Channeling Dad

My husband recently "discovered" a trick to save us money.  Instead of buying microwave popcorn, the thing to do, he was told, is to just dump about a 1/4 cup of regular popcorn kernels into a regular brown bag; like a lunch sack for a kid.  You fold over the top of the bag a couple of times, then lay it on its side and microwave it.

Now, I'm a cheapskate.  Always have been, probably always will be.  So, I was generally down with this.

The other day, I was in need of something salty to snack on, and being out of sun seeds, popcorn is OBVIOUSLY the next choice. 

So, I went to the kitchen and did all the steps, and waited for the popcorn to pop.   BUT, it was taking FOR-EV-ER.  Not just a little forever, but like, "Sandlot" FOR-EV-ER!

So, I stopped it, took the bag out, dumped what little had popped into my bowl, and started it again. A couple of seconds later, though, the microwave went off.  I called in to the hubster and said, "I think I blew a fuse!" 

He came in and looked around, then went to the basement.  No fuses blown.  Hmm.

He came back to the kitchen and looked at the microwave and then said, "Holy crap!  This is hot!" 

So, we unplugged the microwave and put it in the dining room, away from flammable substances, and I just had to suck it up and be happy with the minute amount of popcorn that popped.

The next morning, I woke up and I smelled something BURNING!  I freaked out and jumped out of bed to see if the microwave had melted into the dining room table it was sitting on.  Thankfully, the microwave wasn't the culprit.  Hubby burned breakfast.

So, last night, I REALLY wanted some popcorn, but the old microwave was toast (my electrician brother in law told me that it is NOT safe to use a microwave after it shuts off and gets hot).  So, I decided to channel my dad, who was a popcorn FIEND.

I didn't grow up with microwave popcorn.  No.  In our household, we did it the OFW-OLD Fashioned Way.  We put oil in a pan, put popcorn kernels on the bottom, then shook the hell out of the pan until all the kernels popped!  I hadn't done that in YEARS, but I wanted some popcorn!

So I MADE that popcorn.  On the stove.  And it was perfect.  So delicious.  When the popcorn was done popping, I turned off the burner, dumped the corn into a bowl, and then put a pat of butter into the still warm pot to melt.  SO good. 

The only thing that would have made this more "Dad-Like" was if I would have had some bacon grease in which to pop the corn.  But I never much liked that method, and bacon grease popcorn is probably why he's dead now.  So, I just have to think that Dad would be smiling that his daughter, the non-cook one, was kicking it Old School, just like he taught me.

Remembering the Beginning of the End

On this date in 2006 was what I call, "The Beginning of the End."

I remember because October 13, 2006 was a Friday and a man died at Restaurant.

Anyway, so October 14th was a Saturday. I was at Sis's house and was sleeping in "my" room when I woke to hear sirens going down the street a few blocks away. I absent-mindedly thought, "I hope that is no one I know." Just then Sis burst into my room saying, "Get up! We have to go to the hospital!" I thought, "OH CRAP! Did BiL electrocute himself!?" (He's an electrician).

Anyway, Sis said that Mom's friend called from the Emergency Department to tell us that she had taken Mom there. Mom had blood in her urine (a symptom called "hematuria). Mom's Friend drove her to the hospital where they performed some tests and then referred her to a urologist.

Fast forward to the urology appointment a few weeks later. Mom was diagnosed with bladder cancer. It ended up being Grade (not stage) 4. Grade speaks to how fast and aggressive a cancer is while Stage speaks to how advanced it is. So, she had a weird Grade 4, probably stage 2 or 3 bladder cancer. The doctor took a scope and burned the tumors off at first. That's how he staged and graded it. The next course he tried was intravesical chemotherapy, which is different from systemic chemotherapy. Systemic is what you're probably thinking of where a person gets an IV for a while and then usually they feel sick and often lose their hair. Intravesical chemo is such that the doctor inserts a syringe into the person's bladder, puts the chemo in the bladder, and then it sloshes around for at least 20 minutes before it is eliminated. After the four treatments were done, a follow up appointment was scheduled.

Just after her chemo ended, I moved to Seminary. I had taken care of her in the best way that I could while I could, and felt called to a new venture. The chemo treatments hadn't been TOO hard on her...They certainly seemed easier than when she'd had breast cancer and had endured systemic chemotherapy. I had driven her to all her bladder appointments and had handed the baton to my siblings.

I probably hadn't been at Seminary for more than a week or so when YS called and said that Mom had more hematuria. I suggested she call the urologist to see what he thought. So, they went back, he burned off more tumors with the scope thing, and it was decided that "Big Surgery" was the only way to get rid of the cancer. So, we convinced Mom to have the surgery, and so it was scheduled.

She had her surgery on March 21st. The procedure is called a radical cystectomy, in which the surgeon did a complete hysterectomy and bladder removal. At that time, the doctor guided her ureter to a stoma on the outside of her body. That's how people without bladders eliminate waste...The ureter goes to the stoma which then empties into a bag that is attached to a person's side. The adhesive gets changed about once a week or so, and a person empties the bag as often as it starts to fill.

But the thing is...Mom had dementia even then. And when she woke up, she was never the same. Looking back, and having talked with some professionals, it seems like she may have had a stroke while under anesthesia. Post-Surgery Mom was drastically changed from Pre-Surgery Mom.

So, that's a long post to basically share a short sentiment-Dates are important for those who grieve. It's been a year and a half since Mom died, and yet I still grieve. I think about her every day, and especially on days like today that hold significance for me and for our family. This date marks "The Beginning of the End" for Mom's earthly pilgrimage. It marks the "jumping in point" for really having to face dementia head on. I'm still learning from this, but also still grieving. I hope that in another five years, I'll have more time and more peace with it all. Peace to you wherever you are in your own grief journeys.

Wayyyyy too long...

Sincerely, my apologies for not updating with any sort of regularity. I have thought often about the need for updating, but simply have not gotten around to it.

Much has happened in the months since my last post. I graduated from seminary in May with my Master of Divinity degree. I had interviews with two different parishes and because both issued me a call, I had to discern to which one I was called. The Holy Spirit absolutely led me on the decision, and I am happy and excited about where I find myself.

I was ordained at my home church in Illinois on July 30th. My old pastor came back to be the preacher at the service. I thought it was a great sermon, and I am SO glad he was willing and able to be there for such an important day. Two ladies from my new congregation made the trip from North Dakota to Illinois to be present with me on my ordination day. I thought THAT was so awesome! That's a really long drive. I also had several family friends there, old friends from grade school and high school, and of course, many fantastic and supportive people from my home parish. I experienced a lot of love and affirmation that day, and I give thanks to God for their presence in my life and in the world.

I start my new call tomorrow morning. I'm so excited that I get to start on a communion Sunday. This is a humbling calling, and it is my hope and prayer that I be a good pastor for these people and their community. They seem so amazing, and I hope that we have a good time together.

Something really neat about my new congregation (one of many, many things that makes them flippin' sweet) is that when we were interviewing, they told me that they were the only church left in the town. This being the case, they said they wanted their pastor to be a "COMMUNITY PASTOR." They wanted to make sure the pastor would not sit holed up in the office all day every day, but instead to get to know not just the members of the church, but also of the village. I thought that was incredibly mission minded, and amazing.

