A Little Prayer for a Little Boy

Things are never as they seem. You will never know someone’s story unless you are willing to listen and they are willing to tell you. Sometimes all it takes is a simple question from one person to another. I think we all get caught up in our daily lives. Oh we ask the question, “how are you?” Do we really want to know the answer? Would we really listen if the other person told us. I try to listen, but sometimes my day to day life gets in the way.

I’ve told you all about my mom, at least a lot about her. I’ve told you little bits about my life. I’ve left the major stuff out because I feel terribly uncomfortable sharing so much. I’ve left off the drama and the present real-life things because they are private and I love my bubble. Without knowing, I’ve retreated back into my bubble. 

As uncomfortable as it is, I feel like I need to ask a favor to all who read.

It requires a little story.

Earlier in the year my son was sick. No big deal, just strep. I had it off and on all my life. Your throat hurts and you go to the doctor. They cram a cotton swab down your throat and then you get medicine. You get better. So did my son.

A couple of weeks ago, the weather started changing. Spring is coming. It is the time of year that we all get colds. My son ran a fever, then my daughter, then my husband. Finally it was my turn. I’m still getting over mine. Last week my son started running another fever and he said his throat hurt. I know what that means so I took him to the doctor, they did a strep test and sent us home with medicine. By late afternoon he started complaining that his knee and ankles hurt. He didn’t have a fever and he said his throat hurt only a little. By bath time, his knee was swollen and he was covered with a rash. My first thought was that he was having an allergic reaction to the medicine. My husband rushed him to the after hour doctor. After what he felt like was a thorough exam the doctor said that he had rheumatic fever. She gave him a shot and told us to contact our pediatrician the next morning which I did. During that call, his rash turned to giant hives and his knee began to swell. We rushed him to his doctor, they agreed that it was rheumatic fever. More medicine and a referral to see a cardiologist.

So here we had a little boy that was super itchy and two parents thinking the worst. His doctor assured us that it was just precautionary. She also added that our son was only the second case she had ever seen. She felt like he would be just fine and sent us home.

The fever left but the hives took a few days. We have an appointment with a cardiologist for next week. I’m not terribly worried, but you never know.

I don’t like to ask for help. I like to ask for donations.

Today I am asking for prayers. Not for me, for my little boy. Again, I believe he is fine. I believe God is taking care of us. I also believe that sometimes God’s plans are different from ours.

My babies are gifts. We prayed for a long time for a baby and God decided that we needed two. We have two miracles who have amazing stories to tell when they are older. My kids have a purpose that is yet to be realized by them. My kids are destined for great things. Those that know my family know the story and know I am right. 

We are experiencing a tiny little bump in the road. Yes, there could be damage to his heart and yes it will be treatable. I believe that he will be given a clean and clear heart report. But then you never know.

Prayers. That’s all I am asking for. I believe that you should be specific when you pray and now, if you choose, you can. 

I’m not comfortable because I feel that I have revealed too much about my son and our life. I also feel that God needs us to work together. I have been trying so hard for so long to do it myself. I am worn out. 

I am reading the Bible in a year. Spreading His word is important and it always has been. I don’t’ do it because my relationship with God has always been private. I think it is time that I stop trying to do it by myself. It is time that I ask the village for help.

So, please, before you close your eyes to sleep tonight will you ask God to take care of my little boy? More specifically, will you ask for God to let him be just fine? 

I am grateful for those who choose to read my ramblings. I am grateful for those who include my son in their prayers.

I’ll keep you posted.

One Very Horrible Day

I want to start by apologizing in advance to my husband. You always say that when my entries are sad that it makes you sad. I don’t like making you sad. I am hoping to turn it around soon.

Someone told me that I can’t expect to work through it all in less than a year. I need to give myself time. He knows from experience. I am impatient. 

As the days tick away, I am getting closer and closer to May 7^th. With each passing day, I am reminded of what I was doing one year ago. Sometimes it feels like I am living it all over again. I guess in some ways I am. I wonder if that will fade with time? As always, I’ll let you know if it does.

These past few days I’ve been remembering the worst day of my life. No it wasn’t the day she left, it was the day we were supposed to remember her and let her go. That was the worst day.

