When She Calls "Yoo Hoo"

My mother has a bird feeder hanging outside the window of her little room in the nursing center. It was empty when she moved in and I inquired as to how we go about getting it filled.  Since it's up to the family to keep it filled, I take bird seed with me every time I go.

When I first filled it, I would ask if the birds had come - with desperate eagerness every time I talked with her on the phone. They didn't come for days. I pleaded with God to please give her this small favor and send some birds. I knew they would brighten her day.

One day I visited her and sure enough a gold finch landed on the feeder and I about jumped through the roof with excitement. She did too, in an elderly woman kind of way.

When I go to see her, I usually fill the feeder first. She doesn't know I'm coming so it usually surprises her when she suddenly sees me appear right outside her window.

One day, recently, because of the glare on the window with the rising sun, I couldn't see well. I bent down and peeked in her room to see if she was in there.  I was about to give up when I heard something I haven't heard for years. Her familiar "yoo hoo". It starts up high for the "yoo" and goes down a few tones on the scale for the "hoo". Same way, every time. I smiled and waved.

A chill ran up my spine. The power of those two words, within a nanosecond, flung me back into childhood and a lifetime of being her daughter. I could see and hear glimpses of moments in time when I heard that familiar call.

...calling my father in from the fields

...calling up to me in my bedroom on the farm

...a call that sometimes irritated me like crazy

...a call that I have considered using when my own natural voice doesn't seem loud enough, but then wonder if I really have the gall to do what used to drive me nuts.

But today it was the most welcomed sound. A moment from the past, as if all was normal again.

I don't know when the Lord will call her home. She prays almost daily that it will be that day and usually asks me to pray with her that it will be soon and so I do. I know the Bible says that His sheep know His voice. I wonder if He will call "yoo hoo".

I'll probably have chills up my spine and tears down my face when He calls her.

Crutches, Grudges and Gratitude. The journey to healing.

My hero, Andy

I've known Andy for years.  He is always on crutches and I never thought much about it until I saw him on my first day off crutches.

We reconnected at a gathering of friends and I immediately began to tell him that I have a new appreciation for what he must face having to always be on crutches.  He smiled and said he'd be glad to give me tips on using them, and his tips made a lot of sense.

I asked him more about his story, something I had never really taken the time to do in depth.  He had polio in his mother's womb.  She was Vietnamese and they apparently never had access to vaccinations in those days.  He's never known anything but crutches.

I have been thinking a lot about how similar being on crutches is to healing from soul wounds or adjusting to changes in life.  So here's my take on the stages of life-altering events...whether for a short or long time.

Denial

First you deny that you are hurt.

Anger

You realize you are hurt and feel angry about it.

Humiliation

You start using crutches, seen or unseen and find it very humiliating and even hurtful to your pride.  (I honestly didn't think I had much pride, but wow - was I ever in for a surprise).

You have to ask for help. You become dependent on other people and that feels really yucky.

Discouragement

You start to feel down.

You still don't improve and you start staying home instead of going out because it's just too complicated and hope begins to dwindle.

Resignation

You stop fighting.  You become resigned to the fact that you are hurt and life is different.  "Deal with it" you tell yourself. Learn to adjust.

Adjusting

You start getting used to being on crutches (in my case) and they start to become part of your day.  This can be good and bad.  You become a little more bold about asking for help and being very thankful when people offer to help. In fact, you know now that you need help.  That’s even better!

Smiling

You begin to realize that many people have had much worse to deal with and if they can 'do life' with a handicap and thrive, so can you, at least until you can get help.

You start to smile more again.  You start to even think an unthinkable thought: "ya know, if I had to live this way the rest of my life, I probably could.  I'd have a lot of attitude adjustment to do, but I could make it".

And so there is my take on the stages of crutches.  It struck me as I was starting to get adjusted to them and moving a little more easily on them, that this probably isn't much different than any other kind of injury: body, soul or spirit or even similar to the stages of grief.  Healing takes time.

I hope that Andy can be free of crutches some day but without a miracle he most likely won't be.  I do believe in miracles and I know he does too.  But, I hope that no matter what stage I am in and no matter what type of injury I might face whether for months or a lifetime, I will have the smiling attitude that my friend, Andy, has.

Someone Else's Shoes

When I was a little girl, I loved trying on my mother's clothes and shoes.  Of course, they never fit, but that didn't matter. It was all pretend.

It takes years to grow into someone else's shoes and sometimes it takes something drastic to make them fit. I wish it wasn't that way.

My father passed away on May 31, 2001 and in the midst of my grief, I stopped writing songs.  It wasn't on purpose and I'm not even sure I noticed at first.  But I just didn't have anything to say.  I was still writing by 'inspiration only' in those days.  Grief had stolen my inspiration and the songs went with it.  Fortunately, since then I've learned how to write by inspiration and perspiration thanks to writing songs for terminally ill children.  I couldn't wait for inspiration then, I had to write a song no matter what.

