Mike was a laid-back kind of a guy, most of the time. He was pretty passionate about a lot of stuff, too.
Most importantly, he just wanted people to relax, live, love, and have a little fun along the way. Not a bad way to live.
Catch a big one, Teddy Bear!

The good, the bad and the ugly

Reliving April 10, 2009.

I enjoy trail running. Not because I'm a good runner or have something to prove, but because it is a spiritual experience for me. During my run yesterday, and after reading an article about burying your head in the sand, I got the feeling I needed to share some intimate details of Mike's death. This hit me hard because it is extremely intimate and ugly. I prayed that if I choose to do this, that God would some how be glorified and this story wasn't just about me. Please keep in mind that this is my perspective, only, and I cannot relay for anyone else in the family, what they experienced. I've used the same title before in this blog. I would like to warn you, if you are squeamish, or do not want to know details, from my perspective, of the last moments of Mike's life and the time I spent with him after he died, skip to the last paragraph.

I have been with numerous people when they died. Too numerous to count. Some have been the natural, peaceful progression to death, in which case the body is not fighting death, but embracing it. Some have been fighting for life. Some never got to experience either as death was immediate.

I got the call to come back to the hospital, that Mike was not doing well. I can remember being told that CPR was being performed. I can remember telling my dad to make them stop because there was nothing to compress. Mike's sternum had been broken in the wreck and that is the area where compressions for CPR are performed. I can remember going in the room when he briefly had a pulse and we were waiting for Hunter to get there so he could say goodbye. I can remember looking at the heart monitor and seeing a rhythm but knowing there was no pulse with it. I can remember watching the color, the last shred of life go out of Mike's face. I remember watching him go.

I wanted to help prepare Mike's body for viewing right after he died. This is something that health care providers do for families so they can see their loved one peacefully and without all the wires and tubes. I can remember embracing Mike's head as the nurse removed the neck collar. I felt the broken bones in his neck rub together and for an instant, I shuddered at the pain this was causing, then was relieved that there was no pain. I remember watching the breathing tube being removed from his mouth. There was so much sputum and mucous on the end of it. The reality of the difficulties of ventilating Mike were harsh. I can remember laughing a bit that I would prefer the nurse remove Mike's foley catheter. There are just some things a sister should not do. I remember helping change Mike's gown to a clean one. In doing so, his belly was exposed. After exploratory surgery his belly had been left open and was covered with a clear, plastic-like covering. I could see his internal organs splayed open. I can remember the cast on his right lower leg and how he had actually, briefly, walked on that broken leg when he got out of his truck just after the wreck. I can remember thinking that it must have caused terrible pain. But no more. I can remember the nurse placing the bed in the flat position. The only way Mike could have been placed flat, after all he'd been through, was by being dead.

I relive these moments on a fairly regular basis. Please understand, though, I do have wonderful memories of my brother. I laugh at him more than I cry!
I struggle, though, with these images and wonder why I have to relive them. I wonder if I should relive them. I wonder if it makes me morbid, or sad, or weird.

One of my favorite songs is "I am a seed." (David Crowder's version of it is just fabulous!) During my run yesterday, I was listening to that song. "I've been pushed down into the ground, but I will rise us a tree." Sometimes I think we have to descend into darkness to really understand and appreciate the light. Just as a seed draws nutrients from the ground so it can push itself up through the soil and into the light, I draw on the word of God when I am stripped down to the raw, dark, cold reality of life's challenges. I laughed as I compared myself to a dogwood. It's not a particularly pretty tree except for one time of the year. It dots the landscape among many other trees. Otherwise, if many were planted together they would not be very pleasing most times of the year. But they sure stand out in the spring! Otherwise, it is a hard and hardy tree that withstands the seasonal changes.

I guess I do not have to spell out what is good, bad or ugly for you. You get it, I'm sure. But are you really thinking of the ugly reality of death or the beauty of the dogwood, or the beauty of no more pain after reading this?

What makes God real for you? Dark realities force me to focus on Philippians 4:8;
Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.

Thank you for remembering Mike with us.
Michael R Watson, Jr. February 14, 1970-April 10, 2009.

