Precious Days

My mom and I had the pleasure and privilege of traveling once again to Rancho La Puerta in Tecate, Mexico for a week of wellness, spending lots of time together, as well as following our favorite individual pursuits. It was the perfect blend of time to reflect, exercise, learn new things, deepen practices, refresh our bodies from the inside (with organic foods and balanced nutrition) to the outside (with fresh air, walking, hiking, yoga and meditation, among other classes).

We serendipitously met (and reunited with) fabulous, fascinating people, finding our second time to be more sociable than our first - perhaps that was due to our greater familiarity with the place. We shared the same lovely casita as we did last year, lighting fires in the evenings and talking, resting and reading in our little "home away from home." I enjoyed self-treating with Reiki every day, before heading out to hike at 6:10 A.M. I could so easily imagine settling there...

We both thrived at the Rancho, and are already looking forward to returning next year (if possible, by the grace of God). Gregg spent the days golfing, playing tennis, watching polo and lounging with my father in California.

We flew down via San Diego so that we could meet KBL2ORD2SAN and her belovED. Mom and I met her at the airport last year, but this year, our husbands got to join us. What a thrill, after being blogging buddies for so many years, to finally be all together "in real life!" We had a long, leisurely lunch, and left still bursting with things to talk about. Until next time...

Driving from San Diego to the Coachella Valley was a beautiful experience to share with Gregg. As we crested the top of the last hill on Highway 74, the valley unfolded before us at sunset.

Unfortunately, while we were away, my dear mother-in-law, Elaine, suffered a stroke. Elaine is 93 years old - in fact, the stroke occurred at her birthday party - and has for several years suffered from memory loss. She has been telling us for the past couple of years that she doesn't know why she is still here - she says it matter-of-factly, without self-pity or complaint.

Elaine and Ed Gerstenberger, "back in the day"

When the stroke occurred, she became paralyzed on her left side and was unable to swallow. Hospice was called, and she was moved to a nursing home with a dismal prognosis. But her miraculous body has recovered enough for her to swallow soft foods. She is sleeping a lot, but can recognize us and speak a few words at a time. We are hoping that she will be able to move back to the assisted living facility where she and Grandpa Ed normally reside, into a nursing-care unit. As for now, it is day-by-day, with lots of family in attendance, sitting by her bedside and driving Grandpa back and forth to see her. Fortunately, they raised four wonderful kids (now adults, with families of their own) who love her deeply, and are all doing their best to care for her and Grandpa.

These are precious days, indeed.

My Happy Place

We took a vacation. It was grand.

I'm taking longer than usual to get back to our "normal" life, because I have a pinched nerve in my neck. (If you know me well, or even know me on facebook, you'll be aware that I do NOT write about aches, pains, viruses or day-to-day illness, out of respect for others, particularly those who suffer from really serious conditions.)

This has been going on for several weeks, since before we left for Canada, and has prevented me from writing or reading for any length of time. That's why I've been absent from here, and from reading your blogs. All these weeks, I have been itching to read and write, so here I am, with my laptop perched on two large cushions so as not to irritate my neck.

It is good to be away from home on the anniversary of Katie's passing. As the day approaches, I worry that if I am in our house, I will walk by the door of her room, go in, and re-live her death, moment by moment. I realize that I don't have do that, but feel helpless to stop myself. It takes an annual effort to resist re-living the entire month preceding her passing. So I planned our vacation to take us away over the day it happened, and it went well.

The best way to tell you about it is in photographs...they really are worth a thousand words.

That's Gregg and David in the distance. We walked for hours and had a picnic lunch on this beach - my favorite place to hike

My friend Teri calls this a "God-circle" - shining on Incinerator Rock. I saw more than one of these on this trip

Surfers love this cove

David finally talked us into doing something we have been resisting (for reasons of economy) for several years: taking a seaplane trip to Hot Springs Cove. It was a blast.

My father used to fly a single-engine retractable (landing gear) plane called a Mooney 201, so I love small planes, but have never been in a seaplane before. Gregg has, but David and I had not. This trip included a hike out through old-growth forest on a beautifully-maintained boardwalk to three, natural hot spring pools. Gregg and David carried our lunch, water, towels and a change of clothes.

