Being Strong During the Toughest of Times

A few evenings ago you told me that you are too weak and tired to go on, and you need me to be strong for you. You, the strong one, my man of steel, need me to help you during the hardest time of your life. You asked me to stay close to home from here on out, because you feel safer knowing I am close. Me, the weak one, your little girl, makes you feel safer. How can that be? I thought you were invincible.

The surgeries, the needles, the drain tube, and the awful diagnosis scared me, but not you. You stayed strong. You said comforting things to me, and told me you were not afraid. And you were not.

Sixteen months ago, the doctors said you had weeks to live. I said, “You don’t know my dad. He is not like most other guys.” 

But things are getting harder physically now. You are tired. It turns out that you, my superhero, can get tired, too tired to carry on.

You have taught me so many things over the years, and you are still teaching me. These last few months you have been teaching me how to be strong during the toughest of times. You have so much wisdom, and so much faith. You have been such a great example.

My mind is whirling. I am playing all of my favorite times with you over and over again in my head.

Remember when you taught me to drive? I was really struggling with the manual transmission. The drivers’ ed teacher tried to teach me about the friction point and how to apply the gas while letting up on the clutch. I couldn’t get it right. But you taught me in one evening in your old Nissan pick up truck. I wrecked that truck once. You never even frowned at me. You were just glad I wasn’t hurt.

I was your passenger the last time you were behind a steering wheel. Your reflexes had slowed, but you did not scare me. I had more confidence in you than you did yourself. But, when you were sure you no longer wanted to drive, it only meant that I got to spend even more time with you, driving you everywhere you needed to go. You planned all your outings around lunchtime so you could always treat me to lunch.

Remember teaching me to shoot? You set up targets in the garage so I could practice with a pellet gun, and then you took me hunting. When I repeatedly begged you to let me shoot your shotgun, you stood right behind me to absorb the recoil that I was so sure I could handle on my own. That kick was hard, and would have knocked me down. You were ready with your body braced right behind me and you caught me. You always let me try to be independent, and then stepped in to catch me when I had overestimated my ability.

I wish you could be there forever, standing right behind me, ready to absorb the shock for me. The shock I will feel soon will be far worse than a physical one.

Remember the times you took me coon hunting with your dad? I know you both had to walk so much slower with me along. Maybe you knew you were helping me to make memories that would last a lifetime. And maybe you knew that someday you would be the one asking me to walk so much slower so you could keep up with me.

The past few days your steps are shaky and unsure. You could not make it from the bedroom to the living room this week, and you sat down in the walker so I could move you. I made a very awkward attempt at pushing you, then walking backward and pulling you. We both chuckled at my attempts. What if that is the last time I hear you laugh? Oh how you have made me laugh over the years.

Do you remember surprising me with my first car? You sent me to the garage, and you were close behind because you wanted to see the look on my face when I discovered that car in the garage. But I still remember the look on your face. You were as excited as I was! I think that very used orange Ford Pinto was as beautiful to you and I as a shiny new sports car would have been to most folks.

Once I was four hundred miles from home and that old Pinto was making a strange noise. You spoke on the phone to a mechanic who could not find the problem. You told me to start for home, and you stayed near the phone until I walked in the door. I knew that if I had broken down anywhere along the way, you would have done whatever it took to rescue me. There have been so many times in my life I have called you to come and rescue me.

Recently, I have had to rescue you on occasion. I would gladly keep on rescuing you if only you could stay with me a little while longer.

Do you remember when I called home from college to tell you that I had met the man I was going to marry? You said, “Does he know that?” I answered, “not yet” and I described him to you. I could almost hear you smiling on the phone as I told you about his love for God, his ability to defend the truth, and his hard work ethic. I was sure he was the one for me because he is so much like you.

Remember all the games of Canasta? Remember all the pony rides and fishing trips? Remember teaching me to ride a bike, catch a baseball, hammer a nail, start a fire and saddle a horse? I thought I’d never learn to tie that cinch knot, but you just kept showing me day after day until I had it. Every time I tie a cinch knot I think of you and how patient you were.

Thank you for all the times you pushed me on a swing. Thank you for all the times you baited my hook, and gave up fishing with your own pole to help me with mine. Thank you for letting me come to work with you sometimes so I could see what you did. Thank you for making sure I never missed a church service. Thank you for insisting I go to college, and for all the overtime you worked to pay for my education. Thank you for helping my husband to wire, plumb, trim and paint the house we built. Thank you for loving my kids and giving them such great memories to hold onto.

Thank you for teaching me how to be strong during the toughest of times.

