I'm Just Wired That Way

Last week I had a wonderful time with our "adopted kids" from Tennessee.  Most of the week I wasn't able to go out with them because the air was just too heavy.  It was hot and it was humid.  I even didn't get to go to the beach.  On Thursday things had cooled down just a little bit so we rented a pontoon boat.  Since I was the only one who had ever driven a boat before - albeit 40+ years ago - I got to drive.  Actually it was on my bucket list.  I LOVE the water and I love boats.  I was like a little kid on Christmas morning, I was so excited.  

It was an overcast day but that was good because we wouldn't have to deal with sunburns.  The air and water were both very warm.  We headed over to Crab Island, which is just a little play area accessible only by boat and the water is pretty shallow, so you can jump off the boat and walk around.  All the kids, including Oliver, did just that.  I decided to stay on the boat and catch up on a little reading.  

After awhile, we decided it was time to go look for dolphins.  The guy at the marina showed us the best places to look and I kinda remembered them from when my sister and I went on the dolphin tour on waverunners.  As we were pulling up the anchor and batting everything down, I was assessing the clouds moving in and figured we might get a little wet.  As we started heading towards the areas for dolphins, the skies let loose and it started pouring.  I made a split second decision to head for the bridge for cover to wait out the storm instead.  We still had several hours left on the rental so we had time.   As we headed towards the bridge, the storm swelled and we got pelted with very heavy rain.  Monsoon type rain and quite honestly, it hurt.  The front gate of the pontoon swung open and a wave came crashing on the deck, soaking my purse and oxygen backpack and anything else it could find on the deck.  At that point, Jess turned a little green.  I was shouting above the noise of the rain and the motor that I needed a towel - quick.  I couldn't see.  The sunglasses were helping some to keep the water out, but some got behind the lenses anyway.  I got my eyes cleared just in time to manuever the boat between the pilings of the bridge.  The water was rough and the boat was tossing to and fro.  

Not once did I worry and I didn't even think of being afraid.  Even with the water raging, and it pouring, the lightening flashing and thunder louder than I've ever heard.  Actually it was quite the opposite.  I was peaceful and I was having FUN.  Yep, fun.  For just that little while, I felt a bit of the old me back.  The one who was able to make split second decisions that involved not only my safety but that of others.  I had complete control of the boat...  not bad for not having driven one for 40+ years.  The guys from the marina came looking for all their boats and pulled them all in to safety.  When they saw us waiting it out under the bridge, they just came by and waved, making sure I was ok.  I was more than ok, I was laughing and having a grand old time.  The kids were complaining about the rain but I told them it wasn't rain - it was blessings from heaven so they should soak it all in.  Somehow they didn't have the same take on it.  The girls did... they were laughing and playing, unfazed by the storm.  

Through it all God used it to show me a bit of how he made me.  I'm wired to have fun in the midst of the storm.  I'm sure I would have had a fun day if the weather had been picture perfect and I would have enjoyed getting in the water myself, but having the added bonus of the storm made my day.  I have NEVER been so wet having not gotten in the water.  I soaked in all the blessings that God was willing to pour out on me - even the little extra waterfall that we passed under from the runoff from the bridge.  All of it - every single drop.  

Some people panic in storms.  Not me, I embrace them.  As others head for cover, I'm with the other fools heading into the storm, usually with a camera in hand - much to Oliver's chagrin.  It never even crossed my mind to cut the day short and go in to the dock.  I knew the storm would pass, as every storm does.  We were safe...  I never would have endangered the lives of my "family".  I always joke around that if a hurricane is headed our way that I'll be down on the beach giving Jim Cantore a cup of coffee - but my family knows there's more truth than joke to me saying that.  I have come to the conclusion that I love storms.  I love the power and intensity of them and the calm that comes after they've passed.  My life has been full of storms and I've weathered each one and come out the other side.  Sometimes a little beat up and soaked but come through none-the-less.  As I sit here at the end of my life, looking back to all those storms, I have to smile because through them all, I always managed to have fun.  I smiled when others were fearful, I calmed those around me who felt helpless, I've encouraged others who have encountered similar storms, I've laughed sometimes at inappropriate times, but through it all I've remained true to finding the good in each one.  Because every storm does have something that's good in it.  It's a choice really.  I can let the storm have the advantage or I can look it in the face and decide to have fun in the midst of it.  I will choose fun every time because that's just how I'm wired.  Have a great day y'all.  ((hugs))  

High School Graduation

Today I had the privilege of seeing two very special people graduate and we attended their little social afterward.  I have to admit, going was hard for me, not only physically but even more so emotionally.  While I enjoyed all the pomp and circumstance and the excitement in the air, there was a part of me that traveled back in time to another graduation day ~ mine.  A vast difference from the beautiful Florida weather, surrounded by people who love them and shared in their special day.  Wesley will be off to college in the fall and Brittany is still trying to decide exactly what she will do while she continues to date her beau a few years before tying the knot.  

Flash back 38 years, to January 31, 1974, on a bitter cold Chicago day.  We had one more rehearsal before the nights pomp and circumstance.  I bundled up in my coat, scarf, boots, gloves, etc. - did I mention it was cold?  lol...  anyway, I kissed my mom on the cheek and proceeded to go out the door, hesitating to turn around and say "I love you" one more time.  She smiled and and said the same back to me.  "See you later, Mom."  If she replied, I didn't hear it because the door was opened and I quickly went through it so as not to let the cold air take over the nice warm living room.  A few hours later I returned to find my mom unresponsive.  I called the paramedics and they came about 15 minutes later to confirm what I already knew in my heart to be true ~ she was gone.  There was no time for tears.  I had work to do.  First call was to my good friend and mentor, Lorraine.  She agreed to go with me to the hospital and would be waiting on the corner for me to pick her up.  The second call was to my aunt, my mom's sister.  They had a true love/hate relationship and it always seemed that it depended on which way the wind blew how it would be that day.  I didn't have time to check the wind, I had to get to the hospital to fill out the paperwork.  So I called and told her what happened and told her I'd tell her all the details when I got back.  I needed to go.  

The ambulance was pulling out as I locked the door behind me and the irony hit me that my life was going to be immensely different come tomorrow morning.  There will be enough time later to think.  Right now I needed to get moving and pick up Lorraine on the way to the hospital.  The people at the hospital were very nice and brought us right back to get the paper work filled out.  There was an officer there to take my statement as to what happened, etc. and things were going quite well.  We were almost through when all of a sudden there was a commotion coming up towards the door behind me.  It was my aunt and uncle.  Not quite sure what they were doing there, I agreed to let them in.  Wrong move on my part but live and learn.  She began to yell at me for not calling her to go sit with my mom, etc.  First, that would have been my mom's call and she would have had no part of it.  I just told her I didn't think she was needing anybody to do that today.  She was tired when I left but nothing queued me into believing that she wasn't going to be the same when I got back home.  No inkling what-so-ever.  I did understand my aunt's hurt but it wasn't my fault.  She hadn't even talked to my mom in a week.  She knew mom was sick.  We had been watching her decline for over two years.  To keep WW3 from breaking out, I agreed to let them come back to the house.  I still needed to get home and tell my little brother what had happened and i wanted to be there when he got home so he didn't come home to an empty house.  They followed on my tail and Ken didn't even need to walk in the door to know it was bad.  My aunt was breaking down right on the front sidewalk, out in the bitter cold.  Ken came in and I sat him down and told him what happened.  He helped me clear some chairs for people to sit on and we let them come in.  He had some tears but was holding it together well.  Our mom had prepared her as best as she could and we weren't about to let her down.  

