love

Goodbye, Randy

A dear friend died this weekend.  He’d suffered for years, rarely complaining.  He was the best father I’ve ever known, even doing little girl hairdos with matching bows to socks and dresses.   His cardiac illness was first diagnosed twenty-three years ago, when his girls were tiny.  Thankfully, he recovered some cardiac function, enabling him to guide his daughters into warm, lovely adults.  Though it has to break their hearts to lose him, what a blessing it is his family had that twenty-three years.  The girls knew a great father instead of always hearing what a wonderful father he would have been.

What a blessing to be whole again after so many years of pain and struggle.  We’ll miss you, Randy.  Our tears are only for ourselves.

Loving My Babies

Kate and JohnOn the subject of preference among children, I loved both my children best. Enjoying a loving moment with one, I’d think, “I could never love another child this much!” Conversely, when I was with the other, I’d have the same thought. I confess, I didn’t always treat them the same. One was more wayward, pushing as far as they dared, knowing I couldn’t commit murder, as attractive as it might seem at the moment. Most of the time, the other child was empathetic, well-behaved, a total joy, unless they weren’t, which also certainly happened on memorable occasions. Sometimes the needs of one overshadowed the other, challenging us to the maximum of our feeble parenting skills.

Often either, one of them would cuddle up to me, asking, “Who do you love more, me or ……….? I usually delighted them by saying, “Well, you can never tell, but right now, I love you more.” They found my other answer equally delightful. “You’re so silly! You know I don’t like either of you!” Then they’d dissolve into a fits of giggles as I tickled them. They loved either answer, secure, knowing I loved them, no matter what.

Whoo? Whoo? Joke

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After prayer meeting two lonely spinster ladies stopped in a grove to pray as they walked home.  One of them led off. “Please God, if it’s not too much to ask, could you send us husbands?  We’ve always been virtuous, Godly women.  We’d both make good wives for some lucky men.” Continue reading →

Stories for Isaac

Grandmother and child 2

The best part of family is the coziness and love between generations. When I visit my little guy, I love snuggling and telling him stories of his choosing. We get comfortable and turn the lights low. As I tuck in him in his quilt, he asks “Gwamma, tell me a story.” Continue reading →

Letter to a Patient from a Nurse:

Dear Patient,

You probably don’t remember me,but I was your nurse.  I took care of you when you had your baby, took care of your sick child, comforted you when you were in pain.  I worked extra shifts on holidays and weekends because you needed me.  I rejoiced when you got better.  Cried with you when you needed a friend and tried to help you find the answers.  I sang and talked to you when you seemed unresponsive because I knew you were in there.  I brought Easter baskets for your children so they wouldn’t be disappointed when they came to see you on Easter.  I hugged you and your family.  I talked to you about things outside the hospital to give you something else to think about, trying to bring you a story that would interest you everyday, unless you just needed me to be quiet with you.  I was there for your miracle and to hold your hand when you died talking to Mama.  I never corrected you, knowing it was her hand you were holding.

Nursing was my job, but taking care of you was my privilege.  Thank you for letting me be a part of your life.

 

Stay.

Reblog from Kelly Barnhill. Be thinking of her today. Nutsrok

kellybarnhill's avatarKelly Barnhill

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My dog is bathed and dried and wrapped up and next to the heating vent. I got her to eat a little this morning. She drank some watered-down unsalted beef broth (organic, because she is worth it), and it felt like a miracle. I’m sitting next to her, my computer on my lap, pretending to write my book, but really I’m just looking at my dog. Keeping close.

“Stay,” I say.

She thumps her tail.

“Stay,” I say again. She closes her eyes and groans she pushes her nose against my leg with a sigh.

When we live with dogs, we have a set of words that our animals are trained to obey on cue. We say sit, and they sit. But that isn’t always what we mean. When Harper was young – a gnarly, snarly, scruffy little street dog, narrowly escaping Death By Dogcatcher – I would say “Sit”…

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Squeaky and His Pet Squirrel Neighbor(Smarty Kitty Update)

Squeaky in window with squirrelSqueaky was a rescue kitty who lived with us about three years, more or less.  I considered him a delight.  Bud, not so much.  They had dominance issues they never completely worked out, but Squeaky gave it his best shot, taking swats at Bud till the last.  Here you see Squeaky on his sunning shelf in the window.  I put a bird feeder right outside to keep it interesting.  Of course, the squirrel had to get in the act.  They had a fine time together, playing through the window.  Buzzy, my American Esky dog was always jealous of the quality time Squeaky spent on his perch in the window, backing up far enough to see them playing together, alternately crying and bringing toys to attempt to lure Squeaky away.  Naturally, Squeaky ignored all that.    Sadly, we recently lost Squeaky to kidney failure.

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The Special Bond Between Grandchildren and Grandparents

I miss my Grandma.  She was perfect, mostly because she acted like she didn’t notice my  bad behavior, knowing my mom take care of it.  I was sure she loved me best of all her grandchildren, unaware all the grand kids felt hat way.  She made the best teacakes, told the best stories, and always smelled of Johnson’s Baby Powder.  Patiently, she’d let me brush her waist-length gray hair, and attempt to twist into a heavy bun, never complaining that I pulled, before finally turning it into a perfect bun and securing it with only one heavy bone pin herself with a quick flip of her wrist, once I gave it up for hopeless.

Every afternoon after lunch and her “stories” Grandma hung her cotton print housedress on a line stretched across a corner of her bedroom, let her hair down, slipped off her shoes and knee-high stockings, put her gold-rimmed spectacles carefully on the bedside table, and lie down for a nap.  Continue reading →