Note: Sixteen months ago, my Dad was supposed to be breathing his last. He lived much longer than the doctors anticipated. I have valued the extra time so much. This is the post I wrote sitting in his hospital room all those months ago: Take Another Breath Daddy

Take Another Breath Daddy

Take another breath Daddy! Because as long as you are still breathing, you are still here with me. Take another breath.

Take another breath Daddy. I need you here. You are always strong when I am weak. I’m not sure I can be strong if you are not here to shore me up and encourage me.

Take another breath. I need to be able to ask your advice. I still have so much to learn from you. No one else’s opinion will matter to me in the same way yours has. I need your wisdom. Take another breath Daddy.

Take another breath. I cannot do all the things you do for me. I rely on you! You help me with things that are small to you but huge to me. You fix my broken furniture and change my flat tires. You help me take my dog to the vet and kill snakes for me. You plow the snow from my driveway. You have always been ready to come to my rescue with a ladder, a mower, a chainsaw, or your tool belt.

Take another breath. I have taken you for granted in the past. What will I do without you here? When you are watching I try hard to make you proud. Will I try as hard without you here? I’m afraid. Take another breath.

Take another breath Daddy. I need to hear your stories. I haven’t memorized all of them yet, even the ones you tell often. I need to hear them all again. I want to hear more about your childhood and your time in the army. I want to hear more about your years of farming and the adventures you had as a mechanic. Lately, you’ve told me a few I’ve never heard before! You might have a few more you haven’t shared with me yet. I need to hear more! I want to remember them all.

Take another breath. You need to make me laugh. I love your silly rhymes, and poems, and songs! They’ve made me smile my whole life. How does one guy have that many witty lines memorized? You have one for every occasion. And yesterday, when you were told what a short time you have left, you did it again. You joked with me about a silly regret and made me giggle in the midst of my grief. Please. Take another breath. For me. Take another breath.

Take another breath. Talk to me. I need to hear your voice. What if I forget what you sound like? You’ve always been just a phone call away. Take another breath.

Take another breath Daddy. I have been watching you for these past few days as you struggle to get enough air. I need you to take another breath because I am not as brave as you are. You do not cry. You are not afraid. I cry. I am afraid. I need you here to be brave for me. Take another breath. I don’t know how to do this. I’ve never lost my daddy before. I need you to help me get through this. Take another breath. Please. Take another breath.

Note: At the end of March, 2016 my dad was diagnosed with lung cancer. We were told he had weeks to live. He has defied the odds. This update is July, 2017 and the end is very near for him.

Mom and Dad's hands, April 8, 2016

Sydney and my dad at a cattle sale

My college graduation, 1985 

If you liked this blog post, you might also like these two: Choosing My Nursing Home and Don't Blink 

Plastic and Stuffing and Love

Misfortune struck our home this morning. If you are fond of Sydney let me warn you: This is a sad story. You’ll need to grab a box of tissues and sit back. 

If you’ve followed our Facebook page long at all you will know who Riley is and probably even remember Liberty from stories long ago. But just in case you need the background: Sydney has had a doll since she was toddler. Her name is Liberty, named after one of Sydney’s friends from preschool. Liberty has been pulled for miles in wagons, ridden on the back of bikes, swung for hours on a tire swing, pushed in strollers up and down the driveway, and gone on many family road trips. She has been carried, dragged, hugged and loved a lot over the years. I have washed her, repaired her, Febreezed her, and detangled her hair many times. Liberty has become quite unsightly, a raggedy mess in fact. But looks do not matter to Sydney. Others recoil at Liberty’s appearance but Sydney still loves her. I had many times tried to get Sydney to transfer her affection to a newer or more attractive doll. Sydney has several nicer dolls but none meant nearly as much to her as Liberty…. until she met Riley. A year ago in March Sydney and I were shopping. Sydney had some money to spend. She usually spends her money on farm toys like tractors and plastic animals. But this day Sydney saw a 20” baby doll she just knew she could not live without. Riley was named before she was even removed from the packaging. It was love. And for the past ten months Riley and Sydney have been nearly inseparable. (Liberty is still loved too but she mostly hangs out at home these days.) The only place Sydney goes without Riley is to school but if it was allowed then Riley would be sitting right beside Sydney every day at a desk of her own there too. Riley has not just become a part of our family, our friends have grown fond of her. Riley almost never misses a worship service and Sydney often asks one of the ladies from our congregation to hold Riley and tend to her while Sydney goes to Bible class. The ladies have played along so often and talked with Sydney about her doll on so many occasions they notice if Riley is not in attendance. Sydney loves the attention the ladies give her through Riley and the ladies love to give Sydney that. 