If you thought you saw this in the slideshow,

you did. 

We were stunned to come across it on our hike out to the cove. 

It felt like a love-message from our girl.

We saw thousands of these (known as "sail jellyfish," though they are not jellyfish), which rarely come ashore,

and we saw Spiderman's underpants, on the sidewalk in Victoria. If you see him, beware - he's going commando!

We stopped at a tiny winery to buy a couple of bottles of their excellent wines which are unavailable in the U.S. This is the Venturi-Schultze Brandenburg #3 dessert wine, and I highly recommend it - particularly if you accompany it with a serving of sticky date-toffee pudding.

We took beautiful walks through the countryside and city.

Community garden in James Bay neighborhood

We ate fabulous food and met interesting, fun, kindhearted people. We spent time together as a family, just the three of us. It was pure joy.

Spoiler alert: this might be our Christmas card.

Whenever we visit, I feel as if I want to move to Vancouver Island - for good. It is my "happy place," so while we're always glad to be home, we had a heavenly vacation. And I felt Katie's presence in so many lovely ways that it was easy not to grieve for her - even on the 16th.

Thanks to all of you who sent messages, thoughts and love during this time. I deeply appreciate it, and want you to know that we are well...and happy.

"Antidote for Pessimism"

I've been leading a writing workshop called "Word Soup" on Bainbridge Island for two weeks. It's great fun and the class is brimming with talent and energy. It is wonderful to see the students jump in and write. Each prompt that I offer is met with energy and willingness to enter the scene and draw it with words. Each student has a unique voice and perspective, and it is a privilege to add ingredients, stir the pot and see the delicious "soup" emerge.

Word Soup took a break last week; class will resume this Thursday for another two weeks, and I am thankful for the pause, because Gregg and I caught a virus just before we left for Canada and I did not want to infect anyone else. This is a small problem - nothing compared to chronic or acute illness - but it reminds me of two things:
1) when I'm sick, I always, ALWAYS think of Katie, along with others who suffer from horrible illnesses and truly disgusting treatment regimens (and their cruel side effects). This reminds me that I have no reason to complain about something like a virus and
2) a pet peeve: I dislike reading "illness" posts on facebook. If a person is asking for prayers, by all means, post a request, but otherwise, I do not want to read the daily complaints about allergy symptoms, vomiting in the backseat of the car, what came out of your cat's nose, bum, ear, etc. A little filter is a blessing!

I am not unsympathetic to small or large suffering, but there is enough negativity online and in the media to sink most ships on any given day, and the broadcasting of our run-of-the-mill virus, sniffles and stomach flu "news" simply does not help to keep anyone's ship on an even keel. In my opinion, that's the purpose of a private journal.

Which brings up something I've been wanting to share:  Gregg went to Spain on business at the end of March, and the first week of April. Because he was there over a weekend, he arranged (at our expense, not his employer's) to take a tour. Spain has a richly diverse history and many sites of great cultural interest.

One of the things I admire about Gregg is his willingness to go off of the beaten path, on his own, exploring foreign places. Many people would find it intimidating or exhausting, but he loves to do it, and it enriches his business travel to fill his "down time" with such forays. Museums, palaces, bull fights, bus tours, Roman ruins, churches, Jewish ghettos, famous restaurants, shopping streets, markets, live music, parks - from his work in Japan to France, Italy and Spain, he is open to all of it.

On this trip, he visited (among other places) the city of Italica, and the cathedral of Cordoba. The cathedral has its origins as a Christian temple in the Visigoth period, was turned into a mosque in the year 785, and back into a Christian cathedral in 1236. The architecture and interior design tell many stories, and the brochure which Gregg brought home was packed with facts.

The most interesting thing in the little pamphlet was the following passage:

"A REFLECTION
"The Church, through the Chapter, has ensured that this Cathedral, an old Western Caliphate Mosque, and World Heritage Site, is not in a pile of ruins today. In fact, this has always been one of the missions of the Church, to safeguard and inspire culture and art.

