Merry Christmas to You!

What a year! And yet, what a year! 

Decided to remodel the kitchen, which turned into repainting and refinishing the entire upstairs and remodeling the bathroom as well. Began the job on Feb. 12, with the promise it would be finished by May 5. Biggest discovery - behind the double-wall ovens, a closet! Now we have a pantry in that space. Awww, so very nice. 

In February spent a few days in St. George. Sadly, my state of mind only allowed me to panic, not relax. So Scott did his best to entertain me. Shopping and a little walk in the desert did not help much. 

First of May spent a week in Sedona healing ourselves - heat, red rock, vortexes, salt rooms, lots of driving, time together. 

Came home to a remodeling fiasco; inner-bitch came out, and well, I was kinda kind, rather bossy, and very much a project manager! Scott stayed clear of the interactions; smart man. 

Hired amazing nephew Makai and neighbor Curtis to do all the projects not on the remodel list yet valuable. 

By the end of May the bathroom was finished and just what we wanted; stunning. Kitchen was a disaster; no one accepts responsibility! 

In May my Aunt Lola passed away. 

Mom's health continued to decline, to the point that she was no longer speaking, interacting, although recognizing, and we all knew we were losing her. 

End of June, brought Mom home to my house, with all of its dust, confusion, and dissonance, to die. Sisters moved in, some nieces as well. Revolving door, yet so peaceful and right. 

On the evening of June 28, Mom passed away, in a hospital bed in my library, surrounded by books and the women she so loved, along with a couple of very patient men. And - construction workers in the kitchen, because I was not going to give them any excuses to stop working! 

Mom's funeral was on July 1 with burial in Lewisville/Rigby, ID on July 2. All of the siblings were together, and we had the most amazing and therapeutic time. Gosh I love my brothers and sisters! And it was so cathartic to review our lives as children of Clyde and Alice, and our lives as adults with children and grandchildren of our own. 

Mysteries solved, questions answered, "me too" moments acknowledged, and so much togetherness that when everyone went home, there was serious longing. 

End of July experienced a wide-awakening with the support of a great friend and therapist. Lots of self-discovery and being able to see a "forward" for the first time in years; realizing how much the past and others' pasts have held, particularly me, from making goals, planning a tomorrow. Goes all the way to being a 3 year old girl, and as an adult, the disability and shame that came with a divorce and then cancer. 

Early August - kitchen freakin' finished! What a pain, and it is gorgeous! I love being able to sort and shelf and organize the kitchen, with a perfect layout. 

Shortly after, a cousin, younger than myself, Gary Walker, passed away. Enough with death! 

The first of September siblings got together again and finished going through Mom's house, getting it ready to put up for sale. We spent lots of time laughing, reminiscing, being surprised by letters and scrapbooks, and ultimately dividing things, DI'ing things, and mailing lots to extended family, as well as trashing papers that were digitized or no longer needed. 

Spent a few nights in Marysvale, UT. In a cabin, in the woods, in the rain. So very nice. 

And then Makai - married Lauren in Laie, Hawaii, and Scott and I were able to not only celebrate with them, heaven couldn't have been any better as we spent our days with little plans and lots of sand and water. We were able to relax for the first time this year, and what a joy! Came home carrying the island-vibe with us. 

Mom's home sold, to a young couple, and they will take residence mid-January. 

Our house is now the best home ever, and we have thoroughly enjoyed being in this beautiful place we've created. As well, we love sitting on the deck watching sunrises and sunsets, gardening, and loving a stunning view of Mt. Timpanogos. 

Scott and I managed to escape CoVid, until 3 weeks ago, and we were knocked flat for a week, and still recovering. What a trigger, as my bones and joints began to ache day 3. Those old cancer Nadar days came running to me. So grateful this is behind me, and all that remains is being darn tired - both of us. 

Scott is the best gardener and grocery-shopper, and taxi-driver, and errand-runner, and helper-outer that any family could ask for. He picks up friends for AA meetings, comes home and reads portions of at least 5 books, takes care of all the errand sprinting, and serves others, including deceased relatives. 

I stay busy chaplaining; there is no rest. And as much as I love visiting patients, I still hate company politics and egos and hierarchy. Our Palliative Care team is growing, so constant flux and constant "get to know you" times. However, I work with the most amazing talented people, and I learn from them and my patients every single day. So many patients with complicated cases, and lots of dying and families not cohesive when it comes to making decisions for their loved ones. This has definitely made me grateful for the miracle of 7 children being on the same page as we have cared for Mom these past 7 years. In addition, I've grown my own private practice, counseling those who are in any type of life transition, those who are grieving loss, as well as those looking for peace and the tools to carry these skills with them. I typically spend 9 hours a week doing this. LOVE it! 

We did buy e-bikes, and rode them just for a moment before the Utah cold hit. Something to look forward to next spring! 

Kids are all doing great - able to see Natalie and Ramon and family toward the end of summer. Spent time with all the others multiple times. Beautiful people, who we are thrilled to also call friends. 20 grandchildren growing like crazy - marrying, dating, graduating, schooling, studying, working, dancing, cheering, kicking, reading, creating, climbing, balancing, driving, swimming, and the most loveable bunch. We'll take them any time, any place, any way. 