Liberty, after years of being loved

Sydney with Riley out to dinner

A road trip with Sydney and Riley

Riley rarely misses a church service

Birthday gifts!

Now, for the real story: Got those tissues? Yesterday was Sydney’s birthday. After school Sydney and Riley jumped on the trampoline, swung for a while, and then took the stroller for a walk. Shawn got home from work and Sydney ran to greet him, leaving Riley unsupervised. A few minutes later, Sydney’s older sister drove in. Sydney’s excitement was intense. It was time to start our birthday celebration! And in all the excitement of our family birthday dinner, cake, candles, phone calls from siblings who live in other states, opening gifts, and putting together a couple of new little toys, Riley was forgotten. Even at bedtime she was not missed and Sydney had a sort of campout in her sister’s room. This morning Sydney could not find Riley. I helped her look. Her brothers helped her look. Sydney told me more than once, “This is making me nervous.” and I reassured her that Riley was fine, just under a blanket somewhere or behind something. We looked in the car. Twice. 

I asked Sydney if she could have left Riley outside, thinking back to the last time I remembered seeing Riley the afternoon before. And I started feeling slightly ill as I began to imagine the worst. I asked Shawn to go outside to look around the yard. I could hear Sydney upstairs calling Riley’s name, looking again. I looked out the front window as Shawn bent over to pick something up. He was way out at the edge of the yard and I could not quite see what he had. Then he bent over to pick something else up. And although I could not see clearly, I knew. I knew our two puppies had found Riley. I knew how badly Sydney was going to feel and I knew there was nothing I could do to shield her little heart from the hurt it was about to experience. As Shawn got closer to the house I could see he held pieces of the doll. There would be no washing, repairs or patching I could do. I frantically tried to think of something I could do or something I could say that would protect Sydney from the truth. And then Sydney came down the stairs telling me Riley had not yet been found. I stepped between Sydney and the window. Sydney looked at my face. I saw fear in her eyes. I told her there was bad news and Riley was not okay. And then my little girl, who almost never cries, even when in pain, began to sob and choke out, “But I love her” over and over. I picked Sydney up and went to the rocking chair where we bawled and rocked together for a long while. This fifty-two year old, rational, somewhat cynical, experienced mother cried like a baby. I kept telling myself I was being silly, crying over a ruined toy. But I was not really crying over a ruined toy. I was crying over my little girl’s anguish. I could not take it away from her. So I shared in it.

I know. I know. A doll is just plastic and stuffing and this is ridiculous, blown way out of proportion. But if you can think back to your childhood and the most prized possession you owned all those years ago, then you might get an inkling of how important Riley has been to Sydney. 

As the tears subsided this morning I asked Sydney if she would like to go shopping to try to find another doll. I remembered the store where we’d found Riley and knew it was likely we could find an exact match there. I knew I might also have luck online. It took a while for Sydney to warm up to the idea of a replacement. I suggested we could even pretend the second doll was the same doll and this day had never happened. Sydney did not think that would be possible. But as the day progressed I could see the pain lessen. 

We did go shopping. And we were able to find a doll that is an exact match. And although Sydney insisted we choose a different name (because this was NOT Riley) before our day was through we had all accidently referred to the new doll as “Riley,” several times, Sydney included. The new doll was named Kennedy initially but now we are told she is actually Kennedy Riley and will be going by Riley mostly.

I am reminded of the Disney movie Inside Out as I look back at the day we just had. Ironically the character in that movie was also named Riley. The movie’s message was: We cannot always protect the ones we love from sadness. Sadness is an important part of life and we all need to experience it to grow. Without sadness would we really even know what true happiness feels like?

Steve and Murphy

Tate sent out a text message today to spread the news about Riley. I thought nothing about our tragic morning was worthy of a smile until I read Tate’s words. And before you ask: No. There will not be a funeral, flowers, Cheetos, or Pretzels. 

This was not our first tragedy. We've had broken hearts before. Breaking Bad News

An Autism Mom's Thoughts About Disney's Inside Out

Spoiler alert. I’m going to talk in detail about the plot and the characters from the Disney movie “Inside Out.” Stop reading if you do not like spoilers.

