Mother's Day 2013

My mother was born in 1925.

I was born in 1962.

At 87 and 50, respectively, we're still going strong. Especially my mom.

She lived through the tail end effects of the Great Depression and the death of her beloved father when she was only 14. He had cancer.

She lived through WWII which took her 20 year old husband away and returned to her a man who resembled the one who left but was of course changed on the inside. They worked that out.

She lived through more wars, deaths of beloved family members and four live births sans epidurals.

She raised three pretty good, low-maintenance boys and one AWESOME girl full of DRAMA and high anxiety who wore her out with shopping demands, cheerleading tryouts and boy problems. She has claimed she prayed more than one boy right out of my life. I believe it.

Now she is a grandma and great grandma.

And her husband of 71 years is fighting a cancer that is ravaging his body but not their spirits. Mom and Dad still tell each other every night how much they love each other and remind each other how much God is helping them.

At 87, she is  remembering all of Dad's meds (and hers) and lifting him, comforting him, praying for him, encouraging him, fluffing his pillows, dressing his wounds, supplying his favorite foods, sharing everything just like normal to the best of her ability ... and her ability?  It is expansive and strong.

She also credits God for that.

So I'm doing my best to help her, but it's hard for her receive help, even from the daughter born late to her who "owes" her a great debt of love and wants to help. It's just a difficult thing for her.

Yesterday I spent most of the afternoon with my folks and my youngest brother. We thought we were in a crisis moment with my dad, but it resolved. And then he ate an ice cream sandwich. One un-shared ice cream sandwich has never brought any group of people such satisfaction and relief, I am sure.

But I watched her gather herself, call hospice again and again, relay details, comfort my dad, talk to us, offer us coffee, correct our misconceptions about what we thought was going on with Dad, etc. It was exhausting for me, and I am only 50.

They say as you age, you see your mom in your reflection in the mirror. I see the resemblance in photos, such as in the photo I posted below. That sideways glance with tilted chin? I do that. I've seen it in pictures of myself. She has always been beautiful, and even now, people cannot believe she's 87.

So I hope I age well and still look good at 87 and am physically strong. But you can guess what I'm going to say next: I also hope I've inherited some of that devotion to God and marriage and some of that strength to do beyond what I think I can, both physically and emotionally--to endure and carry the legacy forward.

Mom has never achieved great things for society, except that "small" job of raising 4 good kids. She holds no advanced degrees but has taught little Sunday School children that God loves them; that's a pretty big message. She has not traveled much but made our home a relaxing retreat from the world. She never lived in a mansion but treated her home as such with her appreciation and pride. She never made millions but regularly shared what she had with those less fortunate. She did not fill our schedules with organized activities and field trips when we were little, but she was always "there" for us, physically and emotionally. She was never a socialite, but she captured one man's heart for his entire life.

That is my legacy, my mother. Mom, I love you. Happy Mother's Day 2013.

On Turning 50: Just Do It

Yesterday I turned 50 years old.

I can't remember my 16th or 21st birthdays. I do remember my 30th. I woke up 9 months pregnant and had a burst blood vessel in my eye. My iris appeared to be swimming in bright red blood. It was hideous. All salt in the wound of turning 30, which I saw as the gateway to moth balls, short, tight perms and snap-up cotton housecoats. To the 30 year-old me: You have no idea how young you are. I am rolling my 50 year-old eyes at you right now.

Fifty has been looming in the back of my mind for a few months. I knew there was no escaping it unless I died, which I'm relieved to report I did not. So I decided to mark the inevitable by doing something different on that day.

I made a list. Following are the details of my day, in case a great-great-grandchild someday gives a tiny care or needs a document like this for school or whatever they do for learning in the future.

Woke up. (Admirable start.)

Had absolute sneezing fit due to allergies before I could get out of bed. Was afraid to look in mirror in case I had burst another blood vessel in my eye from the pressure of sneezing, but I didn't. I did note that my dark circles are darker than ever, though. Benadryl for breakfast.

Met Crystal at my bedroom door as I was leaving. She was holding the 10 month-old twins and a sign, "Happy Birthday Nana." I loved it, even though I realized that this is the first birthday I'm actually "Nana" to someone. Last year I was still in my 40s. This year I'm a 50 year-old Nana.

I headed out the door with my new Nathan belt, which is a glorified fanny pack, but don't say that to runners.

I began my long, long journey toward my first goal: Run my own personal half marathon on my 50th birthday, just to prove that I can. I called it the "Poking 50 in the Eye Half Marathon."

The weather was perfect. The autumnal scenery was perfect, minus roadkill. In fact, I even stopped to take pictures. Look at Indiana:

I was on an emotional high.

I felt invincible. I even dared to take this pic of me sans makeup at 50 years old and post it on Facebook.

Then, in the scenery, I spotted the Ragweed and wanted to tuck my tail and run like it was a rattlesnake, but I said to no one, "Hey. I'm 50. I'm strong. I'm running a half marathon (I was about mile 3). I'm invincible. I'm picking this Ragweed up and touching it, just to show how invincible I am!

In fact, I'm 50, and I eat ragweed for breakfast--not cowering before the "weed of rag" anymore.

