Month: June 2023

Dear Meg

Dear Meg, aka Megabucks:

I am not sure that you knew the impact you had on others when you walked this earth. The lives you touched were better for having known you. I have no doubt that in the course of your work, you saved lives.

When you first got sick, almost five years ago, this family almost lost you. You fought back and returned. When the liver disease reared it’s ugly head again last October, we knew you’d fight again. And you did. You were a warrior. You fought so hard for your life. You embodied grit. Every procedure that sent you under, you dug deep and returned again. However, each time you came back, you were a bit wearier. A small piece of your spirit was left behind during another surgery.

Do you remember when I visited you in October, in the first hospital you were admitted to? When I walked into that hot, dark ICU room you looked at me and started crying and said, “Aunty, I screwed up. I screwed up so bad. I should have been on the transplant list already but I avoided it. I was so afraid! You have no idea how afraid I was!” And you sobbed. I held your hand and we talked.

However, at that moment, all those months ago, it felt like a punch in my stomach when you said that. I couldn’t say what I was thinking, “Yes, Meg, I know exactly how afraid you were.” You may have forgotten that I had faced such a surgery – brain surgery. It was terrifying to go under anesthesia, wondering if Judy would wake up or some altered version of me. Or, maybe your fear was so great, you didn’t think talking to anyone would help you. I will never know, as your walk has been taken and it ended in heaven.

Rather than shame you and make you feel worse about your fears, instead that day I said, “Meg, you will get the care you need. It’s not too late. Don’t worry.” I didn’t know how advanced your liver deterioration was when I said that, but I like to think my words gave you hope.

As the weeks passed, your family rallied around and supported you, waiting for good news or some glimmer of hope. Finally, in December, you got your transplant; there was hope. However, there were a series of unfortunate events following the transplant that led to your untimely demise. I’m sure you remember them vividly. How you suffered. We all watched – helplessly – as you faded away. Prayers unanswered.

I’ve been asking myself why for weeks. When I knew there was nothing else left to help you – why? I’ve asked out loud: “Why, not only that you had to die, but why did you have to suffer for nine months?” I won’t know that reason until I join you and Gram in heaven one day.

The why doesn’t matter anymore. You’re gone. You are at peace now. Those of us left in the wake of your departure are reeling. Death is bad enough. When it’s an upside-down death, it’s gut-wrenching.

What’s an upside-down death, you ask? It’s your death. It’s the death of a person who entered this earth after you. I was here first. Selfishly, you should have buried me, not the other way around.

I remember your mom being pregnant with you. I was only 18, and I remember seeing her Christmas Day, very pregnant, waiting for you to be born. You came the next day. I’m guessing you didn’t want to share your birthday with Jesus.

I also remember: the day you were born, my fun flower girl, summer vacations with us, beach days, Christmas Days, birthdays, your college graduations, and so much more. My point – I remember having a life before you, and now I am forced to have a life after you. It’s not natural.

As the days tick by without you, we will heal. Your tribe will begin to cobble together a life without you. It will not look or feel the same. We will persist. I will persist.

I don’t know how to reconcile myself with your loss except to remember you. To write about you. I will keep Gramps company, so he doesn’t rush off to be with you. I may even let him win at Dominoes.

Until we meet again, be happy. Swim with some pigs. Cast a spell. Cultivate some beautiful plants. Decorate your heavenly house at Christmas. Most of all, enjoy your pain free life in Heaven. Have lunch with Grams, your Memere, and all your loved ones who left before you. We will take care of things down here. Your job is done.

Love you, Aunty 😘

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Saying Goodbye, Again 💔

When my mom fell victim to a stroke, nearly one year ago to the day, my family and me spent three days saying goodbye to her. During those three days, I began feeling waves of grief.

As the first day passed, we moved my mom from her bed to a hospital bed. When that happened, my family and I had better access to her. We could stand next to her bed and hold her hand and talk to her. She was unconscious the whole time, but we could tell when she surfaced a bit and knew we were there.

