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

Connections

I just happened to look at my friend, Mary Lu's, blog today, the one who lost her daughter 2 years ago, just before Mike died. She has not posted in several months. I have not posted for exactly one year. I have struggled with taking the site down. I don't know if anyone follows it or not. I just can't seem to let it go. My connection to Mary Lu and her family is what made me begin the blog when Mike was in the hospital, as she had done when Kira was in the hospital. I don't want to miss what she has to say about their experiences as they learn life without Kira. It's part of what keeps her alive.

I don't want to let Mike go. Ever. He is mine and always will be. Keeping the blog going will keep him going, if for no one other than me.

We never know the impact we have on those around us. We are connected like a tapestry, a quilt, a web.

Please stay connected to Mike. Never forget him.

With love,
Rhonda

Moving through

I'd like to thank each of you for keeping up with the blog. I have struggled with this decision but think it's time to stop. I started the posting to update about Mike and then relay what the family and/or me are going through. I don't really believe in moving on per se. I mean, I don't want to move on from Mike. I do believe in moving through, day to day. As I have moved through the past few days, I get the feeling it's time to stop the blog. I think Mike would prefer it that way. So thanks to each of you for your support and prayers. I will leave the site up for some time so if anyone happens to be searching for information about Mike, they can find out about him. Eventually, I will remove the site.
Thanks for your time.
Rhonda

Valentine Baby

It used to make me mad that Mike was born on Valentine's Day. I mean, he was my big brother but not a sweetheart! I think you know I say that in jest. Mike WAS a sweetheart. And it was no mistake that he was born on a day designated for love.

Love your neighbor as yourself. That's what he was all about. No mistakes. No coincidences. No happenstance. Mike's life was well-planned, meant to begin on that day. He lived and loved to the fullest. He went home on Good Friday. He made his entrance into eternity on another day of love. No mistakes. No coincidences. No happenstance. Mike's life was well-planned.

Slowly, painfully, there is peace in his death, because his death resulted in eternal life. If you struggle with your beliefs (as we ALL do) and wonder if there really is a God, would you dare reduce Mike's life to happenstance, coincidence? Re-read above. No mistakes. If only our lives could be so poetic.

Thank you for Mike. I miss him terribly. And I can hardly wait to party with him!

Randy (one of Mike's nicknames for me)

"I pray that each one of you will embrace the love and joy that was Michael: Be accepting of others as well as yourself. Live life to the fullest, no matter your circumstances. Reach out to others, especially if they don't "deserve" it. Laugh loudly, and often. Look for the silver lining, it's always there. Be yourself, that is a gift to those around you. Enjoy the beauty of everyday things. Be someone's island. Hug people, they really want you to. Forgive each other. Love each other. Have faith in God." Laura Poindexter Watson.

Run with what you brung

On Saturday, February 6, I completed a 20 mile trail run. I would love to say that I won the race or made incredible time. Instead, I brought and extra 15lbs of body weight, about 15 weeks too little training, poor sleep and mediocre attitude. Needless to say, I had a lot of time to think and reflect during the run. I was determined to just do it. A lot of things happened during my time. About 6 miles into the race the 8-mile runners starting catching up with me (they started and hour after). I was a little envious but, really, more impressed. These guys and gals were fast. About 9 miles into the run, I began having a lot of knee pain. I had been struggling with the uphill climbs, and now, the downhills and flats offered little reprieve. My muscles were too weak to recover quickly enough and keep me smooth on the downhills, and my joints had taken so much pounding, the flats hurt, too. But I smiled at my lack of preparation and kept going. About 12 miles into it, I started meeting the 40-mile runners (they started and hour before). Almost everyone of them I met said "good job" or "looking good, keep it up." These guys were encouraging ME. They were running 40 miles and encouraging ME. That was a great feeling. Even greater was when I opened my mouth and said "good job" to those that I met or passed me. I was even more encouraged by offering encouragement.

Early into the run, I realized I had invited God along. He was with me the whole time. Then I got to wondering if others had invited Him along. I wondered what they were running for or how well they were running or with "what" were they running. Did they have baggage? Good preparation? Bad preparation?

I wondered about Mike's run. He had 39 years. Unlike my run, he did not know the time or distance, but he certainly seemed to prepare. He knew he was a finite something, a terminal being. He seemed to know who he was, where he was, what he was, and what he had. He seemed to know he had limited time for his run and that he was going to enjoy as much of it as he could. Better still, he knew the end result...the end is a new beginning.

My last post was about my laments. I won't lie. I was not really sure how to get away from that. I even debated on being done with my posts. I was not sure how to move past the pain, the hurt, the loss. But during my run, I was being taught a great deal about life. My run hurt, though, at times, it was exhilirating despite the pain. Total strangers encouraged me. I encouraged total strangers. None of us knew each others' stories, but we knew each other had their own race to run. Some were much better than others. In fact, down right awesome. Some were awkward and struggled. All were determined. The uphills were struggles, the downhills weren't always better. The flats offered recovery, with caution. I moved through the pain and the hurt of the run. I moved passed the loss of delusions of grandeur for a great run. I finished. All of my extra weight, undertrained, grief-stricken, sleep-deprived self.

My little friend, Kira, would have been 4 on February 6. She seemed to know a little more about her own run, too. She lived quite a life in her short time.

The pain is not gone. I am learning how to move through it. Sometimes I walk, sometimes I jog, sometimes, I run, sometimes I limp. But I will keep moving.

We must run the race that is set before us. Run with what you brung.