Dinners on the deck with the best of friends (when it wasn't covered with appliances and construction materials) accompanied by movies on the deck were some things I looked forward to. Lovely moments and hugs with so many loved ones who came to pay tribute to Mom at her funeral and burial, visits with our friend, Igor, from the Ukraine/Japan, brunch and a visit with Mark and Trudy, and days with Karin were highlights, as was spending time with my people - including the Birkeland trio. Terribly sorry I missed my 45th HS reunion (go Rigby Trojans). Moving forward while looking backward is a tough job.  

Lesson learned this year - I can find peace within, even when there's chaos surrounding me. I don't need to "own" anything that's not mine, and being curious rather than judging provides freedom and respect and love - for self and other. 

I've laughed as much as I've cried, loved more than I ever have, spent time in solitude, finding solace in quiet and peaceful spaces. And loving My Timpanogos - and learning from her. 

My most favorite quotes this year are from a Mindfulness instructor, "There there darling; you're going to be OK." And from a billboard on I-15, "Be kind, be bold, do good." I'm learning that most of the things I want to say don't need to be said, most of the things I need to do, aren't necessary, and most things that are urgent, are really choices. 

I've also learned that it's time I put myself "out there" just a little more. I'm not sure what that means, except that I'm healing and feeling a little freedom, breathing room, for the first time in many years. I'm hopeful, looking forward, making plans for more than "what's for dinner." 

Mom's death opened the door to so much, and for whatever reason, these things have popped on my plate, and then right off - panicking and the extreme sense of urgency disappeared; ingrown toenail that's bothered me for decades, gone; nails polished every 3 weeks for the past 7 years, now au'natural; pestering banking issues resolved; hearing aids (damn cancer); finally feeling comfy with my own skin. 

Lots of little that sums up a pretty overwhelming heavy year. And with that - 

Merry Christmas to all, and best wishes for an amazing New Year. 

Blessed, Curious -

Feeling blessed - and counting and seeing my blessings as they unfold, pretty darn cool. 

That which we persist in doing becomes easier, not because the task is easier, but our ability to do has increased. 

This definitely pertains to see the good, be the good, recognize the good. 

When looking for . . . we often find what we're looking for. These days I'm constantly looking for goodness - I can't live any other way with my work. 

So I choose to look/be aware of the good. Much easier to carry a heart of gratitude than a heart of anger. 

And with that - choosing to be curious over judging; so much easier and painless when I don't have to be the judge of anyone! 

So here, here's the most beautiful video of the season - giving and receiving. 

Pinching Myself -

 Some days as I walk from my office, through the courtyard, over to the hospital, with people in scrubs and other uniforms walking or visiting, I look around and think, "I am a hospital chaplain! I work in a hospital setting! I am exactly where I should be, doing exactly what I want to be doing." 

And I can be so surprised by this thought that I have to stop, "pinch myself," before taking another step. I am living in constant gratitude that I am practicing my life's purpose. It's been a long road, but every step along that road was also marked by "pinching myself" moments. 

Just now, sitting down at my computer to document my visits, I had such a moment. And I am determined to cling to these, voice my gratitude, and when my days are hectic and crazy and patient filled, be ever present for my patients and ever grateful for my abilities. 

Amen - 

Not My Barbecue - Balance and Boundaries -

Several years ago my son-in-law was in a terrible accident that left him in the hospital for two months. This was life-threatening, and while I won't go into details here, he is alive and thriving. 

His healthcare was amazing, providers wonderful. There was one therapist in the Burn Unit who took a special interest in Jenna and Cliff, seeing them frequently, and giving them tips for maneuvering a new life. One of her most profound teachings was about boundaries. 

Last week I was visiting with a palliative care patient's wife. She works full-time, takes care of a energetic teen, runs the household life, and cares for her demanding husband. She said, "I've been all-right - just trying to balance things." And she continues with, "And self-care, I'm walking, but everyone sees this as 'interrupt me time,' and I am pulled away from not only walking, but any type of thing I want to do for myself." She concluded with, "Well, except for going to the grocery store. No one wants to go grocery shopping with me. In fact, I've been a few times, not to buy anything, but just to get away." 

My response to her was, "Balance and Boundaries are two of the most difficult characteristics to develop and sustain." 

And I should know! Boundaries - I do pretty good at not letting others lives become my responsibility (that's caregiver survival here at the hospital), and I  seldom have a problem saying, "no." 

However, Balance, that's a whole other story, and I'm touching on that here. 

Back to my SIL. This therapist was amazing, and if the only lesson I took home from supporting my daughter and her husband during this horrible time, is this, then I left the winner. 

Ann G Cook, LCSW, at the University of Utah, had this to say about boundaries, when seeing something that you want/should/could/need/might be a part of, or be involved in, and yet you are fully aware that you shouldn't, Ann stated, "My husband and I have this saying, 'Not my barbecue.'" Then walk away, without guilt or grief or remorse. End of discussion, no looking back. 

This phrase has been my go-to since that time, nearly 15 years ago. And I've heard several others that work similarly: 

Not my ministry

I'm not on that committee

Not my circus, not my monkey

Not my pig, not my farm

I'm not accepting new assignments at this time

Oh, that's for another "Ronda"

I don't have a horse in that race

That's outside my wheelhouse.

I read a story in today's news about a man who looked out his window and saw four teenager boys pushing each other around and yelling. He left his house, went to the park, and attempted to break up the fight. This resulted in serious injury to him, and the arrest of 4 teens. Noble gesture, but what if, just what if he hadn't gotten involved? What if he said, "I don't have a horse in that race"?

