Days of Daylillies

 

 

 Dearest Daniel,

 

             This past week I was at the medical center with your nephew for some doctor's appointments, and we were early and so we waited some time. We were positioned near the area where patients and their families were to check in and give the staff their insurance cards and dates of birth.  I was in awe of the fact that so many of the really tall young men had birthdates very very near the date of your own departure from Earth.  To me, your departure and the departure of my dad are momentous life redefining events, which actually seem recent to me. It's almost as if it were about three years ago. The fact that it is the thirteenth year since your departure, and that some teens at thirteen are six feet tall is momentarily confusing to me.  I know you would be twenty-five now, but my heart, not having seen you in the flesh since 2008, tends to think of the intelligent and funny soul you were then, and not the adult you would now be. You would think my heart would take the hint now that your best friend is married. 

            Other than that, the farm remains here, and we remain on it. The animals remain here. We still have lots of dogs, sheep, the horses,chickens, and Cammie the alpaca who knew you is still here. It is one of those summers where the daylillies are so numerous that you can't possibly rescue all the flowers that grow beside the trail, in advance of the road department's mowers. I am transferring them to flower beds as quickly as I can, even in the extreme heat. It is the kind of year where the sumacs and mimosas grow faster than is healthy for them. The forest is conspiring to take over the parts of the farm we have worked so hard to keep in lawn or pasture. The road that goes back to the barns has a canopy over it, as trees from both sides lead to each other. The vegetables we planted though are drying out. They have had plenty of water but somehow too much sun.

             The Earth remains a crazy place, and not as golden or as interesting a place since your own departure.  You are loved, and your memory and my Dad's remain alive and kicking. 

 

 

 

Happy Mother's Day 2021

 

 

                 I would like to take this moment to wish all mothers a Happy Mother's Day. I send special wishes for those mothers for whom this is not an entirely happy day.  Even those of us who have other children who remain on Earth still find Mother's Day a bit hard to take when one of those beloved children are in Heaven.  Please wish not only the mothers for whom this is a happy day, a good day. Please also wish the sad mothers a happy day on this bittersweet day. Please be prepared to hear how they may feel today. I will also say a prayer for those of you who have a mother who celebrates this day from Heaven.

 

                Happy Mother's Day 

 

 

This Week We Celebrate Daniel's Twenty-Fifth Birthday

 

                      In some respects, it seems as if you left Earth a long time ago, and then other times, the wound can be made fresh, and something catches me off guard, and I am left with the same longing and loss as I was in the beginning.

                      Daniel, as you probably already know, last week your sister had an eye procedure, and had some complications, and so the past weekend I quickly ran her to the hospital where the on-call ophthalmologist had agreed to meet us. Since we live some distance away, and he was nearby, we proceeded to the hospital in a mad dash. When we arrived, the hospital was empty. There was no one to direct us, and I had not been in that part of the hospital in almost fifteen years. Your sister had both eyes closed, and so we couldn't move very quickly. Eventually, I borrowed a wheelchair, like a large adult stroller, which allowed us to move through this section of the old hospital with the ramps, and long corridors, a bit more easily. We had walked a long way when I passed the morgue, and then the Department of Pathology where I instantly recalled that your heart, brain and tissue samples had been kept there, in part because you became a teaching case, and in part so that someday when they can identify the calcium channelopathy they believe took your life so suddenly, they can identify exactly which sudden arrhythmic death syndrome variety you had, so that they may monitor your siblings, your nieces, your nephews, and cousins more correctly than is done now.  Being in that part of the hospital with your sister in distress was upsetting. It is hard for me sometimes to have confidence that everything will be alright, because thirteen years ago, one morning, it wasn't, and things will never really be alright again. I stayed calm, backtracked, and finally found that we were exactly where we needed to be, only on the wrong floor.  It didn't take long to get your sister to the ophthalmologist who was waiting, and we did so, only five minutes late.   I will probably always associate that hospital with you, which I know is unfair. They have done so many wonderful things. They did a wonderful job when Christopher Reeve had his initial serious accident that caused his paralysis. They identified helicobacter pylori, and revolutionized the treatment of peptic ulcer disease, and some gastric cancers, worldwide.  Your nephew was born here, and yet, my heart is stuck on their having done your autopsy, and for the school of nursing to having had a funeral for you and other children who died under the care of the hospital or in the area. They even gave you a funeral two years in a row !