I had dropped Lorraine off at her home because she was going to get ready to go to my graduation with me and her husband, John, was going to watch Ken for me so that I could go.  Plus the other kids would keep him preoccupied and help him along.  After calming my aunt down and agreeing to call her when I got home, I was able to escort her out and get myself ready for graduation.  I did shower, put on a scant bit of makeup, picked Lorraine up for the 2nd time that day as I dropped Ken off and made my way to the auditorium at Maine West High School.  I worked extra hard to be able to graduate ahead of time.  The plan was to be able to spend time with my mom because we knew the inevitable was on the horizon.  She was my best friend.  She held all my secrets and I held all hers.  It was important to her that I go and get that diploma.  She was already feeling bad because she told me the night before that she didn't think she was going to be able to make it to my graduation but she wanted me to go anyway.  We both thought that she was just having a rough patch, like she'd had numerous times before.  Neither of us really believed that she wasn't going to "make it" to my graduation night, just that she wasn't strong enough to go.  I put on my cap and gown, making sure the tassel was on the right side of the board.  I lined up with the others and vaguely remember some of the speeches and received the condolensces from those of my classmates that had heard the news.  I heard my name and concentrated on not tripping with the new shoes that my mom insisted I wear.  I got the handshake, the diploma and some other words whispered along with congratulations, and then the tassel was moved to the left side and it was official ~ I was a graduate and the world as I had known it all my life was irreversibly changed.  Nothing would ever be the same again and instead of being happy and excited about what the future would hold, I was filled with fear and trepidation.  I felt like a ship heading in to deep water with a broken, or better yet, missing rudder.  

There was no party waiting for me at home.  No family and friends to greet me and pepper me with well wishes and cards.  I did have Lorraine, bless her great big heart, and Lil, my boss from Goldblatt's who dropped everything to make sure she'd be there for me, and then there was Betty Harris, the ex-wife of my teacher/mentor who had passed away just two months earlier, devastating us all.  They took me to the Noble House in Palatine and it was a wonderful evening with good food and good ladies who knew they couldn't take my mother's place but understood that I need more than one shoulder to lean on.  The battle with my father hadn't even started yet - well not really.  I had called him right before leaving for graduation practice to let him know.  Well more correctly, I had to go through the phone company and have them call because he had an unlisted number.  They did get a hold of him and gave him the number to call me, instructing him that it was an emergency.  He did call and I told him what had happened.  Instead of the compassionate answer I expected, I was met with "why did you call me?"  Ok, I was a teen and had to really think about what words to say before I say them.  My reply was "um, you were married to her for 18 years, I didn't think you'd want to read about it in the Chicago Tribune."  He hung up on me...  I rolled the stress out of my shoulders and went on to graduation, thinking I wouldn't hear from him again.  

The ladies decided that I was stable enough to get home ok, especiallly since Lorraine lived only a few blocks away and I had to pick Ken up from there anyway.  I hugged and kissed them good-bye and thanked them profusely for making my graduation night special after all.  Lorraine and I just chit chatted about nothing in particular all the way home - which is what I needed.  There would be enough room for thinking later.  Ken was tired but still awake when I got there and he was ready to go home.  John said he cried some but once he started playing with the other kids, he was fine.  I thanked Lorraine, John and the kids for taking care of him so that I could go to my graduation - that was so important to my mother.  I got him home and settled into a restful sleep when the phone rang.  Who on earth would be calling this late?  It was almost midnight?  Against my better judgement, I answered the phone to find my father on the other end, drunk as a skunk and rambling on and on.  He was going to bury my mom on a hill under a tree and he was going to blah blah blah...  He talked to Ken and got him all riled up and in tears.  That was the first of many times that I would feel like clobbering my father but that would have to wait, I had a brother to calm down once more so that we both could try to get some sleep that night.  

The following morning I went to the high school to talk to a guidance counselor to see if he could help me.  He called a lawyer friend of his and Mr. Hug came to the school to meet with me right away.  My mom had wanted to be cremated and she had told me time and time again what she wanted.  We were one day from making everything legal.  We had appointments at a lawyer's office, the bank, the funeral home, etc. for Friday but she died one day short.  Mr. Hug accompanied me to the funeral home, since I already had a 10 am appointment I didn't need to change it once the circumstances changed.  As we walked in, we saw my aunt, uncle and my father there as a united front.  As soon as they saw I had a lawyer, the became so incredibly, sickenly, sweet.  I actually was relieved because I was in no mood for a fight.  To their credit, they let me handle ALL the arrangements and I do mean ALL of them.  They let this 17 year old child go into the coffin room and pick one out along with all the other details that go with planning a funeral.  I did it all.  Every hard decision that had to made by a girl mourning the loss of her mother, best friend, mentor, the closest person she had in her life, who meant more than anyone else in the world to her...  all of it, picked out by me.  My mom had taught me well and I remembered most of what she had said.  When all was said and done, it turned out quite well.  It would have been nice to have someone hold my hand and confirm that my decisions were right, but that was not to be had.  There were no real adults in the room, outside the undertaker who bordered somewhere between Mr. Roarke from Fantasy Island and Lurch from the Addams family - who offered no help.  After all the details were finalized, it was decided that "the family" would go down the street to the Sugar Bowl (a Des Plaines institution) and have lunch.  It was there that my brother's future was discussed.  He was at school so we were able to talk freely.  My aunt, who had been named executor in my mom's will, decided that she was not going to fulfill that duty, nor was she going to take custody of Ken and I, like she had agreed to do.  For me it was no big deal, I was 17 and I was due to turn 18 in a month, but Ken was only 14.  I could handle myself, but wasn't so sure I was the best choice for Ken.  Our dad stepped up and invited us to stay out at his house out on the lake in Lake Zurich.  I admit, I welcomed the invitation.  I was afraid to stay in the house with just Ken and I.  Too many memories there and too much to do.  So we accepted the invitation and the next day moved out there.  

It's a whole other story of what happened there so to make a long story short, it didn't work out and I was asked to leave on Easter Sunday, just six weeks after moving in.  I packed up the clothes that I had brought with me and moved back to the house my mom died in and that I had grown up in.  Ken decided he was going to stay in Lake Zurich and that was a relief to me.  Our dad had brought 3 of us into the world from his first family and I felt it was about time he took responsibility for one of us - since he had signed us away for back child support and we were adopted by my step father. who commited suicide in our same house just three years earlier.  My grandmother had also passed away in that house.  

All of this happening while many of my classmates were on vacations to all parts of this great big globe celebrating their graduations and all that the future held for them.  All the exciting things that graduates should be doing.  The rest of the "normal" class was planning for senior trips and proms and their own graduations in June.  I never got the chance to do either.  I was tied down to probates and court dates and bank dates and lawyer appointments, etc.  Not exactly the dreams one has as they are approaching graduation and beyond.  All on top of having to have a full time job to pay for some place to live and for everyday necessities like, food.  Grown-up things.   

