Posts Tagged "Grief"

Blessing in a Really Bad Idea

Posted by on Feb 4, 2019 in Blog, Home Is Where The Story Starts | 2 comments

Blessing in a Really Bad Idea

About two years ago, my sister-in-law Ginny suggested that we make a quilt together. She is a quilter and a friend had given her quite a bit of material with teapots on it and she thought of me. Now, my reaction was not very appreciative, I admit. I think I might have laughed out loud. Not a joyful laugh, a sarcastic “what are you thinking-don’t you know who you are talking to—let me share a little more about myself” laugh. After all, I am not on good terms with sewing machines, material, needles, thread. . . any of those things. My mom and home economics teacher did their best, but it didn’t take.   But I didn’t say no. After my initial negative response, I tried to be interested. She persisted. I resisted. She persisted.   Two years ago this May Bruce had half of his thyroid removed. Ginny, because she is an awesome sister-in-law and because this is what she does when someone is waiting at the hospital, came to sit with me. But she came prepared. She brought several pieces of The Material to show me.   I have to admit I was a bit more enthused and quickly—I know, it’s too late to say quickly—agreed to do it. We set a date to start.   When I arrived and we went to Ginny’s amazing quilt making room upstairs I was like a fish out of water. I was also lost in a brain fog and was having difficulty even coming to terms with what I was about to take part in. She pointed to some material and said that it would need ironed. I could do that. I actually enjoy ironing.   Here are some of the things I learned while working on the quilt.   Ironing is relaxing and helps me get rid of stress.                I enjoy the creativity of choosing different materials to put together in a square.                I would rather pick the materials and iron than actually cut the material.                Sewing machines still don’t like me.                My sister-in-law is a dear friend. So, it took us a year, but we finished it on August 17th. I was really excited to get it done, because I wanted to take it home to SD and to the reunion in NE to show all of my family. We have a lot of seamstresses in our family and several quilt makers. I could just imagine how impressed they were going to be with my tied quilt, even if it was smaller than a twin bed—a throw quilt. Of course, as it happened I got it done just in the nick of time. August 22nd we got the call that Daddy had suffered another stroke and he would be going to heaven soon. So, we quickly packed the car and left the next morning, the quilt in the back seat.   When we arrived at the hospice house we brought the quilt in. I...

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Earthquakes and Shifting Sands

Posted by on Jan 14, 2019 in Blog, Home Is Where The Story Starts |

Earthquakes and Shifting Sands

Over the past few years I’ve experienced an uncomfortable shift. It started when several of my friend’s dads/husbands graduated to heaven. These were men who had a great impact on my life. They were faithful men who loved their families and their God. In the past two years, just among my Jones cousins, we lost three of our parents. Three people who have ALWAYS been in our lives. Just a couple of weeks ago, a cousin’s husband lost his epic battle with MS and last year another cousin’s 9 year old daughter lost her battle with DIPG. Every day I see it on Facebook and in the news. Parents, siblings, grandparents, children. .  . On and on it goes. I know this is life. After all, I am in that uncomfortable middle age where the parents are leaving us and we are left with the realization that the generation between us and death is shrinking. Of course, for me, like a tectonic plate shifting underground leaving big cracks in the earth, the earthquake of my own father’s death on August 30th changed my life forever.And now, I face a question many others before me have asked. We know we must go on. But how? How do we live in a world without them? How is that even possible? One of the difficult things for me is the realization that the future generations of my family will never know my dad. Much like the dismay I often feel when I realize that my husband never met any of my grandparents except Grandma Jones and Grandma Elizabeth, it makes me so sad. Even my youngest niece and nephew won’t have the memories of Daddy that the older ones have. The majority of their memories are of a grandpa unable to talk, struggling to stand, tucked into bed where they would climb up and hug him goodnight. But the Grandpa who at 75 raced his grandson across the picnic ground. . . they don’t remember that. I remember Grandpa McKnight expressing these same feelings. “Susie,” he said to me one day, a wistful tone in his voice. “I sure wish you could have known your Grandma McKnight’s Grandpa Stover. He was a wonderful man.” Then he brightened and said, “But someday in heaven you will!” Then he pumped his fist in the air and shook with unshed tears. I guess this sadness is normal, or at least hereditary. Something happened with my husband and my grandparents, though, that encourages me. It is no secret that I am a storyteller. A talker. A reminiscer. (Yes, I just made up a word.) Bruce has heard me tell the same stories over so many times, and my family has talked about being Grandpa McKnight’s “favorite oldest South Dakota granddaughter” and other Grandpa-isms that Bruce has internalized it. He will say, “Grandpa McKnight would have liked that.” And he is right. I could share similar stories about the things he has learned about my other grandparents....