                     I do know that you reside in Heaven, and that my Dad, your Papa Lawrence, is with you. I know that you befriend many children and young people who come to Heaven, perhaps without knowing anyone else who has died. I know that you happily work for God and find chances to enjoy the many wonders of where you are. I know that you take good care of the animals from this farm who completed their lives here, and then go on to find you. I also know that when days are dark, that you and my Dad find ways to pass encouragements to me, and I appreciate this.

                      This week, had you remained on Earth, you would be celebrating your 25th birthday. I can imagine you at 25 quite well.  You would be about six foot three now, a little shorter than my father, but taller than your Dad and about the same height as your brother Matt. You would have broad shoulders and muscular arms. You would still have a broad smile, great insights, and an appreciation for great movies and books. You would still have your wonderful kind and creative spirit. I was always so proud of you, and I don't think you have forgotten.

                     Please know that despite the fact that I miss you very much, that I trust in our Lord God to have called you from Earth. Most of the time I do this with a fair measure of grace God has sent to me. (Cause I certainly can't manufacture it myself.)  A number of bizarre things have happened here on Earth in the past couple of years, and at least in some ways, I have now a modicum of relief that you have escaped from some of Earth's strife.  I love you and my Dad more than you know. Thank you for taking care of those precious animals for me until I get there.  I hope you find a wonderful way to spend your birthday. I think I will spend it this year taking care of Cammie the alpaca, the last animal who remains here on Earth who knew you, and who also grieved your passing.  I love you deeper than the oceans and wider than all the seas.

(I have enlarged the font for your friends who read this blog via Smartphone)

The Twelfth Christmas Without You

                   

                    It rained all day.  Your sister explored this area of her property.

 

 

                Tonight is Christmas Eve, and it has been twelve years since your sudden passing.   I don't think it ever gets any easier not to have you on Earth. I think I just become more resigned to it. I am also mindful of the terrible challenges your brothers and sister have had this year, and it's more constructive if I am positive and move forward with them, rather than pining for you at this time of year.

                     As I mentioned to you Daniel, in an earlier posting, this has been one unusual year. Much of the world is locked down due to a viral infection which has caused the deaths of those who have certain additional medical disorders and those who are elderly. This lockdown which has been cyclic since about March has separated families, ended jobs, closed restaurants, many permanently, and caused a financial collapse in a good deal of the world. People aren't allowed to go out without masks on their faces.  Yes, we have to wear masks on our faces to bank too, although we usually just go through the drive through.  Please know that we are doing all that is reasonable, and that all of us are well.

                    I am writing this note in lieu of the one in your Christmas stocking, although there is a little remembrance in the stocking for you.  Please know that I miss you and Papa Lawrence very much.  Thank you for watching us whenever you can, which I know you do, in tandem with God. Please know I remember my conversations with both of you as if they were yesterday. Sending love this Christmas which is wider than the oceans and deeper than Earth's seas, yes even the Mariana trench.

Twelve Years Gone

             

             This year at this time, the Autumn has advanced farther than it had when you departed.

 

 

    Somehow Daniel, I always feel closer to you each year on the day you suddenly departed for Heaven.  It's as if time is a rotating circle and that each time the circle completes an annual turn that somehow, I might see you again, if I could just jump from one square to another on the constantly rotating circle.  It's silly, but when you lose a child, you think of many things, some of which are nonsensical, and you are aware they are.   This year, my young son who departed for Heaven at age twelve and a half had been gone for twelve years.  Somehow, I thought that the twelve year gone mark would bring some magical insight that it really hasn't.