My sweet husband hates injustice; this past month, while in Hawaii, there were three men in their 30s yelling at each other and pushing each other. My 73 year old husband wanted to go break up this fight! I hollered, "Scott, this is not your barbecue; stop." 

I have a colleague who has been subtly bullied by another colleague - in my mind the worst on-the-job abuse that can happen. In fact, it's the same person I've written a wee bit about over the past couple of years. Well, another colleague felt the sting of her words this week, and has lost hours of sleep trying to make sense of the manipulation. Today we talked about emotional preservation and boundaries - not buying in to her words, allowing them to bounce off the boundary she/we have set. 

Pick an above phrase, and make it your mantra! 

These are heavy scenarios, yet "Not my barbecue" helps in my every day'ness. "Whose car is at Mom's?" Not my BBQ. "What are they thinking spending all that money on a ...?" Not my BBQ. "Damn guy cut me off." Not my BBQ.  "Somebody should . . ." Not my BBQ. "I'm worried about . . . " Not my BBQ. You get it! 

Often choosing to not own someone else's actions and behaviors is the best thing to do. Not having a horse in the race, not being on that committee, not a part of your ministry, can be so very freeing. 

And with not owning, there is emotional and physical availability, that comes with stepping back, stepping aside, getting out of the way of someone else's story. 

Thanks, Ann G Cook, for teaching me about barbecues! 

And speaking of barbecues - this! 

CoVid -

 Well, Scott and I were hit by the CoVid virus this past week. I had been exposed through a patient who tested positive just before he passed away. I think that was the initiator. 

And YUCK! First for both of us, and of course, we do it together! I'm glad we had Hawaii together, so we were relaxed enough to not have freak-outs with us both being down. 

Onward! 

November is for Introverts -

Morning, I stepped out of my house to get into my car for work, and there was the most stunning sunrise - more beautiful than the remaining leaves on the trees around me. I walked between my office and the hospital, past the pond being drained as four ducks soaked in the remaining water, scraping the bottom for the best tidbits, decorative grasses and trees and the last of the flowers in full regalia, tables silent, with only a couple of people quietly visiting on the bench, and with a shadow of snow on Y mountain and Timp, golds and rusts and browns hanging on below, and a hint of weather in the air. I love November. 

The Spring anticipation, the Summer filled with go, absorb, do, celebrate is gone. The month-long Pinktober and Halloween frenzy are over. The lovely last-minute vacation to Hawaii is over - and yet the primer for now as we settle into November - month filled with - nothing - but thanks, a time to pause, relax, cozy and warm-up, eat soup and the last of the tomatoes, prune the shrubs and pull the carrots and turnips, and be. Spending time in November is a luxury, a month that deserves its own space, with no other holidays pushing into it. 

November says - be still and know. And what do I know during this month - I know how much I need pause, stop, still, rest. 

Introverts - no entertaining, no celebrations, no big events, just being with those I love and relearning to love myself. My home is warm, the seasonal furniture and decor are snuggled in the shed. Exercise becomes gentle yoga, clothes are muted shades and comfortable, toe-nails left unpainted, food is gentler, warmer. This month suits me well. 

And then this - gratitude! I adore Thanksgiving; perhaps my favorite holiday - for gathering, for reflection, a time to pause before. November is my month to count my blessings, to share my gratitude, to spend time giving thanks. This, I can do. 

I'll look at sunrises and sunsets more, I'll snuggle more, I'll sit with silence more, I'll slow down. 

A favorite song of mine is "We Gather Together" guides me, and Tony Elman's "Shaking Down the Acorns" is on constant play. And this - "For the Beauty of the Earth." Simple, warm, clean, basic messages that I live by along with music that speaks to my soul. Music I seldom play other times of the year; it is sacred, kinda like November. This month is for my soul. 

Compassion and Grace -

 

Liminality -

Betwixt and Between

Between a rock and a hard space

Pregnancy

Vacation

Summer

Death

Weddings

Illness

Reunions

Building or remodeling a house

Waiting . . . and Waiting

The first year of grieving

My example is this - standing in a door frame with one foot in one room, the other foot in another room - which room are you in? Neither? Both? 

These are all Liminal times - and during this time, we live in Liminality, or a liminal space. This is a time out of time - when out-of-the-ordinary things take place and where we enter as one person and come out changed. Liminal times can't last forever, they are an intermission, a pause, a wait-for-it-time. Liminal times are also times of watching and waiting before making major decisions, or they are times of major decision-making - where transformations happen. 

As much as I need vacations, summer, breaks, I need routine, and liminality, although I strive for some sense of  "normalcy" even when on vacation - meal routines, calling the vacation spot "home." And yet I do things out of  the ordinary during this time - music, food, exercise, clothing, purchases (although I always purchase a piece of jewelry and an article of clothing, which makes the routine, kinda). 

This has been my summer, and to a large degree, the past 2.5 years. With this explanation - I have craved routine while having no desire for routine. And most of the plans I had made for this summer have dissolved - absolutely no energy or desire to act on them. In many ways I've experienced liminal space in the middle of liminal space - deeper than I've ever been - a hole within a hole, and I've had a difficult time identifying any of this. 