By mile 8 or 9, I was experiencing pain in my right hip which subsided and then reared its head in my right knee. Then that pain then migrated to my left knee, which began to holler. I stopped at Westside Park, locally famous for various bad things have happened to people throughout the years. I sat on a bench for 5 minutes. I hated to sit because I do not like to walk during a run, let alone sit. But I told myself that this run was about endurance and longevity, not speed or beauty as far as form (Which was very smart of me because if it had been about speed or beauty, I would have called for a ride at that point. You have to know how to lie to encourage yourself when you run.)

I resumed running but couldn't resist stopping for a small Coke from a Burger King. ?? I know, I know. Bad form! But I was thirsty, and it was my birthday, and I had money in my Nathan belt  ....

So I drank that while jogging.  Picture that.

Here are the bricks down the middle of the campus of my alma matre, Ball State University, at about mile 11. If you had told me in 1985 that I'd be running down McKinley Avenue when I was 50, I would have died of embarrassment. As it was, I was dying of exhaustion.

About 2 miles from home,  I dropped on a curb for a few minutes. On a curb, I tell ya! Oh the indignity.

When I stood, I realized that if I insisted on running the rest of the way, I could damage the knee. So I decided to run 100 steps then walk 100 for the rest of the way home.

No, I will not tell you how long the run took me. It was about endurance, remember??

I showered and soon George was home from work. We ate at a locally owned restaurant called Kacy J's. This is here where I met my second goal: To drink my very first beer. Yes, you read that correctly. While I have enjoyed various wines and flavors of margs in the past, somehow I have missed beer. I could not decide which one to order because I had nothing to go on, except that Rachel Ray says Sam Adams is the #2 choice for domestic beers. So that is what I ordered. What did I think of it?  Just OK. I'm not a huge iced tea drinker, have to be in just the right mood. That is how it would be with beer. Right mood, icy cold, maybe.

Goal three of my plan was go downtown to the free Art Walk where various vendors had booths and America's Hometown Band played many patriotic tunes, or the same patriotic tunes different ways, and set off a couple of fire works. It was at the art walk where I had what I would call my birthday cake: a chocolate cupcake frosted with peanut butter frosting. Goal four: Decadence. Satisfied by cupcake.

When we returned home, I proceeded with my fifth and final goal, to re-watch an Oprah show that I recorded February 4, 2011, called Supermodel Legends. I saved this episode for a year and half just to watch on my 50th. Oprah's guests were four former supermodels who were there to talk about aging: Cheryl Tiegs, Beverly Johnson, Christie Brinkley and Stephanie Seymour. There were also short spots, one featuring Paulina Porizkova, which I particularly enjoyed. I've seen her speak about aging elsewhere and have come to really like her. I found this Oprah episode to be VERY inspiring and uplifting; I highly recommend it. And it is from this show that I lifted Ms. Porizkova's line, "Aging is not a right; it is a privilege."

She's right. I'm privileged to have more time here than did my friend, Diane. I'm privileged to spend more time with my beloved and see my children grow up, graduate college, get jobs, get married and have children (All of this is happening right now in my kids' lives). I'm privileged to know my parents in their old age, to share memories with my brothers. I'm privileged to share life with some amazing female friends. I'm privileged to have a body that still works pretty well and can accommodate requests like, "OK, Half-Century Old Body: Get up and run 13.1 miles!" I'm privileged to breathe in and out, to sit, to stand, to hold a cup of coffee, kiss a baby's sweet face.

I made it to 50. I'm here for a reason. I'm not invincible, but I am strong. I know that the year ahead holds many joys and many sorrows. But I'm privileged to wake up each morning and just be here, for other people, for the joy of being, just because of the love of my Creator. And that is what I want to remember throughout this next year.  Waking up is not a right; it is a privilege. No whining about creaking and wrinkling. Just do it.

For Kelsey

Last year, I wrote about these girls having a rare (11 people in the world) genetic immune deficiency disease (Dock 8) and how my church sponsored the Be The Match event to try to find stem cell donors.

I'm sad to say that the eldest, Kelsey (right) passed away this afternoon at 5:17pm.

Heavy, heavy heart, but she is with Jesus. I know this because she was with him every day while she was here on earth these short years, so this relationship just continues now in a different dimension than we can understand. It's not that big of a jump for Kelsey. Her speech was peppered with references to him, she literally danced for him, and she pointed others to him with a mega-watt smile. He was her all in all, and now she is completely healed, forever. Not one more hour of sickness for Kelsey. Not one minute more of suffering.

One of my best memories of Kelsey is that when she was little and enrolled in a Praise Dance program with my daughter Katie, Kelsey's mom, Tammy, asked me to give Kelsey a ride home, and I agreed. About halfway to my house, I realized I had forgotten Kelsey at church. I never drove so fast back to church or prayed so hard while I was driving as I did to retrieve her, which is saying a lot for me. Upon my arrival, she was fine, greeted me with her little cheerful smile and chatted all the way home. Bless her heart.

My heart is heavy, laden with grief, yes, but also heavy with the rich gifts she shared with us all.

She will be missed. And she has the most amazing parents on the face of the earth. Much love to them.

Today's Column in the Muncie Star Press

No, I didn't write about giving up the Camaro or being afraid of bears on vacation. I did, however, write about the hotel fire alarm experience, which you see depicted here but must read every word to totally get the picture. [Clever enticement to read the column, eh?]