Remembering April 9, 2009

Missing this guy. I wish I didn't know now what I didn't know 4 years ago. Rhonda

Ties that Bind

I am amazed at what brings people together. We all have interests, situations, or events that cause us to forge bonds that may not have otherwise occurred. I'm not so sure I like mine. It involves tragedy and loss. I have at times thought the movie title, "Death Becomes Her" fits me. Not very crazy about that. But I can't escape it. It is all around me and has touched some very close friends and family, as well as forged the bonds as previously mentioned. What do I do with it? How can something good come out of these horrible situations? And embracing them only causes more pain and rips open these jaggedly healing wounds. But denying them denies the very life that was claimed and that is not an option. I get discouraged daily. I want to help those who are dealing with loss. And, frankly, sometimes I want help. I want someone to just say, hey, been thinking about you. Thankfully, I do get that from wonderful people and I am grateful. But the world moves on no matter what and forgets me, my loss, others' losses, and that is just unacceptable. So, what do I do? I've asked that for nearly four years. I move on. In fear. Afraid to reach out to someone else. Fearing stirring up too much pain for them, for me. Fearing I'll say the wrong thing. Fearing they don't really care what I have to say. Fearing I have nothing to offer. Fearing investing in someone that I risk losing. Fearing...you get the idea. Lots of fear. Yet I go to bed every night thinking of these bonds and that these bonds are people, just like me. I can't get them (you) out of my head. I carry each and every person and situation with me. I could name names but I do not want to put anyone on the spot or make anyone uncomfortable. Rest assured, however, that I am aware of many situations for which I pray daily and chances are, if you are reading this, I am aware of what you have been through. I guess it's my thorn, so to speak. I've asked God to take it away from me, but alas, he says his grace is sufficient for me and this thorn, and something about being made stronger in our weaknesses. When I think about it, while I may not like how these bonds were forged, I would not break them for anything. These bonds have introduced me to awesome people. And those that God brings together, no man can separate. I continue to throw this out there. If there is any way I can pray for you, please do not hesitate to email me. rmw4jc@yahoo.com From Philippians 1, as Paul writes while he is in prison. Prison can be whatever persecutes you and causes you to back down from speaking God's word, which is life, to others. One of my prisons is fear. 18. ...Yes, and I will continue to rejoice, 19. for I know that through your prayers and God's provision of the Spirit of Jesus Christ what has happened to me will turn out for my deliverance. 20. I eagerly expect and hope that I will in no way be ashamed, but will have sufficient courage so that now as always Christ will be exalted in my body, whether by life or by death. 21. For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain. 22. If I am to go on living in the body, this will mean fruitful labor for me. Yet what shall I choose? I do not know! 23. I am torn between the two: I desire to depart and be with Christ (and all the saints gone before me), which is better by far; 24. but it is more necessary for you that I remain in the body. 25. Convinced of this, I know that I will remain, and I will continue with all of you for your progress and joy in the faith, 26. so that through my being with you again your boasting in Christ will abound on account of me.

Hope

I have a little story to tell about the past 3 1/2 years. It's just a small part of my life's story. It all started with 3 year old Kira in February of 2009. Barry and I were able to be in the room with her and her family when they removed her from life support and let her join Jesus. Then, in April 2009, I was able to be with Mike in ICU when he died. In July 2011, most of my family and I gathered around my grandfather as he breathed his last. In March 2012, we were able to be with Barry's mom as she made the decision to be removed from life support. Just before, she mouthed the words "take care of him" to me. Then in August 2012 a dear friend of mine died at 31 years of age. I know it's not a happy story, but it's my story. This year has been a challenge. As I write this, I am a month away from grad school graduation. Three of the 5 losses I have experienced have been during school. I actually had to take an online exam or two while in the ICU waiting area with my mother in law. I began my last semester of school just days after my dear friend died. I don't tell you these things to ask for sympathy, merely to paint a picture of my story. The other challenges are simply life itself. Our country is at a crossroads, one that I am fearful of. We are in a moral, economical, and most importantly, spiritual decline. We are all surrounded by hurt, loss, suffering, frustrations, lack of patience, waywardness. I long for the day I am reunited with my loved ones and the Lord himself. I struggle with, what do I do with the days that I have? How can I be different? How can I be a light in so much darkness? My own sense of personal loss is great. What do I possibly have to offer to others? The answer is simple. Hope. I have hope. I have hope for things unseen. I have hope in the words of promise I read from the Bible. I know many feel it is an archaic, obsolete book of history. Funny, though, when I read about history, the stories cannot be told independent of one another. And the biblical principles that applied to ancient times are still applicable today. It's pretty simple, actually. Hope. It is a choice, though. I could choose to have no hope. To just give up and accept the status quo or what I see before me. But I refuse to accept a downward spiral. I refuse to accept defeat. I refuse to accept the darkness. With a spin in the right direction, a spiral can be reversed. There are battles that will be lost (our physical deaths) but the war over death has been won. Eternal victory is available. There is always light at the end of darkness. But it is a choice to see this way. "...the word of God is alive and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitude of the heart." Hebrews 4:12. So here's the deal. In my hurt, in my loss, in my struggles, I have found this deep seeded need to help, to reach out, to pray. Everyone has a story. How can I pray for you? What is your story? If you are not a Christian, that's ok. It is not my job to make you a Christian, but to simply show you Christ's love through me. It's up to you and Him on acceptance. But what I want is to pray for you, listen to you, love you, HOPE for and with you. You have a story to tell. Tell it. Even if your story seems dark and dismal, it can and will give light to someone else. By giving your story a voice, you create a path, an avenue, for someone else to open up and tell their story because it's ok. If there is any way I can pray for you, please let me know. My email address is rmw4jc@yahoo.com.

