Thirteen Years

             

 

 

          Last night I made your favorite dessert.  You know, it's the one I only make on Thanksgiving and Christmas.  It's the one with the layer of melted neufchatel cheese (low fat cream cheese) mixed with cool whip, then topped with chocolate pudding, and then with a layer of chocolate pudding mixed with cool whip also, and then chilled and served in squares, a bit like cheesecake blocks. This year, I grated dark chocolate on top. This year, I remembered to add a tablespoon of lemon juice to the neufchatel cheese. It makes a nice difference.  I think it's become a remembrance dessert of the times we spent together, while you were still here.  It's a good thing I don't make this often, because since you are in Heaven, I ate your portion. Forgive me.

              I know you are safe in Heaven. I know that you are learning things I could not have hoped to teach you while we were here together. This year, I will even admit to being a little relieved that you aren't on Earth to do battle with COVID-19 and some of the ridiculous requirements universities, governments and  some employers have placed on people.  You probably know this, but the "for emergency use only" injections for it, killed some of the people we knew.  Some of your friends have also had to get it in order to continue studying for their advanced degrees.

               Camellia, the alpaca, is now the only animal on the farm who knew you personally.  All the other animals who knew you have died, in the thirteen years since your rushed departure from here. She is well, but she too is nearing life expectancy.  I imagine you will be there for her when she makes her way to her permanent heavenly home with the others. Thank you for that. I hope the other animals are with you and my Dad.

               I love you so.  You are still one of the greatest joys of my life. We still laugh about things you said, and I still relate your wisdoms and words to people online, or to people who knew you.  I still clearly remember all our little moments together.  I still remember when we went to the political fundraiser and had to go on a hayride to do it. I had heels on and I nearly fell while getting off.  You were watching and you steadied me.  I think your steadying me is probably a metaphor for our lives together here on Earth.

               I know you are with my Dad and I know you have access to the ancestors, and that there are some remarkable people there with you. I know that your faith has always been strong.  I will always love you, wider than the oceans, and deeper than the seas, even though for these years, we remain physically parted.

 

 

 

 

There is Still Magic Remaining in This Time of Year

 

                                           Daniel's newest nephew

 

 

Daniel, 

 

 I know that you know that this week, it will have been thirteen years since you so quickly departed, the morning of the day after Thanksgiving. I still think of you every day, and wonder what your soul is doing, what you are thinking, and how free you are of concerns for yourself, those with you, and for those of us who are left on what is quite often, the cruel Earth. I do want to share some happy news with you though. Your eldest brother, who was the only one of us not to be at the house, when you passed, who came back so quickly that day, realizes how hard life without you has been, most especially for me. When he married, he and his wife did so, this very week, to help give another meaning to the week that will live in infamy for the rest of our lives.

 This week, their second child was born, a little boy. Now, it will be the week of Thanksgiving, the week you were called to Heaven, the week your brother and his wife were married, and the week your second nephew was born. I am told he is muscular and active, just as you were. I wish that you and my Dad were still on Earth, and I do miss you both, and I suspect I always will, but in cosmic terms, I am just an infant. I don't know why God called my Dad, and then in thirty Earth days called you home also. I know that everything that happens has purpose and reason, but I don't always have to like it. Happy Thanksgiving. I love you and Dad more than you will ever know.

 

 

 

Yul Moldauer Will Represent the US in the Olympics !

              

                                                                   Yul Moldauer

 

        Some years ago, Daniel and our family were acquainted with Yul Moldauer and his family.  In fact, when Daniel died, Yul's mom Orsa flew out here to help.  Yul and Daniel were born in the same year.  It is for this reason that we are very, very pleased to see that Yul will be representing the United States in men's gymnastics at the Olympics.  A great deal of Yul's life has been spent perfecting these very important gymnastic skills, and the entire family,  Mom, Dad, both sisters and brother made sacrifices so that this journey for the family could continue. This is a wonderful achievement for their entire family!  For this reason, Yul and his entire family remain in our prayers at this time.  I'm sure Daniel himself will be watching.  Good luck, Yul !

 

 

 

 

 

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.