Homecoming

The sun was shining brightly on the October day in Iowa...the day I took my mother home.

So much had led to this morning.  Saying goodbye, with tears pouring down my cheeks at the airport in Okinawa, while the two-year-old called over and over, "Good-bye Grandma" was a moment I will never forget.  Leaving my daughter and her family of seven too early was painful.  Rerouting my itinerary to make it back home to avoid the typhoon and sitting in an airport in Seoul made the trip home almost surreal.  Saying hello to the daughters who had been by my mother's side during her last days and at the moment of death was sweetness and tragedy mixed together.  Their strength in my absence is a gift I will hold in my heart forever.  Settling into home with my dear Hubby after a three week absence was comforting and safe as the jet lag hung mysteriously over me and funeral plans were being made.  Oh the emotions as I arrived home to begin my mother's homecoming!

Days later family surrounded us for a short time.  They arrived from near and far.  Friends came and shared their fond memories and condolences.  Everyone was here and then they were gone.  The love, the togetherness, the tears, the laughter, the remembering, the stories, the sorting, the visitation and the funeral...it was a blur.  It was all good.  It was blessed.  Suddenly it was over.  Mother was honored but she was not yet home.

Twenty-five years ago I had not the strength to go to Iowa for my father's burial.  I thought I didn't have the strength to go and so I did not go.  I have always regretted that moment of weakness, that moment I thought I could not do one more act of public grieving.

This time I was the only one to accomplish the task.  I accepted that.  Hubby and I moved forward with the plan.  I would take my mother home.

A bus ride, and airplane trip and a rental car helped us accomplish the mission.  We arrived at my hometown of Council Bluffs, Iowa.  We drove around looking for places I remembered...my house on Bluff street, my elementary school, Bloomer School, my grandparents home on Locust Lodge, the church, St Paul's Lutheran, where my parents were married.  The places I remembered were precious to me on this October day.

The next morning Hubby and I arrived at the cemetery.  The hill to my parent's gravesite was as I remembered.  The roses in my arms felt precious as I had chosen four roses for each of our parents.  For my dad there were three red roses and one pink rose.  For my mother there were three white roses and one pink rose.  Yes, our parents had produced one dear pink girl and three handsome, precious sons.

The funeral director from Illinois was present.  He had driven from Illinois to western Iowa with our mother's remains.  Also present was the pastor from the church where our parents were married in Council Bluffs.  All was in order as I gazed at the hillside Hubby and I had to traverse.

As if heaven opened to me, all of a sudden, there was family arriving.  My cousin, who I had never met, had arrived to help me through this moment.  She brought her husband and told me that her brother would also soon be arriving.  There, in the midst of emptiness, she and her family arrived as if a multitude of angels had appeared.

The depth of the cold morning hit me as we sat down for the committal service.  I was shivering as the pastor began.  I reached for my newfound cousin's hand.  I thought I couldn't do this thing.  But I knew I was not alone.  My father's family was there with me.  I could do this thing...this bringing my mother home.

I look back now to this moment in Iowa.  It was blessed indeed!  Hubby and I were there along with the family that were meant to be with us.  My mother, along with my father were with their maker.  They were surrounding us with heaven that October day.  Their remains, all that we could claim, were on that gentle sloping hill in a cemetery in Iowa, but their souls were together and far beyond what we could even hope or imagine.

The sun was shining brightly on the October day in Iowa...the day I took my mother home.

Reality

Caught somewhere between the reality of a three-year-old and a ninety-six-year-old, my daughter and I found joy on this day in late July.  

It was somehow a terribly busy day in which we failed to accomplish all we set out to do.  Then came that moment.

My mother who has recently suffered from bouts of dementia, especially when ill, began to tell a story.  Four generations were traveling in my van together to take her for a scan of her neck.  Yes, she had broken her neck in January and needed one final CT scan, however that is a story for another day.  She began by saying,  "I was going to ask Justin if this was real or not."  She continued to tell an amazing story about her new apartment.  "You know there is a fire alarm on one wall and a phone thing on another wall.  Well, sparks were shooting between them and the alarm was making a sound like it was on fire."  On and on she went with her story.  

I reassured her, as I had done previously many times.  I gently reminded her that if something seems too unusual or unreal, it must not really be happening.  She patiently listened to me, and whether she accepted my analysis or not, she sweetly did not argue.  Rather she described in more detail what she had "seen".  

Three-year-old Wesley in the back seat was listening intently!  I reassured him that what Beezy thought she saw was not real.

After a few minutes of quiet had passed, Wesley began telling a story.  "Flames and sparks were shooting from the wall.  The firefighters and police officers came to help."  Wesley went on and on with his own animated version of the "spark story".

We were driving through the countryside and Beezy, my mother, began singing about the corn growing in Iowa...a song I had heard often as a child.  Wesley told her the music would make the police officer stop our car.

And so our morning went.  Wesley's mother and myself smiled and smiled.  And patiently listened.

The three-year-old and the ninety-six-year-old had stories to tell us.