Anyway, I already feel very welcomed at the congregation, even with my limited exposure to them. J and I went to the Finn Hall Annual Steak Fry tonight, and that was a good time. It's a very Finnish area, and they take pride in that. The church has deep Finnish roots, so this old German is going to have to learn about the Finns. One thing I learned is that the Finns can be very "sisu," which means, "stubborn or determined." Ha ha. Thanks to the congregation council president for telling me that one.

Seriously though, I am considering myself very blessed by all of this. I am excited, and a little scared (as I always am with anything new), and I hope that I am a good pastor. I hope I don't make any huge mistakes, and that I can be an effective and engaging preacher and teacher. I have many hopes, worries, and ideas, and I am hopeful that the Christ who walks on water will beckon me also onto the surface, and will catch me when I begin to sink.

Movin' on Up

Well, hmm.

Today was a big day for senior seminarians in the ELCA. Most of us got our regional assignments today on a piece of paper in an envelope in our mailboxes (that's how we did it at our seminary, anyway). I already know my region and synod because J is a rostered leader and bishops don't like to give up their rostered leaders. It's been kind of nice to not have to worry about where I'm going, but again, I find that I ventured away from "the norm" on this one. I didn't have to worry about doing CPE in between junior and middler year because I did an extended unit my first semester here. I didn't have to worry about being flung to some state about which I knew nothing for internship because I was married (though there was anxiety regarding the question of whether or not I'd actually get to live with my new husband). And now, I know where I'm going for first call because J is a pastor. I find it slightly odd that each step along the way, I've had a slightly different experience from a lot of others. Oh well. The majority of my classmates are waiting to see what synod they'll be assigned to. Bishops can start calling on March 3rd for most of us, though one region is earlier, and one is later. Please continue to pray about this.

I'm looking forward to first call. I like North Dakota well enough. The people are great, the scenery has its own unique beauty, and the winters are...interesting. The ONLY thing I really dislike about North Dakota is that it is 800 miles away from my family. I have always been very close to my sisters, and I think we all three are grieving that I will not be around much for the next (at least) three years (probably). Yet, the call of God to serve the Church is not always full of sunshine and roses. Certainly, I don't think I am DOOMED because I won't be near my sisters (and brothers and nephews), but I have realized even more fully these past 11 months HOW VERY IMPORTANT family is. I will miss my sisters, but I have hope that someday J and I will move back to be closer to them. I don't need to be ridiculously close, but 13 1/2 hours is a bit excessive.

Anyway, I keep reminding myself that we get vacations. We have phones and webcams and some of us keep in touch via Facebook. And, I am married and love my husband and want to live with him. And, it's also kind of fun and interesting in its own way that I am the only one in my family who is flung far and wide.

I know that many of my classmates are having similar reactions to their own assignments; a mix of grief and excitement and wondering what is next. I know that some of us are happier than others, and I know that many of us are in different places regarding accepting the changes coming our way. But most importantly, I know and deeply trust that God is present through all of this. The Holy Spirit has called and continues to call us to be messengers of the Good News of Jesus Christ. I know it because I see it and live it every day as I live in community with my amazingly talented and thoughtful classmates, and as I live in community with the wider church and the world.

Please continue to pray for all seminarians, their families, and the places to which we will be called. God hears our prayers.

Senioritis

I just wanted to put it in writing that I'm really not into this semester. Ha.

I am SO ready to be done with school that I am having a really hard time focusing on classwork. Although, all of us are required to do Spiritual Practices 2, which is a class that focuses on our nutrition, spiritual, and exercise lives. I'm digging this because I'm working on losing some weight and so when I'm down in the Re-Formation room (haha, get it?), or when I'm playing on my Wii Fit Plus, I don't feel guilty because I'm "doing homework." Anyway, we shouldn't feel guilty for taking care of ourselves, anyway. I'm also trying to be a bit more intentional about devotional practices, too. But my "devotion time" is usually involves music (specifically hymns), and being musical isn't something I like doing when there is a chance other people might here me. So, I don't always engage myself. Anyway.

Also, there is really good news on the ol' family front... I'm excited, and will tell you later when I am given the go-ahead. And for the record, no-I am not having a baby.

Anyway, that's about it for now. Peace out.

'Tis the Season...

Well, folks, here we are at the end of November. It's hard to believe this year is almost over already. Yesterday was the first Sunday in Advent. Three more Sundays of Advent, and then we find ourselves at Christmas.

This is also the season of "end of the semester crunch." That sounds like a cereal tagline. "Stressy-O's-they've got that great end of the semester crunch." Haha.

Anyway...In chapel today, our senior preacher talked about the hustle and bustle of the "Christmas Season," meaning how secular culture hijacks the month of December to hawk their wares and get out of the red. He talked of how Christ's birth means more than that. These words were a good reminder.

I find it hard to believe all that has happened since last Christmas. I am a person who often measures time by looking at significant events that have occurred. I remember when X happened because it happened near when Y happened, or on the anniversary of Z, or whatever. Since last Christmas, the hubster and I went on the "Tour de Sushi" vacation, Hub and I celebrated our first married Christmas and Valentine's Day, I made the trip back to Illinois twice to be with my sick and dying mother and then for her death and funeral. I chanted in front of 400 people during Easter morning worship as the intern pastor, among other duties I held as an intern until my experience was over on May 30th. Housewifing for a couple of months held my time, as well as another vacation, skydiving, bringing two of my three nephews to stay with us in ND for a week, and then moving back to school the same weekend as a good high school friend got married. My first semester of senior year is quickly drawing to a close, but not before my first birthday as an orphan, and the dawn of "the Holidays" with this same reality for me and my siblings and countless other people in the world who have experienced the death of loved ones this year.

With all of these truths, with all the joys and sorrows that have come this year, the importance of Christ's presence with and for this world is a great truth to remember. The love of God in Christ Jesus is not something that takes away the hurt and grief of no longer having mom and dad, grandma and grandpa, and other loved ones, but this presence IS a reminder that through it all, we are not forsaken. We are not forgotten. The ones we have lost are not forsaken or forgotten. I take comfort in Jesus words in Matthew 28:20, "And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age."

The world DOES change. Things happen that we wish wouldn't. Pain and happiness mingle together; poignantly at such a time in the year when so much time and energy is spent on "family." And so, with the new reality for me that has only come through my orphanhood, I am learning to embrace "the Holidays," not with a fake, plastered on smile, but with authenticity, with a renewed sensitivity to others, and with the assurance of my Lord and my God: "I am with you always," to love, to forgive, and to offer life where once there was death.

For All the Saints

Today is All Saints Day; a day in the Church where we remember the saints triumphant (those who have died in Christ) and the saints militant (those who are still living).

In chapel this morning, the leaders read off all the names that were given to them of people related to the community who have died since last year's All Saints celebration. What struck me was how MANY names were read off. I personally knew of several of the people, and some that weren't mentioned. But there were a lot of names brought forth to remember this day. What a reminder of the faith around us and how we all live in the ripples.

I am grateful this day for the example of faith that has been shown to me through many saints. This year, obviously, All Saints Day has taken a slightly different bent, and yet I remember my mom at the same time that many people remember parents, aunts, uncles, grandparents, and friends.

This community is one that has experienced loss this year. We have grieved the loss of a friend and classmate, the loss of parents (I'm not the only one by far), the loss of loved ones. And yet we still gather to worship, to embrace one another in friendship, and to serve the God who has called us in our baptism to be in this place for a time. We prepare to be sent out in service to the God who calls us to be salt for the earth.

