Becky's Ultimate Gift

Most of us moms say that we would die for our children, but few of us are ever called upon to do so. Becky had a choice to make--fight her cancer and have a chance at life with her husband and daughter or give birth to a healthy child. She chose her unborn child, and Becky died soon after Ben's birth.

Becky is a hero to me. I never knew her, but I went to high school with her husband Gary. We were buddies then, but we lost touch over the years, and only renewed our friendship about eight years ago through classmates.com. When Gary told me Becky's story, I cried for her and for her children. I felt awe for this brave, loving, selfless woman. 

Becky was happily married and pregnant with her second child. She had a young daughter named Maija, who she loved with all her heart. One day, Becky felt pain in her leg. She and her doctor thought sciatica, which so many pregnant women get, but the doctor decided to run some extra tests to be sure. Cancer was the diagnosis. I can only imagine the thoughts that raced through Becky's mind. So little time to think because a decision had to be made quickly, and there would be no time for second guessing.

What made me think of Becky today? Well, actually I've been thinking about her all weekend, thinking about how proud she would be. Her Maija has grown into a lovely women, who I've had the pleasure of spending time with twice over the years, and she graduated magna cum laude from college this weekend with her proud papa and loving brother watching. All weekend, I kept imagining Becky as a strong, though invisible, presence at the graduation, her eyes full of joyful tears at the delightful, charming, intelligent, caring adults her children have become. I imagine her happy pleasure with Gary, who honored her trust in him as the man she chose to marry by shouldering the mantle of single parent, and with the help of Becky's family, raised his two children with grace and unwavering love, even though his heart was broken by the much too early death of his beloved wife.

So, today, I raise my glass to Becky and toast her with all the love in my heart from one mother to another, and I bow my head to her in humility. Becky was one very special mom; she gave the ultimate gift of love, her life for her son's, and her unselfish, unconditional love shines on in the world through her daughter Maija and her son Ben.

Take care,

Kate

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My Evening At A Gala

I love new experiences. I also enjoy going out in the evening, but nowadays I can only go out in the evening if one of my children or a friend drives. I have nightblindness, and I have no sense of direction (I've been getting lost wherever I go since I was five years old and got lost at Knott's Berry Farm), making it unwise for me to venture out alone at night. So, when an opportunity to have a new experience in the evening pops up, and I have someone to drive me, I seize the opportunity with gusto. Just such an opportunity occurred last night, when Grant and I volunteered to help his girlfriend at a gala.

Leanne, Grant's girlfriend, works for the Carmel Foundation, and each year they hold a fundraising gala for their transportation program to help seniors. Leanne had enlisted her mother, dad, and Grant as volunteers, and when one of the other volunteers had to bow out, I was delighted to fill in. I had never been to a gala before, and I eagerly anticipated the experience.

Grant and I arrived at the event promptly at 5:00 PM, arriving at the same time as Leanne's parents, Sheila and Harvey. We were all dressed nicely, but it was Leanne who stole the show. She was stunning in a gorgeous little black dress. Sheila also looked lovely in a little black dress. I no longer wear little black dresses because I think they look best worn with heels, and a broken foot almost twenty years ago makes it impossible for me to wear heels anymore. So, I was dressed in a pretty blouse and black pants. Harvey looked nice in a shirt and tie, and Grant looked incredibly handsome in his clothes; he could be a GQ model.

After hugs all around and introductions to Leanne's colleagues, we got to work greeting the attendees. We handed them their table seat number and their bidding paddle number and sent them into the silent auction to find items on which to bid. I met a charming Scot and his wife. He was surprised when I asked if he were Scottish, and he brightened perceptively when he learned about our Scottish family members. He had been to Orkney, as have Grant and I, so we had a chat about that, agreeing the Scapa single Malt whiskey is divine.

After a bit, I ventured into the silent auction room, though it was anything but silent. The attendees were drinking wine and chatting while looking over the goodies. I had donated a copy of my book, Dueling With Dementia: Not The Love Story We Planned, but no one had bid on it. I told Leanne if it didn't sell, she should put it in the foundation's library. 

At 7:00 PM, we were finished greeting the attendees. Grant and Harvey were going to be spotters for the live auction during the meal. Two people did not show up for the gala, so Leanne's boss told Sheila and me to go and sit in their spots. The dinners were paid for, and she said they should not go to waste. Sheila and I were seated at the table where the foundation's CEO and husband were sitting. We ate the very good dinner, and I idly mused about what it must be like to have enough discretionary income that you could bid $3500 on something for charity's sake and not bat an eyelid. The emcee was resplendent in a tux with a red cummerbund and bow tie. He did an excellent job of entertaining us while he cajoled the most money he could out of the attendees for the various auction items. 

A highlight of the evening was when Bill, the main Foundation driver, told us stories about driving seniors to appointments and shopping. We could see how much he loves the people that he drives, and how much they love him.