I may have written about it before. I will never forget that day, that confusing and horrible day.

It was a warm sunny day. Our kids weren’t going so our babysitter came to stay with them. She came too fast that day. We left with some relatives in the backseat so the drive wasn’t bad. We talked and remembered. No tears. Just talk. The kind of talk where if you don’t keep it going then you are too aware of the silence.

I seriously had a sick stomach when we pulled into the driveway of what we always call my mom’s house. I knew when I walked into that house, she wasn’t going to be there and it was my job to take over. 

Food arrived, people arrived. People I had not seen in years and years. Some I never thought I would see again. I put on my happy, it’s okay, she’s in a better place face. I hated that face. Time went by so fast but at the same time it was going slow. Kind of like I was on the outside watching the slow motion version. 

It was time to go.

We arrived at the funeral home. I hate that funeral home. I had trouble going in the back door the night before. In fact, I didn’t go in. My husband held my hand and said “let’s try another door.” We walked around to the front. We were the only ones in the front. The lobby was full of people who were there because my mom meant something to them. Mom would have been surprised. She told me that she didn’t think many would show up. She was wrong. We walked up to the glass doors, I saw all of the people and my feet stopped. I didn’t belong there. No one thinks they do, but really, I didn’t belong there. My mom wasn’t supposed to die. We had too much to do still. I should have been at her house with her being her daughter.

My husband had to go inside. He tried to get me to walk through the doors and just stand. If I walked through those doors, I knew it was all over. So I planted my feet and waited outside.

Suddenly, I was all alone. I just stood there looking at all the people inside looking at me. 

I just stood there all by myself.

I retreated to the side and waited. I don’t know for what. Maybe I thought that if I didn’t go in, then we could just keep going like nothing happened. The funeral director came out and said very nicely that he would wait as long as I needed. I tried to get him to bring the party outside to me. Silly girl.

Somehow, the love of my life inched me inside. I stood by the reception desk. I was hoping that the lady there would whisk me away. She didn’t. I know people came up to me. I don’t remember all of them but I do remember telling them all that I can’t go inside. No one told me I didn’t have to. That made me angry. Not at them, I was just angry that I had to be there. They didn’t understand, most of them still had their moms. 

We went in and I just remember looking down the whole time. It felt like all eyes were on me and everyone was feeling sorry for me. I would have left if I had been by the door. 

If I had to do it all over again, I would have sat outside. I didn’t belong inside. My mom and I did everything together and she wasn’t there this time. So if I could go back, I would have found her tree and sat there until it was all over. Selfish? Maybe, but that’s how I would have done it.

That was and remains the worst day of my life. I hate that day. I hate that there was a white box with the remains of my mom in it sitting in a room. Mom wasn’t there, but I was. 

That day is running through my brain like a television show these days. I remember it, maybe not all of it, but I remember. That was the day my mom wasn’t there. That was the day that I felt alone.

I don’t know what to expect of myself as I get closer to the anniversary. I do find myself crying a little more. Will it be a dark day or will it just be a day. I have nothing planned and I don’t intend to. May 7 falls on a Tuesday. I will get up and take my kids to school. I’ll come home and do what I do. I’ll be alone. Today I think that is fitting. I may think different tomorrow. I won’t go to the cemetery, I don’t have a yard right now to plant a tree. That day will be another day, right?

Life here goes on.

But then that is how it should be.

I haven’t been doing much in the way of fundraising these days. I haven’t had the energy. Living pancreatic cancer everyday has been difficult. I haven’t given up. I am taking a much needed rest. When the time is right, I will continue on. I have a million dollars to raise. I have to make sense of that horrible day.

http://www.firstgiving.com/fundraiser/evamckinney/KeeptheMemoryAlive

This is MY Solitary Journey

I think I’m going through a phase. Kids do it. We are always saying, “oh it’s just a phase.” My four year olds are going through a phase. Not together, they like to alternate. So, if kids go through phases, what makes us think that there is a magic point in time that these phases stop? 