We do so because God has given us people to love and to serve for Christ's sake in the power of the Holy Spirit. For those who have gone before, rest in peace in the love and mercy of Almighty God.

Time heals all wounds?

Well, friends, it has been a while. Dreadfully sorry.

Anyway, the thing I've been thinking about lately is the saying, "Time heals all wounds."

I call the BS card on this one.

Time does not "heal" all wounds. I don't think "time" itself helps, even. What I DO think is that as we REFLECT on the situations in our past, we learn from them. We begin to integrate our new "changed" self into a self that has meaning. Depending upon your situation, the amount of reflection and time varies.

It has been seven months and one day since my mom died. I just keep thinking, "Why don't I feel better about this yet?" Sure, some days are better than others, but when it comes down to it, when I'm sitting in my room all alone, I can get pretty sad. And so I reflect. And I think a part of why I don't "feel better" about it "yet," is that I'm still going through that first year. There are lots of things that enter my mind that are new. For instance, October 14th was a hard day because that was the anniversary of the day Mom's bladder cancer basically invaded into our lives. And the surgery to fix that was what caused her cognition to seriously deteriorate. Another example of "new" things that calls for reflection and grief is something others might find silly. I am a tactile person. I like to touch things. I often run my hand along the wall as I am walking. As I was walking down the hall to my room the other day, all of a sudden, a vision from my past flashed in my mind. It was of me walking up the stairs with my hand on one wall and Mom holding my other hand. The memory was one of fondness, but tinged with pain as I no longer have Mom to hold my hand, and I can no longer walk up and down those stairs.

And still, I reflect. I grieve. I pray for and think of others who grieve. I've said it before, but I'll say it again: Grief work is hard work. And not work that time itself can do.

Memory Walk

The Alzheimer's Association is the leading organization for supporting patients, families, friends, and other caregivers affected by dementia. Their primary focus IS Alzheimer's Disease, although they do help people affected by other dementias. Their mission is to accompany patients and their loved ones through the disease with education, care, resources, and support groups. They also are one of the leading organizations that fund Alzheimer's Disease research to try to find a cure for this thieving disease.

Every year, the Alzheimer's Assocation puts on a Memory Walk in communities across the country. The Memory Walk is much like the American Cancer Society's "Race for the Cure." Walkers register and seek to fundraise in various ways. Then, they go to a designated place on the day of the walk, experience a short program, and then walk along a particular path.

This year, I formed a team for the local Memory Walk in SeminaryCommunity. We sought donations and fundraised a decent chunk of money. I felt very passionately about participating to the fullest because of all that's happened with my family and me during Mom's illness. I walked for Mom. At one point during my seminary career, I went and talked to a lady at the local Alzheimer's Association chapter and she gave me a lot of information, books, an Alzheimer's Assocation bag, and a listening ear. It was invaluable. So, I wanted to help repay the favor.

I also wanted to raise money so that we can get closer to a cure. I've recently heard of some promsing research in Australia. I am incredibly hopeful that these scientists, doctors, and professionals are on the right track so that people will not have to fear the diagnosis of "Alzheimer's Disease" in the NEAR future. I walked for the Alzheimer's Association.

Honestly, I walked also for my family and for me though. My maternal grandmother had Alzheimer's Disease. My paternal grandmother had undifferentiated dementia, and Mom had Vascular Dementia. I do NOT want to follow suit. Also, my oldest brother is turning 50 this year, and I want a cure to be available when and if he is diagnosed. I want a cure for if and when my sisters and if and when I get diagnosed. Losing people slowly to such a disease as dementia is too terrible a thing. I can't imagine what it is like for patients when they still are aware of what is happening. I walked for patients, families, and caregivers all over the world. I walked for you.

So, I participated in the Memory Walk to support the Alzheimer's Association. I was the 5th ranked top fundraiser for this community, and that is something of which I am proud. I walked for many reasons. I hope to walk in the future. It is a tangible thing that I can do to help me continue to process through the grief that still very much affects me. It seems almost appropriate that the walk here was six months to the day of Mom's death. I hope that I can continue to be a voice for those who have had there voices robbed from them by dementia. I hope that I honor my mom's memory, and I hope that someday soon, we can live in the joy of a cure and a prevention of a disease that tries to steal who a person is.

Grief and the Trunk of My Car

Yesterday was my last day in the office at the big church where I am the intern. My smaller church doesn't have a building at all, so all of my office time has been spent at Big Church (BC). BC is a fairly large congregation, replete with two pastors, an administrative assistant, director for Christian education, parish nurse, and me (for a couple more days, technically).

One of the great thing about BC's "staff church" status is that the staff is excellent. Sure, there are tensions between a couple of people, but nothing insurmountable. We all have gotten along quite well during my ten months of internship.

All of the staff have been great to me during my time in North Dakota. In particular, the administrative assistant, whom we shall call "Smiley," has been a wonderful addition to my life. Not only is she a model of efficiency and pleasantness, she is also very, VERY fun, and to top it off, she reminds me of Sis.

Anyway, yesterday was my last office day, like I said. I was reflecting on how I'd been at Restaurant for 10 years and how I'd been at BC for ten months, and how much more sad I was at the thought of leaving BC.

I waited until everyone else left before I went to get the box I had put in my car (Arnold). Even though they knew yesterday was the last day I'd be working with them in the office, I didn't want to upset them with that reminder. So, Smiley gave me a hug and then they all left.

Which brings me to the gist of this post. I went out and got the empty box to put the bulk of my "office stuff" into. I went to my office and loaded my books and pictures and some things into my bags, and then put most of the stuff in the box. Then, I started carrying my things out to my car. I opened the trunk and realized that the only times I ever open the trunk of my car are times fraught with grief.

When Mom was dying, and J and I decided to drive all night, the trunk was opened to put in our suitcases. The day of her funeral, we opened my trunk to put plants and other funeral home things in there. When we needed to head back to North Dakota, I had to put the last box of my stuff from my childhood home into the trunk, full well knowing that I would probably never get to see the inside of that home ever again because someone wanted to buy it. Even though the death of one of the most influential people in my life is different from leaving a well-loved "job," it is still a grieving process.

So, yesterday, as I was cleaning out my office and taking my things to the car, I realized that the trunk of the car is a place, for me at least, where grief's shadows linger. The trunk lid is opened, and in are poured boxes and contents of my life during times of grief and processing, as well as some of my tears and angst.

I knew full well that my internship was a "fixed time-frame" job. That's what it is to be on an internship. I knew that Mom's time was drawing to a close. That's a part of what it is to be a human being with a terminal illness. And yet, these obvious truths did not stop and do not stop the grief. Which leads me to yet another point: Grief is not a bad thing.

Grief is a healthy thing. Certainly, the loss of loved ones, the realization that we don't get to see people who make us laugh and feel loved on a regular basis, and the growing older and losing the things of childhood cause all sorts of different emotions within us. They hurt, often to the point we think it is unbearable. These things cause tears-even for those of us who don't often cry. All this grief and change help us to see that life is not some perfect utopia, but is instead a place where good and bad things happen everyday. But it's healthy. Grieving is healthy, even if at the same time uncomfortable. Grieving reminds us that we have loved and been loved; reminds us that we have made memories that are irreplaceable; reminds us that we are indeed alive.

And this makes me want to go and open the trunk of my car.

Years gone by...