The first night before I left her, I rested my head on her chest. I was only one of five people in the world who knew the sound of our mom’s heart from inside, and I wanted to hear it again, hoping it would give me comfort. It did, and it also brought overwhelming grief. I sobbed, and my head lay in a puddle on her chest while I listened to her breathe. As I composed myself, I stood up and kissed her cheek and left. While I drove home that night, I cried and was overcome with tremendous waves of emotions.

This went on for two more days, and she died on Friday, July 1. Before she left, I thought I had felt all the emotions I could. I was wrong.

The morning I found out she left, I was pushed under by wave after wave of emotions. I was so deep in the ocean, I thought I might never resurface. However, in a situation like that, one’s instinct to survive kicks in. As my feet hit the bottom and I looked up to the surface, I kicked as hard as I could and resurfaced. Then I reached fresh air, gasped and sobbed, only to be submerged again by another wave. The waves pummeled me like that for weeks. Sinking so low that I felt I may never breathe again. Kicking back to the surface only to be pushed back under again.

Seeing a picture of her sending me under. A song leaving me gasping. Discovering I had years of Facebook Messenger messages with her. Bitter sweet when I read them, tears burning in my eyes, and I was submerged again. Every time a memory came back, I drowned, resurfacing exhausted and gasping. The pain. The exhaustion.

As the days melted into weeks, I got better at treading water. But I was weary. How long could I hang on bobbing up and down in the water?

After a few months, I found a life raft. Call it coping skills. Call it distance and time. When I saw the raft, I swam to it and climbed in. In the raft was a life vest, and I put it on. I knew then that I would never again drown.

By then, the waves were fewer and far between. When they hit though, I was ready. As the months numbered, I got better at handling the waves. Riding up over the crests rather than succumb to them. Occasionally, a series of waves came, giant ones that tipped my little raft. However, I had that life vest on. I sank, but not as deep. After some time in the water, I was able to get back in my raft.

As the year progressed, the waves of grief continued. Surprisingly, the holidays were easy for me because she embodied them, so I made sure to do them special to honor her. After the holidays, the waves came again, hard. In February, after my raft flipped, I felt my life vest come loose. But I fought and got back in my raft, cinching my life vest tighter.

At the beginning of October, while still mourning my mom, my niece was hospitalized and began fighting for her life. She received a liver transplant just before Christmas. There were complications following it. It’s been months watching her fight, cheering her on, and supporting her. Sadly, she has lost that battle. My mind can’t comprehend why this happened. My heart is broken and the waves are coming at me again, fierce and unrelenting.

A beautiful picture of a beautiful person

However, I now have my raft and am prepared. What I learned over last year is the only option one has when faced with grief is to find a way to get back to happy. My mom taught me that.

I will mourn Meg. I will miss her forever. I don’t know that I will ever reconcile myself with her death. But, I know she is no longer in pain, and that is a comfort.

I also know that life goes on. My mom also taught me that last year. I know I will survive these waves of grief, because I’ve done it already. I have practice.

What gives me peace is I also know I will find Meg in different places I visit and things I do, like I have done with my mom. Our loved ones leave us physically, and they also remain with us in other ways.

They touch our hearts when we open our eyes in the morning. They find us in a favorite song or a good book. They visit us on a sunny beach day or while we drive. I will find Meg. She is not truly gone while I still look for her and remember her.

Meg, I will stay here and remember you, and seek you out during cool nights on my screen porch or when I’m skiing next winter so you can see the places I’ve told you about.

Rest easy. You were a warrior. Now it’s time to go home to the good Lord. He will take it from here.

Megan, 1990
The best flower girl, ever!
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Mindful Monday: Live Your Life

I’m am an introvert! For those who follow my blog, you already know this. Although I am an introvert, I do have many friends. A very close circle of friends.

And, because I am an introvert, I don’t always love social situations or meeting new people. That being said, I do love spending time with those in my close circle of friends.

