3). I'm not going to worry about anything.
4). I won't have to mind any grown ups.
5). I'll go on vacations once a month.
That's about all I remember thinking. I'm sure I thought of other things, but those are all I can really remember. It's funny what actually ends up happening when you "grow up." You don't go to Six Flags, if you do, you plan NOT to go back. You eat things because they are healthy and you want to live longer, thereby eating things you don't like. You worry constantly. At least, I do. I worry that I'll let someone down mostly. I spend a majority of my time "minding" other grown ups. My livelihood depends on that. I don't go on vacations once a month--others might like a vacation FROM me once a month, however. I just think it's funny how you have the thoughts of adulthood being freedom from anything when it's actually freedom from nothing. Isn't that weird? I don't know, I think it's weird. It was just a thought I had today. I realized how I work in order to play, I respond to things in order to please, and derned if that's not adulthood in a nutshell.
Here's a little snippet of Libby's latest...
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Water Cooler Talk
My friend, Kendra, and several of us were talking one morning before school about the Bible Study Kendra was doing in her Sunday school class. I've really wanted to do the study, but I am still working on "Conversation Peace." The study she is doing is from "Fireproof: Your Marriage." She said the topic of marriage vows came up and the question was presented: "What's the most difficult vow to keep?" So, of course, five of us women in a room with 5 minutes to hash that thought out, debated as to whether it was "in sickness and in health," "for richer or poorer," "'til death do us part"......At the moment, I thought, "How could 'in sickness and in health' be a problem?" I mean, being the somewhat lover of "stuff," I got the point of richer or poorer.....And Lord knows, 'til death do us part' can give anybody the hmmmm's. Well, I've found out the "in sickness and in health" part---somewhat....
Saturday, my sister alerted me (I've trained her well from a young age) that there was a MAJOR sale at a stationary shop downtown. I mentioned going to the sale to Steven and seeing how he was indifferent, I thought he shouldn't go because that would be distracting to me. He said he'd rather just go home and get some things done. Of course, I thought about it for all of five seconds and as soon as we were back in town, I took Steven home and Libby and I were on our way to the sale. The store, as all good things in Dalton do, closed at noon. I didn't make the sale. I decided to take Libby on some errands to give Steven a break from us. I also wanted to get my car cleaned, gas filled up, and then possibly go to the store. I felt like a "mad checker" of all the things on my list.
When Libby and I returned home, Steven was visiting with his parents. The kitchen looked rather spiffy....or Swiffey... =) I noticed Steven didn't look super comfortable and he said he wasn't. He said he moved some of the kitchen chairs to sweep the floor---STOP, he doesn't really do housework on a regular basis and I have NO idea what possessed him to clean it like the health department was coming---and he must have turned his back wrong. Well, he just finished other tasks he had on his list that must have been titled: "How To Injure Yourself To The Point Of No Return."
The day progressed and he got worse. He couldn't stand without assistance. Then, he couldn't walk without assistance. Finally, Sunday rolled around and he couldn't get out of bed without just falling to the floor like a fish out of water. I called the on call number for our doctors and my doctor was on call. She was very compassionate and called in a muscle relaxer, an anti inflammartory and told him to take some Hydrocodone we had from a dental experience. Now, at this point, I flashed to the scene in "Father of the Bride 2" where the wedding planner gets very loopy on some muscle relaxers and thought, "Ohhhh, nooooo." Once he got the meds in, my cousin, who is a Neuromuscular Therapist, came over to see if she could work on his back. Nothing worked. She advised him to get checked with his doctor.
Night rolled around and Steven said, "I have to pee. I can't move. I want to go to the Emergency Room. I would go, if I could get up." I said, "okay, we'll have to call 911." That was definitely with some dread as we've called 911 in the past few months for a "skunk-fire alert," and a few "neighbor's dogs are driving me crazies." Nonetheless, I really didn't want him to pee on my toile comforter, so 911 it was. I called my sister to send Rodney to see if he and I could move Steven, but we couldn't. My sister took Libby with her and there we were waiting on 911. Finally, they arrive. They call the fireman to help with getting Steven into a chair so they can lower him down the two flights of stairs. At this point, I hate the builder that put the master bedroom on the second floor, I hate myself for buying this house with a bedroom on the second floor and I can't believe it feels like an episode of Springer where "Fattest Person Ever Gets Cut Out Of Their Bedroom." I have no idea why that came into my head because Steven is tall and his back injury is defintiely not a result of being a candidate for Springer.
As the emergency chair thing was being lowered down the stairs and he was wincing in silence, I see him motion for everyone to stop. He looks up at me, now obviously, I'm thinking he's going to give me a profound word like where the benefits card is or an I love you and thanks for sticking with me in sickness and health....But. No. He says, "where are my blue underwhere?" I'm like, "oh, yeah, you had to pee, did you pee on yourself, oh noooo." He says, "no, Carolina plays tomorrow and I have worn them everytime they won and I want to make sure I have them for tomorrow's game." Okay, that's when I got the "in sickness and in health" frustration. Are we in dire times here or are you, I mean, I don't get it. You are being hurled down the stairs in a yellow and black straight jacket chair by 9 or 10 people and you stop them to ask about your superstitious UNDERWEAR?!?!