My other-daughter, Diana, said this: In life when we experience something that we've invested a lot of time, energy, we push through, and physically and mentally give it all that we have, and often that turns into just getting by or through, and then when that time is over, we are physically and mentally and emotionally exhausted, without necessarily identifying any of this. And - sometimes, after a liminal time that's not terribly rewarding, we are stagnate, numb, and not terribly emotionally available - which can also be described as trauma and the after affects of this event. 

And this is where I've found myself - at a loss for words, not wanting to even find words, isolating or preferring solitude over groups of people, needing time to process - which means time with my people/family who are processing similarly. 

Yet, interestingly, I've had some time to make some changes, do some things that have been in the way back of my mind - the oddest things that have come to the front of my mind:

No more gel nails (been doing this for 7 years, and I'm over it)

Ingrown toenail fixed

Hearing aids

Financial planning and banking redo

TV on the deck

Sex

Self-enlightenment journey

Purchased e-bikes

Listening to live music

And of course - remodeling our home

I have the feeling this liminality is not finished, and I'm having to be ok with this - different than my cancer journey, yet nonetheless, I'm sitting with these emotions, this solitude, this quirky time when I'm functioning yet not-functioning. Owning my story, but not feeling the need to explain or justify. One foot in one room, the other foot in another room. Or better yet - standing in the threshold, with the opportunity/option to move between two worlds right now - 

In the meantime - the clouds have been amazing this spring, summer, fall. And looking up is good! 

Tired -

 I am exhausted, emotionally, physically, mentally. 

And yet life is grand, and I love everything I'm doing. 

However, there is not enough time in most days to do everything I want to do. 

I want to sleep; I want to exercise.

I want to sit on the couch and watch Ted Lasso with my crocheting. 

What would I change? 

A little more umph with a little less grief. 

Time to process all that has happened these past few years. 

Happy day ya'll. 

If We Could Have, Would We Have -

Typically I use semi-decent searchable titles for my posts, yet for this one, I could not come up with one that fit what I am wanting to say. 

Last Saturday, going through all of the cards, notes, photos, and newspaper clippings my mom has saved, I stumbled upon a photo from an employee album and two clippings from the local Rigby Star. The first, a picture of my very first boyfriend, David T at Macks Inn the summer of 1975, and so very very seductive. The second, two short articles and photos of the missionaries serving in Rigby in 1970 and 1971. These missionaries were cute, friendly, and so mature! Scott served in the same mission, during this same time, knowing two of the missionaries. 

About eleven years ago, I reconnected with Dave who was living in Alaska at the time, and he and Scott and I had a sweet tender breakfast at the Anchorage Airport. Since then we've kept in semi-touch, seeing each other a few times, particularly at both of my parents' funerals. 

After reading this beautiful post on Cup of Jo, I began to wonder if I had met Scott when we were at appropriate ages (time-travel?), would he have been my first boyfriend. 

He and Dave actually have many things in common (or at least the Dave I think I know). Very good -looking with just a touch of nonchalance. Troubled - ready to fight at the drop of look, and just a little volatile. Generous - going out of their way to be kind to others, just because. Hard workers - both having jobs in their teens and working every day since. Suave - know how to get the girl, not sure how to keep the woman. Good looking, great hair, athletic build. Romantic - not in the gift-giving, creative way, but in the soft, gentle, tender, care-for-you way. Athletic - their good looks and ability to drink and still stand got in the way of them being team players. Awkward - just enough to be interesting yet also label them as outsiders. Stubborn - living life on their terms with only small adjustments to those around them. 

And, like most things in the real world, I married neither at 19. I married someone so unlike my desires - he was safe, conservative, non-confrontational, simple, calm. 

I did end up with the love of my life, and yet it hasn't been easy, for all the reasons I'm attracted to him. And for many of those reasons, Dave is alone, again. He came to my mom's burial two months ago. We chatted for only a moment, before I had to be involved in the service. I watched him at the same time as I watched Scott (and for similar reasons - make sure they're ok, safe, feeling appreciated for their efforts). However, Dave stood outside of the crowd, all alone. Sad. Looked unwell. Didn't socialize. And by the time I could step away to visit (and I knew this would be an intense visit), he was gone. 

Later I learned that Dave was recently divorced (again, same wife), had moved away from the city he and his wife lived for many years, away from the people he knew and loved, back to "home," where honestly, reliving the past is not the best thing to do, even if living in the past feels safe. 

I ended my short stay in Idaho with a little regret that I didn't talk with Dave, that I wasn't able to console him, give him comfort, reassurance, help him feel as if he belonged, let him know he was safe, loved. But I didn't. I could call him, talk, stir up old old wounds and newer wounds, yet, I cannot turn back time, make anything better. 

At what point does time-travel become a reality? For me, this happened 19 years ago, when I met Scott, and he was the literal man of my dreams - the one I saw myself growing old with, and the one, interestingly enough, who brought a little touch of Dave with him. 

William Somerset Maughan wrote, "We are not the same persons this year as last; nor are those we love. It is a happy chance if we, changing, continue to love a changed person." 

I certainly have changed, Dave has changed, Scott has changed, and I do, I do love both. 

I wish I had met you sooner, 

So I could love you longer. 

Front Row at Funerals -

 And just like that, the 7 Walker siblings are sitting in the front row at funerals and burials. The image that comes to mind is that of manufacturing with one batch of a product all sold out, no more of it, and a newer, better, glitzier, yet similar, product taking its place; my generation is next - to be sold out, replaced, removed, one at a time. 