Tomorrow, my father will have been dead for fifteen years.

As time has passed, I have experienced different emotions on this day. Last year, I was out golfing with YS and getting a sunburn on one half of my body. Three years ago, my youngest nephew came home from the hospital after being born. Nine years ago, I was taking final exams in high school; thirteen I was graduating from eighth grade...

This year, I find myself a bit more grief-stricken than in some of the other more recent years. I think this is because of the added grief of Mom having died just two months ago. Because our grief at the loss of Mom is so new, I find myself reminded of the intense grief that came from the trauma of "the accident" and Dad's death. So, I remember and find the grief a bit compounded.

I do give thanks, as I reflect, that the last words I said to both of my parents were ones of love. After Dad's heart attack, I stayed (relatively) calm, got the car stopped, and stayed in it while YS and our friend jumped out. I stayed with Dad for a few minutes, and only left because YS and Friend were standing by some guy I did not know. I didn't want them to go with some stranger in their shock, so I got out of the car. But, not before I looked at Dad and said, "Dad, I love you."

That day at Pastures, I told Mom several times, "Mom, we love you." And, well, the story about her death is just a couple below this one.

I don't really know what the purpose of this post is. I suppose I just feel kind of alone in the midst of all this. I'm 800 miles away from my family. My friends are spread far and wide. And thankfully, most of my friends still have their parents. I reckon I am trying to get some of this off my chest and out there. I miss my parents.

Everywhere I go...

It seems that everywhere I go these days, "Moms" come up.

This grieving thing is harder than I thought.

Please continue to pray for my family and me.

Sacred Space

*This post could be considered disturbing to some. This is my disclaimer.*

Last Wednesday afternoon, YS called me at the church where my office is. Older Brother the Younger had been to Pastures to see Mom, and while he was there, the doctor came to see her. He said that she was not doing well and that it was probably a "matter of days." YS wanted me to know so that I could plan accordingly. I decided that I would leave for Illinois the next morning to be with Mom and my family to walk together this journey before us.

The rest of the day was spent doing regular "intern pastor" type stuff. We did Wednesday night Lenten worship, and some of us were chatting afterward. The pastors and staff at the church were incredibly supportive of me, and wished me safe travels for the 800 mile trip back to my home communities.

When I got back to the parsonage that night, my phone rang again. Sis was on the other end of the phone. She needed my advice because one of the nurses at Pastures called and said that it was looking like Mom would not make it through the night. She wanted me to tell her if she should go to the home or not. I tried to be "pastoral" and let her make her own decision, but ultimately, Sis said, "What would you do?" I told her that I would go to the home, just so Mom wouldn't be alone. Sis then said she'd go. So, she and YS went to the home, and Jake and I hurriedly packed up and left for Illinois. YS said that while they were with Mom (til about 2:30 a.m.), she told her, "Trish is coming, Mom. Trish is coming."

Jake and I drove all night. The drive from the parsonage to Pastures takes approximately thirteen hours. But we kept going, and we got to Pastures around 11:30 a.m. A CNA took us to Mom's room, where she was on oxygen and largely unresponsive; lying on her bed and facing toward the window showing a beautiful sunny day. She looked to be awake, but aside from her breathing, she was not moving. I leaned over her, kissed her forehead, and told her, "We love you, Mom." Her eyes moved a tiny little bit as I said these words to her. As we remained with her,I held my hand on her shoulder and we watched her breathe. In. Out. In....Out...........In Out In Out. Again, "We love you, Mom." For twenty minutes, we watched her breathe. In...Out...

And then there was nothing.

I tried to feel for a pulse, and when I felt nothing, I pushed the nurse call button. The CNA came in, checked, and then called the nurse. Mom's struggle was over. We spent some time with Mom's body, listened as some of the Pastures staff came in and gave us condolences, and I traced the cross on her forehead, proclaiming the promises made to her in baptism, "You have been sealed by the Holy Spirit and marked with the cross of Christ forever." She waited for me; the last of her many wonderful gifts of which I was the recipient. She may not have cognitively known that I was her daughter, or maybe she did. But I think she waited. For me.

Needless to say, this past week has been incredibly painful for my family and me. I have been a little surprised by the intensity of grief I've been feeling. Don't get me wrong, I really, really loved Mom, but I thought I was "ready." She'd been so unwell for so long, I thought I'd be okay once her death came. But really, I'm realizing that we're never really ready to stop making memories with the ones we love. We're never ready to lose that last connection, no matter the circumstances around the death. It's hard. This grief work is hard work, and so I appreciate the prayers of many faithful people, near and far.

Life in the midst of death

Last Wednesday, YS left a message for me in my voicemail saying that Ma had been taken to the hospital. The Nursing home (We'll call it "Pastures") had called Sis earlier and said that Ma was having high blood sugars, a weird heart rate, was pale, lethargic, and otherwise not doing well. So, Ma was taken to the hospital where she was diagnosed with sepsis and pneumonia.

These two things are the leading causes of death for people with dementia. Therefore, my siblings and I were concerned for our mother's health, although we have been for some time. Her dementia has caused her further cognitive decline to the point that I no longer have to wonder if she knows me because I know that she does not.

I went to Illinois to see Ma over the weekend. It was a long and exhausting trip, but I'm glad I went. My siblings said that she was singing in her sleep. They didn't know the tunes, but were thinking that they were hymns. When I visited Ma, she was sleeping most of the time. She was not singing for me, so I sang to her. At one point while I was singing, "Seek Ye First the Kingdome of God," she folded her hands as if in prayer. She could not say any prayers with me, nor did she sing with me. But, her brother and sister in law went to see her the next day and said she was singing in her sleep while they were there.

I don't say this flippantly, but instead, in awe. Mom was always a singer. She sang at funerals, weddings, community events/dedications, in multi-community karaoke contests, and in church. She sang at home, in the car, and while working in the yard. One of the hardest parts of seeing her mental decline was the fact that she stopped singing. Imagine our surprise when we heard (or heard of) her singing in the midst of such a serious illness.

I'm grateful that somewhere deep inside her blocked and deteriorating brain; in her personality and character, lay her love of music. I'm grateful that the gifts of God in her life continue to make themselves evident, especially as my brother mentioned he thought he heard her sing, "Alleluia, Praise the Lord" at one point. Singing was a way she could reflect the goodness of God in her life. The fact that music has returned to her reminds me of Romans 8:26 where we hear that the Holy Spirit intercedes for us with sighs too deep for words. The Holy Spirit, I believe resides in her and gives her the strength and ability to sing in the life she has left. Even if it goes away again, this time of regained music has been a gift.

Anyway, I appreciate the prayers of those who choose to pray for Mom, my family, and me. Thank you for listening.

A book and a realization

Currently, I am reading a book entitled, Here if You Need Me. I'm not very far into the book, but up until now, the author has been talking about her life as a Game Warden chaplain, and her life prior to that as a wife and mother. See, the book is a true story, and right now, I'm at the point in the book where she has tended to the body of her recently deceased husband. He was a police officer and was killed in a car accident. She and some friends and family tended to his body in the funeral home, and they also were present at his cremation. The bit in the book that struck me, however, was the one where, on their drive home from the funeral home, the author (named Kate) turns to her mother and says, "Make sure that when I die, you remember to have me cremated at Parklawn. Put me in the same oven they put Drew in. If you're facing the ovens, it's the one on the left." And Kate's mom says, "I'll remember."