We get to the hospital. He gets a muscle relaxer shot in the back. He gets a pain killer cocktail in the vein. He is told to work his way through the pain. That was the point that if he could have lifted his superstitious leg he'd have kicked the super smart A doctor, but he couldn't, so he didn't. Finally, they give us "Leave Papers" and we are on our way. He can stand, but reluctantly. BTW, that was 5 hours in the ER.
Monday rolls around. We'd had a rough weekend and not great sleep in that it was from about 3 to 8, interrupted. Around noon, Sanna calls to tell us she didn't take Libby to daycare and needed to bring Kaylee and Libby over while she went to a meeting at Kaylee's school. Steven continued to feel like "nervous" about his back. He worked from his laptop in the same chair that apparently amputated his back muscles.
Tuesday (today) arrives. I told him we needed to call his doctor to find out if he is supposed to be active as the ER doctor advised for the back strain diagnosis or be resting as the "Leave Papers" said to do. Also, I wanted to know if we needed to get the pain killers filled or if he shouldn't need them and how long he should need the muscle relaxers and anti-inflammatory meds. So, I call the doctor and leave a voicemail with his doctor's nurse. If I had a statement t-shirt today, it would not say, "I HEART NURSES." She was rude, wouldn't let me finish my sentences and said, "You are JUST an ER follow up, go back to the ER tonight if you can't wait until Thursday." I kept saying, "Please, with all due respect, listen. He's a patient of Dr. Jensen's. He was instructed to follow up with his doctor, not the ER." Finally, she rudely says, "ohhh. Sorry, we still only have Thursday." I said, "By Thursday, he could be making his back worse because we don't know whether to have him active or resting. By Thursday, he could be addicted to all these meds. We need our doctor's counsel. Why are you treating us this way?" Honestly, if I had a statement t-shirt it would say, "I B-Slap Smart A's. So, WALK THE LINE." Okay, that an outburst I should have kept to myself. At the end of the conversation, I said, "Please have his doctor call us so we can explain that we need an appointment with someone responsive and compassionate. " She said, "I can't tell you he will call you back." We hung up. I wanted to cry, but I didn't have any tears left. I hate his doctor now. I called my doctor who works in the same office and explained that someone needed to pull the ER report and help us understand what direction to go. She said, "sure and we'll call you right back." In the meantime, his P.O.C. (piece of crap) doctor's staff called back and said, "we have a cancellation at 2:15, but Dr. Jensen said he's hasn't seen him in 51 weeks and doesn't know anything about an ER visit." I promise you if I could have cussed her out and not have felt badly about it, I would have. I said, "yes, he's due for a physical and hasn't had any problems. We called your office over the weekend and he wasn't on call and another designee directed the weekend's events. We will see you at 2:15." At 2:15, I'd like to rip somebody a new butthole, but I won't. Steven will see him, we will get direction and his upcoming physical will be scheduled elsewhere.
If that's how educated, patient and insured patients are treated, how are the majority of the non working, uninsured treated? Shame on them. Shame. Shame. Shame, Dr. J. and your nurse. When people are sick and vulnerable, they should at least get the minimum request of counsel for direction.
So, "in sickness and in health," it's harder than I thought.
Saturday, my sister alerted me (I've trained her well from a young age) that there was a MAJOR sale at a stationary shop downtown. I mentioned going to the sale to Steven and seeing how he was indifferent, I thought he shouldn't go because that would be distracting to me. He said he'd rather just go home and get some things done. Of course, I thought about it for all of five seconds and as soon as we were back in town, I took Steven home and Libby and I were on our way to the sale. The store, as all good things in Dalton do, closed at noon. I didn't make the sale. I decided to take Libby on some errands to give Steven a break from us. I also wanted to get my car cleaned, gas filled up, and then possibly go to the store. I felt like a "mad checker" of all the things on my list.
When Libby and I returned home, Steven was visiting with his parents. The kitchen looked rather spiffy....or Swiffey... =) I noticed Steven didn't look super comfortable and he said he wasn't. He said he moved some of the kitchen chairs to sweep the floor---STOP, he doesn't really do housework on a regular basis and I have NO idea what possessed him to clean it like the health department was coming---and he must have turned his back wrong. Well, he just finished other tasks he had on his list that must have been titled: "How To Injure Yourself To The Point Of No Return."
The day progressed and he got worse. He couldn't stand without assistance. Then, he couldn't walk without assistance. Finally, Sunday rolled around and he couldn't get out of bed without just falling to the floor like a fish out of water. I called the on call number for our doctors and my doctor was on call. She was very compassionate and called in a muscle relaxer, an anti inflammartory and told him to take some Hydrocodone we had from a dental experience. Now, at this point, I flashed to the scene in "Father of the Bride 2" where the wedding planner gets very loopy on some muscle relaxers and thought, "Ohhhh, nooooo." Once he got the meds in, my cousin, who is a Neuromuscular Therapist, came over to see if she could work on his back. Nothing worked. She advised him to get checked with his doctor.