We were blessed today to be the listeners.  And to contemplate the circle of life.  Today we fit in the middle of the circle and could tell reality from fiction.  Some day we will be somewhere else in the circle.  Hopefully, someone will be listening with joy to our reality.  Hopefully someone will still love us not matter what!

House

Excitement prevailed for this family of five one day in May nearly thirty-one years ago.  Dad, Mom and three school aged children were moving into their big new house.  Oh it was kind of an ugly house, built in 1978 and still decorated in browns and had lots of paneling.  The carpet was the ugliest ever seen!  But the brown house was nice and big and would be a great house for our large family. Sitting on that ugly carpet in the living room we ate our first meal together along with our gracious movers, friends, who volunteered their services.

Before we knew it, after some significant renovations, the house began to feel like home.  Celebrations began as birthdays came along in the house on Princeton Avenue.  Children, grandchildren, mom and dad were celebrated. Yes, there were lots of birthday parties, each one creating memories along the way and honoring life and family.

In this house, weddings and babies were celebrated with showers.  People were welcomed into the family at engagement parties.  Anniversaries were a time for reflection and a celebration of continuing love.  The season of tea parties began while we lived in this house and The Bourbonnais Tea Ladies became a symbol and vehicle for lifetime friendships.  

The house sheltered friends who gathered in.  There were so many people! Friends of each of our children, as well as the many friends we met along life's way, came through our front door. They all graced the house with their presence and their personalities.  Hopefully people went away a bit happier for joining in with our family.  Some came into our lives for a season and some for a lifetime.

We brought our fourth child home from the hospital to this house.  "It's A Girl" printed on a sign, draped the large front window to hale her homecoming.  All the thrill of new life along with the sleepless nights were lived here for our final time as new parents.  The sweet joy of babyhood filled these walls.  And before we knew it, that joy arrived again at the birth of our first grandchild, Elliana, who came home to our house as a newborn.

Yes, children have filled the brown house on Princeton!  For the first eleven years, a daycare business was operated here.   Over eighty children grew and played.  Big wheel bikes squealed down the gently sloping driveway along with sounds of laughter being heard up and down the street.  The backyard, which we fenced in, was a wonderful play yard, complete with swing set, sandbox, castles and forts.  And in the summer a "Slip N Slide" and small pool provided hours of joy.

Four teenagers passed through this house and grew into adults.  Lots of laughter and teasing was shared.  Events and graduations were celebrated.  Four kids learned to drive while we lived at the Princeton house.  Four college searches were accomplished. And, at times, doors were slammed, harsh words were spoken, guidance was given and tears were shed. In the end, four amazing, capable adults emerged.  They went away to college and eventually found spouses.  They moved in and out of our house as they began their early adulthood.  We all learned a lot!

And now, they gather back into our house, their childhood home.  They all made us grandparents and the eight little people who call us Grandma and Grandpa are such a delight to us.  Each birth filled our hearts with incredible joy, and each time the children and grandchildren came through the front door more memories were made.  Each Christmas and Easter, along with any other day of the year were reasons to gather together. The house even sheltered four generations at many of our gatherings as the "Greatest Generation" visited and loved and shared their wisdom with all of us.  Eventually a wheelchair was carried up and down the front steps to accomplish our gatherings.

Of course we had a good time keeping the Princeton house looking it's best inside and out.  Over the years many decorating projects were accomplished to keep the house looking nice, and stylish as well. One summer three teenagers painted the exterior and oh, what an experience that was! A bedroom was added as our family grew.  Eventually a wall between bedrooms was removed because so many bedrooms were no longer needed.  In later years we worked on making a perennial garden in the back yard and felt a sense of accomplishment as the plants pushed through the ground and grew bigger each year.  The beauty was truly enjoyed.  The fence, which was no longer needed, was removed.    

The brown house on Princeton sheltered us though many recoveries from surgeries, too many to count actually.  We came home to our sweet house, and through it all, the home therapies, the IV treatments, the tube feedings, all was accomplished within the walls of our house.  Learning to walk again over and over was a pattern too often followed.  However the most essential goal of recovery was achieved numerous times for both hubby and for me.

Recently we realized that our dear house on Princeton is too difficult to take care of.  The steps that we used to run up and down are now a challenge.  Taking care of the lawn and exterior has become too difficult and we are counting on the help of our kids and neighbors more and more.  And before our eyes we realize we can't stay in this house any more. It is time to say goodbye and find a house where we will be safe and also independent.  The home search has begun

.All of a sudden, but not really, everything changes!

                                                               ++++++++++++++++

Never having completed this blog entry, I come to finish it now nearly one and a half years later.  We are settled in our new house, the tan ranch on Bethel, and of course, are already making new memories here.  However, I wanted to finish my thoughts on the brown house on Princeton where so much of our life as a family of six happened.  When we sold that house, I wrote a personal note to the young family moving in there, a family of four.  I told them of all the little idiosyncrasies about the house that only we knew and I wished them a happy life. Once I wrote my thoughts to them I could move on. The new family has already made lots of changes inside and out, making the house their own, and that is the way it should be

With the help of our local children and their spouses, we staged, we packed, we stored, we cleaned, we listed, we sold and we moved.  Saying goodbye to the house was not difficult for hubby and me, for we knew the time had come to move on with life in a different place.  