I found it a slight bit odd that Kate was giving her mother these instructions, and I found it odd that Kate's mom said, "I'll remember." That is NOT the way things are supposed to go. Parents are "supposed" to die before their children. But, Kate's mom didn't say something like, "Oh honey, I'll be dead long before I have to remember something like that." She simply said, "I'll remember." I suppose in the midst of her own grief, she recognized the horrible pain her daughter was experiencing.

I can't help but think of my own life in the midst of this. My mother has pretty much always been one who tries not to add to the pain of others in any way. When my dad died, I don't even remember her really crying when we were in that hospital room seeing him. She said, "Oh, Jay," and that's about all I remember. I don't remember her crying at the visitation or the funeral or, for that matter, any time really after that. I suppose she, being a stoic German, was afraid that if she started crying, it would make us kids feel worse and then she'd have to deal with not only her own grief, but her kids' grief, too. But it wasn't that she didn't care that such a horrible thing had happened, or that she didn't remember. Certainly she did, as she would say at our graduations, "Your dad would have been so proud." She remembered him in her own way, and didn't often bring him up in conversation.

And I'm realizing in myself, as I remember this line in the book, that a part of why I'm so sad about my mom's cognitive state, is that she's not "here" to remember that she loves ME. She's not "here" to remember that she loves my brothers and sisters, or that she loves to sing, or that she loves doing her yardwork and working up an appetite in the yard. She's not able to remember all those times we would come to her with some sort of boo-boo and she'd kiss it and make it all better, all the while trying to suppress a laugh because, really, how much does that teeny weeny little bump hurt? I want her to remember for herself, but I also want to be remembered by someone who has known me all my life, and who loves me anyway. Sure, I have that in my siblings, but sibling relationships are different. The wonderful relationship I have with my sisters, and the good relationship I have with my brothers (for the most part), is a lot different from the relationship a person has with the one, who along with God, made them.

Anyway, I suppose this post doesn't make a whole lot of sense, but that one discourse in the book just got the old noggin' a going. There is often a saying for people who do Clinical Pastoral Education, and that saying is, "Name it and claim it." CPE is a time when students not only learn about visiting with people in clinical settings, but they also learn about themselves in the midst of group and supervisory settings. We are taught that it is helpful to us, AND to the people we serve, if we are able to understand WHY we feel the way we do in various settings. So, when we are uncomfortable, it is potentially helpful to figure out the emotion we are experiencing and then claim it, not as bad or good, but as something that is, and go from there. So, I'm attempting to name and claim the emotions this book is bringing into my experience, so that I can learn and grow and attain a bit more peace about the state of affairs in portions of my life. Name and Claim. Here we go.

A Post We Hope is Cohesive, but Will Probably End Up Just Rambling On

Holy Cow. It has been way too long since I've updated this blog. Yikes. I guess being a married woman with a "job" makes me a bit more busy than when I'm simply an unemployed student.

Well, J and I have been married for about seven months now. Time flies when you're having fun. He really is a wonderful man and I love him like mad, even if I don't always seem like I do.

Internship...Well, I still am really enjoying it. I usually preach twice a month, consecutive Sundays. I have two churches, so I preach once at each. We have a retired Presbyterian pastor and his wife who attend the big church, and they are so nice. After every time I preach there, on the way out when he shakes my hand he says something so encouraging. One time he said, "You really have a gift, friend!" Today, he said, "You really write a mean sermon!" (Not mean in the "hellfire and brimstone" way, but "mean" like, "Woah, dude" type of way). That means a lot to me coming from someone who's been ordained for 56 years.

Also on internship, I am enjoying leading a monthly Bible study, leading services at an assisted living facility as well as two nursing homes, and getting to know the people more. I'm not such a fan of being a confirmation small group leader. Teenagers have never been my strong suit. When I WAS a teenager, I didn't even really feel like I fit with most of them. But, we laugh and I am still a dork, and if they don't like it, oh well. The problem more lies with I have a hard time being "the heavy" on kids who really don't show an interest in religion. I try to help them see God's relevance in their lives, but at this age, I just don't think my group "gets it." We'll see.

Anyway, it's cold here in North Dakota. We had a bitter cold snap last week with temperatures (without wind chill) being in the negative teens. It was very frigid. So, when it warmed up to 34 degrees, I went around without a coat. It's funny how we get acclimated to this sort of thing. We don't have very much snow yet, but it's supposed to snow pretty much all week, I think. Hopefully it doesn't make my commute too hairy. If all else, many many people have offered me a place to stay in my internship town in case it ever gets gross outside and leaves me unable to travel. I serve with really great people.

Christmas is right around the corner. Today was the last week of Advent. I really like Advent. I think it appeals to my "dark" side, not that Advent is "dark." Advent, though, has a much different flavor than Christmas, and I appreciate the contemplative nature I think Advent embodies. This is my first Christmas away from Illinois. I'm trying to roll with the changes, but sometimes it's hard. I'm not going to lie about that one. It's not that I've never spent Christmas more alone than how I'm going to spend it this year, or anything. When my mom was still relatively healthy, she dated this really awesome guy and would go to his family gatherings on the holidays. My siblings, at that point, were all going to their significant others' family gatherings. So, I was often left at home alone on Thanksgiving and Christmas Day. I wasn't thrilled about it, but hey, I'm not the type to invite myself places.

So, the deal this year is that I'm roughly 800 miles from all my family, and I miss them. After about a year or two of being left alone on the holidays, Sis decided to throw "combined" family parties, so no one would have to be alone. And now, I'm in NoDak, all my family is in Illinois, J's family is in Minnesota, and I am missing the "familiar." J got us a Christmas tree this year, and I realized I left all my ornaments at home in Illinois. So, the Christmas tree is full of his (very cute) ornaments, but I still find myself a little sad that this tree seems to be "his" and not "ours." Maybe that's weird of me to say, but I can't help feeling that way. I think the "firsts" in our lives, cause grief, even if they're "happy" firsts. My "first" married Christmas is also my first Christmas completely away from everything I've ever known.

I am looking forward to our first married Christmas. I was driving home from church today and I realized that we have pretty much "been together" for two years now. Our first date was in December '07. I blogged about it, but at the time didn't realize it was a date. Looking back on it, I just smack my head and say, "DUH!" Ha. So, married Christmas will be neat. I came to visit the week after Christmas last year, and that was fun, and I really am looking forward to this year.

Finally, I suppose a part of my ambivalence about Christmas this year comes from Mom's continuing illness. Sis and YS went to the Supermax on December 1st because the home puts on a Christmas dinner every year. They went and sat with Ma and they had dinner and I think some games and things. Mom, although still pretty much completely ambulatory, has lost the ability to speak in any sort of coherence. Sis and YS said that most of the words she uses are actually "non-words," which is common for people with dementia. On the plus side, she did call YS by name at one point, and she was reading some words off a napkin or something, although some of the time, she was able to read them, and some of the time, she was putting the emPHASis on the wrong sylABle, and sometimes she was saying the completely wrong words. But sometimes it's there, so that's neat. I just am finding myself really missing her right now, which is weird to say considering she's still alive. But, although some of the essence of her personality is still there, the majority of how she once related to people is not. I haven't talked to her or seen her in almost seven months because the phone really is not something she can handle anymore, and I've not been "home" since early June. I feel like a huge whiner with this paragraph, but sometimes it helps to just put it out there.