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Comfort Food Without Calories!

Posted by on Oct 25, 2018 in Blog, Double Cousins, Home Is Where The Story Starts | 2 comments

Comfort Food Without Calories!

Yesterday I went to the library. I needed to return books and audio books, some of which were overdue.  I admit it. I am terrible at getting books back to the library on time. But, the way I look at it I’m helping fund the library with the fines. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. One of the books I returned was The Middle Moffat by Eleanor Estes. It is an older book, first published in 1942 and set in Cranberry Connecticut during World War I. When I saw it on the shelf in the children’s section I had to take it home. You see, it was one of my childhood favorites. Janey Moffat is a middle child (like I was) and she lost a parent (like I did). She was imaginative, very brave even though she was a bit insecure. She was kind and generous. She loved to tell stories, imagine stories, and didn’t miss a thing that was going on in the neighborhood. Another big character in the book is The Oldest Inhabitant—a 99 year old Civil War vet who lives in their town. Janey, quite by accident strikes up a friendship with the man and that was one of the highlights of the book for me. I find it interesting to read my favorite childhood books again in adulthood. There is comfort there and it opens my eyes to the reality that the books I read as a child informed who I am today. I found myself laughing several times as I read and laughing feels so good right now. So, this time at the library I went to another favorite set of books, The Trixie Belden Mysteries. I had hoped to find book two there last time I went, but failing that I ordered it on Amazon and now I was ready for book three. So, my current “read in progress” is Trixie Belden –The Gatehouse Mystery by Julie Campbell. Why am I reading children’s books? It isn’t because I don’t have other deeper books sitting in piles around my house waiting for me to pay them some attention. It isn’t even that I am a children’s author and need to do research (although that is an awesome excuse, isn’t it?) No, plain and simple, these books are what I call comfort food in the book world. Since my Daddy went to heaven I haven’t had the focus needed to read a book. But, then I discovered that I could read these favorites from childhood. Not only are they simple plots, easy to read, but they take me back to my childhood. The one where my Daddy lived. What about you? What is your favorite childhood read? Please share here! Maybe you will even want to read it...

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A Picture Is Worth a Thousand Words -Try Smiling!