I sat there today looking around at the table decorations and the impressive spread of food, the balloons and cards stacked up on tables, the montage of pics from the happy graduates and their childhood.  I listened to the well deserved congratulations and watched as hands were pumped and ((hugs)) went around.  I soaked it all in and offered my own congrats.  That being said, I couldn't help but mourn the little girl who never got the chance to have a proper graduation.  Oh she got her diploma and she did graduate, but she missed out on all the fun part.  I am so happy for all those who are celebrating graduations this year and I wish them well as they ferry into their futures.  I just have to wonder if there is some other student who has fallen through the cracks and didn't have an idyllic graduation experience.  My heart goes out to them and I want to warn them that they will be invited to many graduations through the years and it will be alright.  They'll go, be genuinely happy and perhaps have that tug of the heart and go through the "what might have beens."  

So congrats to the graduating class of 2012 - all across this country - and may your futures be bright and fulfilling no matter what trail you plan on taking.  The world truly is your oyster and the best years of your life are ahead of you.  Make the most of them.  ((hugs))  

A New Journey

I really am glad to be out of the hospital and back in familiar surroundings.  There is just something about being at home that makes things seem like they'll just be alright.  As for coming home, it was with mixed feelings.  The good news is that the pneumonia is responding to the antibiotics so the immediate crisis seems to be resolving.  That being said, the Pulmonary Fibrosis took another major blow and I have declined rapidly.  

While in the hospital, I went through all kinds of tests and evaluations.  The reason I got to go home yesterday is because there is absolutely nothing they can do to help me.  My pulmonary function tests are showing that my lungs are only working at 27% and the pulmonary hypertension has now been graded at severe.  I am moving into Cor Pulmonale which is the last stage - right sided heart failure.  As for now, my heart is still beating strong but it is under great strain.  They had physical therapy come in yesterday for an evaluation and I only walked about 25 feet and my oxygen saturation level dropped to 50.  It's not supposed to go below 90 before it stresses your organs.  They said there is nothing they can do to help that get better.  Even that drug that I was on for a couple of days won't help at this point.  The big kahuna lung doctor said I'm just too severe and it won't help.  They're even going to wean me off the prednisone because it's not helping at all anymore either.  

Basically he told me to get my ducks in a row.  I will keep having these flare ups and events until I don't recover from one.  He was like, "will you recover from this one?  I don't know, but it won't be long before you just don't.  I hate to be the bearer of bad news but I feel you want honesty."  He was right, I do want honesty.  It wasn't anything that I wasn't already aware of and kind of figured was happening - after all, I'm living in this ol' body - but it was still difficult to hear.  

The hardest part was talking to Oliver and the kids about it.  I know the day will come when Oliver will come in the room and I'll just be gone or be literally suffocating to death.  I've walked in both shoes and know how difficult that is.  I have also been on the receiving end of a bad news phone call.  I told them all that I hate all this and I hate being the one that will cause them that pain.  There is nothing I can do to stop this or keep it from happening.  I'm fighting with all I have and not giving up by any means but it won't be much longer now.  I just know and now the docs have confirmed it.  

I'm not writing this to make you all sad or to make you feel sorry for me.  Quite the opposite.  I'm telling you so that you won't be shocked when my posts just fail to exist one day.  I know I'm going to a better place and that I will just be going on a new journey.  I have loved living life and I intend to continue to do so until that last breath.  I love to laugh and I plan on doing just that.  It's harder for me to get out and about but I'm still going to try.  I have never been a spectator in life and I don't plan on taking that role any more than I have to now.  

So laugh with me and bear with me when I find the humor in seemingly serious subjects.  Dying is not funny but there really is so much to laugh at it's face with and I intend to do just that.  Thank-you for being on this crazy ride of life with me.  Each of you has a special place in my heart and I am far richer for having had you in it.  I'm only getting this stuff out because I don't know how much more time I have.  Hoping and praying for awhile yet but don't want to be caught moving on without having said it.  I love each of you in very special ways - of course, some more than others.  I hope that you continue to enjoy every moment of your life and please don't take it all so seriously.  Laugh, love, kick someone in the shins, but do it with passion and without abandon.  

As a personal favor, I'm going to ask you to please promote organ donation.  It wasn't an option for me but it still is for so many.  I have friends who are waiting right now on organs so that their quest in life can continue.  I also ask that you please promote Pulmonary Fibrosis awareness.  More funding has to be raised so that treatments and ultimately a cure can be found.  I have had doctors tell me this is the absolute worst diagnosis that they ever have to give.  I can't disagree.  This suffocating to death is awful.  It kills about 40 thousand people a year - the same that die from breast cancer.  Yet you've heard of breast cancer, right?  More will be diagnosed this year than ever before with pulmonary fibrosis.  

I hope and pray that this doesn't touch you or your family.  Unfortunately it touched us.  I am so grateful that I have my faith in God and know that I am not walking this journey on my own.  It's hard on those around me.  They don't know what to say or do...  I understand that.  I understand that most of you don't know what to say except to tell me to hang in there - and I am, the best that I know how to.  This isn't good-bye.  Actually I hate good-byes anyway.  I just wanted y'all to know that the day will be coming, probably soon, when my posts will no longer show up.  At last check, facebook wasn't available in heaven.  I'm ok, I'm ready when the time comes and now I want to concentrate on living that time I have left and not letting PF steal my thunder.  Have a great day and let's go have some fun!  

Weekend with Dick

Some days I miss my mother more so than on other days.  Usually they have been milestones in my life that I really wish she had been there for - my wedding, the birth of my son, the birth of my grandson, times of extreme illness, times of questioning my existence, etc.  Last Saturday was one of those days.  After 40 years, I was finally heading to the airport to pick up my older brother, Dick.  

As Oliver and I made our way to Pensacola, I couldn't help but glance over and secretly wish it were my mom sitting in the seat next to me.  It should have been.  Dick is her oldest boy and she had seen him off to the Army with the expectation that he would arrive home within a reasonable amount of time.  We saw him a couple of times while he was in the Army when he came home on leave, but we were looking forward to the day that we'd pick him up and not have to worry about taking him back to the airport for another run overseas.  

I was crazy excited and a bit nervous too.  Kinda felt like I was going on that blind date that you've only heard good things about the other person and you're so aftraid of buying into the hype for fear of being let down.  You know what I mean?  The last time I saw him in person he was 25 and I was a mere 15.  We were very young.  Was he expecting the skinny legged little sister who adored and idolized him?  Was that girl still hidden somewhere inside this very battered middle age body tethered to an oxygen machine and getting about in a wheelchair?  Was he still going to be the sweet spirited young man that I thought was going to be the catch of the day for some lucky lady?  The anticipation mounted as we got to the airport through the driving rain.  

I spotted him immediately, both wanting to and afraid to make eye contact.  What if it was the wrong guy?  What if he didn't want to meet my eye contact?  What if, once more, I felt rejected?  How would I react?  Will I cry, will I laugh, will I feel anything?  After all 40 years is a long, long time and I can honestly say that in that time I had felt every emotion known to man regarding my brother.  