Anyway, so that is what is going on in the life and times of Trish. I have said it before and I will probably always say it, but there are things we consider "good" and "bad" in every day, and I'm trying to live more "good" than "bad." I hope you all have a blessed end of the Advent season, a very merry Christmas, and a wonderful and hope-filled start to the new year. It's hard to believe that 10 years ago, people were freaking out about the Y2K bug. Lol. May this next year be one of little anxiety and much joy. Peace.

Finally-The Wedding!

Well, I have become quite sub-par at updating this blog. I'm contemplating whether or not I want to continue writing it or not. Maybe a shift in purpose for it is in order... I don't know.

Anyway, the wedding...

Saturday morning, J and I got up and showered and what not, and then drove to the church together. We didn't really see the need to do the whole "not see each other the whole day of the wedding" thing. We didn't want to see each other after we started getting ready, but had no problems seeing each other that morning and driving over together. It was actually kind of cool.

So, we got to the Church and went our separate ways; him to his Sunday school room, and me to mine. We did talk about lunch at one point in the car though, and he decided he'd go to Subway and get some sandwiches. I was wearing my Lucky Charms shirt, which several people thought was amusing to wear on our wedding day.

When I got to the church, I didn't have to wait long for Diane, the Mary Kay lady to come. I am absolutely inept at makeup, and Diane, being very talented, was willing to help me out. YS used to sell MK, and Diane was the person who got her into it. Diane had done a test run a while back to figure out colors that would look good, so all she had to do the day of the wedding was slap the stuff on my face. She did an absolutely WONDERFUL job, in my opinion, and I especially appreciated that she didn't treat me like a moron for being so ignorant about makeup (since I don't wear it on any sort of regular basis).

The photographer and his wife (they're a team) got there around the same time as Diane. Bob did a lot of photography for the guys and his wife, Pat, did a lot of our photographs. They're both delightful people with a ready smile, and a nice sparkle in their eyes. I was incredibly happy with the service they provided.

So, YS, Sis, and SiL came to the church and we all were getting ready. SiL tried putting some bronzer or something on my arms and stuff to hide the ridiculous tan lines I had, and I was okay with it, regardless of what it looked like. Sis also "did" my hair, which didn't involve much because I have really short hair. Pat took all sorts of photos of us getting ready, and Bob took photos of the guys. Also, J's dad was there taking some "candid" pics of us, too, which was also delightful. He took some really good pictures.

After a while, J brought some lunch and his dad (I think) brought it over to us. I was a little bit nervous (Not because I thought I was making some huge mistake or anything, but because I'm not huge on being the center of attention when I'm out of my element. Dresses and makeup are DEFINITELY out of my element). Because of this nervousness, I was only able to eat about 3 bites of my sandwich, which made me even more nervous, because I didn't want to faint! Lol. At some point, Pastor M came in and we got a couple of pictures taken together. She's really cool and I am SO THANKFUL that she was a part of the day.

So, we finished getting ready, taking lots and lots of photos before the ceremony, and hanging out. Oh, and I forgot to mention... The florist we used was the hometown florist. I hadn't actually told her what kinds of flowers we wanted, because we didn't really care. I just told her what our colors were, and I think I may have mentioned that my favorite color is orange. When we got there on Saturday morning, I looked into the sanctuary and was definitely NOT!! disappointed in the slightest! K did a BEAUTIFUL job at putting together our flowers. I was mucho excited.

After a while, it was time to get that show on the road! Interim had come back to kind of get us all ready to go, and we all walked out and the bridesmaids and groomsmen lined up. The music started playing and they started walking in. Oh, and we had a procession, so Pastor M and Interim started the procession with the cross and the big Bible. They walked in to "Lift High the Cross." After all the bridal party went in (no ring bearer or flower girl...J and I just said "no" from the get-go), I walked out to join J because we had decided to walk in together. My dad has been gone for several years, and J and I had talked and decided it'd be cool if the both of us got to walk in. And so we thought, "Heck, why not walk in together!" So, all the people in the sanctuary were looking back, and as "Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring" started to play, we started to walk in. I had a huge smile on my face the whole time, to say the least.

We got to the chancel, went up the couple steps, and took our place in front of the pastors. The service started and went pretty well. However, when it came time to exchange vows, I started sweating a little! Not because I didn't want to say it (again, that was DEFINITELY not the case), but because J went first, and then my turn came where Interim gave me about twelve words to say at once. For J, he took it nice and slow, but Interim forgot to give me a pause! I freaked out for a nanosecond, but then thought, "I can do this!" So, I did! A friend after the service said, "We were wondering about all those words he gave you at once!"

Pastor M gave a FANTASTIC sermon that spoke to the reality of our lives, but that also shared the Gospel. She acknowledged that we grieved the absense of our parents (Ma was not able to be there because of her cognitive state. It would have been way too much for her). J's mom and my father are also deceased, so that was a void. But, Pastor M talked about many wonderful things regarding married life and the love of Christ. J and I would have loved to have a copy of it.

J and I, being the "religious" type, also decided we wanted communion at our wedding. Interim was supposed to do the words of institution, and then J and I would serve the congregation. However, Interim said, "Sister M will now say the words that make this the body and blood of our Lord!" and J and I just thought, "OH NO!!!!" Why, "Oh no?" Well for two reasons, really. 1. What we SAY OR DO does not do some magic that changes the elements into the body and blood. It is GOD'S action ALWAYS that comes to us, and 2. Pastor M. is not familiar with the setting that my home church uses and did not BECOME familiar with it because that was one of the things that we gave the interim to do. Oy. But thankfully, Interim realized his mistake and then did it.

We served communion to the people who came forward; family, family friends, friends from childhood, friends from seminary. It was so cool for us to share in that on our wedding day. And, Oldest Brother CAME to the wedding! I was excited.

As the wedding ended, we walked out so that we could walk back in after the rest of the bridal party exited. On our way out, I looked to my right and saw a whole group of my seminary friends with a giant orange feather boa wrapped all around them! I got a huge smile on my face and nodded happily. Hehe. It was freaking awesome! AND, some of my friends actually wore orange. One of my good friends dressed her little guy in an orange shirt. Older brother the younger also wore an orange shirt, and another good seminary friend (a man) wore an orange shirt. These "small" actions just made me feel even more special because they did these things in an intentional manner to make the day even better for me. I'm a big fan of color (thus my happiness that the paraments on the altar were red for Pentecost Sunday the next day), and was glad to see such vibrance as we exited the sanctuary. I have great friends!

When the whole bridal party came out, J and I went back in and we ushered people out. We gave and received many, many hugs and well wishes. We saw again, exactly who was there to celebrate with us (though during the service, the pastors had us turn around a couple of times to look at who was there, and we also saw at Communion). It was great!

One of the ladies we invited (a recent widow) said, "This was one of the most beautiful weddings I have ever been to. Thanks for inviting me." I was humbled to hear that. She's a special lady, and I'm just glad that she could find some joy in the day, though I'm pretty sure that she also felt some grief, considering her relatively new situation.

We then walked outside. One of my absolute best friends and one of J's absolute best friends served as ushers for us, and they passed out the bubbles that we had bought. Neither J or I wanted bird seeds because I have a tendency to get things in my eyes. So, we walked outside and people blew all these bubbles at us. Someone (I think J's dad) took a great picture of us where the bubbles were all around us (mostly me, but some were around J, too, I think). We actually ended up using that picture on our Thank You notes.