A year after my father died, I took my mother to visit his grave and when I stepped out of the car to walk over to the sacred spot,  I heard a distinct melody and lyric in my head:

"Now I understand, things I couldn't see before"

I went on to finish the song and it remains one of my favorites to this day.  It jump-started my songwriting and I entered another season of writing.  The song pretty much tells the story.

When I was a little girl

we would go and visit my grandpa's grave

almost every holiday we would stop and see

I would watch my mother kneel

say a word maybe shed a tear

I would wait so impatiently

I guess I couldn't see

But now I understand things I couldn't see before

feelings I could never know 'til they came to visit me

now I understand there are things I'll never know

'til I've walked a mile or two in someone else's shoes

Here I am I'm older now

I go and visit my daddy's grave

almost every time I'm near I stop and say hello

I share my heart and shed a tear

I'm feeling things I never felt before

I guess I see what my mother saw

and what it meant to her

Now I understand things I couldn't see before

feelings I could never know 'til they came to visit me

now I understand there are things I'll never know

'til I've walked a mile or two in someone else's shoes

It's amazing how I'm right back in that same spot of awareness again, but in a different set of circumstances.  

I was recently in an airport utilizing the handicap services they provide because I've been on crutches for weeks due to an ankle injury.  The skycaps had to keep reminding me to sit down in the wheelchair from the side, not try to hurl myself over the metal feet sticking out from the wheelchair.   After having to be reminded each time, I had a flashback to my mother and I on many excursions where I continually have to remind her to sit down in the car first and then swing her feet around after her.  It's easier than putting her feet in first.  We learned that in physical therapy when she fractured her hip.  But she always needs reminded and I have tried to be patient with her every time.  

Now the tables were turned, or perhaps it's better to say the wheelchair has turned, and I needed reminded of the same principle, each time.  She has the excuse of being 91 years old and lapsing in memory.  I have no idea what my excuse is.  

But the last time I needed reminded, I smiled.  I was so glad I have been patient with her. 

My graveside experience with writing "Someone Else's Shoes" came to my mind and once again I knew that it's always easier to extend mercy to others when you yourself have somehow stepped into their shoes, if even for just a moment.  

Buy "Someone Else's Shoes" here if you like.

Crutch, Crutch, Goose - a new game with my Mother

You've probably played the game "duck, duck, goose".  You know, the one where you sit in a circle and hope you are the one chosen to run around the circle—like a maniac. Next, you bop someone on the head and they continue the frenzy of activity.  Such excitement and anticipation in the air. At least, that's how it felt when I was a young girl.

As an adult, I still play a version of this game. First I sit and meditate quietly, or I vigorously ride my bike. Then BOP, an idea taps me on my head and I'm up and running around in circles.

Bop - "let's do a Christmas CD"
Bop - "let's learn to figure skate"
Bop - "let's put together a Christmas show"
Bop - "move your mother to the nursing center"

oops.....that "bop" wasn't my idea.  

But there I was...off and running (well, actually, I was hopping on crutches) to get her situated in her new room in the skilled nursing department at the retirement community where she lives. Being on crutches has slowed me down......a LOT! 

In the midst of all this hustle and bustle of moving my mother, it is so easy to lose sight of the positives.

Until last Saturday morning.

I had been planning a special picnic lunch for my mother.  I spent most of Friday afternoon making food preparations and creating the perfect scenario in my head.  

Early in the week I had promised her that I would take her out for lunch. Going out to eat would be a nice change from the institutional food and the atmosphere she has had to adjust to.  

But I began sensing that what she really needed was a touch of home. Memories are all she has left and they are fading too. Familiar things that would tie her to the past.  

So I started conjuring up this picnic idea in my head:

Sunshine.
Picnic table in the woods.
Home-made foods served on her Fiestaware.
A family heirloom tablecloth.
Root beer floats.

And then we got a call at 9:00 p.m. Friday night.  

She had fallen in her bathroom, hit her head on the tile floor and would be heading to the ER.  

We arrived before she did. 

She had a massive goose egg on her forehead and I gasped when I saw it, trying not to let her see my reaction.

I held her hand at one point to help her lift her arms for the nurse and saw the skin drape down over her bones like a wet dish rag.  She's only 95 pounds and I'm convinced most of that is just bone. 

It was a long night.

She wondered about our lunch plans.  Could we still go through with them?  

"Let's just take it one step at a time", I said.

Saturday came and it was sunny, but there was a very blustery wind that came with the sunshine so I wasn't sure we could go to the park as originally planned.  Plus, I had no idea what kind of shape she'd be in from falling the night before.