But the pièce de résistance of the gala was Susan Egan, a former Broadway star with one of the most amazing voices I've ever heard. She was funny and heartwarming and the perfect entertainer. We gave her a standing ovation, and she rewarded us with an encore. If you do not know Susan Egan, you can youtube her and hear her glorious voice. I cannot possibly say that one song was better than another; they were all wonderful because her voice and personality put you under her spell, and you become part of her joy. Susan sang this lovely song, "Nina Doesn't Care" http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jKdLJo2_6hQ, that she wrote awhile after her first daughter was born, and there was not a dry eye in the room.

After the gala was over, Sheila, Harvey, Grant, and I sat around an outdoor fire pit and talked, while Leanne took care of paperwork. My book did sell. Sheila, bless her heart, bid on it so that my book wouldn't be the only item not purchased. Grant told me that another person had bid on it too.

The four of us wondered back into the building, found Leanne, and took photos to remember the lovely evening filled with bonhomie and goodwill. A good time was had by all, and the foundation raised lots of money to keep its program to drive seniors going for another year. With hugs all around, we said our good-nights, and headed home happy that we had all, in our way, helped make the world a little bit better.

I'm already looking forward to next year's gala and hope that Leanne will want Sheila, Harvey, Grant, and me to volunteer again.

Take care,

Kate

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My Children, My Blessings, My Joys

Tomorrow is Mother's Day, and I shudder when I remember how close I came to missing out on my greatest joy,  being a mother. 

Before I had my children, it would be accurate to say that I did not like children in any way, shape, or form. I despised babysitting, avoiding it whenever possible after the dreadful summer of 1969 when I babysat three unruly, spoiled children under the age of five, who tormented me every day for twelve long weeks. Now I know that the problem was the parents, but then I thought it was the kids, and I decided that having children was absolutely not going to be part of my life.

I hummed along, happy in my childless existence, until Gordon shared his desire to have four children with me. Four?! Not one, but four. Who was he kidding? I was an educator, a scholar. I only liked children once they got to college and not before. That's why I never got a teaching certificate--I had no desire to spend time with people under the age of eighteen!

Gordon wisely suggested that we start with one child, and because I loved him, I agreed. I was terrified about how my life would change. Would my brain shrivel up? Would I become a Stepford wife? How would I talk to a baby? How would I change a diaper? Eek! What was I getting myself into?

 

Well, the moment arrived, and Amy was born, and I fell in love for the first time in my life! Yes, of course, I loved my family and friends and husband, but the love I felt for Amy was not like anything I'd ever felt before. It was transcendent. It was pure. It was joy. For the first time in my life, I knew that I would die for someone, for Amy, because she was the most important person in the world.

I fell in love three more times when Gavin, Hugh, and Grant were born. With my four babes, my angels, my darlings, my life was whole and complete. I felt connected to the world and other people in ways I never imagined possible. I understood how God could love us humans, even though we're often unlovable. My children show me the world through their eyes, and it is a lovely world indeed. Because of Amy, I see fairies in the world; because of Gavin, I understand the simple truths in country music; because of Hugh, I marvel at all the ocean's creatures; and because of Grant, I get a glimpse at the answers I'm seeking to life's big questions; my children show me all these things and so much more that I would never have known if not for them. And, because of all four of them, I know goodness.

So, while tomorrow is a day to celebrate mothers, I also want to spend it celebrating my children who made me a mother with their love, patience, and understanding. As I bumbled about, reading T.S Eliot's poems to them along with fairy tales, serving oven baked chicken for dinner far too often because I hated cooking and didn't know what else to cook, and worrying aloud about every little thing, my children somehow managed to grow up to be the kindest, gentlest, most caring individuals I know. And, wonders of wonders, they are so well-adjusted. I'm in awe of them, and I am blessed.

Roger Whittaker sings a song called "Tiny Angels." It is a Christmas song, but these words from the song perfectly express my feelings about Amy, Gavin, Hugh, and Grant every day of the year.

 

"You changed the world, my angels - when you came to me.
Now Christmas day and every day is the same to me.
The only gifts that I could want are you, my darlings."

Have a lovely Mother's Day tomorrow celebrating your mothers and your children!

Take care,

Kate

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My Beloved Porch Swing

The idea of a porch swing always enchanted me. I imagined that all sorts of everyday magic could occur while rocking in one. I can't recall any porch swings in my childhood, though I have a faint memory of one on my maternal grandmother's porch, or maybe it's just wishful thinking. I do know that my great-grandma told me that gentleman callers courted her on her parent's porch swing, so maybe that romantic story is what sparked my desire for a porch swing. I can't say for sure, but I have wanted a porch swing to swing on since I was a child. Nine years ago this Mother's Day my wish came true.

On that Mother's Day, we still lived all together on our mountain paradise, and on special days, like mothers everywhere, I would embrace all that was good and true in our family, and do my best to fill our celebrations with love and joy. On Mother's Day 2003, however, it was my sons who gave me a gift of love and joy--they gave me a porch swing. They did not buy me one; they did something much better--they made me one. Gavin designed the swing, and he and his brothers, Hugh and Grant, built it together. They did this in secret. On Mother's Day, all three boys carried the swing out to the point, our special place on our mountain that overlooked another mountain, where we could watch glorious sunsets, fierce storms, or magical, waterfall-like fog, and where we walked to each evening. 

