I love you 10!

The past few days, I have noticed yet another layer lifting off my sister’s spirit.  A couple days ago, we were driving in the city and there was an ambulance just ahead of us.  Kimmie quietly commented, “Ambulance, emergency, Mom.”  I looked over at my sister who had tears in her eyes.  My heart broke for her.  I know she’s the one who found our mom when she died.  I put my hand on her leg and said, “Did an ambulance come to try to help Mom?”  As the tears rolled down her cheeks, almost inaudibly she replied, “Yes, Mama’s dead.  Mama’s in heaven.”  “You’re right, Kim…” is all I could muster up through my grief that seems to wander between the surface of my soul and such great depths that I’m uncertain if it will ever surface, again.

Last night was a moment to cherish.  When I tucked Kim into bed, I proceeded with what has become our nightly tradition.  “Kimmie, what was your favorite part of your day today?”  I was expecting the usual answer of “horse.”  However, last night’s response was, “bear.”  “Bear,” I asked?  “Do you mean the fuzzy bear blanket that Jan gave you for Christmas?”  “No,” she replied and then handed me her stuffed bunny she sleeps with. “Oh, you mean your bunny is your favorite part of your day today?”  “Yes,” she said.  “Is your bunny your favorite part because Mom gave it to you,” I questioned.  “Yes!”  I leaned over and kissed my sister’s forehead and asked her, “do you know how much Mom loves you?”  Her eyes got watery and she smiled and said, “Ten!”  Oh how I laughed!!!  “You remember, don’t you Kimmie?  When we were little girls, ten meant the very best we could do or love someone!”  She just smiled back at me.  I told her, “You’re right Mom loves you ten! How much do I love you?”  Kim grinned and replied, “Ten,” with a sparkle in her eyes.  “Yes, Kimmie I love you ten!”  Then I asked her how much she loves me…the rascal said, “Four,” started laughing, and gave me a knowing look like, “I got you, Debbie!”  Then she leaned over, kissed me, and said, “I love you ten, Debbie.”  This conversation drew me into a time warp.  Suddenly I wasn’t 37 years old and Kimmie wasn’t 39 years old.  We were little girls, again.  There was no pain; just that sweet kindred spirit connection we had growing up.

So, my question to you is what’s better than loving “ten?”  Do you allow yourself to love “ten?”  Is there someone who loves you “ten?”

As I continue to waffle with emotions with my new life, as I try to let go of the past, yet recapture the precious moments…I will strive to love “ten”:  with my Jesus, my family, my friends, and the daily moments that I don’t cherish enough.  What a beautiful challenge my dear sister has set before me.  “I love you 10, Kimmie!”

Saltwater Hope!

What a crazy day to take a drive west of here!  The wind has blowing almost non-stop since late last night and visibility was quite poor in many areas along that 37 kilometer stretch.  The highway was very slick and my Toyota Rav seemed as displeased as I was to be out on the road today.  Living out in the country, my husband and I have a “rule” about whether to drive or not (funny how this rule only applies to me or is it that Randy is always breaking the rule?).  Anyway, if I can’t see across the fields to the neighboring Hutterite Colony, then it’s not safe or worth driving in the frigid Manitoba winter.

Today I broke the rule!  I was a woman on a mission.  Back in September, I had contacted my local Minister of Parliament’s office to ask for a meeting with her.  I had attached a very raw, heart-wrenching letter describing our situation surrounding Kimmie’s move here and the immigration process.  I had been given limited direction in which application to fill out and was told that my M.P. was unavailable to meet.  I immediately responded to her staff, thanked her for the website information, but that I would wait patiently for a meeting to “plead” our case and ask for a letter of recommendation to stay here in Canada.

September, October, November, and December went by without any communication from the office.   About a week ago, I noticed yet another piece of what I presumed to be propaganda in our mail.  This time the flyer actually sparked some hope.  “Come join us for our New Year’s Tea.”  Yes, we’re going to meet our M.P. in person and allow her to connect our names and our story with our faces. 