Sitting in that front row at Mom's service two months ago really brought to the forefront that my generation is now the oldest generation, only one Aunt left of the Walkers, and we're up. Facing our own mortality, and questioning - am I doing all I want to be doing? Is this all there is? How do I want to live "the rest of my life." Time feels much shorter, figuring out connecting, looking for dates to gather, renewing and building relationships with siblings and cousins and old friends. Holy moley - 

If staring my own "next" in life isn't enough, a week ago I received a call that my cousin, the 60 year old son of the last Aunt, Gary Walker, had died. 

One down, and although he isn't the first (two older cousins passed away several years ago), he is the first of my era, and younger; he was at Mom's burial, he was happy, we were making plans together, looking forward to seeing each other "next year." 

Time flies on wings of lightening, we cannot call it back. 

Writing Prompt - (Miracles) and Wonder -

A young man was in a terrible roll-over accident five weeks ago. He nearly severed an arm and had head, neck, and brain injuries. As well, he wasn’t from Utah, didn’t have family near, and speaks Spanish. With the belief that his death was imminent, Palliative Care was called in. Family was found, quickly came. Our role was to explain the severity of his injuries and talk about Goals of Care for him. The parents, well-educated and employed, did not speak English. We have met with them weekly to discuss the patient’s status and ask about their concerns.

I have worked very hard to create a relationship of trust with the parents, and we have enjoyed visiting together, using my broken Spanish, their broken English, a translate app and a translator.
These very religious parents never lost their faith that their son would heal; he was intubated, sedated, a feeding tube placed, multiple surgeries and grafts on his arm. His brain injury was so traumatic that he would most likely be disabled, bed-bound, and needing fulltime care for the rest of his life.

I’m used to asking families what they hope for, what they’d like me to pray for, and these parents kept telling me they were expecting a miracle. Not hoping, but expecting, putting their full trust in God.

Miracles happened this week. The young man woke, his arm is healing, he is talking, and the family, caregivers, skeptics, optimists, have witnessed a miracle. In this career, surrounded by death, this young man is being raised from the dead and living.

This has been a blessing in my life; seeing these parent’s faith and diligence and love has warmed my heart; and I have needed that. We all need to witness and acknowledge these miracles and the dedication of parents who would not be discouraged (not only small tender mercies, but full-blown miracles). 

For no reason but my life typically attributes a song to any event. This one - 

Writing Prompt - Dread -

 The 2nd writing prompt is this: What is something you dread doing, yet need to get taken care of in a timely manner? 

Well, it's like this - I need to recertify every five years as a Board Certified Clinical Chaplain. I'm board certified through two organizations, and the more robust one requires this. And - it's an exam, 100 questions, multiple choice, T/F. 

I hate taking tests. During my first year in college at Utah Valley University, I took an Ecology/Earth Science course. I loved the material, the professor was odd but passionate, yet his tests were terrible. And I failed them, every single time. The one question I remember arguing with him about had something to do with a frog sitting on a log, sitting near a log, sitting by a log. What the crap? And I stood up in class and told him I was not taking class in how to take his tests. And the following semester, taking a Chemistry class, another professor did similarly, as did I, yet this time I walked right out of his class, with applause from the other students. 

What a bunch of crap to intimidate or separate students not on their knowledge, but on their ability to take and pass an exam. 

And I vowed that I would never take another multiple choice, T/F exam. And when I became a professor I vowed I would never do the same to my students, and more - I would never require them to take a test in the testing center. 

I've made it all these years, and now, I have to do this. I have over 1000 pages of material to study, I have a letter from my doctor stating that I have test-taking anxiety and may require more than the 2 hours allotted, and I need to have this exam finished by the first of December. 

This means setting aside time to study, to study the practice test, and to stress. I'm dreading it all. Very much. 

Here's to concurring that last bit of fear (falling is another, but that's another story). 

Writing Prompt, Change your Life -

 I'm taking a 14 day writing challenge. It's about looking forward. Something I haven't done in ages. Today's is: 

If you could change your life in two weeks, what would you hope to change? What areas of your life would you like to improve? What would you love to let go of? How would releasing emotional baggage help you move forward? 

I am all about change. I love change, in fact, probably, too much. I think growth is necessary or we stagnate, become dull, lifeless, and end up existing. I like to push myself! so I'm answering this without a "If". 

I commit to changing my life these next two weeks. Exercise this past year has been limited to walking - I miss my Cody-trainer, and Scott isn't much motivation. As well, sleep has been tough to get, and that's my excuse. I need to do some weight-bearing exercises; I feel so much better when I do. 

I will let go of that "whine" that I need more time to sleep, I will go to sleep earlier, and I commit to doing that by not reading my phone before bed. 

I hope the emotional baggage I release will be that guilt of knowing one thing and doing something else. 

I'll be accountable to myself - I can do this. 

Husband -

This man drives me nuts, frustrates the hell out of me, and he is the love of my life, my rock, my column, my shoulder to cry on. Occasionally he'll give me the "Calm down," or "It can't be that bad," statement, yet for the most part he listens to my philosophize and theory'ize tangents and explorations, even when he's a bottom-line "Just tell me straight," "Why worry about that," person. 

I love him; these past nine years have been hard on our marriage - cancer, parents dying and Weaver estate to care for, child issues, caring for parents, sorting through Walker home, work-related trauma, 2020, and he's been still and the most amazing support - he's my calm presence; I can count on him; and he is all I need. 

