Unplanned Time with My Son

Where to start?  One day, I was trying to adjust to idea I was in the waning days of summer with autumn fast approaching, and the next day, I was on a plane flying to Pennsylvania to be at son's side after he had been involved in an accident that nearly took his life.  On Sunday afternoon, September 21, a message was left on my phone from a nurse at a hospital in Scranton, Pennsylvania, telling me that my son had been in accident. "He's ok," she said, but I needed to call because he wished to speak with me.  My heart stopped when I heard the message.  Then, for another twenty agonizing minutes I could not reach the nurse because she was with my son who was having a MRI done.  No one could tell me what had happened because of HIPAA rules.  

Finally, I was able to connect with the nurse and more importantly with my son.  He had suffered a terrible trauma to his brachial plexus on his right side when he was cut by glass.  He is fortunate to be alive.  He received seven units of blood.  Surgery was performed to save his life.  In the process, somewhere along the way, damage was done to his nerves on the right arm in the brachial plexus area.  I think we all were in shock those first few days.  Certainly Jon was.  Certainly, I was.  

Two days later, On September 23, I flew from Colorado to Pennsylvania on a one way ticket.  I wanted to leave the date of my departure open.  By the time I got here, he'd been discharged from the hospital right from ICU.  I guess at that point I became his trauma nurse.  

For three days, I tried to navigate the unknowable medical field waters in search of aftercare treatment. My son was and is paralyzed from the shoulder down on the right side of his body.  He had an incision that is about seven inches long and contains over twenty stitches and staples.  Not being from this area, and with him being new to the area, I had no idea where to start in finding the help I knew he would need to heal.  For three days, I tried to get him into doctors and therapy.  Finally, this week it all began to come together.  We were able to connect with an occupational therapist whom I think will really be a source of great help and encouragement for him on this journey.  We also found a straight shooter for a primary care doctor whom I think will put together a plan to get him into the specialists he may need in his recovery.  We are optimistic that he will recover the use of his arm.  

Jonathan amazes me with his determination.  I'm not surprised.  He is one amazing kid.  He has had many adventures in his life.  Perhaps, he has lived life a bit too much on the edge.  He's always been daring and ready to push the envelope.  

He returned to work on the following Monday, September 29. He is teaching a full load of classes at the university.  I am here until next week trying to support him in any way I can.  Mostly, I'm just being mom and trying to keep body and soul together while he adapts to his new normal.  I am grateful to have this time with him.  These are treasured moments.  I get to be a participant in my son's life.  I get to observe his determination and hard work as he works so diligently on his classes.  I am able to be here with him in the hard parts of this journey when we can share what is in our hearts.  

On last Saturday, the sun was shining and we went to a nearby park for a walk.  I felt so blessed to walk in these Pennsylvania woods with my son and his son.  

Gratitude: walking in the woods on a sunny early fall day with my son and grandson.  

I gather up these memories and store them in my heart.  I may be here because of an unexpected and unwanted event, but I am here with my boys and for that I am grateful.  I also am most grateful that my son is here standing upright and able to show me this place so soon after his accident.  Youth and good health is on his side.  

From the shadows into the light, we follow the path we find ourselves on.  

Sometimes the paths of life are not as well laid out as the one we see in this photo.  In those cases, I always think of a path that is new to me.  Parts of it are rocky and obscure.  Other parts have waters rushing across.  I'm not sure how the path will end.  I sometimes feel very lost. That is when I think of this American Indian story:

 "You are deep in the woods, and you think you are lost; stop, look at the trees, the rocks, rivers-they are not lost.  They are here.  You are not lost, you are here."

Last night, Jon's son Atticus came to spend the night.  I was quite touched to see old Oso in Atticus' suitcase.  I gave this bear, as is my tradition, to Atticus on his first Christmas.  I must say no first Christmas bear of any other grandchild has seen the adventures this bear has seen.  He lived in Colorado to begin his life.  He then moved from there to Boston.  This dear bear, Oso, already rather travel worn, made his way to Bangladesh.  After a year and a half there, Oso, always at the side of Atticus, flew over the North Pole and home to the United States.  After living in Boston, he made his way to Pennsylvania.  I was glad to see this old friend from my grandson's earliest days.

Life seems complete when I have my kids by my side.  It is good being here cooking meals, driving my son to school on some days, he drives on others.  I try to keep the house running as he keeps up with his school work.  He tires easily and comes home exhausted and ready to have a big rest before the evening activities, but each day he seems stronger.

I will fly home next week.  I hate to leave.  My former husband and father of my children will come to spend some time with Jon the day before I leave.  He will be here for the next leg on this journey. 