The ride home was long and arduous.  I attributed the silence in the car to the weather, or at least that was my hope.  The rain was coming down extremely hard and it made it very difficult to see the road.  We finally made it to Crestview and the rain let up a bit so we decided to stop and get a bite to eat.  As soon as we sat down, we started talking and outside of a few hours sleep over the next day and half, we didn't stop.  It certainly didn't take Oliver and Dick long to find their common ground and gain up on me.  Truth be told, I wouldn't have had it any other way.  

During the times we were alone, we got to discuss some pretty heavy issues about our growing up years.  It was fascinating to see how we could grow up in the same house, with some of the very same situations being presented and yet react to them so totally different or have contrasting perceptions.  A lot of it was the age difference, he is after all, 10 years my senior and some was gender specific.  He's definitely fallen on the male side of the spectrum.  Then there was that whole left brain/right brain thing going on.  He being of a scientific, matter of fact, get to the point kind of mind and mine being the more relaxed, let's take the long way around the subject, writer kind of mind.  We met somewhere in the middle and got through a lot of years.  

I know y'all want to know exactly why he didn't come home and how on earth he could stay gone for 40 years without letting us know.  Am I right?  Well, the answer is really multi-dimensional and not quite so easy to pinpoint.  Some of it he's still working out in his own mind before he can stand at the free throw line and tip it into my mind.  The easy answer is that he didn't want to come home.  There were issues that he had gotten away from for 5 years and he was hesitant to be forced to fall into old patterns.  That I accepted wholeheartedly and kinda figured that it was the case.  Where it got a little stickier is how he could do that to ME.  He had to know I'd wonder.  He had to know I'd be concerned.  He had to know I'd be very, very hurt.  In all fairness, he doesn't remember writing the letter stating when he was coming home.  During that time he was going through a very difficult breakup with his girlfriend and was very depressed.  He's not disputing writing it - he just flat out doesn't remember it.  Shortly after the time I told him we got the letter, he said he had gotten an incredible job opportunity to stay over there and make some very good money.  He chose the job.  Then, time just slipped away from him.  He buried himself into his work.  The longer the time got since his last call, the more hesitant he was to call.  We've all done that.  We think of someone but then talk ourselves out of calling them - they're too busy, we're gonna get and earful as to why we hadn't called, there could be emotions and we all know guys don't like to do emotions.  I got it.  

He had no idea that my mom had gotten sick and passed away in January, 1974.  Family history at that time showed longevity on our side.  He had no idea of a multitude of other things that happened in the last 40 years.  Mercifully my blogs have filled him in on quite a bit.  Gotta say I'm grateful to God for having pressured me into writing them.  They sure came in handy.  We talked about many, many issues and other family members.  He filled in the blanks on his life - the usual... he was a workaholic and met his bride while working.  They have been married for 36 years this coming July.  No kids - too busy working - although they have had a few of the four legged variety gracing their hallways.  My new sister-in-law is an award winning author so he came loaded down with autographed copies of her books.  That excited me.  

We had no anger and we talked about how really easy it was to reconnect.  Our bond was always super strong and it literally just picked up where we left off.  Funny thing is that neither of us showed any great emotion.  That surprised me some, although I had spent so many years going over every possible scenario in my head, that this being the best case one, I was nothing but elated.  I'm sure that helped.  I did have a momentary lapse where I thought I might want to break out the Buford Pusser bat and take a few swings at his head but that was early on and fortunatelly that urge passed long before his plane touched down.  He had a few moments of getting choked up but I think he still was in a bit of a shock.  He's had a lot to process in a very short amount of time and while I know I was looking for him for 40 years, he got a call out of the blue from a retired police detective telling him I was wanting to talk to him.  

The last time I had a face to face with him was almost 41 years ago.  During that visit he had brought "the girlfriend" home and was trying to show off how tough he was by being less than friendly with Ken (our younger brother) and I.  He accused me of stealing his slide rules - precursors to the pocket calculators that have become a household word.  I didn't take them and told him I didn't.  He didn't believe me and caused quite the scene.  I was devastated beyond words.  A few months later I found them wrapped in a shirt and stuffed under the mattress of Kenny's bed up in the bed springs.  I have kept those stupid slide rules safe and secure for over 40 years.  Last week I was able to finally put them in the correct owners' hands and reclaim the real estate in my underwear drawer.  I sent him home with a whole bunch of pics that I had come across and he'll scan them when he finds the time.  I've had them for 40 years to safeguard - he can take over the next 40.  

We still have a lot of ground to catch up on and we will.  In the meantime, I'm getting my thoughts together to finally get started on that book that I've tossed around in my head.  It's going to be one of those "truth is stranger than fiction" books and I hope y'all will find it interesting.  I'm still processing my feelings but so far have done remarkably well.  Even leaving him at the airport was such a whirlwind that neither of us had time to even say more that the rushed good-bye so that he could get to his plane.  I know he'll be back one day and hopefully with his bride on his arm so I can meet my true to life sister-in-law.  I just wish I had more time.  I wish that this thing called Pulmonary Fibrosis wasn't eating away at my time on earth.  Then I turn around and can be nothing but grateful that I was able to find him at all.  The bulk of my family has gone to their grave not knowing.  We have some time left.  We both hope now that Ken can be found and then our family (what's left of it anyway) can be complete.  

Thanks for your prayers and thanks for standing by my side through this whole ordeal.  At times life has been so hard that I thought I'd crush under the sheer pain of it all but somehow I've survived, actuallly thrived, and come out stronger - with my tenacious spirit intact.  40 years - I never gave up - despite being advised again and again to let it go.  Some call it stubborn, I prefer tenacious.  Either way, I'm glad to finally have some closure and get some answers.  We can't turn the clock back and make it exactly like it used to be, we both have aged and changed, but we can take our meeting from now and move forward.  I, for one, am looking for many more talks and good times just like we used to do.  Oh and Dick, be careful, I've had a long time to brush up on my Monopoly and Scrabble skills.   :)   

You've Got Mail!

It was Thursday night and we were just kicking back, catching up on a bit of tv from the week. Since the Pulmonary Fibrosis has taken more and more of my everyday functions of life away, we have learned to DVR our favorite shows - even if we're watching them that night. This way if I happen to doze off, I can still watch them when I wake up. Plus if we get busy and can't sit down to catch them at their appointed times, we can still see them. It was during the first commercial break of NCIS that I decided to quickly check my email on my Kindle Fire while Oliver ran to the bathroom to take care of business. Sure enough, true to AOL form... You've Got Mail!

Right there before my eyes, the third email down, was an email that totally caught me off guard. Subject: Long Lost Brother, From: Dick Buchanan. I immediately just froze and sat staring at it. What the? Surely this was some kind of a cruel joke. Just about everybody outside of some of my newest friends on facebook knew that my older brother Dick had been missing for over 40 years. Despite several attempts through the years to track him down, I've never been able to find out if he was alive or dead. I sat there, continuing to stare at it - wanting to open it and yet afraid to at the same time. What if it was someone playing a joke? That would not be funny. Not funny at all. Somewhere in the recesses of a mind that I wasn't sure was serving me well, I remembered having recently forwarded his social security number and information to a private investigator who was going to try and help me find out if he had been one of the victims of John Wayne Gacy. Perhaps there was something to this after all.