Siblings and Life and Death and After -

Six weeks ago my mother passed away, 

at my home, in my library. 

The last few days of her life

 she was surrounded by family. 

And with that phrase I begin my list of the positives of having a loved one die. 

Mom loved having her children around her, and her last days fulfilled that desire; she was encompassed, enclosed, encircled with family. Every single moment; she was never alone from Friday evening when we brought her to my home until Saturday afternoon when she was laid in the ground, and then she was adjacent to Dad, to her in-laws.

Upon moving in to the Beehive Home where she lived her last year of life, she had, what my brother called a "Moment of Lucidity," and sent out a text to all of her children: "Why do I have to live here when you all have room for me and you are all good cooks." That moment quickly passed, yet it was a window into her dementia-connected frustration as well as her deepest desire. Company and Food, two elements in Mom's life she needed. Mom did not like being alone. Mom was not alone. 

Mom loved family dinners, reunions, celebrations, even if they put everyone out, having to rearrange schedules to make her guilt-trip work. These really were good times, and her insistence made her the worrier, listener, dinner-maker, party-planner, and damn stubborn - she would not allow anyone to step into her role, saying "Don't put me out to pasture." We all learned ways to unload some of this, while making Mom think she was still in control. 

Hence - 

I brought Mom home, my home became the gathering place, and there was not a single moment when Mom was alone. And with my kitchen under construction, we all were semi-forced into being right there with her; there was no kitchen for anyone to retreat to; and this is miraculous, really really the only blessing that came from my kitchen being 3 months behind schedule. 

We planned her funeral, figured out meals and transportation, called those who could not be there, and we had generations and genders together in deep personal intimate ways. We cried together, ate together, laughed together, told stories together, planned together, sat together. And not a single tense moment -  because for all of our lives we had learned how to be together, and together in tiny spaces. Thank you Mom, and Dad. 

After Mom's service we had a meal together, and then we quickly retreated to my home, again. We began in the family room, moved to the deck, hugged and cuddled and laughed and cried and asked questions and hypothesized answers and discussed dynamics and how we got to where we are and what if's and supported each other, again all generations and genders, and loved every moment. 

Our weaving of these last six years, since Dad passed away, and to a major extent years before, we have become pro's - we have learned all roles; no one was in charge, we know our strengths and weaknesses without having to point them out or discuss them. 

And just this last week, without a mother to "direct" us, we began planning our sibling reunion for next summer. We're stuck with each other, and I kinda like that. 

      

Stages of Grief - And How I'm Journey'ing Them -

Elizabeth Kubler Ross says there are 5 stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.  Her colleague and grief expert, David Kessler, added finding meaning to make this 6 stages. 

And here I am, four weeks from my mother's death, and feeling empty, pissed, exhausted, and too tired to give a f* with absolutely no f*'s to give. 

What stage is that?! 

Here's where I am today: 

Grief - for my mom that she chose to live safely, not taking any risks - even not wanting to have her ears' pierced, out of fear. She lived a life of walking cautiously, always less, never more. And I'm sorry for her. And I'm also grieving for her children who felt obligated to live life large, so that she could stand at the living room window and watch, participating vicariously, always so proud of us, always so cautious. 

Denial - Not really feeling that; or maybe I did years ago when I saw her sorting papers on the dining room table and then resorting them again; or when I asked her help in making face masks, and she couldn't figure out how to turn them over to pin the elastic in before they were sewn. Or maybe when she was short-tempered with my dad and got upset with him because he couldn't sort his medications into the pill holder. Denial that perhaps she was slipping, or just so busy focused on Dad that she had every reason to slip? 

Anger - Like I said, I'm pissed. The November I was 3 years old my father bought Sheri and I cute fluffy brown and cream winter coats; he was so excited to show us off to Mom, and so excited to share with his world that he had a son. And as this 63 year old remembers, my mother shamed him for not buying us something practical, and she never honored him for wanting us to be cute and cuddly and presentable to Mom and my new baby brother. And I've carried that with me for all of my life. That shame that I would want "more," and that fear that if I did, I was not worthy, or wanting was unacceptable. And even more, knowing that my dad had disappointed my mother, and that he would continue to do so, and that it would be my responsibility to take care of her and make sure she was never left alone, and she would always have a companion, someone who understood her "wishes" and made them come true. I'll write more about Anger as I process this. 

Bargaining - With God and with my heritage. Because I've honored the women who came before me, can I leave them now? Can I leave them behind and move forward honoring me and my future? Can I ask the same for my daughters and grand-daughters? Can I tell them that because I carried the past, they don't have to? Dear Mom and Grandma and Great-grandmothers and aunts - I carried you throughout my life, doing the best I could to make you proud of me, to not disappoint you, to live a life you would be proud of. Can I stop now? And live my life? Can I sever those ties that not only connected us, but bound me to pull the past behind me like a mother duck and her ducklings? And why oh why have I felt morally obligated? Are there ancestors or angels or guides and do I want any of these? 