It is so hard when your baby chicks grow up and leave home.  They seem to go to such far away places.  The miles separate us, but in this day of modern technology, we are only a text or a phone call away.  For that, I am also grateful.  

In the end, as a mom I've learned I must ultimately leave my children in hands that are much greater than mine.  They are all prayed over, and prayed over some more.  Whether they believe in my prayers or not, that does not matter.  I pray for them.  Each of them.  Everyday.  And, I thank God that I was blessed with each dear life.  Being a mom is hard, even when they are all grown up, but being a mom, I also know the rich blessings that I have in being a part of the journey that each child is on.  Their stories are intertwined with mine.  They are part of the story of my life.  We walk down this path together.  

Moments of Being

My daughter Julie was a Virginia Woolf fan.

While she was working on her English degree at the University of Utah, 

she took a class on this great writer.

I visited her in Utah not long after she finished the class. 

While visiting her, I started reading an essay by Woolf, "A Sketch of The Past."

It was while I was reading this essay that I first encountered the concept of the term

"moments of being."

As I read the essay, I began to identify with Virginia Woolf's words at a deep level within my being.

I too had experienced those moments of being when I sensed an intense awareness of my surroundings. Such experience seemed to be imbued with the essence of the beauty in life.

These "flashes of awareness" are rare experiences. We spend most of our days in moments of what Woolf calls "moments of non-being."

Julie promised to discuss both

Mrs. Dalloway,

and

To the Lighthouse

with me.

In these books, I would have found examples of Virginia Woolf using characters within these novels to illustrate how they were receptive to moments of being. 

I did read

Mrs. Dalloway

. 

Julie and I attempted to discuss

Mrs. Dalloway,

 but I was such a novice at reading Virginia Woolf that I think Julie did most of the discussing.

She promised to explain

To the Lighthouse

to me.

That never happened because I never got it read before Julie died.

I miss the talks I once had with my daughter.  She had such an intelligent, well-read insightful mind.

Since her death, there are times when I barely function.

My mind is clouded.

I lose all track of time.

I have been unable to comprehend the works of literature that I once was able to enjoy and critique.

I have struggled to attach to the world at large and live life as I once did.

I think all of this is a result of doing deep inner work in my soul to integrate the loss of my daughter into the fabric of my life.

One of the first promises I made myself after she died was that I would not live my life compartmentalized.

I promised myself that I would

integrate

the loss of my daughter and my grief over that loss

 into the very fabric of my life experience.

As I work through the pain of loss,

and as I deal with the health issues that have caused me to rock back on my heels,

I am grateful for those rich experiences when  I have "moments of being."

It is in those moments when I feel most alive to the beauty of this broken world in which we must live.

I sometimes capture the images of these moments with my camera.

I cannot always ascribe meaning to these moments.

They are just moments when I rejoice in the powerful beauty of connection

 between myself and my surroundings.

On the trip home from my mother's home last month, I was ill most of the time.

Graciously, my cousin drove for me.

We stopped at a rest stop along the way so I could use the restroom.

The name of the rest stop is "No Name."

I walked into the restroom fatigued, foggy, and feeling quite faint.

I walked out and saw these flowers off in the distance.

I nearly ran to the car for my camera.

I had to capture their beauty because they had brightened my day in a way that brought me cheer when I needed it most.

My cousin called out to me.  "Where are you?"  

"I'm over here."

"Where?"

"Here, getting pictures of the flowers."

Flowers of brightest yellow against blue skies don't last for long.

Moments like this when one drinks in summer during the autumn of life must be captured even if those moments are truly momentary. 

Cheerful, bright yellow roadside beauties in No Name lifted my spirits and brought new energy to my weary body.

My cousin and I took a few more moments to enjoy this spot by eating fresh peaches that we had purchased before we left Grand Junction.

Again, it was a moment of savoring the fruit of summer.

Today, exactly a month later after this experience, the snow will fly in the mountains.

No doubt these flowers are now dried and shriveled.  What is left of them will freeze tonight.

Such is life.

For he knoweth our frame; he remembereth that we are dust.

As for man, his days are as grass: as a flower of the field, so he flourisheth.

For the wind passeth over it, and it is gone; and the place thereof shall know it no more. 

Psalm 103: 14-16 KJV

The moment remains in my memory and the image is captured on my camera.

While some may think such fleeting moments make life seem fruitless and hopeless, they seem to bring me a sense of hope and meaning.

They speak to me of the importance of life.

They whisper to my soul with words of comfort and healing.

***********************

At sunset, I am fascinated by the grasses illuminated in the evening light.

I'd been pulled from my desk by the changing light outside my window.