Thank you brown house on Princeton.  You did a great job providing four walls where we could make a home for so many years.  You showed us that a house, even a seemingly ugly house at first glance, can become a home...a home where all six of us became the people we are today.   

Facebook

Facebook has become more than any of us ever imagined it would be.  Personally, I enjoy it for the most part.  I obtain a lot of news daily from news agency feeds I subscribe to.  I skip by the ads and have learned I don't need to read everything that comes through my feed.  Most importantly however, I enjoy seeing what my friends post.  I loved the end of the school year photos and of course the prom and graduation photos.  I find joy in seeing your babies and kids.  I like to hear about the fun you are having on your vacation and enjoy your smiles in new places.  I appreciate my friends who post the rainfall amounts. I feel close to you when prayer is requested or an obituary or Go Fund Me comes along. I even appreciate the opinion posts that so many of you put up.

I will admit it makes me happy when you like my posts.  And believe me when I say, it makes me feel closer to you.  I have relationships with people I would not have in any other way.  Friends from my childhood and brand new neighbors fill my thoughts as Facebook provides a forum for us to communicate.  Many of my children's friends are my friends also and I absolutely love seeing you succeed in life and raise your families.  If you are my friend on Facebook that means I care about you.  It's as simple as that.

Delighted am I indeed to live in a country where I, and all of you, are free to say what we believe!  I understand that we enjoy freedoms in this country that people elsewhere envy.  When I put up a post on Facebook or comment on yours, that is an honest opinion from me and I believe it also is an invitation to you to give your opinion.

My thoughts ran deep yesterday as my friend and I spent the day together.  We chose the excursion to the Illinois Holocaust Museum knowing it would be interesting but also heart-wrenching.  Heart-wrenching indeed it was!  Standing in a railway car which once traveled back and forth loaded with one hundred people at a time crammed into the space for four days hit a spot in me that words cannot describe!  In fact, I cannot write any more on this subject.  It is too close right now.

To my surprise there was also a special exhibit on slavery in this country from 1808 to 1865.  Interestingly the other three people in our excursion were black ladies of our generation.  Also interestingly enough, my friend and I both have  grandchildren who are biracial.  So as we walked through the exhibit each of us were touched in unique and profound ways.  Seeing ads in newspapers of the time which advertised lots in reference to selling people was absolutely indescribably shocking.  The entire exhibit made me sick.  How could people have done that?  How could people have watched them do it?  How does anyone think this is not still impacting us today?

The lovely elderly docent, a Jewish woman of course, who showed us through the museum asked us to notice that during both of the eras described above, there were people who remained silent.  She suggested that they were as much to blame as those who committed horrendous acts against their fellow man.

As you can imagine, my friend and I were tired physically and emotionally by the end of the day, having toured the Chicago Botanical Gardens as well as the museum.  The day was a moment in time for us to reflect and also to enjoy our longtime friendship.

And so, after my day, thinking of all of you, I shared some very brief thoughts on Facebook...opening my heart to you.

Honestly, I had no idea my short post would generate a debate between my friends.  However, I respect that each of you had the right to say what you wanted, and needed, to say.  The fact that we don't agree is fine as long as we can accept that my ideas may be different than yours.  And that's okay.

And thus the abortion debate came about.  

I would like to state my personal thoughts on the subject once again.  I personally could never choose to have an abortion.  I do believe every person conceived is unique in all the world.  My four children are precious to me beyond words...as are the four babies I lost when they were only very small embryos.  At the time I carried them they were as precious to me as the four who grew nine months within me.

My experiences have helped form my beliefs.  One of the children I lost was growing in my fallopian tube.  That embryo was cut from me because it could have killed me if left where it had implanted.  That decision was made between me and my physician.  One of the children I carried to full-term could have been aborted as well.  Twenty weeks into the pregnancy a blood test was performed, which I did not know about, and I was told that there was a strong chance that the child had Down Syndrome.  The suggestion was to find out, and if indeed that diagnosis was confirmed, I could still "take care of it".

If you know me you know that I love deeply and with all of my heart.  Telling you the above stories certainly sounds much simpler than living through them actually was.  You can only imagine the angst and the decision making process I went through.  Yes, I understand some things on a very personal level.  The things that I describe above happened in my body.  I would never want my government to tell me what I could or could not do in either of those situations.  I do not believe the government has a place at all in decisions which involve a woman and her body.  I find it horrendous to criminalize a doctor or a woman for making these very personal decisions.

Compelled to write this blog post in response to a simple Facebook conversation is a freedom I have enjoyed today.  I don't expect you to agree with me or disagree.  And I don't care how long you want to discuss it.  I respect your right to do so.

I am still grieving for all who have been lost unnecessarily...during the time of  slavery in the United States, the Holocaust or through abortion. I grieve the loss of my four children who had every potential in the world to make a difference, just as their four siblings still have the opportunity to do.  

I will listen to you.  Please listen to me.