The healing power of tea and lox

I admit it. I am tired. I am in overload. Since my last post, I have recovered from surgery, driven nearly 6-700 miles a weak for work and clinical, gained about 10 lbs, buried my mother-in-law after a month and a half long hospitalization, decided to resign from my dream job, had my Jetta die, and, well, the list goes on and on. April 6 was a special date for 2 reasons. Most importantly, it was Good Friday. It was also 3 years ago that Mike wrecked. Barry is in Pennsylvania enjoying some much-needed down time. Zuzu is with her grandparents. I am working all weekend. I was not at my current place of employment when Mike died. No one really knows the significance of this weekend nor the angst it causes. Another admission. I am having a bit of a pity party of one. I have felt the bombardment of the world. The news is awful. Many people around me are, themselves, experiencing very difficult trials.

What does all this have to do with tea and lox? Just prior to writing this, I was doing mostly nothing, while waiting for the next call to come in, and feeling a bit sorry for myself. I have been in prayer and in the word a lot this week to provide the spiritual nourishment I need to cope. I have neglected quality physical nourishment as my mind just can't plan that well. Angels come in all forms. This time, it happened to be in the form of a real, live flying one. One of the pilots I work with offered my partner and I bagels with lox and tea. I reluctantly accepted his offer, as I did not want to take his food. Anyway, in about 10 minutes I was presented with a cup of hot tea and a freshly toasted bagel with his homemade lox. One bite and one sip provided more nourishment than I have felt in weeks. What was the big deal? I'll tell you. It was an angel of nourishment and reassurance God sent to me in my moment of need and weakness. Was that my pilot's intent? I don't know. He's just a nice guy. A nice guy that God used to remind me of His steadfast presence wherever I am or whatever the circumstance. I asked God to make his presence known to me, especially at work, and, well, there ya go. He did just that.

Out of the ashes,
Rhonda

Stoked for Mike

Sometimes you have to be wounded to be healed.

As we enter the year 2012, the realization is that I am entering my 39th year; the total number of years Mike was given. Many of us make new year's resolutions and such. I have never been one to make resolutions. I have personally embarked on a crazy career journey that has made me focus on it and little else. My career choices are due in great part, to Mike. But I want to make this year different, better, not about me. So I got this revelation that I am going to be stoked, this year, for Mike. With that proverb came some pretty cool heart lessons. Since Mike died, I have been unable to listen to many heart-felt stories from others, whether good or bad. My heart just has not been able to "stomach" the good or bad tears for anyone else. I get enough of that at work, therefore, radio, written, or other stories of people's trials, tribulations, and celebrations just have not worked for me. I can't say I have been hard-hearted, just bandaged. When we are sick and on the mend, we have to be a little selfish and take care so we can, later, give a bigger and better part of ourselves. Wow! Did I just say that? Did I just now get that? YEP! After all my years in health care it took a big fat AH-HA moment to realize that healing takes time. And you have to do it "smartly." I'm not saying that I am smart. In fact, just the opposite. I am pretty clueless when it comes to my own healing and understanding. So I was listening to the radio about another person's story, which was positive and tearful. And I allowed myself to tear up with them and be proud. And it didn't hurt!
Is my Mike-size hole filled? Never! Is the wound mending. Yes. It's covered with a scar. That scar is a reminder. It's what stokes me to live a wounded and mended life. You can't really have one without the other, can you?

I challenge you to be stoked for Mike. Now, I know Mike may not be everyone's motivation like he is mine. But, maybe, just maybe, he can be your inspiration to find your motivation. After all, he lived to the fullest. None of us that knew him can deny that.

I miss him more and more everyday. In some ways I hurt more than I did when he died. It's not the broken bone kind of pain it was then. That has gone. It's a deep, visceral, ache to be with him. Hence, I am stoked. That fuels the fire to keep him alive and releases that visceral pain. With the wounds comes the healing, if you allow it.

Live, laugh, love, play. Get stoked for Mike!
Rhonda