I’ve covered the stages of grief and then my version of the stages. I think there are more stages, but right now I am in a phase. You’ve all heard the phrase, “sometimes bad things happen to good people.” I was told that just shortly after my mom’s diagnosis. 

Sometimes bad things happen to good people.

I consider my family and myself good people. I’m not sitting here waiting for something bad to happen. But every pain, fever, bump or what we call a bongadee (when you bang part of your body against something that hurts) causes me to stop and wonder to myself, what does it mean?

 

I’m not afraid of cancer. I’m afraid of the treatment. I’m afraid of the process and the suffering. I believe that I have seen true suffering. I don’t want to see it again.

I am supposed to give it to God, to have faith. I try but what creeps into my mind is that God’s plan and my plan may not be the same and I have no way of knowing what is around the next bend. Blind faith is hard and I am working on it.

This week my kids have been sick. By the grace of God, and I mean that, it isn’t the barfing kind of sick. They have been running a fever. Nothing serious, but try telling the little nagging voice in my head. My son has ear infections. He is fine. My daughter has an off and on again high fever. No flu, no strep. Very congested and really bad breath. I think it’s a sinus infection. Both have antibiotics. No problem. I worry because I don’t know what is going on in their tiny bodies. Is something growing that isn’t supposed to be? Is there something ticking? Is this normal? I don’t want it to be. I want to be the kind of mom that takes each day as it comes and not the kind that borrows trouble. I don’t know how to do that. I see other moms who look like they have it together. I am a mess. I’m a worrying, stressing, frumpy, tired mom/wife. 

I am going through a phase.

Most of the time when I type, I come up with solutions to my issues. As I sit here, I don’t see a solution. How do I stop worrying that something else is going to happen and take someone I love away? If cancer can attack MY mom, it can attack anyone. None of us are so special that we are immune to it. 

 

Is this a normal phase?

Two more months and it will be one year since she left. I still haven’t been to the grave. I wonder if I should. Not yet. My dad keeps flowers there. I can’t do that, she isn’t there. I am doing something soon that I think will be helpful. I am hoping it will be a way that I can let the boulder go. I don’t want to let it go because I’ve said it many times, when I let it go, I’ve let my mom go. I think I need to let it go. I’ll let you know more after it happens.

I feel old.

My mom didn’t want this for me. I know I can’t be up all the time, but I can’t be down all the time either. I have to push through. I do wonder if what I am doing here and in my life is just masking all of the things I haven’t dealt with. Have I swept so much under the rug that I am going to trip? That worries me because falling apart isn’t a phase I want to go through. I want to be strong, I want know that even though she isn’t here, all is good in the world.

I told my husband the other day that I think I want to put all of these entries into a book for my kids. At some point in the long, long, long away future, they are going to feel this way. For me, there were no guidelines, no books, no instructions. I have muddled through, day by day, by myself. I have lots of people around to help, but it’s my thoughts, my feelings, my emotions, my loneliness. They couldn’t get me through. This has been and continues to be somewhat of a solitary journey. My hope is that when it is my time to go I can give my kids my book. Maybe it will help them. Maybe they will read about what I’ve gone through and they will know that they can do it and they aren’t alone. Maybe I am wrong here. I would have loved for my mom to have given me some sort of instructions. Then maybe she wouldn’t have wanted me to know how she hurt.

I have no answers today, just questions. 

On a lighter note, we have moved into our apartment. We have giants that live above. They have bladder issues because the potty flushes all the time. My kids think we have pet mice that can write. I see two horses out of my bedroom window, I smell farm. The roosters crow each morning and occasionally the skunk sprays. I don’t like it here but it is temporary and I am thankful for my blessings.

http://www.firstgiving.com/fundraiser/evamckinney/KeeptheMemoryAlive

I Love You More Than Fish Sticks

Sometimes I think I am going along just fine and then something sweeps my legs out from under me. My  husband tells me that when I am sick or really tired I miss my mom more. He’s right. I’ve missed her a lot these past couple of weeks. 

I was in a store today and I saw a younger lady and an older lady. There were little kids with them and they were shopping in a store that was designed for kids. I’m sure I missed what was really going on but what I noticed was how much the adult ladies look like each other. A mother and her daughter. Then it occurred to me that I don’t have my shopping partner any more. Suddenly I was sad. Then I realized that I am sort of running on fumes right now so I tried to explain it away. 