Alive to the moment, 

I went seeking beauty.

I went seeking connections to the world in which I live.  

The moments may be as fleeting as the grass, but they serve to bring healing to my soul.

They bring meaning to life.

Life is a gift.

It is a treasure.

No matter how dark the night that follows moments of light such as these,

I rejoice in knowing that I have life and I have these moments of being.  

They are a gift.

They become visual reminders of my faith and hope for the future.

If then God so clothe the grass, which is today in the field, and tomorrow is cast into the oven;

how much more will he clothe you, O ye of little faith?

Luke 12:28 KJV

Heart Procedure Update

University of Colorado Hospital

Good news is always good news.  I am so grateful to have good news to report.  

Morning came early the day of surgery.  I'm just not an early morning person, but I had an appointment to make, so around 5:00 a.m. I rolled out of bed at the Springhill Suites across the street from the hospital and got myself ready for my big day.  

The air felt crisp and cool as I gazed a the beautiful front range of the Rocky Mountains as we walked to the car.  Reflective thoughts soothed me as I gazed at towering outlines of mountains against a sky just beginning to lighten in the dawn of day.  The verses I meditated on before bed entered my heart:  I will lift my eyes until the hills, from whence cometh my help.  My help cometh from The Lord, which made heaven and earth. (Psalm 121:1-2)  That Psalm, my Psalm, always calms my heart and reminds me I am in God's hands.  The Lord shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in from this time forth, and even for evermore.  

Once we entered the hospital, there were moments of anxiety when I wanted to say,  "I've changed my mind.  I'm not doing this."  Did you ever feel that way before a medical procedure?  Thankfully, I was surrounded by a wonderful team of doctors and anesthesiologists.  This kept my fears at bay even when I entered the surgical room.  Talk about an intimidating place!  It was huge and full of all kinds of equipment and machines and people.  I barely could see the skinny little bed where I would lie as the procedure was performed.

Once I'd entered the surgical room, and just prior to the surgery, several ice cold, large disc shaped patches were attached to my back and front.  I had been warned that I was going into a very cold room where very cold patches would be placed on me.  I asked if we could take pictures and just use this experience as my ice bucket challenge.  These discs or magnets are actually defibrillators and magnets that allow for 3-D pictures of my heart.

This catheterization, was not, as the saying goes,  my first rodeo.  I'd had a heart catheterization a year ago.  This most recent one was much more intense to me, but I was told the other procedure was actually more tricky because of the side of the heart that is catherized for an artery study.  The procedure that I had on Friday was an electrical study.

The surgery itself ended up lasting four hours.  I think my dear husband was beside himself with worry.  I was out cold for it all since I was given propofol. Or, if I were awake, I have absolutely no memory of anything, thank heavens.  The doctor had to perform a heart ablation.   This ablation should have destroyed those places in my heart that were causing arrhythmias.  During the study, I did go into atrial fibrillation (aFib) with my heart beating 200 beats a minute.  The doctors were unable to slow down the rapid beat with medication while I was in surgery, so they had to shock my heart back into rhythm using those discs that been attached to my body prior to surgery.  I'd say it is handy to have a defibrillator attached to your body!

Because the procedure was done by a catheter being fed up to my heart via an entrance in the groin, I had to lie flat on my back another four hours after surgery.  I was constantly monitored so I wouldn't cross my legs or try to bend them, or attempt to get up.  I had exceptional care during the entire time I was in the hospital.  There are only three patients for every nurse on the cardiac recovery unit.    I felt very safe and cared for.

I spent the night after surgery in the hospital.  This is always done after an ablation.  Reportedly, I had no palpitations at all, and my heart rate was good the entire time.  I did have some bouts with low blood pressure during the morning hours on the day after surgery.  My readings were as low as 88/48.  I have problems with low blood pressure at times, so this was not a new thing.  Once I was up and moving around, my blood pressure improved.

The doctor put me on a diabetic diet while I was in the hospital.  Smart move on his part, and actually, the food I had while I was there was exceptional.  For lunch just before I left to go home, I had crab cakes, delicious crab cakes, arranged on a bed of romaine lettuce, and served with fresh asparagus spears grilled to perfection, and fresh steamed spinach.  I was even allowed one half of a slice of carrot cake.  It was all very good tasting and quite satisfying.