Depression - Just absolutely befuddled at how I got here, and yet knowing how I did, and feeling very sad that for the past 9-19-63 years I have been caring for those who can't care for themselves (Who told me this? I have no idea.). Scott and I bought the home we live in 17 years ago, so squeezingly close to both sets of parents, so we could care for them as they aged, and then buried one parent, then cancer, then another parent, then no cancer, then aging and pain and needs and another parent buried, and dementia and lonely and fear and fulfilling, and death. And somewhere We disappeared and caregivers appeared. Somewhere Ronda never recovered, never gave herself permission or time to move forward - to find the new Ronda; rather, I've been marking time, waiting, waiting. 

Finding Meaning - Not finding meaning for Mom's death, for the deaths that I see and assist with every single day. That's not an issue for me. Yet Finding Meaning for me, for my life, for making plans and goals and moving forward without being feeling responsible, for letting go. How do I find my own meaning now? What is my "Vision" "Mission" "Values"? What is my meaning? What do I want for myself today and what do I want tomorrow to be? What brings me joy? What brings me happiness? What brings me passion? What makes me come alive? I have no f*'ing idea! 

So here I go - an adventure awaits! I now just need to be ok with looking forward - forward, alone, with Scott, no past to weigh me down. Yikes! 

Coping -

 "Ronda, how are you? I know you've been so involved in your mother's care these past years, how are you?" 

Tough question to answer. Right now my answer is, "Coping." One day at a time; being intentional, and being at work, which is safe, known, and busy. 

I see dying and death on a daily basis; Mom's preparing to die and dying really didn't phase me. Or so I think! 

And yet I'm not sleeping, not focusing, and just numb. Which also happens when I'm faced with a crazy day at work. 

Today this came, and I'll be perusing it while mulling over my own thoughts and connecting some dots. 

Coping is Essential to Manage Palliative Care Professionals’ Challenges 

Healthcare professionals learn to take care of themselves while taking care of others. Coping mechanisms in palliative care extend beyond the management of emotions and problems, and beyond the disengagement of personal aspects from the environment. It is a learning process over time, in which influencing factors, coping strategies and personal and professional development are interrelated. This development is probably the most central pillar in training on providing healthcare to others.

The degree of self-awareness can be trained with practices oriented to the development of attention, allowing better management of emotions and greater emotional balance. This is a factor that makes a difference between ‘suffering’ and ‘enjoying work.’ Health professionals are the most powerful medicine for patients, emphasizing the importance of personal and professional aspects. The effectiveness of the healthcare process for end-of-life patients and their families will depend on providing healthcare ‘without getting burned,’ and, to that end, harmony and personal balance is necessary. If these health professionals manage to establish a deep relationship, in which the bond is healing for both the patients and themselves, they will achieve deep personal satisfaction, an expanded perception of reality and participation in the transmutation of others’ suffering. This practice is not only non-exhausting, but a source of satisfaction and personal growth, which promotes self-care activities performed by the health professionals during the therapeutic processes. 

  Adaptation and continuous learning: integrative review of coping strategies of palliative care professionals. [2] Sapeta, et al.

Palliative Medicine. 2021. September.

Alice Ann Jensen Walker - Mom -

 My mom passed away Tuesday evening, surrounded by her girls. 

The link to her obituary is: https://www.utahvalleyfuneral.com/obituaries/Alice-Walker-10/#!/TributeWall. 

Keeping Vigil -

 My mom has been in a care center for a year. Her dementia, and corresponding physical ailments, left her too difficult to care for at home. We found the most beautiful Beehive Home, and this is where she's lived until Friday evening. 

She's been declining significantly since November - from walker to wheelchair to a reclining padded wheelchair, to nearly full-time in a hospital bed. And in that time she's declined in her ability to walk, move her own body, feed herself, and for the most part, communicate with anything more than a nod or shake of her head. She's also been sleeping about 20 hours a day. 

After visiting her on Thursday afternoon, and trying to get her to eat cottage cheese and mandarin oranges, one of her most favorite meals, and her pocketing the food in her cheek rather than swallow, cleaning this out of her mouth and trying to get her to drink through a straw, I was at a loss. 

And yet - in the hospital we would consider her going on comfort measures, or only giving her liquid when she was offered and agreed. 

So, within just a half an hour, all seven children had agreed that comfort measures was what was needed, with swabbing her mouth with her liquid of choice - milk, grape juice, water, when she accepted the offer. 

I went home, thought about Mom dying in the care center, and I was having a tough time wrapping my head around this. At 5am Friday morning I heard, distinctly, Bring Her Home. One thing I've learned in my long life, is to listen when I receive any kind of prompting. 

I sent all of my siblings a text; we had agreed by 7am; my sister and I called the amazingly compassionate and kind Beehive Home director, called hospice, and we had things rolling for her to get home on Friday, by 9am! 

Mom was tucked into bed in my library (oh she loved books) by 7pm Friday evening. My sisters began arriving on Saturday morning, with my brother shortly after. Saturday and Sunday my home was filled with children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, with those siblings and others who could not be here in person Facetiming or calling to give her their love and say good-bye. 

My home has been over-flowing with loving energy - positive energy, and we have all felt angels around her. As we've sat and talked, ate, caught up, thought about tomorrows, I've definitely relished this liminal time with everyone. We've been through so much with Mom these past 6 years, and prior to that, with Dad the previous 3 years. And we've been united, and our conversations have mostly been about caring for them. However these last few days have also been about catching up on each other's lives, sharing our own stories. 

And it has been a delight - while Keeping Vigil, we've also been moving forward. 