                Please know that being gone from Earth for twelve years has not erased or even blurred the years that you were here. I still remember the day you were born and the days that followed, with uncanny technicolor precision. I remember things you made and did all through your life and a very young child and as the quasi-adult you became before your departure.  As you know, we had a pleasant Thanksgiving yesterday and your sister was laughing about something you had said. I am lucky that as many remembrances as I have of you, that we have an entire family with their own remembrances of you, and I love hearing them.

               As I mentioned this year on your birthday, you would now be twenty-four years old.   Your bedroom still has many of the items you held dear. This year though, I have begun to give some of those outgrown toys and collections you had to your nephew. He knows all about you, and sometimes borrows DVDs from your vast collection of films and television series. I will still keep and maintain things that were important to you, like your drawings, your computer programs, and other things you did while you were here.

              This year has been a difficult one for many people. As you likely know, a fair number of people worldwide died as a result of a hybrid virus which emerged from China. It killed many people there before spreading across the world and causing unprecedented closings of schools, colleges, businesses, restaurants, government buildings and disrupting the hours of many stores. Almost any gathering has been cancelled this year, including the Celtic Festival we used to enjoy together.  I am relieved that you did not have the endure the challenges of this particular year, here on Earth, though I miss you more than you can know.

            In addition, this year will be remembered as the year in which an organized effort for launched to subvert the presidential election. In some cities, they counted more mailed in ballots than there were total voters registered.  Despite the fact that there are many lawsuits pending with regard to many different aspects of voter fraud, most of the media, both domestic and foreign, have been saying that there is "no evidence of fraud", which is absurd. They are no longer reporting, but are advancing an activist agenda which could destroy our republic.  If we have reached a time in American history where our votes are meaningless, then I am fearful for our family and for your siblings. Other nations also have their own problems and so departing for them does not solve our problems, but simply creates new ones.

             Other than my dad, your Papa Lawrence, I know that there are lots of people you know who now occupy some branch of the Kingdom of Heaven.  Please take good care of the animals that one by one come to you there. I miss them, and you very much. Please send best wishes to my Dad. I am still not pleased that you had to depart from Earth but I am on at least some level, relieved that one of my children will escape some of the obvious and not so obvious trials to come within our country.

              I will always love you, wider than the oceans, and deeper than the seas.

             

Sometimes, a New Song Helps

             Twenty-three years ago, singer songwriter Carolyn Arends wrote this song over the loss of her friend, Rich Mullins. Although she recorded it as a demo, she didn't do anything else with it during the intervening years.

              This year, this song was finally released as a streaming single.

             Losing Daniel, twelve years ago, at age twelve and a half has made me an unwitting collector of songs that inspire as a result of grief.  I think this one stands up well against the others.

       

Meeting the Nemesis for the First Time

            

 

 

       Many of you know that the passing of Daniel, now twelve years ago, was not the end to the trials of our family. Some of you know that my grandson, who is now five, has cystic fibrosis. He has never been sick, but was diagnosed near birth when our state did that myriad of tests that many of us think might be unnecessary. As a result of his early diagnosis, he has been treated at a state of the art center with an eye to preventing the nutritional, gastrointestinal and ultimately the respiratory complications which keep cystic fibrosis classed as a terminal illness for most people afflicted. 

            Although our family takes very seriously this diagnosis, and does the breathing treatments, medications and everything his specialists tell us to do, our grandson lives as close to a normal life as is possible. Because he is well, I don't think he really accepts that he has any type of an illness. He is also blessed with lots of energy and enjoys outdoor play.    Because physicians and specialists don't want children who may share similar problems and to share organisms that one cystic fibrosis sufferer may have and another one might not, they are discouraged from visiting or playing with one another. Most physicians say they should not be closer than six feet.  We have been amused at times by people's reactions to COVID-19 restrictions because our grandson lives with such restrictions, all the time, and therefore so do we.