I'm so very grateful to have this procedure behind me.  For years, my doctor has discussed the possibility of doing such a procedure, but she never felt the time had come when I needed it.  I was referred to Dr. X. by way of my wonderful G.I. doctor at National Jewish.  (She referred me to a NJH cardiologist.  He went through my records.  During a consultation with the NJH cardiologist, he said I needed to go the University of Colorado Hospital to their electrophysiology doctors and even made sure I saw Dr. X.)  There were actually two doctors of cardiac electrophysiology who attended me during my surgery, and neither one expected to find what they did once they were able to do the electrical study of my heart.  The problems just were not showing up on the holter monitors that I have worn so often.  

I look forward to again being able to walk at longer distances, hike up some hills, and just live life without episodes of tachycardia (rapid heart beat) stopping me in my tracks.  I hope to no longer be bothered by constant palpitations.  I hope to have fewer dizzy spells.  I think my quality of life just got better, much better.  I am so grateful.

Thank you to all of you that sent me good wishes.  Soon, I will be back to being able to exercise and walk.  The next battle is with the weight I've put on.  Along with that battle, I'll be battling pre-diabetes.  Onward and upward…

**I am not a medical doctor, and I have limited understanding of all that took place during my surgery.  It has been explained to me.  One doctor even drew a picture for me.  My knowledge and understanding of the procedure remains quite limited.  I've only conveyed to you what I understand.  I'm sure there were wonderful technical things done of which I have no knowledge.  Thankfully, I can leave all that knowledge to my doctors while I remain the one who benefited from their education, skill, and expertise.  

We have an early morning appointment tomorrow at the University of Colorado Hospital in Denver.  I'm having my old ticker checked on  Yes, tomorrow morning I will have an electrical study of my heart.  This has been a long time coming, and quite frankly, I'll be glad to have it done.

As some of you know, I've struggled with arrhythmia problems, rapid heart beat, and dizzy spells for a number of years now.  I've worn a holter monitor multiple times since I was in my 40's.  I've worn a 30 day event monitor more times than I can count.  I don't want to begin to calculate how many visits to the ER I've made.  Then, there have been all the other cardiac tests that have been inconclusive.  We know I have arrhythmia problems, and supra ventricular tachycardia (rapid heart beat), and we know that at times my blood pressure drops way too low, but so far, nothing has helped my heart spells.  

Finally, I was referred to a specialist at the University of Colorado Hospital in Denver.  Tomorrow, he will insert a heart catheter into my heart to do an electrical study.  If he finds it necessary, he will do a heart ablation.  He also plans on inserting a looping monitor implant under the skin over the heart area.  I've never heard of such a device before meeting Dr. S, and I certainly can't explain to you what it does.  I did provide a link if you are interested.  I am hopeful that we will get to the bottom of my re-occurring problems and find answers for that which has compromised my quality of life for too long.

I am grateful to have been referred to this doctor.  I am also grateful that he seems to think that we can get things fixed up for me.  The facility itself is huge, but we are learning our way around the place, and know how to get where we are going early tomorrow morning.  I know I will be in good hands.  

If an ablation is done, I will be hospitalized overnight.  Otherwise, I will be released after I recover from the catheterization.  We plan on spending Friday night in Denver even if I am not hospitalized.  Neither of us want to fight holiday traffic after a day at the hospital.

Now, I must get to bed.  I am getting just a bit nervous, but thankfully I know what to expect since I had a catheterization a year ago.  5:00 a.m. comes early.  We are staying just across the street from the main facility.  That will give us a short commute.  So, off to bed I go.  I'll update you as soon as I can.  

Summer Memories for 2014 ~ Part One

Summer began for me when we as a family all came together to celebrate the marriage of my oldest son Ryan and his beautiful bride Sheridan.  It was the family event of the year.  For me, it was a precious few days with my children and grandchildren.  Those times are so rare.  Those times are so treasured.

Grandsons were reunited.

There were times of fishing, hiking, and just hanging out like boys love to do.

Male bonding time is so important.

The family wedding gave four of my favorite boys time for that.

The other two favorite boys of mine, grandson Atticus, and son Jon,  were absent from this gathering,

but we would see them later in the summer.

In August, the noon time meal that I shared with just Parker and Mason in June has become a precious memory.

We talked about life.

I love when I can spend time talking to my grandsons.

I love that my grandsons sometimes want to spend time talking with me.

Of course the granddaughters were there too.

My regret is that I didn't get the camera out and take more photos of them.
The laughed and giggled,
sat in front of the fire and made smores.

They helped with wedding preparations.

Sometimes, I don't like to constantly be taking photos.

The grandchildren dread the camera coming out.

Later, I wish I had more photos.

My daughters also had a time of being together that included hiking, and getting dressed up for the big event.

Later in the summer, my youngest son and his son came out for a visit.

I had not seen them for two years.

That is way too long to go without a visit.

Jon and Atticus had not been seen our new home.