My dad called on Valentine’s Day. First of all my dad almost never calls me and he has never wished me a Happy Valentine’s Day. Yesterday he did both. I can’t tell you how happy that made me. 

My dad called me.

Up until yesterday, I have felt parent-less. Yesterday, my parent called. It is a small step but one that means the world to a daughter that has been a little more down than usual. 

Before my mom left, I made sure that there wasn’t one single thing that I could say, “I wish I had of…” about our relationship. I felt and still feel that we left nothing undone, except…I would like a mom hug. Not a I’m a mom and I happen to be hugging someone kind of hug. I want a full on, can’t catch your breath, all is right in the world kind of a hug. That’s what I need. I give those to my kids but they don’t quite get it just yet. They will but it still doesn’t take away the need I have for a hug from my mom. I think about that every day. I can push everything else away, but not that. My mom could give the best hugs. If you are one of the lucky people who have been on the receiving end of her hugs then you understand. When she hugged, she meant it.

Oddly enough, a few weeks ago I had a dream about my mom. The short version, God let her come back to see me. She was healed and she hugged me. It wasn’t long enough, the good dreams never last long. Funny though, the bad dreams seem to go on forever. 

My mom hugged me in my dream. 

I’ve said it many times before, dreams are just the way our subconscious gets rid of all of the things that sit in our minds. Or something like that. I don’t believe that my mom was “talking” to me. I believe it was something that I have been wanting for close to a year now and it popped up in my dream at the time it was supposed to. Still, it was a good dream and the hug felt real. The hug was my mom’s hug. For that moment, that second in my dream, all was right in the world.

Then I woke up.

No hug, but my dad called. That was his parent hug and it felt good. 

I have so many memories of my mom but one that just keeps coming back is our last Thanksgiving together. I cooked and she just didn’t like that. Thanksgiving was her holiday. We helped but she did most of the cooking. She never liked to just sit by and watch someone else do it. I was nervous because it was the first time that I was going to see her with her new wig. Anyone who knew her knew that her hair was always the same and it sort of was her little trademark. I was scared that she wasn’t going to look like my mom. I heard the door open and I hear the usual chatter. I stayed in the kitchen. She rounded the corner and she was beautiful. I was struck at how thin she was but she was beautiful. She was my mom. She set her things down and gave me a hug. That face, that hug sticks with me these days. 

I miss her hugs.

I am trying to be a mom like her. I am trying to say “I love you” more and I am trying to hug more. The problem is that I let things get in my way. I let the silly stuff of everyday life get in my way. I’m working on it. I do hug my kids all the time. I give them kisses and I tell them I love them. I hope that when they are grown with their own children that they still appreciate all of that. I intend to do it all of their lives.

My son is the most affectionate. He will kiss me and tell me “Mom you deserve that.” He will also tell me that he has a secret and then the whispers that he loves me. It makes me feel like all is right in the world. 

Just a side note, last night he said, “Mom I love you more that fish sticks.” The problem there, he has never had a fish stick. Oh well, he is four and the point is, he loves me and in that moment, all was right.

http://www.firstgiving.com/fundraiser/evamckinney/KeeptheMemoryAlive

Sometimes Breathing is Harder Than It Seems

Change. I’ve written about it over and over again. There are all types of change, some good and some bad. Some are inevitable and some are carefully controlled. I don’t care what kind of change it is, if it is happening in my life then I am uncomfortable to the point that I feel weighted down.

I am weighted down due to much change, all self-inflected.  I hinted about it in an earlier entry. Well it’s here and I won’t say I am overwhelmed, but I will say I am so uncomfortable that I just feel blah.

Before Christmas, we decided that we wanted to move. We searched and found what we feel is the place for our family. Good neighborhood, good school (it’s new so the germs haven’t taken hold. I know I’m kidding myself). The yard is big and we will be able to safely watch and play with our kids. It is a home that I think will feel like home. I hope to feel settled. 