"The visit to the Cathedral of Cordoba may awake the demand and the quest for a greater Beauty that will not wither with time. Because beauty, as truth and righteousness, are an antidote for pessimism, and an invitation to take pleasure in life, a shaking of the soul that provokes the longing for God."

I had never before seen this aspect of the church put into words, but it explains why I enjoy visiting historic places of worship: they are sanctuaries where beauty, art, architecture, history, allegory, music, faith, longing, hope, love, soul and spirit converge.

Perhaps this relates to my instinctive recoil from dreary illness-posting and negativity-spewing on facebook. It is not a lack of interest in others' opinions and experiences, nor a lack of compassion for the small sufferings of our daily lives; it's a question of how much we spread the grit of our small annoyances. Spreading "beauty, truth and righteousness" lifts the spirit - our own, and those around us.

We all need safe sounding boards - places where we can share our deepest heartfelt feelings. In a public forum, however, it's important to think about what we are creating with our words and images, since we have the power of instant, far-reaching communication at our fingertips through the internet. 

And now, dear brothers and sisters, one final thing. Fix your thoughts on what is true, and honorable, and right, and pure, and lovely, and admirable. Think about things that are excellent and worthy of praise. - Phillippians 4:8, New Living Translation

To Find God & Grace Inside the Wounds

"You will be wounded. Your work is to find God and grace inside the wounds. This is why Jesus told Thomas, “Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side” (John 20:27). Thomas was trying to resolve the situation mentally, as men usually do, so Jesus had to force direct physical contact with human pain—the pain of Jesus, Thomas’ capacity for empathy with that pain, and very likely with Thomas’ own denied pain. Deep healing has to happen corporeally and emotionally, and not just abstractly.

"Jesus wanted Thomas to face and feel in his body the tragedy of it all—and then know it was not tragedy at all! In that order. That is how wounds become sacred wounds. This is the pattern of all authentic conversion in the Christian economy of grace: not around, not under, not over, but through the wound we are healed and saved."  - Richard Rohr, from On the Threshold of Transformation: Daily Meditations for Men, p. 256, day 247 (Used with permission of Loyola Press)

Thank you for your encouraging words yesterday.

I was supposed to have an appointment in the city, but it was cancelled, so I stayed at home. After a while, I decided to give up the struggle to get anything of substance done, and decided to just allow myself to be sad, to grieve. It's been a while since I had a day when I felt as if I was sliding downhill, and I could tell that nothing was going to work. I exercised, ate, read, prayed, but I was still sliding backward faster than I could walk forward out of it. I thought, The only thing to do is sew blankets for the hospital, so I set up my sewing area. And then, I couldn't even sew.

It dawned on me that I needed two things: a hot bath and a good book. So that's what I gave to myself, in that order. I took a long, hot, scented bath. I gave my feet some needed attention. And then I sat on the couch and read The Pioneer Woman's "From Black Heels To Tractor Wheels," from cover to cover, which I had purchased as a gift for my mother. Go ahead and laugh if you want to. It helped. I took a day of rest - a sick day - and allowed myself to be simply be sad. I was as gentle as I could be with myself, as if I was sick - because I was; I was sick with grief.

Today, I got up and read this quote from Father Rohr, and I know he is right. To fight grief is to push it away, and it won't go away. To face it and feel it, to allow yourself to go through it, like the labor that takes over your body when a baby needs to come out and be born, seems to be the only way to find God and grace in the midst of the sorrow. It seems to be the only way through it, so as not to get stuck in it. It may be counter-intuitive, to believe that going into it will allow you to move through and out of it, but I don't see any other way.

I think I am nearly ready to write a letter to her family now.

"In my distress I called upon the Lord, and he heard my voice.

I love you, O LORD, my strength...
The breakers of death surged round about me,
the destroying floods overwhelmed me;
The cords of the nether world enmeshed me,
the snares of death overtook me.
In my distress I called upon the Lord, and he heard my voice.
From his temple he heard my voice,
and my cry to him reached his ears." - Psalm 18

Soft Kitty

I wasn't going to share this here, because it's embarrassing, but Gregg thinks it's funny. He said I should post it, so here you go.

I've been sick since last Thursday. It started as a cold, but the other night - around midnight - my stomach got invloved, and I spend an hour or so on the bathroom floor, waiting for whatever it was to pass.