If you’ve followed my blog for more than five minutes and if you know anything at all about us then you know my son Tate has autism and our lives revolve around movies. He has the release date of all the movies he is interested in (which include most G and PG rated ones) on our calendar. I don’t know how he does it, but before most of us have seen the first trailer for a new movie, he has the release date on the calendar and has memorized the actors involved in the making of the movie. To Tate, these things are as important as our loved ones and our careers are to us. He spends most of his waking minutes thinking about movies and talking about movies. So, of course today, on opening day of Disney’s “Inside Out” Tate woke with great joy (pun intended.) He toe-walked and bounced as he paced all over the house in anticipation. I was a bit apprehensive myself. We had been told earlier in the week Tate should avoid popcorn as he has just gotten braces on his bottom teeth. Tate was not happy about this news and had been telling me all week the orthodontist must have been mistaken. But we went to a favorite restaurant before the movie, got some m&ms, and a bottle of water, and settled into our seats without incident over the missing bucket of popcorn.

The first five minutes of the movie were brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. The writers and animators illustrated a baby’s first feelings and memories and how they are stored away. They took a very complex and abstract idea and made it simple and clear. I loved it. We were introduced to the emotions of a girl named Riley. There was Joy, Sadness, Anger, Fear, and Disgust. Each character was well defined for the targeted audience of children. The characters sat behind a control panel and used the controls to react to the things happening to Riley throughout her day. They collaborated to decide which of the emotions should use the controls and help Riley to react.

The moral of this kids’ movie was a credible message for adults. I cannot always find a real solid plot in animated movies but this one was pretty clear to me. And I think it was a good one for parents to think about. The character Joy went to great lengths to help Riley avoid Sadness and be happy all the time. Riley’s parents unknowingly had pressured her to be “their happy girl” so Riley tried hard to put on a front even when she needed to be something other than happy. The premise of the movie was that Sadness is an important emotion, and one we cannot always avoid. Sometimes our children have to be sad. We cannot shelter ourselves or our children from every sad experience out there. And we cannot ask our children to deny their genuine feelings of sadness so we will not be inconvenienced either. I understood the message to be that sometimes after a sad experience we can find happiness we would not have otherwise found. Without sadness there would be no joy.

We were exposed to personifications of other characters’ emotions as well. If you go to see the movie, be sure and stay until the credits roll. It is then you will see Joy, Sadness, Anger, Fear, and Disgust as illustrated for Riley’s teacher, a dog, a cat, a clown, and a few of the other people in Riley’s life. This was another magnificent part of the movie for me. Every character had the same five emotions that were almost identical in appearance. I began to ponder at that point, what would it look like if I were able to illustrate those five emotions for Tate in the same way they had done in this movie? Joy would sit at Tate’s control panel and giggle for long periods of time while everyone around him wondered why. Sadness would be very confused, underdeveloped and never able to convince Tate to cry, while Anger would be able to produce tears when he was provoked. Disgust would be overactive. Almost every food the rest of us eat would cause that character to recoil and gag. Smells other people barely notice would be a problem for Disgust too. Fear would have to be depicted as a hyperactive character who was extremely neurotic for Tate I think. He would always be trying to grab the controls from the other emotions. If I were able to personify Tate’s emotions I think I’d add a sixth character. He would be a sort of big brother to Fear. The sixth character would be named Anxiety (or Stress). Anxiety would tower above the other five and be a giant among them. Anxiety would have some massive muscles and would push the other emotions around. He would constantly be pushing his smaller brother Fear to talk louder. He would silence Joy anytime he got a chance. Anxiety would be a tyrant.

Even during the movie Tate had been so excited to see, his anxiety was ready to suck some of the joy right out of the experience for him. During one scene, Tate became stressed when Joy, Sadness, and another character were trying desperately to find their way back to headquarters. Tate became restless and said to me, “Nothing to worry about. Stay calm. They are going to save Riley.” Tate often reassures himself when he is anxious by offering support to me. Another time, Riley’s dad got stern with her and frowned after she had misbehaved. Tate became nervous and leaned over to ask me, “Her dad still loves her, right?” I assured him that dads still love their kids even when they are unhappy.” I know Tate struggles to understand these kinds of things and has always been nervous when someone speaks to him seriously about anything. He needs people to smile at him, even if they are explaining something quite serious or speaking to him about danger. Tate seems to believe Joy is equivalent to love while Anger or Sadness cannot be. After the movie I took the opportunity to talk with Tate about these things. I had hoped the movie would be a real teaching tool for us and I believe it was. I would highly recommend this movie to the autism community. Disney did a good job with this one. 

If you liked this post you might like to read about the anxiety Toy Story caused for a while. Woody and his hat were a big thing at our house when Tate was younger. Here's the link:  Unusual Attachments