With trepidation and anticipation I clicked it open. "Hi Peggy" it started. Ok, not very many people in my life get away with calling me Peggy. Nope, not many at all. Dick was one of those very few who did. I continued to read the email of how the private eye had contacted him and told him I had been looking for him - for forty years. The PI gave him my email address, home address and phone number and left if up to him to contact me. Knowing the PI, I knew he wouldn't have given my information out to just anybody unless he was pretty darn sure he had the right person. I had told him about the investigators that I had hired way back when my mother died and how I got calls all hours of the day and night from people claiming to be him. I had finally come up with questions that only my brother would have been able to answer, nobody else. That got rid of the bogus callers in short order. At first I thought I was going to have to brush the dust off those questions after I retrieved them from the deepest recesses of my mind.

I looked over and told Oliver that I had just received an email from some guy claiming to be Dick. He asked how I felt about it and I said that something about it rang true but I couldn't exactly say what. The guy claiming to be Dick had said that he'd call me on Saturday and we could talk. That would give me two days to think about it more. Needless to say, I felt a bit shocked. Why wouldn't the PI have called and given me a heads up? Then again, how else would somebody get my info if the PI didn't give it to him? I had mixed feelings. Dick had sent the email from a work email so I decided that I could go check the company website and see what I could find out. More and more companies are now including pictures of their employees on their websites and I was hoping that since it was a computer consulting company that they would have done just that. So over to the website I went. Right there on the front page was a face so familiar to me that I felt like it was literally coming alive right there on my screen. I gasped out an "Oh my God, it's him" and Oliver responded with "you're kidding?" "Nope it's him". "How can you tell?" "Look!"

In that moment, I experienced a gamut of emotions: denial, excitement, anger, angst, surprise,questions, fear, and then a compete and inexplicable peace. Anger was the hardest one to deal with. I was truly grateful that he is alive and doing well in the beautiful Northwest Territory of our fine country and then there was a part of me that kicked in that wanted to kill him for having put our whole family through such turmoil for so incredibly many years. Where was he? Why? etc., etc. Because of the Pulmonary Fibrosis, I have to be extra diligent that I don't get too stressed. So I literally had to talk myself down from feeling all that I was feeling. I told myself to calm down and give him the benefit of the doubt and hear what he had to say. No sense rehashing scenarios in my head that I had already gone over and over again for 40 years. A few deep breaths and I conquered that feat. Soon enough I'd have the answers I had been seeking all these years. At least then I'd be able to base my feeling on facts and not the "what ifs".

My first email after getting his was to my half sister, Jane, telling her I had heard from him and asking her if she'd bail me out when I killed him? Her reply to me was "hell, I'm bringing the shovel." Ok, guess we were both going to have to rely on Oliver to spring us if it came to that. My next email was to Dick himself letting him know that he could call me anytime. The sooner the better. First thing Friday morning the phone rang and it was him. We introduced each other and it only took 15 seconds for any anger or bitterness or any ill will I might have felt to completely melt away. I did ask what happened and you know what? His answer made perfect sense. He had changed his mind and at first was afraid of the earful he'd get calling home with the information, so he procrastinated (a family tradition) and then one month led to the next and before long, time had just gotten away. In his mind we had gone on with our lives without him for five years anyway and he didn't want to interfere with the lives we had forged out for ourselves. In all fairness, he had no idea of the hell we had been living while he was gone. That was one thing our family was masters of - hiding reality.

We were products of an alcoholic home. At first it was just social drinking between our parents and friends who used to like to have a good time. Then it morphed into heavier drinking as things became strained behind the closed doors of the old homestead. When I was 5 and Dick was 15, the final straw had broken the camel's back and dad walked out - one year after my mom's mom died right there in the home with us. The four of us, mom, Dick, myself and our younger brother Ken, managed the best we could for years. My mom would occasionally date but for the most part it was just us and she leaned heavily on Dick to fill in the role of male of the home. The alcohol became her drug of choice to mask the pain and we were all too able to cover for her. She was what would be considered today a functioning drunk - she still held down a job but as soon as she got home, all bets were off. She'd quietly imbibe until she'd literally pass out on the couch which would leave the three of us kids to fend for ourselves. Most days it wasn't too hard because Dick was home and he was able to make dinner. More and more often though, he had to work and that left it up to me. Cold cuts and sandwiches to the rescue on most nights and an occasional can of tomato soup. That was my culinary specialty. Oh and a killer egg salad. Dick was the master of tv dinners and chicken pot pies (neither of which I will have to this day).  He had become the man of the house and he did it all quite well. Too well. It was way too much responsibility to put on a 15 year old young man. Taking care of his mother, his sister and his brother. He was great at it. He made sure my mittens matched and were on the right hands, my socks and shoes matched and were laced to perfection, my winter coat buttoned up and a scarf tied to keep the cold wind out along with a hat on my head to keep the body heat from escaping. He made a great parent - especially for one who had been so let down and neglected by his own. Our dad was mean to him. I remember a lot of times Dick Sr. yelling at Dick and him running to his room in tears. Seems like the old man never had a kind word to say. He never told me but common sense would dictate that I don't think Dick was too upset when the old man hit the road.

Finally when my mom remarried, Dick saw an opening and took it. He joined the army and off he went. He had no clue of the hell he left behind for Ken and I to deal with. And true to family tradition, we never let on. We just continued on. In January 1971, our newly acquired stepdad decided committing suicide was preferable to finding a job and contributing to the family expenses. Dick did come home for the funeral but there was no need to bad mouth the deceased so we just kept mum. Mom convinced Dick that we'd be fine. She was a proud Norwegian woman after all and not about to let on that she had married not one, but two men that would be considered losers in today's books. So Dick went back to Germany and I continued taking on the parent role with Ken and then as my mom's health declined, with her as well.

I really understood then as much as I understand now why Dick would not want to come home to that environment. What I was counting on was that the good times that we had and the close bond that we shared would have been enough to draw him back and that together we could have worked it all out. After all, mom's drinking cut back all the way to non-existence as she got sicker. Dick never knew she had stopped drinking altogether almost two years before she died. He never realized that the tensions between our extended family seem to have an even deeper rift than ever before so there was no support system in place. The only support I had was from one lone teacher at school who became a father figure to me during my high school years and there was my youth group at church. My teacher, Mr. Harris, died my senior year just before Thanksgiving and only two months before mom died. I was devastated. By then, Dick had already been missing for a couple of years.

Our mom died not knowing what happened to her eldest boy. My dad spent years wondering what became of him as did my aunts, uncles and many other extended family members. It would always come up as people wondered what happened but nobody was willing to help me try and find him. Finally when my mom died I had to hire investigators to try and find him because he was written in the will. His social security number was run but came up with nothing. All that did was show that he hadn't worked in the United States nor filed any tax returns. Turns out he stayed in Germany 5 years so that answers that question. In 1988 I had his military records checked and found out he had never applied for or used any VA benefits. That was odd for a young man of 42 to have never used benefits. According to Dick, he worked for great companies with great benefits so the VA medical wasn't needed and he didn't use the VA benefit to buy a house until the 90's - long after the last time it was checked.