I don't tend to get "sick to my stomach," but when I feel as if I will, it kind of freaks me out. I think the last time it actually happened was in 1988 or so. Not kidding. Our kids didn't do it much, either, until Katie had chemo.

As I was lying on the floor in the wee hours of the night, I tried to stay calm. I reminded myself of all of the times that Katie had been sick from chemo, and how brave she was. I told myself that I handled it then, and that I could handle it now. I remembered what comforted her. I tried to think of lots of calming things -anything but food - and just tried to get comfortable on the floor. Eventually, I remembered a clip from one of my favorite comedy shows, The Big Bang Theory.

In case you are not familiar with it, there's a character in the show named Sheldon who is a genius at science, but a moron at human relations. The actor who plays him is hilarious. In the scene that I recalled, Sheldon is helping his neighbor, Penny, into bed after she comes home from the hospital. She asks him to sing a song to her that Sheldon's mother used to sing to him when he was sick. That image is what calmed me down and made me smile on the bathroom floor. After a while, my nausea passed, and I went back to bed and fell asleep. I'm still sick today, but (thankfully!) not nauseous.

For those of you who are still reading, here is a link to the clip of "Soft Kitty" that made me feel better. The clip above is another version of the song with the same two actors.

Employee or Customer?

You know your life has become a bit odd when you are mistaken for an employee at the funeral home...while you wait for your daughter's ashes to be re-packaged and returned to you.

The other day, I took a beautiful, new wooden box to the funeral home, so that they could put some of Katie's ashes in it. The box is made by Demdaco, the company which makes the Willow Tree line of products. I have a few of their figurines; though I'm not a "knick-knack" collector, some of their figurines are very beautiful (and symbolic).

My friend, Angela, gave me an ornament which I like so much that I bought this box with the same image on it. If you are wondering why I chose mother and daughter, instead of an image representing our family of four, it's because Gregg and David do not feel the need to keep Katie's ashes...so I chose a container that has special significance for me.

I was also able to bring home the little metal, heart-shaped urn that I wrote about here. It has a small amount of Katie's ashes in it; here is a photo of it, in my hand.

Katie had green eyes, and I see butterflies as a reminder of her spirit's presence with me, so I liked this. 

While I waited in a little conference room for the funeral director to take care of these "transfers" in his office, a woman came into the building in a hurry, and began to question me about her husband's remains. She stated in a rapid-fire manner that something had been forgotten, and the owner had promised to have them ready for her.
I was so stunned to be mistaken for an employee that I just stared at her for a moment, and then I said, "I do not work here; I'm a client."
She seemed confused, and continued to tell me what she needed.
I then told her that the owner was in his office, taking care of my family member's remains, and that he would be back soon.


I've been mistaken for an employee before, but this is the oddest place it's happened, so far.

On a lighter note, I've been working on mocking up a new website for Katie's Comforters Guild. Since I didn't like the wordpress version, and I don't know how to design a web page, I used a blogger template. Aside from the fact that it's a vertical format (I want a horizontal one, with a drop-down menu), I was able to put a lot of basic content into it yesterday. This will make it easier for our web designer to see what I am trying to tell him.

David is at home, in bed, with what looks like the flu, so I am pampering him, and he's getting lots of rest. Chicken soup, medicine, jello, fruit, hand sanitizer, 7-Up, crackers, repeat. I hope you have a healthy weekend!

A Little Bit of a Lot of Things

It's been kind of crazy here for the past few weeks. First, there was David's illness, from which (thankfully) he has recovered. He had a great time in Santa Barbara with his cousin, Phil. Then Gregg developed a terribly painful back problem, which was mis-diagnosed as a nerve issue, but is in fact a disc problem. He is doing better, and is back at work, with a prescription for physical therapy and alot of walking. Now, I am trying to recover from another bout of "crud." But first, the good news.

As Gregg's back problem was getting properly diagnosed, I was invited by a friend to visit her at her family's cottage in Carmel, California. In the past, I've been away for a church retreat or a class, but have never taken a trip for myself, away from the family. Gregg and David (and my parents) were encouraging - even insistent - that I go, so I did. I had never been to Carmel, but had been told about it in glowing terms by everyone I know who has been there. My friend's grandmother used to live there, and since her passing, the family has shared her home, which is one of the lovely cottages built by M.J. Murphy; it is made of redwood, and is very cozy.