 

             This week was the first time that our grandson accidentally met another child, of about the same age, also with cystic fibrosis.  Unlike our grandson, this child was already limited by the disease, short of breath and on oxygen.  It was the first time our grandson saw what this disease could become, what it might look like, and what the future could potentially hold.  I wanted to cry as I witnessed the compassion our grandson had for the other little boy. He genuinely had empathy as he conveyed to the boy that he too had this illness.

                              To this point our grandson had known cystic fibrosis as an annoyance, an expense, and a worry for his cystic fibrosis specialist physician and for his parents. He knew it as an abstract, and perhaps he thought of it as a fantasy his doctor had.  It broke my heart for him to see it for the very first time as a reality, as an issue that could alter the course of his life, or even end it. It hurt to see him processing later that day, what this disease could mean.   "Nana, will I have to go on oxygen ?" he asked me later.  I took a deep breath.  " We are lucky that your cystic fibrosis was diagnosed when you were a baby, and this gave the doctors the chance to start many medications and to see you every three months. It is their plan to try to stop the disease from activating in your lungs.  So far, you have only had symptoms and signs of the disease in your gastrointestinal or tummy region". I told him.  He asked a few other questions and eventually I had to tell him the truth, which is that whether the disease will activate in his lungs is in the hands of God, and that we will do everything possible to try to prevent this."   When we finished our discussion he understood and seemed to accept that the matter, and all matters, sit in the hands of God.  This of course is true for all of us, and was also true for Daniel.   Prayers for our grandson's continued relative health are appreciated.

In Notes to Heaven

Daniel,

           This Autumn it will have been twelve years since you departed from Earth.   You might think that the memories and the specifics of that day have muddied over time, but they haven't. I can recall them in the sharp visceral detail in which they occurred.  Although that moment is preserved in time, the bathroom in which you collapsed and died has changed.  The shower curtain is different. It shows ancient ships. I think you would like it. The room has been redecorated somewhat and I plan to paint the room this year.  This leaves me with thoughts of other things I should do.

            You are no longer 12 1/2 as you were at your departure. Twelve years later if you were on Earth you would be 24 years old.  As you know, a couple of times I have paid for an age progression of your photos, and haven't been awfully satisfied as they just don't look like you.  Recently, one of my friends who has a son two years younger than you would be, had a college graduation. His smile and the way he carried himself reminded me so much of you. He looked like you.  I decided that I don't need to get any more photographs age progressed because I would recognize you no matter what age you were.  Most of the time I am joyous about the achievements of your friends and of the young adult children of my own friends, but once in a while, it smarts.

             As you know, your room has been redecorated but we have pretty much kept most of your things, as much as remembrances for family and siblings as much as possible. By watching your DVDs in your room, we recall the moments in which we watched them with you, and somehow we are just that much closer.  I have been thinking lately that a good deal of fairly new and expensive clothing is sitting in your closet. I kept some of it to remember you, and sometimes to open the closet and sniff some of those clothes. As I look through some of the cotton summer shirts I am reminded of times we spent together and places we went and so I had no desire to give them away. I still have a pair of your fairly new Merrell shoes which somehow fit me as well. I have worn them on and off around the house for years, as somehow I have felt closer to you. Either that or I have felt your laughing at me all the way from Heaven.   But it's time. This has been a very difficult year for many families, and some of your things are needed by people who are still tied to Earth and have earthly needs.  And so, I must begin to pass things of yours to people who need or would care for them.  Your nephew already has his eyes on some of your things. Your niece is a little small but I am thinking that it won't be long before she wants some of the things you had. Don't worry. I will keep some remembrances, and I will let you guide me, if you wish.

         I am still doing everything I promised you, the day you were called. I am still doing my best. It is hard sometimes and sometimes I am sad, but the price we pay for loving this much is that when one of us departs, it hurts.  I love you, and I am so proud to be your mom, wherever you are,  be it on Earth or in Heaven.

Daniel's Overnight Appendectomy

           

Daniel's ward had light green walls and all brown blankets and room accents, a bit like hospital design by Target.