Since I woke up this morning, I asked myself, “Do I drive despite our ‘rule?’ How important is it that I meet her today?  If I don’t go today, when will I have another opportunity to meet her?”  Finally, I decided Kimmie and I would don our many layers of winter clothes and start our trek west. 

We arrived at the tiny office in Portage La Prairie.  An onlooker would quickly identify that Kimmie and I were the youngest “constituents” in a sea of gray hairs (of course I say this with utmost respect and a bit of a jab at myself since I have a very close relationship with my hair stylist who douses my head with dye on a monthly basis)!  There were about ten people ahead of us and another 20 behind us in line.  I knew I had a very limited window of opportunity to introduce ourselves and share our story.  We patiently waited for our turn for our “meeting” as Kimmie called it.

Those ahead of us gave their comments to our gracious hostess and proceeded to partake in Tim’s coffee and “dainties” (those are cookies and fancy bars for my American counterparts).  Finally, she walked up to us.  Our M.P. was very professional as we made our introductions.  What I didn’t expect was my tidal wave of emotions that suddenly ripped through me.  My eyes didn’t have a fighting chance to hold back six months of pent up emotions, exhaustion, and grief.  My self-talk was, “Deb, don’t lose it now!”

As our M.P. patiently listened to our story, I realized she had not been given the emails.  Much to my surprise, she became just as choked up as me and she found it difficult to hold back her tears, too.  She quickly shared with me that she’ll remember Kimmie because she has a sister named Kim with special needs, too!  She told me that she would “rally” her staff to do all they can to support us in this immigration journey (just a few hours ago I would have referred to it as a nightmare versus a journey).  She completely acknowledged the necessity for Kimmie to be approved to stay in Canada.  Yes, there was a heart connection in that little office this afternoon. 

I once heard a speaker refer to “God appointments” and I’ve adopted that term for many years.  Indeed, this was a “God appointment” today.  It was not sheer coincidence that our M.P. has a sister with the same name with special needs.  And I am so grateful for that unrelenting nudge that I couldn’t push aside and for perseverance to drive the winter roads to meet her. 

I have found myself at a loss for tears the past months since Mom died.  This afternoon as I drove home, I cried.  At first I tried to hide my tears from Kimmie because I didn’t want to alarm her.  But then I got another nudge, “Be real, let your sister see you cry.”  I think my tears are the beginning of grief, I think my tears represent six months of full-time care providing (along with all the other daily responsibilities as well as “curveballs” thrown my way).  We still have much work ahead of us with this immigration journey but I also think my tears are allowing me to hope, again!

Triple bypass surgery in progress...

The heart is an amazing organ!!!  Did you know it beats thousands of times each day, every day, for your entire life?  In the process, it pumps about 5 million gallons of blood, life blood, through your body! We have been warned over and over what happens if we don't take care of our bodies; specifically our heart.  "When one of the heart's arteries gets blocked and a person has a heart attack, one common procedure is to perform heart surgery and sew in a new piece of blood vessel to bridge over (bypass) the blockage. In many cases, the surgeon will fix not only the immediate problem, but also other arteries on the heart that are starting to look blocked. If the surgeon repairs three of the arteries, it is called a triple bypass."

If this is the procedure for a physical heart to be repaired, I can't help but wonder what the procedure is to repair our "internal" or "spiritual" heart?  Sometimes word pictures come to my mind or even my heart, if you will.  In the past couple of days, my thoughts have wandered to some chasms in my life that have been left by key people. 

Indeed, my coronary arteries have been blocked through the years.  Just like with a physical heart, these blockages did not happen overnight.  They have been caused by a lifetime of not taking care of my internal life.  I could easily join the choir of  "victims" and assert that these blocked arteries are solely the fault of others.  Yet, if there is one thing I have learned in life, I can choose to be a victim or I can choose to be a survivor.  I choose the latter!  Choosing to be a survivor is not an easy choice. I have learned I have to take responsibility for my thoughts and my actions in spite of what others have said or done to me.

Even with this choice made many years ago, I continue to sit here and am plagued with the "what ifs?," "whys?," and "why nots?"  I realize that there are three key people I need to be reconciled.  This journey will be particularly difficult, introspective, and completely reliant on my physician because two of these people have died and one is permanently removed from my life.