My friend, Linda, lives most of the year in Vienna, and travels all over the world. She is an opera singer, specializing in the works of Richard Wagner, and was my brother's girlfriend when they attended music conservatory together. They broke up, but she and I are still friends; I consider her my "sister-in-law-without-the-marriage-to-Jim." We lived in Boston at the same time, after graduating from college. We lost touch for years, but when she came to Seattle to sing in the opening of our new opera house (in Parsifal by Wagner), she called us, and we have been close ever since. [To learn more about her, and hear a clip of her singing, see the sidebar of this blog: Linda Watson's page]. Gregg and I traveled to L.A. to hear her sing with Placido Domingo in 2005. We share a similar sense of humor, a parallel family background, tastes, etc. I can't begin to describe for you how funny she is, but she is "a scream," as we say in my family (and hers).

Here is a photo of her with David, Katie and my mom:

I flew out on Monday, and Linda picked me up at the airport in San Jose. We drove down to Carmel, and spent the next few days exploring the town, browsing, eating great food, spending time with her family, sightseeing and walking. We laughed, cried, told stories, reminisced, saw beautiful sights and talked about everything under the sun. It was a real break from everything I have been doing. I felt fortunate to be able to relax and let my mind wander, in such good company and beautiful surroundings. If the photos I took turn out, I will post them here.

Thank you, Gregg and David; Linda, for inviting me (and all of the Watsons, for sharing the cottage); Lisa and Mary for the warm welcome; Mom & Dad (for the encouragement and gift to spend). This trip was a present that I would not have given myself without the love and generosity that all of you contributed.

On the last day in Carmel, I began to feel under the weather. Once at home, it blew up into a really awful illness. I am still trying to get my strength back. Finally, I got to the clinic (driven by David with his NEW DRIVER'S PERMIT) yesterday. So I am having to be patient with being able to do very little to help around here, just trying to get my lungs clear again. I keep thinking of that line from the movie "The Devil Wears Prada:" "I'm just one stomach-flu away from my goal weight!" UGH. Gregg and David have taken up the slack and supported me. Thanks, boys; you are the greatest!

The other good news is that I sent out the big email to "throw open" the Quilt Project, and people are starting to respond. Hooray for comfort!

The bad news is that I am missing Katie so, so, so horrribly these days. It may be that we are past the 6-month mark, and some of the "numbness" they talk about is wearing off; it may be that my normal "anti-depressant," (exercise) isn't available right now, since I am so sick; it may be that we passed the one-year anniversary of her surgery (the 21st, the day I got home from CA), which was supposed to give Katie another chance to live, cancer-free; it may just be that SHE ISN'T HERE, and I HATE THAT.

Yesterday, I was remembering how I helped her bathe in the hospital. Katie had a PICC line (this is a "peripherally inserted central catheter, is a central venous catheter inserted into a vein in the arm...a long, thin, flexible tube used to give medicines, fluids, nutrients, or blood products over a long period of time, usually several weeks or more...often inserted in the arm or chest through the skin into a large vein. The catheter is threaded through this vein until it reaches a large vein near the heart"). This meant that she had to keep one arm dry; she preferred the bath to the shower, and if you've ever tried to keep one arm really dry in the tub, even if you learn to wrap it properly, you know how hard this is.

I won't go into details, because I want to protect her privacy (and I can just hear her saying strongly, "MO-OM!" as if it had two syllables), but she loved to lie in the warm water, and have her head massaged, and we would sit and chat in the windowless, airless, poorly-lit bathroom. I would give anything to be able to massage her head again, and see the little beauty mark on her scalp...except, as Gregg reminded me, I wouldn't want her to be sick anymore. But I miss taking care of her, I miss her company, I miss her soft cheeks and warm, sweet skin, her shiny hair, her green eyes and snappy comments...