When I saw this passage, it spoke to me. I loved everything on this list. Friday nights are sacred in my family. Jeff and I reserve them for family/friend dinners. The food is good and the wine flows on those nights.

And, family gatherings and birthday parties are important to me. If someone invited me to a gathering, I will go if I can. I know that person wanted me there, so I will make every effort to go.

The rest of that list – all of it is part of my life. The gym, sporting events or concerts, and although I don’t drink coffee, I’ll grab tea so we can sit and gab.

The reason this post is especially meaningful to me is because my beautiful niece, who fought for her life for more than nine months, is losing her battle.

She will no longer have Friday nights with friends or share coffee talks. Family gatherings and birthday parties will be bitter sweet with her absence. She lit up the room with her smile when she entered. She was light.

Losing Meg has reminded me that life can be short. She was only given 36 years, and her final year was a struggle. She will no longer celebrate birthdays.

In her short life, she filled her years with quality connections and touched many lives in her role as a licensed mental health provider.

She touched my life. Being her aunty was an honor. She faced many struggles in her life, and handled them with humility, grace, and grit. I watched her grow, and earn her academic degrees to achieve her goals. I watched as she pulled away from me when her demons took hold, and I welcomed her back when she returned to my life. I will miss her dearly and daily for the rest of my life.

And I will not take the rest of my life for granted, because it isn’t. I will foster my relationships and remind my loved ones daily that they matter to me and I love them. Because that’s what Meg did with her life. She was a teacher and a councilor, and she was a shining example of love. That love will live on in all of us who now must continue on when she leaves us.

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We Are Not Alone

Christmas circa early 2000s. Family! Just be there.

I wrote this post ages ago – more than a year – and have left it in draft mode. Why? I don’t know. It just always felt unfinished. Well, there has been a lot going on in my life lately. For those who follow my blog, they have noticed my absence. And, since I’ve been feeling unsettled, that uneasy energy – and a chat with my brother – has helped me direct my energy so I could finish this particular post. Anyway, here are my thoughts on why we need each other.

I was talking with Jeff the other day about how sometimes we get to spend an entire weekend by ourselves or with a select few friends, but other times we are inundated with demands on our time. Some weekends are nice and feel relaxing, while other weekends finish and I feel like I worked all weekend. What do I mean? Let me explain.

Many years ago, probably when my kids were in elementary school, it dawned on me that my life was not my own to live anymore. I had kids, so I needed to put their needs before mine. At that point in my life, I began to see other parents struggle with that concept.

Those folks complained about having to go to after-school activities or run the kids to practice for whatever sports team their child was on. They struggled with not having me-time. I understood it. I didn’t have as much me-time anymore either. However, giving my time to my kids didn’t bother me. I enjoyed spending time with them.

However, I figured out that if I kept the kids on a schedule, and ensured they had a proper bedtime, then I had time at night to read, watch TV, or spend time with Jeff. Being satisfied with that amount of time at night helped me to feel like I had me-time. It had to be enough; I had kids who needed me.

Beyond being there for my kids, I also realized I had family – parents, siblings, nieces and nephews – they also needed me.

To this day, my grown kids, husband, and family need me. My life will never be my own to live. And I think that is the way it should be.

When one struggles with feeling entitled to live a life independent of others, they will struggle. They will feel torn between wanting and demanding me-time, feeling angry because they don’t get it, and feeling obliged to be there for family and resenting those family obligations. It’s a very unhealthy way to live.

We were put on this earth by the Good Lord to love one another. He made us social on purpose, because we need each other. That’s the way it needs to be.

When we find that balance between meeting our own needs and the needs of others, we will be fulfilled. Finding that balance with the time we carve out for ourselves and the time we give to others, and acknowledging that time, will lead to happiness and peace.

So, the weekends I run from one invitation to another sometimes feels like too much, and come Monday there are many weeks I begin it feeling unrested. However, I know if someone invites me somewhere, they want to see me, so I make an effort to be there. I may not always want to go, and many days I am forced to split my time between multiple obligations, but I know it’s important I be there. While I drive from place to place, I remind myself that I was invited because I matter and I am loved. Many people I know don’t have the connections I have in my life. I used to think it was a burden. Now I know it’s a blessing.