As the pictures continue to flood my mind's eye, I can see a triple bypass surgery in progress.  Many questions swim in my mind.  What will be used to create the "bypasses?"  How long will this surgery take?  I do not question chances of survival because I know my physician will heal me either this side or that of eternity.  But the question that does haunt me is how long is the recovery period?  It has taken nearly 38 years for these blockages to calcify and then to discover their existence...

I seek courage to face this surgery.  I must identify not only the immediate blockages but the surrounding problems that I've allowed to fester for so many years.  I must discover what will create the bridges or "bypasses" to my heart while honoring, forgiving, and loving deeper those I've identified as "offenders." Lastly, I need to learn to be a patient patient...
Through this impending surgery, I am confident that my life blood will flow freely, again!

It's time to start writing...

Okay, this is my second attempt this morning to post.  I started at shortly after 5am, spewed out my thoughts and my computer froze...if this one doesn't work, I'll take it as some sort of sign.

I'm not sure if there's a significance to the number five according to numerologists or even from a biblical perspective.  What I do know is that the number five has been surfacing in my life a lot lately.  It has been five months since my mom died.  It has been five months since my sister, with intellectual disability,  moved in with us.

Randy, Rebekah, and I had just been in California for a visit with family and my 20th high school reunion.  Randy returned home before Rebekah and I headed north.  In fact, Rebekah and I left the high desert at 5am on Monday, August 9, 2010.  The hot, little, red sports car I was driving was gassed up and I had my Starbucks in hand.  The V-6 engine took on those beautiful, mountain roads with ease.  As I made it through another stretch of curves, my cell phone started buzzing with a text.  Yes, I couldn't resist reading the message.  My brother had sent me a text reading, "Call me as soon as possible."  Immediately I thought, "Oh Lord, my dear 102 year old grandma didn't wake up this morning.  I will miss her terribly but I guess it's your turn to have her now."  Amazingly, I was at peace.

Just shy of Reno, Nevada, I pulled into a store parking lot to call my brother.  The words, through his tears, were almost unintelligable, "Deb, mom died this morning."  What?  "Oh dear God!"  I started sobbing and didn't really understand what had just hit me.  My beautiful little girl stared back at me in the rear view mirror with horror in her eyes.  "What Mommy, what?"  I hung up the phone and continued to sob.  After holding Rebekah's little hand, we drove to a nearby Starbucks.  I explained what had just happened.  The girls graciously gave us some hot drinks and I proceeded to make some calls.  "Randy, come back..."  A little while later, Rebekah and I started our pilgrimage back south.

The past months have lived up to my "motto" that I found on a t-shirt in Cancun, "my life is based on a true story."  Yes, I have worn that shirt proudly in the past few months.  This entry really isn't to explain the many layers of bureaucracy I've faced both sides of the border or to drudge up other past stuff that no matter how hard I try to let go seems to creep back into the crevices of my memory and grip me at the most unsuspecting times.  This entry is my attempt to put a few words to where I am now...

Just yesterday, I believe my sister started grappling with grief over mom's death.  Kimmie started saying, "Mom's sad" over and over.  At first I was confused and then I asked her if she meant that she's sad because mom's not here.  "Yes."  I can't imagine how she's felt as her life was uprooted at the moment of mom's last heart beat.  Her life died too, in many ways.  She moved from California to Canada.  She left behind almost everything and everyone she knew.  Yet, as the days and months have passed, we have seen her blossom in numerous ways.  So that very instant mom had her last heart beat, Kim's life also began.  "Mom's in heaven with Jesus..." seems to bring some comfort to my precious sister.

Just as Kimmie has been faced with the reality of mom's death, I have felt like I've been grasping for breath.  My life, also, changed overnight.  I have become a full time social worker, advocate, and care provider for Kimmie along with my responsibilities being wife and mother to a child with a learning disorder.  I have gained a permanent shadow everywhere I go.  I sobbed that first day I heard mom died.  Since then, periodically I have been overcome with emotions, get choked up, and my eyes get watery.  Yet, I haven't really cried since the funeral.  Yes, Kimmie, "Mom's sad..."