For years the Cook County Sheriff's Office has had all the information. They kept telling me they were coming up with nothing when in reality, after those first attempts, they never ran the numbers again or they'd have gotten a hit. I am still angry with them. They could have put an end to this many years ago but couldn't be bothered. Every few years there would be a new detective on the case and I'd give them the same info over and over again and they'd assure me they'd look into it, yet nothing was ever done. That is shameful. There are countless others who are waiting on answers, just like I had been all these years.

Since Friday, Dick and I have talked every day. He's spent countless hours pouring through the blogs I've been writing for the past few years. That has helped a lot. It's funny when I went to write them I argued heavily with God about it. Why on earth would He ask me to put my deepest thoughts and history down in writing when I couldn't even bring myself to journal or keep a diary? After all with two brothers, leaving any ammunition around for them to tease me about would have been a no brainer. Finally I relented and basically did it because I wanted to get in the habit and discipline of writing. They're all rough drafts. Not once have I ever gone back and edited. It wasn't about perfection it was about discipline for me. So there I was bearing my whole soul for the world to see. Now I can see how helpful those blogs are in this situation. Dick has been able to pore over them and absorb all the news he's missed over the last 40 years - at his own pace. That's freeing me up to deal with my own feelings after all these years. For the most part I really am alright. Better than alright.

I'll be blogging as I work out some of the details and keep you posted on how we progress from here. So far we've talked everyday and it's been amazing. In a matter of minutes, 40 years just evaporated and we fell into the easy conversations we used to have together all those years ago. We'll have our first face to face meeting this Saturday night. He's flying in Sat. night and then going back home Monday morning. Just a quick trip in to meet face to face. We're both excited. There's a bond between us that for whatever reason has not broken. Oh perhaps it was stretched a bit but like any good elastic product, it's retained it's shape and is working as good as new. I won't be meeting my new sister-in-law on this trip. She has a sister in the last stages of cancer and she needs to be with her. I certainly understand that. I'm looking forward to getting to know her too.

After reuniting with Dick, he, Janie, my son Dan, Oliver, etc. are determined to find our younger brother, Ken. His last know living arrangements were in Henderson, NV and they're trying to track him down. I have to admit, my curiosity is piqued but I spent 40 years looking for one brother - time to let someone else take the reins from here to find the other one. That would bring the family into contact and make us complete after a very, very long time.

As of now, my heart is full and complete. God's faithfulness has come through once again as only He can orchestrate it. My prayer has always been to find out the truth about Dick while I was still alive. That prayer has been answered. While I am in no hurry to kick the bucket anytime soon, at least I know when my time comes I can leave this world knowing I accomplished the one thing that I needed to get done before dying. I hope we have lots of time to catch up and form an even stronger bond. Either way, I'm grateful for the relationship I have now and anything more is just icing on the cake. I'm so very grateful I never gave up despite being told time and time again - many times by professional counselors - to let it go and move on. I just couldn't do it. I do give Oliver credit for never suggesting that to me. His only requirement was that I didn't let it make me lose sleep or cry myself to sleep because of it. Most times I honored that request.

I'm still dealing with feelings and thoughts that I have to come to terms with. It's been easier than I thought it would be but probably only because I've dealt with so many scenarios in my head all these years that nothing has come as a total surprise. My heart goes out to Dick. He's having to process 40 years of family history, deaths, situations, etc. in a matter of days - many of which have strong emotions attached to them. I'm sure he's dealing with a bit of guilt for having left us behind in the situation we were in - but that's unnecessary. He didn't know. For forty years I have kept extremely safe two pairs of slide rules (old mathematic items predating calculators) that were his and he had accused me of losing the last time we were together. It actually was Ken that hid them and I found them a couple of months later and have held on to them since. This weekend they will go into the right hands. : )

To show you the depths of what we've gone through all these years of not knowing, I still plan on blogging about all the different things we thought had happened to him. Some of them will not be for the faint of heart. Through it all I can honestly tell you that God was right there with me, holding my hand and asking me to trust Him - no matter what. I'm going to take you along on a little ride and show you just how much harder that can be to do than you can possibly imagine. In the meantime, grab someone you're close to and let them know that you love them - really love them - because none of us knows if it's the very last memory we'll have of that person. Have a good one and stay tuned...

In the Blink of an Eye

Have you ever felt sometimes you can say a prayer so many times and in so many ways that it fails to have any true meaning behind it? A prayer that becomes just rote words that you feel you have to say because, quite frankly, that's what you've always done? Any long term request can easily fall into that category. Yet every once in awhile a prayer has such special meaning that it holds as much of your heart many years later as it did the first time you dared to utter the words. I've had a prayer request that I have said so often that I don't have to think twice about the words. They flow easily off my tongue and out through the lips into the air with a piece of my heart - to be carried far, far away to a God who hopefully is tuned in to hear them. And I pray that on that day that those words be heard loud and clear and dare I say - answered.

In order to understand this particular special prayer request, I really need to explain to you a bit of the story behind it. That way you'll understand the motivation and heart that has fueled it for so long. Like most, not all, prayer requests, this one was birthed from pain. Not a particular physical pain but a deep down emotional pain that I just didn't understand at the time. My mother and father separated and divorced back when I was five years old. My prayers at that time were the usual, bring them back together. I never truly had that expectation because I didn't understand the reasons behind the two of them being apart. I said the words because that's what I thought I was supposed to say. As time went on, my prayers for my mother changed. They became about finding her a companion - a man, if you will. Not just any man, but a special one. Her prayer was the same so we thought we were on to something. In January 1967, a man did come into the picture and a scant month later, the two were married in a quiet ceremony in the chapel at the Methodist Church in town. It's funny how different prayers can tie together. Now that this prayer for my mom had been answered, it coincided with my older brother's prayer to move on with his own life and join the Army. A week later he was heading off to boot camp and the beginning of the rest of his life. My urgent prayers became ones to keep him safe and bring him home in one piece.

For four years they worked like a charm. He had a pretty easy assignment in Germany - far from the bullets flying in Viet Nam. Not that the assignment was without danger or intrigue but he didn't have to worry too much about the constant whizzing of artillery passing by his head. News of his every day life was scant at best. Our only means of communication was a piece of paper with familiar handwriting, folded in thirds and stuffed in a red, white and blue envelope with Por Avion printed on the front and a lot of stamps with varying sizes and illustrations. While the envelope itself was impressive it was what was inside that held the biggest prize for me. Nothing compared to the feeling of anticipation as I'd open the envelope and unfold the paper to see the handwriting in blue ink with the slight tilt to the left of a south paw. I'd read and hang on every word as if some magic meaning was buried in there for only me to figure it out.