I made the root beer floats ahead of time, put them in the freezer so they'd last in the cooler, packed the blue Fiestaware and cheery tablecloth. 

Would she even remember the cloth I wondered? 

Next, I packed chicken salad, fresh kale salad with fresh strawberries, avocado, almonds, feta cheese and homemade honey-lemon poppy seed dressing and drove the 30 minutes to the retirement home.

When I arrived, a nurse carried all the food in for me and suggested a little sunroom at the end of the hall.  It was obvious my mother wasn't up for an outdoor picnic.

I stepped into her room and gasped again.  

I don't have children so I don't know what it's like to watch your child suffer from bruises and ailments, but I do know the feeling of seeing your aging mother becoming more frail by the week and I shivered at the sight of her black and blue face.  

A child always has the hope of growing up and getting stronger.  At 91, it's a very different scenario when they are bruised or ailing.  It seems to only weaken them.  You take a deep breath every time you see the incoming call from the nursing center.  Is this going to be it you ask yourself?

I could see we had about two options.  Let her lay in bed and have the picnic lunch in her room or try to get her up and sit in the sunroom.  She seemed interested in the sunroom so I went to get it ready.

We hobbled out to the room together, she with her frail body clinging to the walker for support and me with my injured ankle and grieving heart.


When we sat down at that table, however, it was as if we entered another world.  She recognized the tablecloth immediately.  We talked of gardening, cooking, where the tablecloth came from, though she doesn't remember, and how she had walked by this sunroom many times never dreaming she would end up here.

I realized, as we ate, that it was the first time in weeks that we had been able to do anything 'normal' together.  The past few weeks had been focused on parting with her furniture, signing papers, releasing her old room, filling out more papers, getting used to a very small room, new staff and procedures. It had taken its toll on both of us in different ways.  

Now, we sat at a table together, sipping root beer floats, eating from her plates (that I inherited from her) on her tablecloth and enjoying home-grown food.

Every time she sipped the root beer float she would say "this is delicious!".  I would remind her that this was the treat she served everyone who came to visit her in her cottage.  She would put scoops of ice cream in a glass and cover it with root beer, then put it in the freezer.  When unexpected visitors came, she would simply remove the glass from the freezer, put a straw in it (the kind that flexes near the top) and serve it with some pretzels. I don't know of anyone who didn't love those root beer floats.  But she has no recollection of this tradition.  I sighed.  How can she not remember that?  It was one of her trademarks.

At one point, we ate in silence and suddenly she slid her hand across the tablecloth.  "This is a connection to the past", she said.  Gulp.  Lump in my throat.  She can't remember the root beer floats but she can remember the tablecloth?  Memory is so unpredictable.

It isn't the most ideal stage of life for her right now and I shed many hidden tears over it.  But on this day, there was no running around in circles like maniacs playing duck, duck, goose.   We just sat and enjoyed memories together.  Me on my crutches and her with her goose egg bump on her head.   It's making lemonade out of lemons they usually say, but we had root beer floats instead.

Thanks to her goose egg bruise and my crutches, we made do in our new situation and created a new game...."crutch, crutch, goose".

With or without the crutches and goose egg - we will do this again!

Invisible Crutches

Still no skating.....

Still on crutches.....

Living on the edge is much more fun when it's an edge you chose.  Crutches are not my choice, but they are necessary right now; at least the ones you can see me walking with.

A crutch is anything that serves as a temporary and often inappropriate support, supplement, or substitute; a prop.

A crutch doesn't always have to be a piece of wood or metal that props you up...it can be the invisible kind....

food

friends

chocolate

sleeping

comfort

sunshine

noise

music

clothes

feelings

dishonesty

perfectionism

silence

For instance, if I choose to be silent for the better of mankind, then that is not a crutch.  It is a wise choice.  However, if I choose to be silent as 'revenge' or a sort of 'attack' or to 'prove a point' - that isn't a healthy choice. It's a bad crutch.

Today I went for another laser treatment on my ankle.  Imagine lying facedown on the bed in a dark room while the assistant runs a warm metal thing over your ankle.  The laser beam restores energy and nutrients back into your cells they say.  Hopefully this works!

While you are laying there, it's tempting to lay your head down and take a nap.  But the girl who gives me the laser treatment is a bit chatty.  She wants to know what my day holds for me.  She probably can't see me sigh.  I don't want to talk today.  I just want to be left alone.

I have a decision to make.  Do I really tell her what's on my plate or do I make it short and sweet? 

There are actually some very monumental things on my plate, but I don't want to talk about it.

* A first time meeting with those who care for my Mother in her new room.   An emotional event.

* A brainstorming meeting tonight about my upcoming Christmas show.  A joyous event.