Posted by on Jan 25, 2016 in Blog, Home Is Where The Story Starts |

I’ve heard that a picture is worth a thousand words. When I look at this picture I believe it might be true. In case you didn’t know I believe in laughing a lot. I believe in smiling. I especially believe in making other people laugh and smile. I think it’s in my DNA. Seriously. If you know my extended family you understand this. If you don’t, trust me! Now, I’m not always successful. There are even times when I fail miserably at making myself smile or laugh. Thankfully God gave me a husband who understands my need for the occasional—okay, the frequent–joyous outbursts, and he knows that if I am down he needs to make me laugh. Or smile. I found this photo awhile back. I’m not really sure who gave it to me. It’s a picture of me with one of those crazy plastic toys where you bopped the bottom and a plastic ball flew out, then you tried to catch it. As you can see, I wasn’t using it correctly. No surprise there. On the back of the photo someone wrote my name and the date. Miriam Jones 1/15/73. I didn’t need the date to remember when the picture was taken. I remembered exactly when. This picture was snapped the day of my Mommy’s funeral. I stood in the doorway between the dining room and the kitchen, the very spot where my mother stepped over the threshold into eternity four days earlier. Now, when that picture was taken none of that was going through my head. I don’t remember making a toy into a hat because I wanted to make people laugh, feel better, or forget for a few moments the horrific tragedy that had overtaken us. I don’t normally think such things through. I just do them. If in pain, laugh. If scared, joke about it. If worried, be silly. See, that’s how my brain works. If you can still laugh, it can’t be that horrible, can it? The thing about this photo that touches me the most though, is that someone—I suspect it was an aunt—decided to snap the photo. That person recognized the importance of the moment. They believed this was a moment in the middle of a difficult day that should be remembered. So, they snapped the picture. It is the only picture I have from that day. I’m okay with that. Because a picture is worth a thousand words. And, of all the pictures in my head from that day, I’m glad this is the one someone snapped. I found a poem the other day that sums up my philosophy on smiling and laughing. I share it with you today. TRY SMILING When the weather suits you not,    Try smiling. When your coffee isn’t hot,    Try smiling. When your neighbors don’t do right, Or your relatives all fight, Sure ‘tis hard, but then you might    Try smiling. Doesn’t change the things, of course-    Just smiling. But it cannot...

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Remember and Be Glad. . . My Choice

Posted by on Dec 7, 2015 in Blog, Home Is Where The Story Starts |

Remember and Be Glad. . . My Choice

We visited an outlet store the other day. They advertised a free coffee mug if you purchased $30.00 of items. I wasn’t there to buy. I was there to see about a book signing. But, the more I walked around the store, the more Christmas sales I found. I ended up with a mug. It has the verse Psalm 118:24 on it. Christmas is everywhere these day; stores, work, home, church. If you are a Scrooge, it isn’t a good time of year for you. Or, if you’ve recently lost a family member. Or maybe, it is the first holiday season since your loved one passed. Either way, it is difficult. As a nurse, I’ve seen it many times. I know this first-hand, too.   November 23rd was the due date eight years ago of our unborn child. It seems like every eight-year-old child I see this year is cuter than cute. December 2nd was the 85th anniversary of marriage of George and Mildred Jones, my grandparents. It was also the 18th anniversary of the day Grandma McKnight went to heaven. December 7th is remembered as Pearl Harbor Day. But, for me it is remembered as the day Grandpa McKnight followed Grandma to heaven. Next month there are more such anniversaries, ones that I note. Every. Single. Year.   So, what are we to do? What would my mother and grandparents want me to do? Would they be thankful if I spent the day moping around and feeling sorry for myself? I think not. Yet, that can be a real temptation. Sometimes, the loss just reaches out and grabs me by the neck and squeezes. It comes at the strangest moments.   Maybe it is when the girl’s choir lines the walls of the church and raises their voices in praise to the Lord. I glance at my husband, his eyes shut, head moving slightly to the music, a look of joy and peace on his face and I am reminded of the look on Grandpa McKnight’s face when he heard glorious music. Of course, the pew would have been shaking from his laugh-cry if it had been Grandpa.   Maybe it’s when looking at an adult coloring book of Psalms and I flashback to memories of Grandma McKnight listening to us recite Psalms to her.   Or, maybe it is in a patient’s room when the old man in the bed is watching episode after episode of westerns. I stand there, holding my breath. Will Matt Dillon save Miss Kitty? And, why didn’t they ever get married anyway? Then, in my mind I see Grandpa Jones sitting on his couch watching his favorite show. My eyes burn.   Or maybe, when my husband opens the shades in the kitchen to let in the morning sun and sings, “Sunshine in her window, makes Miriam happy. . .” and I remember just how much Grandma Jones loved John Denver.   Or even when the eight-year-old young lady and her daddy...

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