In the late afternoon of that lovely Mother's Day, we took our family walk to the point. Imagine my delighted surprise when I saw the swing. I laughed and cried and jumped for joy. My heart felt like it would burst with love and happiness. My loving sons had given me one of the best gifts ever--hours and hours of peaceful swinging, while looking out over an idyllic pastoral view.

When we had to move off our mountain nine months later, I was determined to take my porch swing to our new home. This did not prove easy to do, but, in the end, I prevailed. Now, my porch swing sits in my backyard on the patio. I can sit there and talk with Gavin and Grant when they barbecue, but mostly I sit there by myself, swinging back and forth, thinking back on my happy family memories, or trying to figure out solutions to problems, or just basking in the warmth of a fine day,  comforted by my swing that was made for me with love by my boys.

My porch swing is even better than I imagined it would be, proving that sometimes reality can be much better than my imagination.

Take care,

Kate

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The Love Of A Good Pet

Today, I am joyfully remembering and praising the pets I've had over my almost sixty-one years of life. My cats, dogs, rats, goats, rabbit, horse, sheep, turtle, and hamster have been my boon companions every day, and I cannot imagine life without a pet.

Fluffy, a gray kitten, is the first pet I remember. We got her when I was three or four. I would dress her up in my doll's clothes. I did not like dolls, but I loved Fluffy, so I wanted to see how she looked in the pretty dresses my grandma had given me for my dolls. Fluffy was fairly tolerant for a cat, but one day she'd had enough. She took her paw and scratched my face. My mom was horrified because I was going to be the flower girl in my aunt's wedding in a couple of day. All was saved when they put makeup on my delighted four year old face, but my mom never let me dress Fluffy again.

Fluffy was my closest confidante in high school because I could trust her to keep her own counsel. She and I would sit for hours under the tree in the yard, and I would pour out all my hopes, dreams, and frustrations. She would always purr reassuringly when I cried over a boy or had a misunderstanding with a friend. She knew how to make everything just right. My heart broke when she died.

Some of my animal friends over the next thirty or so years have been: Elsa the cat, Thomas the turtle, Gordie the rat, Thumper the French Lop rabbit, Maude the cat, Beau the dog with a huge, loving heart, Katie the cat, Smokey the cat, Fionn the cat, Jennie the best dog ever, Rose the rat, Special the horse, Destiny the goat, Mama the sheep, Orlagh the cat, Patchie the cat, and Zeke the wonder dog. Each of these friends have shared happy times and sad times. They have shared meals too. 

When I was a very poor student, working in a factory in the early 1970's, I would splurge each Friday when I cashed my paycheck, and buy a can of sardines. It was the only treat we had each week, and Elsa and I shared it. When we got Jennie, the best dog ever, in 1994, she was not supposed to live long because she had a severely defective heart. We brought her home and hoped to give her a good year. She lived six years because we gave her so much love, and she loved us back with every beat of her heart. I would bring her sliced roast beef for treats, and on her birthday we always got her an individual all meat pizza from Round Table. The kids and I would sing "Happy Birthday" to her while she scarfed down her pizza. Now we have Mollie the dog and Oreo the cat, who both love bacon. So, most days, Grant fries up bacon for me, and I share with Mollie and Oreo. It's lovely.

One thing I know for sure is that no matter how much love I give my pets, they love me back much more and much better. They have infinite patience and unconditional love. Zeke let me cry my eyes out into his fur when my middle son developed schizophrenia. I would sob and sob, and his fur would be soaked, but his glance was so kind, and his breath on my cheek so comforting. He never moved away, even though I'm sure I squeezed him too tightly at times.

The current situation in our home is a very odd one indeed because we are living with my husband's dementia. When Grant is not home, Mollie the dog, Oreo the cat, and Miss Whiskers (a deaf cat who does not like bacon) get just as unnerved as I do with some of Gordon's odd utterances and behaviors. Sometimes, it is scary; always, it is lonely. However, Mollie, Oreo, Miss Whiskers, and I keep each other company until Grant returns. Mollie and I take walks. Both cats and Mollie sit next to me when I'm reading, working on the computer, or watching a movie. Together, we keep the darkness of dementia at bay.

What is really amazing to see is when we hear Grant's car coming up the street. Mollie and Oreo run to the door to welcome Grant home. Oreo glues himself to Grant, and Mollie jumps and licks him and wiggles her whole body in delight. Mollie does this when Gavin or Amy shows up too. It's as if my children bring light to brighten the darkness of dementia, and Mollie, Oreo, Miss Whiskers, and I bask in the warmth of that light.

So, let's hear it for our pets. They love us just the way we are. They are never too busy for us and never preoccupied. They let us cry, or laugh, or dance with them. They share our meals. They share our beds. They don't pout or hold grudges. And, most importantly, my pets think everything I write on my blog is absolutely brilliant, and always reward me with a purr or an affectionate lick. I love you, Mollie, Oreo, and Miss Whiskers. Thank you for being such boon companions!

Take care,

Kate

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