She wouldn't know what I'm talking about on either count, so I'm sure she'd ask more questions. Why bother to start.  I've already been prone to tears for the past few weeks since I've had to move my Mother and I don't want to turn on that faucet in front of a stranger so I just resort to crutches.  I don't say anything.

But I know that isn't fair to her, so I go for the short and bland, after I sigh again, inwardly. 

"Meetings," I say, with my head half down in the pillow.  "My day consists of meetings".  I knew that wasn't a great answer for an inquiring mind, but it would have to do. 

My invisible crutches are functioning well it would seem.

I'd like to be rid of both kinds of crutches.

My mother's elephants

Last week was a whirlwind.  'Been living on the edge of crutches and insanity instead of ice skate blades.  

My mother had to move to the nursing section of the retirement home where she lives.  I have achilles tendonitis and have to be on crutches another 2 weeks so I tried to move her while hobbling around.  

While helping her downsize yet again, I had to make a lot of decisions about what to keep and what to let go of.  

I came upon these 2 elephants and I couldn't resist writing a blog about them.

Last year at this time I was blogging about "The Elephant Diet" and conquering demons and aspiring to our dreams by eating the 'big' elephants in our lives ONE bite at a time.  

I smiled as I picked them up and ran my hands over their smooth surfaces.

I have a Christmas CD, I am planning the big show I had dreamt of last year, I am learning to figure skate (though I'm on break right now) and all this one bite at a time.  I'm helping my mother move, and doing it one step at a time (or one crutch hop at a time).  That's how we accomplish great things.

"If you had started doing anything two weeks ago, by today you would have been two weeks better at it.” ― John Mayer (guitarist and songwriter). Don't wait until you have everything as you want it to start on your dreams.  Just start.

The elephants in the picture belong to my mother.  She's had them since I was a little girl. She has overcome so many elephants in her life that it's hard to even list them all - death of her first husband and two sons and dealing with many illnesses that still affect her to this day.  I found some letters she started to her children on big yellow legal pads (though she never finished them or distributed them) and I saw reflections of a life of determination, heartbreak and desire to live completely surrendered to God's touch in her life, even when it meant suffering.

I looked at the two elephants and realized that all these hurdles in her life have led to this point in time. She's still here and still trying to conquer temptation to be discouraged. She still has more obstacles to overcome - bless her heart.  Life just doesn't quit throwing things at her that are hard.  But she keeps pressing on.

I think I'll keep these elephants. I can't remember where they came from exactly, but I sure am learning more about perseverance and faith from my mother - the one who made a home for them originally, way before I ever started a blog or knew what an elephant was.

A Christmas show is on the way! Buy tickets here. (another elephant gone).

Getting hurt, while trying not to get hurt.

I've made it almost a week using crutches.  I'm a bit envious of the guy in the photo who is skating with a crutch.  Obviously he doesn't really need it.  Maybe he has it just in case he does get hurt.

The very first day I skated with my new pair of skates my coach warned me to be careful of the toe picks.  "They are much sharper than the rental pair you wore".

Wouldn't you know, he was right.  I accidentally dug my toe pick into the ice way too deep and I went face forward down to the ice.  I put my arms out in front of me to stop the fall and I've suffered with muscle pain in my arm because of it ever since that day in January.

I hurt myself while trying NOT to get hurt.  Dah!

Now, here I am on crutches so that my foot can heal.  But the first day I used the crutches I had new pain.   I moaned and groaned that night as I got into bed. My shoulders, neck, back and wrists hurt so bad from the crutches I didn't even notice the ankle problem (my cats were not happy about the metal robot-like legs pounding through the house either).

Have you ever tried so hard to keep yourself from getting hurt that you end up hurting.....yourself?

A long time ago I worked at an office where my boss was emphatic about answering the office phone after the very first ring.  If he heard the phone ring more than once, he was on my case about it.  I was new in town and very young.  I internalized my anxiety day after day over this.  I tried hard to get the phone every time it rang, but sometimes I just couldn't get to it until it was too late, especially if I was taking another call at the time. The second ring signaled a lecture from my boss (he wasn't a dictator...he just knew how he wanted things to be.)

This went on for months until I got so sick in my stomach I ended up in the ER with a stomach ulcer.  I didn't put the two together until years later when this kind of pattern would repeat itself.

I was afraid to speak up and tell him that sometimes it was impossible to do what he demanded.  When my body finally said "I can't take this anymore, I'm hurting", I told a friend of mine who also worked at the office.  She told my boss and from then on he wasn't quite so demanding.

If the current Frances could talk to the 22 year old Frances back then, I would tell her that in stuffing her feelings and fears in order not to get hurt, she would only end up hurting herself more.

I sure miss skating, but I guess there are lessons I can learn even when I'm not on the ice.  This is a good lesson to learn.

How about you?  Are you hurting yourself more by putting up walls so...you....don't get hurt?