Ironically, Mom is still here; she's not communicating, not taking in any food or liquid. My house is filled with women today, and we laughed this morning that Mom has never taken any physical risks and and has always kept her body healthy. Her heart and lungs are holding on, yet her soul is ready to move on. 

Dad died 6 years ago this July 5. Keeping Vigil. 

Prayers - Kate Bowler -

 So many times I have prayed for someone. And as a chaplain I often ask my patients, "Can I keep you in my prayer?" Often I'm asked to give a prayer for a patient, and I ask, "What would you like me to pray for," before praying. 

I love prayer. It's about as close to heaven as I may ever get. During cancer treatments I had so many people praying for me, meditating for me, sending positive thoughts and energy my way. And I felt those thoughts, those blessings. They buoyed me up, held me when I could not stand alone. Amazing to be the recipient of someone's prayer, when giving is my mode of operation, not receiving. 

Twice yesterday I felt the Spirit, when talking about prayer with patients. Once with a family whose father is dying - and they said there were hundreds of people praying for them, and they felt those prayers, and they believed there were people on both sides (earth and heaven) praying for them and supporting them. The second was with a young man who probably won't see 50. And he's rather agnostic and skeptical, yet we've connected, and we've talked angst and existential crisis and doubt and wanting to know. I asked him if I could keep him in my prayers. He did a "what good is it going to do" cough, and then said, "Yes. You know, my father is praying for me. And he always asks me what I want him to pray for. I know it makes him feel like he's doing something, because, really, what else can he do? And, I've felt his prayers, kinda like a warm blanket, kinda like a ray of sunshine. So, yes, you can pray for me." 

I prayed for these folks last night, along with my family, my mom, friends who are hurting. And yet - I don't pray for myself. I  pray that I have can be of service, that I can be aware of others' needs. But I don't pray for me, for comfort for myself, for strength for me, for clarity of mind for me, for hugs and holds and rays of sunshine for me. And maybe I should. 

This morning's prayer from Kate Bowler, is the prayer I needed today. A prayer/blessing for me, because of me, because I'm this person she is praying for. Thank you, Kate. 

a blessing for when you’re running on fumes and the summer is starting (unless, of course you’re fine. and if so, call me.)     Sometimes I am paper thinning at every touch.  Responsibilities and duties and errands are wearing me down. There is not enough time or energy  or finances or imagination.  I hardly recognize myself. I can’t keep going, but I can’t rest.  God, can You help me slow down?  I just need a little shelter and a long breath. I need a real summer.  Give me space to curl up for a while. Hold me until I can feel my shoulders drop,  and I am freed from what can’t happen right now.  Let me think only about what is gentle and lovely,  what is bountiful and unencumbered on this on this too-heavy day. God, scoop me up into life as it is.  Stop me from running ahead,  so I can be here in this space for the moment.   May this summer be a chance  to return to myself, once again.  Amen.

Ripple Effect -

Too much death. Too much sorrow. Too much violence. Too much react rather than act. Too many grieving parents, siblings, teachers, friends (young and old), and today, a spouse who loved too much and alone was too much. 

In healthcare we too are affected - too often, too much. So sad, so unnecessary, such a load for the innocent to carry, and for innocence to be lost. 

Blame - occasionally, and yet . . . 

Husband of slain teacher. 

Honoring Uvalde.

Springville students. 

Lily. 

Masao. 

No one dies alone - no one grieves alone; we are so interconnected through genetics, logistics, demographics, journeys, communities, cultures. Can't help but be affected. 

On Mother's Day -

This is my mom, Alice. She was also my neighbor for 15 years, my confidante, and she's the first person I shared my first tattoo with (breast cancer radiation points). This picture was taken in February at the care facility she is living at; she has dementia, and although all of her children have cared for her for the past 6 years, she needed more help than we could provide.

This mom, who was all business and little play, service before self, communicate with food, companionship, and listening intently, seldom giving advice, now seldom speaks. These days, she spends her time either sleeping on the couch in front of a movie, sleeping in her bedroom, or waking long enough to know, and gratefully recognize, her visitors.

Mom was a firm believer in acceptance, simplicity, talk-it-out, make it work, and there was an open invitation to anyone, anyone, to join her in the kitchen.

Mom wasn't a hugger or physically demonstrative, and I do not remember her ever saying "I love you," rather, a phone call or visit ended with "Love you." But these past 2 years, she has reached out to hold a hand, give a gentle pat on the back, and is more than willing to have someone hold her.

Mom was always good for a half a dozen hot cookies, a plate of cinnamon rolls, and she was more than willing to share her garden produce or help someone "bottle" the peaches from her amazing peach tree.

Mom's been a phone call or knock on the door away, and I miss her as my neighbor; yet watching her diminish in her abilities, and be baffled by her own inabilities and confusion has been so disheartening.

Mom loved her phone, and her phone calls to and from family took precedence over everything else - including a warm meal! And these days, she doesn't answer her phone, can't send a text, can't leave a voice message to "call me as soon as you can." Yet the texts and voice messages keep going to her, and it's a pleasure to watch her light up as she hears a familiar voice, sees pictures we send her, and nods as we read her the messages she receives.

She's diminished in size and capacity, yet her example, her words, are constantly with me; including, "When are you coming over again? It's been so long since I've seen you."

Happy Mother's day to my mom, to her lessons, to her frailty, to her willingness to serve, and in turn, now, her willingness to be served.