All of December we worked to de-clutter our house and organize. By the way, if anyone needs help de-cluttering, I am really good at it. Our goal was to put our house on the market the first week of January. We had already put a down payment on the new digs but the construction was held until we had a contract on our current place. Ninety days was the time frame in my mind. To say I was stressed would just be silly. I was a complete wreck but I think I held it together. 

Our house went on the market on a Friday. No appointments to look. I know this sounds silly but I viewed it as a catastrophic failure. Saturday morning my phone started ringing. For two days it didn’t stop. We were cast out of our home and relied on the generosity of family and friends to entertain two adults, two kids and a Chiweenie. Sunday night we received the first of four offers. Our house sold in two days. (I don’t know how to type a scream, but imagine me screaming). OUR HOUSE SOLD IN TWO DAYS!!! A true blessing, but the beginning of change. Good change, but for me all change is hard and mostly unwelcomed.

In less than a week, we are moving to an apartment. I have nothing against apartments, I’ve lived in a few. I have never had to live in one with kids. I have never had to figure out how to stuff a whole house in a 1200 square foot space. This will take all of my creative skills. We will manage because it is temporary. It will make the new home feel big for sure.

Change.

For the longest time I didn’t realize that I had a problem with change. When it would show up in my life, I either lost weight, cried or felt out of place. I would have to say that within the past ten or so years, I have come to realize that I detest it and I avoid it. Who am I kidding, I can’t avoid it. I do try.

My mom’s diagnosis was the biggest shocking change. Still is. Since then, change means more. Nine times out of ten, it means that it occurred and my mom wasn’t here to see it.

She has missed a lot.

This week I’ve cried. I’ve wondered why because in my mind I have progressed to a point that I don’t have consecutive sad days. 

Now I know.

I am moving. My mom is missing it. I am building a house. My mom is missing it. She has always been there to help pack, put shelf paper in or just make a small space work. My mom is missing it.

On Tuesday, my son lost his first tooth. He pulled it himself. My mom missed it. My mom is missing it all. Really that isn’t true and I just figured that out. My mom isn’t missing a thing. She is where she is and I am where I am. We aren’t together to share. My mom isn’t missing a thing, I am missing my mom.

My son still prays for her at night. He also prays for snacks, games and toys. He says he remembers her. Time will tell. I remember her and I talk about her. I am her voice.

I’m guessing that life without her will never be easy. Every change, every first will remind me that she isn’t here to share. I miss her.

The last month my mom was here wasn’t easy. Ironically, one specific day was very eye-opening to me. We looked alike but we didn’t see it like others did. On this day, she went to the hospital for a scope of some sort. She started having chest pains. My dad called and said he didn’t know where they were but to come find him. I did. I saw my mom sitting in a hospital bed. She had a sad crocheted blue hat on. There was a big tube coming out of her nose with green stuff flowing. She was coughing, she was in distress. She looked at me and said in a very scratchy voice, “don’t come in.” I didn’t. I sat outside listening. Change was happening and all I could do was listen. It was suspected that she was having a heart attack. I knew better. She finally allowed me in but her oxygen level was low. Nurses, doctors, my dad were all beside her. She was coughing, she was dying. Intubation was suggested to help her breathing. Before she could answer, I spoke up and said no. I said, “no, Mom, you are having a panic attack. All you need to do is breathe. So I am going to stand here and we are going to breathe together.” I looked into her eyes, her sad dying eyes. She looked into mine. In that little room, we started to breathe. It helped a little. A nurse walked in looked at my mom and then looked at me. I will never forget her words. “You have your mother’s eyes.” 

I have my mom’s eyes. 

I never saw it until that day. I pushed it away after and then last week I was getting ready for work when suddenly I saw my mom’s eyes. This time they belonged to me.

No I don’t like change and I guess I never will. It’s going to happen and for the most part I won’t be able to stop it. When my mom left, my life changed forever. I won’t get used to it and I will never like it. But now, I think that when I feel low, when I feel like too much is happening, I’m going to look in the mirror. For the rest of my life, when I look at my eyes, I will see her.

Lots of changes in my future. I guess I need to remember to breathe.

http://www.firstgiving.com/fundraiser/evamckinney/KeeptheMemoryAlive