That probably happened because in between those letters I spent a lot of time reading. I had become hooked on Nancy Drew mysteries and felt that those books were the manual to life. Of course Dick had to hide some message in those letters and I had to figure them out - I was sure of it. I'd pore over and hang on each word, period and comma. Most of the times the content was the same - "I'm fine" - "how are you?" - "write back". And I would. I'd tell him how our younger brother, Kenny, tried to feed the goldfish toast with jelly and it went belly up and no matter how much salt Mom sprinkled on his little body, he wasn't coming back to life. I'd fill him in on other mundane happenings from around the house and what was going on for me at school. Just little sister to her missed big brother chat. The letters really were few and far between. Each day I'd stand by the mailbox waiting for the mailman to come by and let me know if "today was the day". Most days, I'd turn and walk back to the house with nothing more than bills addressed to my mother. The next day I'd be at my post again with shorts, t-shirt and flip flops in the summer and a pea coat, scarf, gloves, hat and boots in the winter. Fall and Spring had their own special attire. Each day a McPrayer thrown up asking that today be the day that one of those special envelopes appeared in the pile. This continued for almost 5 years.

The last letter I received from him was at Christmastime in 1971. In that letter he had said that he was finally going to be coming home either the end of January or the beginning of February. My mother, Kenny and I were ecstatic. We readied his room for him and mom stocked up on his favorite foods. The freezer was full for the first time in I don't know how long. All awaiting the imminent arrival of our king. He had even told me, his little sister who idolized him, that he wanted to take me out to dinner for my 16th birthday on March 1st I envisioned going to one of the restaurants like the one he used to work at - The Brass Rail - where there were linen napkins and real, white, starched tablecloths. Coffee was served in porcelain cups and the cream came in the cutest little white pitchers. A place where the menu had items that you could barely pronounce made by chefs with accents that couldn't be distinguished. I imagined and we waited.

January 1972 was a cold one. We kept warm by sharing thoughts and ideas of what we'd do when Dick finally got home. I pulled out the Monopoly and Scrabble games and made sure all pieces were clean and accounted for. Dick and I had used to love to stay up late into the night playing those two board games. We'd laugh and talk and have such a good time until Mom would finally come in and shoo us off to bed. Those were some good times and the most cherished memories of my childhood. I could barely wait to get those feelings back.

By the time February came around, we began to get concerned. Every noise we'd hear outside we thought for sure was a cab door closing and that any moment he'd come waltzing through the door, duffel bag in hand, and ((hugs)) ready to pass around. We'd look out the window only to find one of the neighbors coming home from a late night out with friends. No Dick. Though Mom tried to hide it, her concern became more noticeable. Where was her precious older son? It was not like him to say he would be somewhere and then not show up. By the time my birthday rolled around on March 1st, Mom was in the hospital and we both shared a glance that only we could interpret - something was wrong. I didn't get to go out to the fancy dinner with my brother as planned but I had a nice one all the same. One of our youth group leaders at church made a wonderful sheet cake and brought it to our youth meeting that night and made me feel special. My mom had bought the cutest little red, white and blue culotte outfit (hey, it was a stylin' piece at the time) for me off the traveling gift cart at the hospital. I felt like a princess. Unconventional sixteenth birthday party? Yes, but it's a day I'll never forget. Happy and sad all mixed in together - not for the first time in my life and certainly not for the last. By mid March we had written several letters to the last known address we had for him and they all went unanswered. Mom decided it was time to call the police, although not really believing that they could or would do anything. She was right, they neither could nor would. They rationalized that he was a 25 year old who had been gone, out of the country, for five years. He probably just didn't want to come home. But why wouldn't he let us know that? That was the question that started the pain. We'd understand. We'd be hurt, no doubt, but we'd understand.

Wondering what happened to Dick played heavy on my mom's health. My prayers for my mother now focused on her health. Her heart was broken both physically and emotionally. They had been very close as had Dick and I. Oh they'd had their falling outs through the years but Dick was very protective of her and she was so proud of the young man he had become. Surely he wouldn't knowingly put her through such pain without so much as a word. We tried contacting the army but since he had been discharged, they couldn't help. I personally contacted the American Embassy and German Counselate in Germany to no avail. No police department in the states would help because, quite frankly, we couldn't prove he'd ever come home from Germany. It was brick wall after brick wall. As my mom's health deteriorated, I tried even harder to get someone, anyone, to help me try and locate him. Nobody would answer the neurotic rantings of a lunatic teenager and her ailing mom. Kenny just concentrated on his school work and really didn't seem to care one way or another. He had that Buchanan male gene of indifference that had been passed down through the generations. We somehow thought that it had skipped Dick because he was the concerned, compassionate one of the males in the bloodline - a bone of contention between him and the patriarch of our family - our dad.

I continued studying in school and working at Goldblatt's department store to help make ends meet. Since mom was so sick and she had been denied disability, the burden of having to make sure the electric stayed on fell squarely on my shoulders, as well as her every day emotional, physical and medical needs. I spun many plates and wore many hats and handled it all quite well. My grades fell from A's to B's but not bad considering how busy I was and how little time I had to think about homework let alone do any. This pace continued until the light at the proverbial end of the tunnel drew closer - graduation day. My mom was exceptionally ill that week and my urgent prayers included making sure she lived until my graduation day. That was important to her - that I graduate. On that Sunday night, a few days before graduation, she had been taken to the ER by ambulance and sent back home a few hours later saying there was nothing they could do. On Thursday I got up and headed out to graduation practice. It was my graduation day - a cold, yet sunny, end of January day. I kissed her good-bye and headed to the door. Just before walking out, I turned and told her I loved her and she said the same back to me. Out the door I went and gently closed the door so as not to shake the house. A few hours later I came back from graduation practice to find my mom had peacefully headed out of this world and on to the next phase of her journey. A quick call to the paramedics and a confirmation from them that she had indeed died, a trip to the hospital to fill out paperwork and then back home to break the news to Ken when he came home from school - all the while trying to calm an hysterical aunt who couldn't believe her baby sister was gone. Despite the busy day, I did go to graduation that night, but truthfully don't remember a lot of the details. I do know I got my diploma and that I had graduated from much more than high school that day.

For the next year and half, we had investigators trying to find Dick. Every turn and every lead came up empty. Finally with the cash reserve being exhausted and the house being stuck in limbo because we couldn't sell it without his signature, we had to call off the blood hounds, no closer to finding Dick than I had been when I had tried on my own. Oh they found plenty of Dick Buchanan's who came sniffing around trying to get a piece of an inheritance but none of them could answer basic questions that my true brother would know the answer to. I felt so alone.

For years I had kept saying the same prayer - Where is Dick and wherever he is, if he is still alive and not with you, please keep him safe and bring him home to us. The words might have changed through the years but the heart felt sentiment was always the same. For over forty years, EVERY prayer I dared to utter ended with that simple request. For the past few years, especially after being diagnosed with Pulmonary Fibrosis, I added that I would like to know while I was still alive but I had also come to accept the fact that I might not have my answers in this lifetime.

Over the next several days, I'll be blogging on all the scenarios and possibilities that we tossed around through the years as to what might have happened. It wasn't always the highlighted topic of discussion but it pretty much came up anytime any of our extended family crossed paths. I was constantly asked if I ever heard anything from Dick. I would just smile and say "no" while trying to keep my stomach from tying itself in yet another knot.