Night rolled around and Steven said, "I have to pee. I can't move. I want to go to the Emergency Room. I would go, if I could get up." I said, "okay, we'll have to call 911." That was definitely with some dread as we've called 911 in the past few months for a "skunk-fire alert," and a few "neighbor's dogs are driving me crazies." Nonetheless, I really didn't want him to pee on my toile comforter, so 911 it was. I called my sister to send Rodney to see if he and I could move Steven, but we couldn't. My sister took Libby with her and there we were waiting on 911. Finally, they arrive. They call the fireman to help with getting Steven into a chair so they can lower him down the two flights of stairs. At this point, I hate the builder that put the master bedroom on the second floor, I hate myself for buying this house with a bedroom on the second floor and I can't believe it feels like an episode of Springer where "Fattest Person Ever Gets Cut Out Of Their Bedroom." I have no idea why that came into my head because Steven is tall and his back injury is defintiely not a result of being a candidate for Springer.
As the emergency chair thing was being lowered down the stairs and he was wincing in silence, I see him motion for everyone to stop. He looks up at me, now obviously, I'm thinking he's going to give me a profound word like where the benefits card is or an I love you and thanks for sticking with me in sickness and health....But. No. He says, "where are my blue underwhere?" I'm like, "oh, yeah, you had to pee, did you pee on yourself, oh noooo." He says, "no, Carolina plays tomorrow and I have worn them everytime they won and I want to make sure I have them for tomorrow's game." Okay, that's when I got the "in sickness and in health" frustration. Are we in dire times here or are you, I mean, I don't get it. You are being hurled down the stairs in a yellow and black straight jacket chair by 9 or 10 people and you stop them to ask about your superstitious UNDERWEAR?!?!
We get to the hospital. He gets a muscle relaxer shot in the back. He gets a pain killer cocktail in the vein. He is told to work his way through the pain. That was the point that if he could have lifted his superstitious leg he'd have kicked the super smart A doctor, but he couldn't, so he didn't. Finally, they give us "Leave Papers" and we are on our way. He can stand, but reluctantly. BTW, that was 5 hours in the ER.
Monday rolls around. We'd had a rough weekend and not great sleep in that it was from about 3 to 8, interrupted. Around noon, Sanna calls to tell us she didn't take Libby to daycare and needed to bring Kaylee and Libby over while she went to a meeting at Kaylee's school. Steven continued to feel like "nervous" about his back. He worked from his laptop in the same chair that apparently amputated his back muscles.
Tuesday (today) arrives. I told him we needed to call his doctor to find out if he is supposed to be active as the ER doctor advised for the back strain diagnosis or be resting as the "Leave Papers" said to do. Also, I wanted to know if we needed to get the pain killers filled or if he shouldn't need them and how long he should need the muscle relaxers and anti-inflammatory meds. So, I call the doctor and leave a voicemail with his doctor's nurse. If I had a statement t-shirt today, it would not say, "I HEART NURSES." She was rude, wouldn't let me finish my sentences and said, "You are JUST an ER follow up, go back to the ER tonight if you can't wait until Thursday." I kept saying, "Please, with all due respect, listen. He's a patient of Dr. Jensen's. He was instructed to follow up with his doctor, not the ER." Finally, she rudely says, "ohhh. Sorry, we still only have Thursday." I said, "By Thursday, he could be making his back worse because we don't know whether to have him active or resting. By Thursday, he could be addicted to all these meds. We need our doctor's counsel. Why are you treating us this way?" Honestly, if I had a statement t-shirt it would say, "I B-Slap Smart A's. So, WALK THE LINE." Okay, that an outburst I should have kept to myself. At the end of the conversation, I said, "Please have his doctor call us so we can explain that we need an appointment with someone responsive and compassionate. " She said, "I can't tell you he will call you back." We hung up. I wanted to cry, but I didn't have any tears left. I hate his doctor now. I called my doctor who works in the same office and explained that someone needed to pull the ER report and help us understand what direction to go. She said, "sure and we'll call you right back." In the meantime, his P.O.C. (piece of crap) doctor's staff called back and said, "we have a cancellation at 2:15, but Dr. Jensen said he's hasn't seen him in 51 weeks and doesn't know anything about an ER visit." I promise you if I could have cussed her out and not have felt badly about it, I would have. I said, "yes, he's due for a physical and hasn't had any problems. We called your office over the weekend and he wasn't on call and another designee directed the weekend's events. We will see you at 2:15." At 2:15, I'd like to rip somebody a new butthole, but I won't. Steven will see him, we will get direction and his upcoming physical will be scheduled elsewhere.
If that's how educated, patient and insured patients are treated, how are the majority of the non working, uninsured treated? Shame on them. Shame. Shame. Shame, Dr. J. and your nurse. When people are sick and vulnerable, they should at least get the minimum request of counsel for direction.
So, "in sickness and in health," it's harder than I thought.
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