After we visited outside (the weather was gorgeous!), the guests all headed toward my home town to the reception hall, while our families, bridal party, J and I stayed to finish taking pictures. That took a little while, and then we finally got to head north. As we were driving toward the edge of town, the clouds opened up and downpoured on us! Thankfully, though, the sky was partly cloudy/mostly sunny by the time we drove the five miles to the hall. It was gorgeous. We ate good food, talked to friends and family, and then started the toasts.

THE TOASTS! Ha. Sis was my matron of honor and YS was my maid of honor (how do you pick between your two favorite sisters? Note, they're my ONLY two sisters. LOL), and they had been wigging out about having to get up and make a speech. But when they got up there, they did a MARVELOUS job. They told a little story about me when I was a little kid about how Sis shoved me out of our house naked and then took a picture of it. Then, they talked a bit about our various adventures as sisters and how they were glad J would now get to be a part of our goofy randomness. And then they said, "She could have been a stripper (they harkened back to the naked picture), but she ended up going into the ministry, which is good for you! So may your marriage always be filled with love, laughter, and wasabi surprise!" (or something like that).

What's Wasabi Surprise, you ask? Well, earlier in the week, Sis, YS, J, and I went to a sushi place in Peoria and while eating, at one point, I stopped, and got red faced and teary eyed and went, "WHAT WAS THAT?!" It turns out, the sushi chefs put some wasabi in between the fish and the rice bed. Since I always dip my sushi in a soy sauce/wasabi mix, the extra was a bit excess (although still delicious!). We all got a good kick out of it. I was so impressed with the speech they gave. It was well thought out, not embarassing, and very heartfelt. Muchos gracias, sistas!

J's best man did a pretty nice job too, but since my sisters and I have a special bond, I just have to give them mad props for theirs. :)

Then, J and I got up. We thanked the people for coming, which I thought was the purpose of our getting up. However, all of a sudden, J said some things and I realized I was in for a surprise! He had worked with another good friend of ours and had worked out a way to surprise me by singing one of my favorite songs! J burst out into singing Michael Buble's version of "Moondance." He changed a few slight adjectives and added some personal touch to the song. J has a great singing voice and I was surprised. He did a great job, and I am so fortunate to be married to such a caring guy! The little schpiel I gave afterward wasn't nearly as cool as that, but I hope I was able to convey my gratitude to the people for coming, as well as my thanksgiving for being so blessed by love. It was great.

And afterwards, we danced and talked, and the night progressed. J's brother, at one point, ended up giving a long, drawn out, drunken speech trying to embarass J. And thankfully, the DJ and one of J's groomsmen cut him off in a relatively tactful way. Haha.

So, the night eventually ended, and we went and relaxed and giggled at the fact that we were now married! And the day is wonderful to think back on and remember. Those of you who were there, thank you! And those who weren't, know that I would have invited EVERYONE if we could have. Time/budget/space constraints aren't the greatest things in the world, but if I know you, chances are, I am appreciative for who you are in my life. Thanks for being friends.

Here ends the tale of my wedding day...Well, the public part, anyway. :P

The week leading up to the wedding.

Well, friends, here I sit, having now been married for TWO months! It's been an interesting couple of months, to say the least. I realize that I've not talked about the actual wedding day, so I suppose, I will get there in this post.

But first, a little bit more of the stuff that led up to the day...

Sunday, May 24, I went to church (obviously), and listened to the interim do the service and everything. YS and I had made plans to go golfing after church, so I went to her house and we set out. The day was warm and so I took off my button up to show my arms (I was wearing a shell; kind of like a tank top, but it covers more).

We golfed and laughed and had a good time while we lost our golf balls and I golfed probably the best game of my life (which isn't saying much because I am not good at the sport). When we got done, we went about, hanging out more. We had some lunch and some ice cream and laughed some more. I really love YS a lot. She's very special to me.

J came down to Illinois that day so he could stay at Sis and BiL's house as we finalized our wedding preparations. He set out from North Dakota (I decided I could tell you I'm in the state, considering I almost always tell my readers what state I'm in) after church and made it to Illinois around 3 or 4 in the morning, I believe. He had had to make several pitstops, and I believe stopped to see some of his family on the way down. I had fallen asleep on the couch in the living room waiting for him, and was very glad when he got to the house. I sent him to the spare room and I went to the basement to sleep on the couch.

So, the next morning... Sis came down to wake me up. We were supposed to go do something, but I didn't feel well and told her. So, I stayed on the couch and tried to sleep some more. Unfortunately, I started to feel like I was going to get sick, so I sat up and realized that I didn't have the strength to get up to go to the bathroom. So, I picked up the cup sitting beside the couch for a "just in case." The next thing I knew, though, I was sweating like a pig, and the cup I had been holding was now on the floor and I was slumped over. I had fainted! It was a bit odd, considering I'd not passed out in over 4 years. Since it'd been so long, I couldn't quite tell the difference between "getting sick" and fainting. So, once I woke up, I just laid back down for a while and started to feel a bit better. Sis came down again and I told her what happened and I could tell she was worried about me. But, I am convinced that I just got too much sun the day previous. After I fainted, I drank a bunch of water and then started to feel loads better.

Fast forward again... J and I went and met with the interim on Tuesday, wedding license in tow. However, we realized after we had gone to the courthouse that they had messed up and had typed my name as "Trusha." So, we talked with the interim and he asked us, "So, what are we doing on Saturday?" We were both thinking, "Don't you have anything planned!" Apparently, this man who has been ordained for more than 30 years has never performed an LBW wedding, and uses the one he wrote 36 years ago whenever he can. J and I were absolutely NOT interested in using his service because of its archaic language and because we just aren't too keen on the interim, anyway. We made an appointment to finalize our plans with the interim on Thursday, and so J and I went back to Sis and BiL's and he threw out a plea on Facebook for someone to send him an order of service from the ELW since he'd not brought his, considering he was on VACATION getting ready to get MARRIED and because he thought the pastor would know what he was doing. Oy. Thankfully, several people responded and he wrote up a service that was pretty cool, lickety split.

Another day or so passed and we went and had our marriage license fixed from "Trusha" to "Trisha." We met with the interim again and he complained that the printing was too small. Thankfully, J had brought the file on his flash drive and we made it bigger to satisfy the interim. The secretary was also in the office and she helped us print up bulletins (We are low key people). She was so helpful.

So, we get to Friday, the rehearsal day. We got there and the interim was there, J's internship supervising pastor who was also a part of the day, the groomsmen, the photographer, and my sister in law, who was one of my attendants. My two sisters, however, were a smidge late, much to the chagrin of the interim. When YS and Sis got to the church, he basically insulted them by treating them like they were children. Ugh. And then, he insulted J and me! He complained about the complicatedness of the service J had drawn up. We didn't want to get into it with the interim the day before our wedding, though, so we just let it drop. At one point, the photographer asked a question and the interim BIT his head off! J and I just looked on in horrified shock and embarrassment that this "man of the cloth" tore down another pastor-type guy (The photographer runs a church himself). J and I both apologized to the photographer, and so did Pastor M (J's internship supervisor). He took the brow beating with grace, which is probably more than I would have done.