                    I had a strange dream last night.  I dreamed that Daniel was still alive, and, at age twenty-four, was still in college getting a PhD in one of the obscure aspects of computers. We had been notified that he was in the hospital and had just had an emergency appendectomy. When I got the call, I was simply pleased to hear that he was alive. Both my husband and I, and my daughter were driving in separate cars to come to see him.  My husband and I arrived at the hospital first.  The hospital was very full, and had taken a room that had intended to be a double room and had arranged the beds so that four people, all males of about the same age were in beds in the same room. It looked as if Target had decorated the room which had light green walls and brown room accents. It turned out that all of the patients in the room were about the same age, and all of them enjoyed computers and gaming. They had named themselves the "Nerd Ward".


                  Daniel seemed to be progressing nicely and it appeared that he might have found some new friends as a result of this hospitalization. The hospital was not entirely unfamiliar to me although I recognized that things there were running in an unfamiliar manner. Although no one mentioned COVID-19, I suppose that could have explained some of the things I saw there, and why staff seemed in such short supply.  Daniel's surgeon told me that he needed two units of packed cells and a couple of injections afterward, and that he could be discharged later that day. The problem was they didn't have the staff to do that.  However, if I wanted to administer the blood and give the injections, then the physician would complete the discharge orders and we could take him home.  This was strange because it's very unusual to need two units of packed cells following an appendectomy, even an emergency one. Still, I agreed so that we could take him home.


                    I don't know why I had this dream. I know that Daniel passed from this Earth twelve years ago now. I know that I miss him and wish I could see him at what would now be age twenty-four. I do wonder what he would be doing now. I also know that his siblings miss him very much, especially my daughter.  Sometimes I think that when Daniel died, the right time line was damaged, and that we have continued life in one that is not the correct one.   Still, it's strange to be dealing with challenges and life as if he is still here.   Still, it was good to see Daniel, in good health, successful, happy, even if he was temporarily in a hospital under admittedly strange circumstances. Maybe my own mind creates circumstances where I can see him and convey that we have never stopped loving him and caring.


                    I love you Daniel. I miss you, and I always will.

Happy Twenty-Fourth Birthday, Daniel

                 Sometimes it seems as if I am sprinting through this life. I can remember the day you were born as if it were yesterday. I was actually glad to be in the hospital that day, because we were about to have a third day of nearly one hundred degrees.  This year, it is actually cold for what would have been your birthday. This week, had you remained here on Earth, you would be twenty-four years old.  I can barely imagine what life would be like had you been able to stay.  You would be through college, and either working or you would have started a business as one of your brothers and your father has.  You might have had your own home by now, or you might still have been at the farm with us, while you saved money in order to launch a new business.  You departed this world twelve years ago, which means that later this year, we will pass a day in which you have been gone from this Earth longer than you were actually here on it.  The twelve years you were here are very memorable to me and to the rest of the family and we talk about you all the time.  Your nephew is now five, and although he is not like you at five, he is a little spitfire. He is full of energy, and ideas, and he knows all about you.  He is especially fond of your CD and DVD collection, and I really do try to protect them from becoming sticky.  Sometimes, I think that I should give some of your things to him or to your niece, but I believe I will know when that time arrives, for each item.  I do know that you don't need them, and that you want them to be used and appreciated once again.    You remain a big part of our lives just as you did, when you were here.

           
 

                       By now, all of the animals you knew when you were here have passed and are home with you, except for the alpaca Warrior Princess Camellia (whom we still call Cammie) who is still here. Please let the animals with you know that we love and miss them. There is also a precious girl, named Sable who passed recently from here, that you didn't know, but that you would have loved. Please look after her.  I know she will come to find you and my Dad.     

                      I don't know much about your existence now.  I know that you know something about the happenings here on Earth.  I am grateful that you don't have to endure some of the scarier parts of life here on Earth this year.   Please know that this week, and every week, that you are not just loved by the Lord God, and the relatives and ancestors you have with you, but also by your siblings and your parents who love you and miss you more than you know.

       Remember that you are loved, wider than the oceans and deeper than the seas, always.  No matter what happens on this Earth, love endures all things, the temporal and the non-temporal.