Pain, Part 2

I hit a new low this weekend. The grief was almost intolerable for me to endure; I think some of the shock is wearing off. We are approaching the six-month mark: on February 16th, it will be six months since Katie passed away. It might also have something to do with the fact that David was sick for 10 days, and I was worrying every day.

How do you care for someone who is very sick? The answer is probably as individual as the patient, and as the caregiver. I will give you a clue about how we did it for Katie; since I am in my late 40s, and menopausal, I used a detailed calendar and a chart, and a notebook. That's how compulsive I am about not making a mistake. Here is what I did:

Yes, I actually traced some of the items that we needed to use, and made a diagram so that I would lay them out in that pattern and not forget anything. Then, since I was trained as an artist, I used a color-coded list, and after that, we recorded everything in a little spiral notebook, so we could look back and confirm what we had done, and relay any information to the medical team, if we needed to tell them details.

Caring for a patient in the post-chemo days is complex. There were many medications needed for different purposes (anti-nausea meds, antibiotics, antacid, anticoagulant, immune-system booster, etc.) some for several days after the chemo, and some every day. There were injections needed 2 and 3 times a day, and we were responsible for drawing the medicines up into the syringes and giving her the shots. Some things had to be kept in a locked refrigerator on a different floor of Ronald McDonald House, necessitating trips (with a key) to that location. Other meds were kept in our room, and they had to be given in different amounts, at different times of day, or on different days, with different preparations. We also maintained her PICC (central) line with medicine to keep it working. There was also her feeding tube, liquid nutrition and the pump that delivered it to manage.

Things were simpler when we came home after her surgery. Not simple, but simpler, and this summer, things got even simpler. No more shots, no more chemo. Just a few medications and the feeding tube, with trips to the Hematology-Oncology clinic at Children's for labwork. A scan was scheduled for August to keep an eye on a couple of spots that gave the doctor concern for Katie's future.

When we learned that the cancer was back in full force, and that Katie was going to pass away, we got a quantity of new medications to help her be comfortable and take care of the symptoms, especially pain. I kept the meds in 3 boxes, each with its dose and time of day labeled on its container in large type (to fellow office-supply geeks: I love my P-Touch labeler). At that time, this is what I was using:

Each color on the chart represents a medication, given one, two or three times a day; our notes are the scrawls in between. We kept track of any changes in her condition and noted how the meds were working, so that when the hospice nurse came (twice a week), we could confer about how to best help Katie.

Last week, when David was so sick (and not getting better), I had some bad flashbacks to the onset of Katie's illness. Each day when he showed little or no improvement, I walked the path leading up to Katie's diagnosis, when we had also been told that she had a virus, and it would resolve itself with rest at home (she didn't improve, and more tests were ordered, over a 3-week period). Every time I ran upstairs in response to David's call, or took a tray of food to him, I emotionally walked the same footsteps of the summer days when Katie was dying. I found myself charting his illness and care, too:This type of tracking, learned when Katie was ill, may be part of why the situation was aggravating my grief. I couldn't stand it anymore on the 9th day, and took him back to the doctor, who ordered a CBC. It turned out that his WBC count was elevated, which raised more alarm in me, but the doctor took it as a sign that perhaps he might have developed pneumonia. We took him in for an X-ray of his lungs; they were all clear, by grace. For some reason, after that, he began to improve, and yesterday, he went back to school. I am grateful for his return to good health, yet I was left an emotional mess, and then the grief came over me in a way that was almost debilitating: exhausting, emotionally and physically painful...and I found a new low.

Gregg has had some back and leg pain since his drive to and from Winthrop for the wedding. On Sunday, after doing a bit of yardwork, he was in such pain that he couldn't find relief, even with 2 types of pain medicine on board. Yesterday, I took him to the clinic, and we found that he has a pinched nerve that will only heal with time spent resting it, which means that he cannot sit up or drive a car; he can only stand up or lie down. We are still working on the pain management, but at least he was able to get some sleep last night.

I am adjusting to the fact that this is life. We were always a pretty healthy family before last year, and certainly none of us got sick while Katie was in treatment and recovery. I am trying to remind myself that people get sick and injured, and they get well again. It's just that my nerves feel raw and inflamed, and my heart is quite tender and vulnerable right now.