Forty years - a long time. The Israelites wandered in the wilderness for 40 years. I can relate. If I were to ask Oliver, he'd have it all broken down into how many hours and minutes forty years would add up to. He's good at numbers like that. I just know it is a long time of wondering, waiting, arguing with God about, and resigning myself to the fact that I might never, ever know and finding some peace with no answer being an answer.

Then in the blink of an eye, it all changed. A simple email and a picture on a website was all it took for 40 years to just condense into the time equivalent of one day. After all these years, a private investigator, who happens to be the cousin of a friend I went to high school with, took pity on my story and agreed to try and help me out. Within 24 hours he accomplished what countless other investigators couldn't for years - he tracked down Dick and gave him a call. He told Dick I was looking for him and gave him my email, phone number, address, etc and then left the ball in his court. Dick did not hold the ball long before sending off a quick email letting me know he was alive and well. The next blog I'll tell you all about how that felt.

For this one, I want to emphasize how important it is to never give up on hope or your dreams or your prayers. Forty years - an extraordinarily long time to hold on to the same prayer request but oh so fulfilling when the answer finally comes through. My simple, heartfelt forty year old prayer request was not only heard by God but literally answered in the blink of an eye. How cool is that? God Bless...

Halloween

Hebrews 4:12
The word of God is living and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart.

It's that time of year again. Halloween. A day and night that brings out the best and worst of people and in people - especially Christians. I have seen more division in the body of Christ on this one day and this topic than on many others. Some believe that we, as Christians, should have nothing to do with this day at all and hole up in a room together - to not let it "touch" us. Then there is the other camp that agrees there is a dark side to it but that there is also a fun side and choose to celebrate the fun side. I'm sure there are some that get all into the dark side but for the sake of argument, I'm going to leave them out of it this time. I am of the second camp - that there is a fun, light side and I choose to participate in that. A lot of my friends disagree and they are always allowed their opinions. In this "note" I would like to explain my heart in this matter.

First and foremost, God knows my heart. He knows that I will bow before no other God but Him. He knows that I will not be mixing any special potions in a cauldron or worshipping a skull. He knows my heart is for children of all shapes, sizes, creeds, religions, race, etc. to come to know Him in a personal manner. My personal feeling is that the enemy has enough days of the year to influence and touch our children and I am not willing to stand back, hide, and let him have that day all to himself. I will be out there, fighting for the spirits of the children and doing my part to plant seeds and fill voids. After all, it was because someone reached out to me that I am even a member of God's precious Kingdom. Here's my Halloween story:

A long, long time ago, when I was a mere 7 years old, I was invited to a costume party at a local church in the town I grew up in. Back then it didn't seem like Christians were looking for demons under every rock and shying away from Halloween like they do now. My friend Barb attended this church and invited me to go to AWANA (a church program) with her and to come dressed up. My mom was a single mom at the time with no monetary resources to get me a costume. She was already worried about what to scavenge up together for my younger brother and I to go trick-or-treating. Not wanting to let me down, she came up with a game plan. She was working at a steel company at the time in the office and she asked her co-workers for some help. The guys really got into it and together they "designed" my costume. They took the big brown wrapping paper and cut out a dress from it. They used the bright yellow wrapping tape to hold it together along the seams and to fashion a design on the front. They used the same material to make me a headband and fashioned a feather out of paper from the copier machine. They even went so far as to make moccassin-looking covers for my gym shoes. My mother expertly painted my face with the makeup she had on hand - some of which was a darker foundation - and off I went. I had a blast. For the first time in my whole life, I felt like I fit in. I was one of the girls and they all loved my costume. So much so that I even won the contest. I got a gift certificate to a local food store and a coveted ribbon to display in my room. I was on top of the world. I felt loved and accepted at a time when my personal world had been blown to smithereens.

My father had left us two years earlier, a year after my grandmother had died. She had lived with us so it was especially hard on us. Now our home was void of two very important people. Life at home was depressing at best, and downright sad most of the time. My mother was left with three children to take care of and no support coming from my father. My older brother did what he could to help out but he was still in high school too. Times were hard and there wasn't much to smile about except that we were all together. Little did I know at the time, but those would turn out to be some of the happiest days of my childhood. My family history consisted of grandparents and great grandparents who were involved in occult activities. While my parents were never active participants, they never really said any of that was wrong so I didn't have any inkling that not every family believed that. We didn't have any of the practices in our home but I did listen to the stories being told of things that had happened. It was just a part of life as we knew it.

During those days, I know I was left out of a lot of things, both at school and in the neighborhood. Most parents were afraid to let their kids play with me - just in case divorce was contagious - so I didn't have many playmates. At school they didn't have the knowledge or experience to deal with the unique aspects of children coming from broken homes. It was hard on my mom to see us suffer because of it but she was facing her own persecutions from the same people. No longer invited to join in anything for those same fears, she became reclusive unless she was at work.

While winning felt good and made my day, what happened after that was really even better. When I came home and told my mom "we" won, she was ecstatic. Then when I handed her the certificate, she was in tears - of happiness. You see, her paycheck wasn't due for a couple of more days and we literally had nothing left to eat. With that certificate she was able to get groceries and feed us all for the rest of the week. Nobody knew we needed that except God. My mother was a proud woman and would never reach out for charity. She did the best she could on her own. My brother was the same and Ken and I were too young to understand much except to obey when we were told not to talk about it to anyone. My mother's way of escape was to bury herself in alcohol until she passed out, with Dick joining her when he was home or more often than not, his choice was working. I can't say it was an unhappy home but it never felt right. It was just all we knew. Getting drunk and passing out was the "norm" in our home.

Of course since I was so well accepted at that church, where adults were wide awake and involved, I went back again and again and it wasn't long before a missionary got through to my heart and led me to Christ. As I look back at all I've been through all these years, I can't imagine having come through it without my faith in God. It has been tested time and time again up until this day and I will not waiver. People wonder why I "celebrate" Halloween and get so involved for the kids. Well to answer their questions - it's because someone did that for me. If my friend had not invited me or if the church had not sponsored the costume contest or if my mom had not gotten involved or if I had refused to wear a paper costume in the midst of all those store bought costumes, if, if, if... I would not be here today with the faith I have in our one true God. Barb gave the invitation but it was a whole bunch of people that not only touched my life but also renewed my mother's faith in a God that she had all but forgotten. She didn't stop drinking right away, but her faith grew and for the first time in a long, long time, she had hope. Because through the pomp and circumstance of a Halloween costume party, a prayer that she mentioned to no one but God Himself, was answered. And a whole bunch of prayers more that she made to what she thought was just the wind, for her children. So on Sunday night I will be at the Trunk or Treat at our church, with my car and myself decked out in a Tom Sawyer theme. I will laugh with and ((hug)) the children, I will pass out candy and I will show them God's love. After all Jesus Himself chose to mingle amongst the thieves and prostitutes - He got out INTO the world. He didn't hole up with His Disciples and say "oh well, it's a bad world so we'll just keep to ourselves." Nope I dare to say that Jesus will be right there with me - showing His love to a lost world, not condemning it. How can I do anything less?