The rehearsal, otherwise, went pretty smoothly, and we were happy to have at least ONE pastor we wanted be there. Pastor M gave us MANY excellent tips for the next day, and she did so with tact and grace. When the interim gave us "tips," he was basically scolding us. He said, "Make sure to eat tomorrow! I don't want anyone fainting. That means you, Bride." He also made some disparaging comments about my sunburn, which was fading from the previous Sunday. He was just not pleasant.

After rehearsal, we went to eat at the restaurant where I worked for almost ten years. I had called them the week before to make sure that they were still willing to do the dinner for us because the male boss, G, died on May 2nd, unexpectedly. I had meant to blog about that, but I don't think I ever did. I heard that he died, and so I went back to Illinois from SeminaryTown to the funeral and things. It was very sad to lose G, a man who had loved me and who I had looked upon a bit like a father for so long. I had seen him two weeks prior to his death because YS and I, on a spontaneous hang out night, went over to Restaurant to eat. I talked with him for a while and then went to talk with the female boss who told me he was going in for a test in two weeks to see about some symptoms he had been having. Having seen him so recently and hearing about his potential health issues made the blow a little less severe, but I still grieved for G. I knew that G's wife would still be grieving for him, and so when I called the week before the wedding to make sure they were still willing to have such a party (G did a lot of the prep work for parties), I was a little surprised to hear P (the female boss) say, "You bet. You're the reason we're staying open."

So, the night of the rehearsal, we were seated in the banquet room and were served wonderfully by a couple of the waitresses. We ate delicious food and had a good time. After the meal, Sis and I were talking to P. She then told us that Sunday the 31st would be there last day open. This came as shocking news, but more in the sense of "I can't believe it because I worked here for so long," not in the "Why is she closing the place" sense. After all, her husband, her partner in the business had died recently and she had always talked about getting rid of the place. Odd news to hear the night before your wedding, but understandable. She deserves some peace, and I can't imagine going to work in the place you had opened and operated with your husband of 25+ years after his death. She seemed at peace with her decision, so we wished her well and after a few more moments of talking, we left.

Anyway, this has been another long post, so I will talk about the actual wedding next time, perhaps. Have a delightful day.

Pre-Easter Visit

A few weeks ago, the pastor at my home church, (whom I shall call Pastor S.) emailed and asked me if I would be the Assisting Minister on Easter morning. Since he accepted a new call in a land far, far, away, Easter was planned to be his last Sunday at our church. I was pleased to have been asked, and so I said yes.

A little while after that, I emailed him to talk about figuring out my role in the service. He emailed back and it came to pass that we decided to get together on the Saturday before Easter, go visit Ma, have me look through some books he didn't want to take with him to his new call, and talk about our different roles in the liturgy.

Saturday rolled around and I met Pastor S. at the church. We headed on over to the Supermax to see Ma. When we got there, I pushed all the codes to get us into the unit, and then led Pastor S. to her room (he has been there before, but maybe hasn't been to her room. I don't know). We walked toward her room, and she was on her roommate's side, looking at something. She seemed happy to see Pastor S. but kind of ambivalent about seeing me. I don't know.

We sat down and talked for a little while. Pastor S. tried to get her to talk about different things, but she really wasn't making much sense. I have talked before about how she is losing her ability to string together verbs, adjectives, and nouns to make coherent sentences. I don't know if perhaps I didn't hear her, but it sounded like she made up words a couple of times, too. But, she was still smiling and talkative, so that was good.

After a while, Pastor S. said that he wanted to tell Ma a story. So, he started reading the Easter Gospel lesson. Pastor S. read it very slow at the beginning, and after each sentence, Ma would say, "Okay. Mm-hmm." She was being an "attentive listener." Pastor then talked with Mom about things that make her worried, scared, or troubled, as a sort of "sermon," considering the Easter text dealt with the fear the women had that first Easter morning.

Then, Pastor S. got out communion supplies, did the Words of Institution, and said, "Let's pray the Lord's Prayer."

We bowed our heads and started praying. And then, much to my surprise, Ma prayed, too. I heard her saying the actual words, and I stopped praying, and kind of looked at her, and couldn't start praying again because I was about to start bawling. So, I looked at the ceiling to keep from crying, and I listened to my mom, who rarely says anything that makes much sense, recite the entire Lord's Prayer. Then, Ma, Pastor S., and I all took communion together. This activity makes me appreciate all the more the idea of the "communion of saints," because it unites Christians from every time and place together in our common bond with Christ Jesus. I haven't communed with my mom in almost two years, and it was nice to do so again.

After communion, Pastor S. said to Ma, "I'm not going to be coming here anymore, Ma'sName. Someone new is going to come because I'm moving to Wisconsin." Ma's reply was a chipper, "Okay!" I'm glad that she's not saddened by it because I think I'm sad enough for the both of us.

A little while later, Pastor S. and I decided it was time to go. Ma had referred to me in the third person earlier in the visit, and so I'm not 100% sure she knew it was me there visiting along with Pastor S. We all stood up, and I gave her a big hug and told her I loved her. Pastor S. gave her a hug goodbye, as well, when all of a sudden, she turned to him and said, "Pastor, how are your two boys?" We both looked at her, and Pastor S. mentioned a little about what they're doing now, and then we walked quickly out of her room. I turned back and saw that she had already distracted herself with something. I pushed the keys to get out, and we walked down the hall. Pastor S. said, "That's the first time since she's been in here that she said the entire Lord's Prayer. I was a bit amazed, myself. It's odd what sticks and what doesn't stick, eh?

That was the end of our visit with my mom. I'm grateful that I got to be present when he said goodbye to her; to hear her say the Lord's Prayer; and to commune with her for what I suspect might be the last time. The visit was a good, if not sad, one, but I'm grateful for glimpses into who she "used" to be. I love Ma. I miss her a lot, too, though. And yet I remember, always remember, that she is loved.

Some thoughts

Today is Ma's birthday. She is 69 years old. I wrote a letter "to" her, but will not be sending it to her because I'm not so sure she can read anymore, and because it's also very long; longer than her attention span these days.

All my siblings and their significant others (except Oldest Brother and his family) and I went to celebrate with her at the SuperMax last Saturday. We spent about an hour or so with her. She asked BiL who he was, and she called Howard by my name once. I can't believe how much I hate dementia.

My J-term class is going on right now. It started today. The class is called, "Church Conflict: From Contention to Collaboration." It seems interesting, and I've been continuing to work on my personal goal of talking more in class. Each time I spoke up, the professor made some sort of remark about how well I put whatever I said. I wonder if it's because she somehow knows about my goal to talk more... Then again, sometimes I do actually say decently intelligent remarks.

Other than that, right now, I am so incredibly tired that I can't even hardly see straight. I guess I've had an emotionally exhausting couple of days. My childhood home is on the market, and someone looked at the house this past weekend and really likes it. I am thinking about all the things that will need to be done if he buys it. I'm thinking about what that will mean if this person buys it. And I can't help but think I'm overreacting because it's not like I even want the house to stay in the family. There is just a lot of symbolism behind a home you lived in for 24 years, especially through all the things my family has been through. I'm tired. I wish, that just for a little while, things in my family could be like they are in other "normal" families. But in saying that, I start to thinking that I am being a big whiner, and that this is what my life and my family's life is like right now. Put on the big girl underpants and deal with it already.

I think I'm going to go to bed so that I can wake up rested and a bit more chipper in the morning. I don't even care that it's only 7:00 p.m. Goodnight.