What I’ve noticed in society lately is this sense of entitlement. I have no idea where it came from, but it’s there. I have a perfect example of how I think that facet has evolved.

I am blessed enough to have a Peloton. I love it and I love the Peloton community, with one exception. I spin at least two days a week, usually more. At least once a week the instructor will say, “If you don’t want to do something, then don’t do it. Do what makes you happy.”

I agree with that, sort of. For example: if I feel like not doing laundry one day, I will put it off to the next. If I don’t want to go shopping and want to stay inside all day, I will. If I want to skip taking a Peloton class, I will. If I get invited to a birthday party for a friend or family member, but I’m tired and don’t feel like going, I WILL go. I got invited, and if I don’t have a conflict, I will go. My friend or family member wanted to see me, so I make darn sure I go. Do I want to go? Am I happy I need to drag myself out of the house on a rainy Saturday afternoon? It depends on the day. Some days I’m excited to go, others, not-so-much. I go, though.

My beautiful niece and me two years ago at a family gathering ❤️

My niece is critically ill. I pray she receives a divine miracle and becomes an example of God’s good works for His chosen one. I share this because the last few times I saw her last summer were at family get-togethers. When I saw her last year at the end of August, it was the last time I saw her healthy.

We talked all afternoon that day. My point: if I didn’t go that day, I wouldn’t have that memory. She is an amazing person, and I always looked forward to our family gatherings so I could see her. That day, we had talked about getting together more. Playing dominoes with my dad, and having dinner together. That never happened because she got sick shortly after that.

We never know what tomorrow holds. We don’t know when the Lord will call us home.

I guess what I am trying to say is: give of yourself to those who love you. Your connections matter. The positive people in your life fuel you, and you need them.

I understand that when you get invited to gatherings, there may be people there you don’t like. Just avoid them. Or, you may be an introvert and social situations can sometimes be a lot. In those cases, it’s okay to go and when you begin to feel drained, just leave. It is okay to set boundaries on your time. The important thing is that you showed up. When you show up, you show you care, and that’s what matters. You being present is the best gift of all.

When you realize that you matter to those around you, and that being invited some place is a blessing and not a burden, then you will be happy.

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Mindful Monday: In The Moment

Those who follow my blog may have noticed my absence. I know it’s been a few weeks since I’ve posted. I’m going to drop the line I can’t stand hearing from others as an excuse and say, “I’ve been busy.”

In a society that loves stress and self-importance, when someone says. “I’ve been busy,” I cringe. Many times when I hear that, I know it’s just an excuse for forgetting to do something.

However, I actually have been busy – work has monopolized my time these last few weeks. I’m now back in balance. And, I talked with my brother the other day, and he reminded me about my blog – so here I am.

And, I love this week’s passage and image. This last month at work became overwhelming. My anxiety kicked in, and I thought too far ahead. And, I also put a deadline on myself that became too difficult to meet, and I felt like I might break. When that happened, I needed to remind myself to stay in the moment. I worked from day to day, and that helped me through. I adjusted deadlines, and that alleviated the stress. And, I breathed, a lot.

The sentiment in this week’s image is exactly what we all need to help when life feels like a lot.

In any given moment, remember that’s where you were meant to be at that time. God doesn’t make mistakes. If He leads you to it, He will see you through it.

Breathing is what connects us to ourselves. Breath is life. Breathing is a privilege. Circular breathing – in through your nose and out through your mouth – calms you and grounds you.

When you’re overwhelmed, practice the pause. Get up, walk away, if you can, and breathe. If you can go outside, do. Look at the sky, feel the earth under your feet, and say a little prayer. Worry is a conversation you have with yourself. Prayer is a conversation you have with God.

You are the master of your emotions. You are the only one who can fully look after you. Take care of yourself. Every breath matters, so use them to help you have great days.

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