I must admit I was a bit nervous that they wouldn't like it.

Our old home had been such a great "grandma" kind of house.

This new place has a lot to offer.

What's not to like about the places where we walk in the evening?

 The surroundings are serene, and peaceful.

The views of the city are spectacular.

And then, there are the ubiquitous deer

that are so common to us, but a delight for others to see.

There was a large expanse of green grass where Jonathan could practice his handstand.

One day of their visit was spent at Water World.

Hannah and Atticus were able to spend the day exploring the many exciting parts of Water World with Jon.

Grandma Sally took no pictures, and mostly sat under a tree trying to stay cool.

She did venture into the water a few times.

We've had so much rain this summer, and it seemed to rain everyday while Jonathan and Atticus were here.  We ventured out for a hike with Grandpa Jim, but we only got a photo taken and then the rain came down.  No hiking was done.

So, off we went to Manitou.

The penny arcade is always a nice destination when it rains.

Jon said this was a game he loved to play when he was the age of Atticus.

Looks like he still likes to play it.

I asked my only left handed grandchild if he played skee ball with his left hand or his right.

He wasn't sure.

He tried using the left hand and then the right to toss the ball.

I guess he is ambidextrous when it comes to skee ball.

I don't know that Atticus has developed a taste for the mineral water we call Manitou water yet,

but he drinks it every summer.  It is part of the ritual that is a part of coming to Colorado.

Jon wanted to take us to a place we'd never been.

It is a place where 'stoners' and 'graffiti artists' once hung out.

Now it is a family destination.

I guess the place had changed a lot since Jon was last there;

he'd never seen so many families there before.

The graffiti remains.

He hiked up on the rocks and looked around before helping Atticus across the creek.

We had to hurry home because daughter/sister Amy was coming down for a short visit.

Time with Jon and Amy together is truly rare and precious.

It brings a big smile to my face.

Too soon, Jon and Atticus had to leave for home.

They had flown from back east, but they would drive home in our trusty Subaru.

This car will now be Jon's mode of transportation.
It has served Jim well for many years.

Now, we hope it will also serve Jon just as well in those Pennsylvania winters.

Before Jon and Atticus made the trip across the U.S.A., it was time with some photos with Boston and his buddy Atticus.

Boston really enjoyed his time with Atticus.
He didn't even bother to report to our bedroom at bedtime.
He went directly downstairs and slept with Atticus.
Yep, he jumped up and slept on the same bed.
(This is totally against the rules for Boston, but the rules were slackened while Atticus was here.)
He really misses his buddy.

This grandma is grateful for every minute she had this summer with her grandchildren.
Now, summertime memories are stored away for another year.
Soon, we all will be in our assigned places for fall.
Summer will be a memory,
a precious memory of time spent with those I love most.

Unspeakable and Unimaginable

Unspeakable.
The unspeakable has happened again.
Our hearts are broken anew.
Another brilliant, gifted, valiant soul has lost his battle with depression.

Unimaginable.
The unimaginable has happened again.
Unimaginable.  That is the word my daughter used to describe suicide.

When I first heard of the death by suicide of Robin Williams, after the initial sudden wave of shock and sadness that hit me had passed, concern for those who suffer from depression, bi-polar disease, addiction, suicide ideation, or other forms of mental illness filled my mind with an all too familiar fear for their safety and well-being.  My mind began asking questions.  How will those who suffer deeply and struggle daily with these battles, these demons, respond to the news?  Will the insidious face of suicide ideation stalk the minds of those who struggle with an illness that can become so debilitating?  Will they know where to get help?  Will they get help?  Will suicide somehow become glorified?  Will the news media handle this news and all that might accompany it responsibly?

Within five minutes of hearing the news of the death of Robin Williams, my phone rang.  Having just driven into the driveway after a day spent on the road returning from a few days spent with my mother, and having just greeted my husband with a hug and a kiss, I took my phone from my purse and saw that the call was from my former husband, the father of my children. With my head still full of those questions I had just asked myself, and with a heart full of concern for others, the name on my phone screen triggered a deep reaction.  I think fear entered my mind when I saw his name because somehow I knew the call was linked to the news that we all were just hearing.  My mouth was suddenly dry when I said hello.  I struggled to remain calm as I awaited to hear the purpose for the call.  Fear was raging through my emotions.  Was something wrong?

Today, I have struggled over whether or not I should write this post.  I've questioned adding my voice to all the other voices that have been heard since yesterday's news of William's death became public.  I decided to write this post about suicide because I believe that part of my own healing involves me adding my voice to the throngs of others whom have lost a loved one to suicide.  I write this to bring suicide out of the darkness and into the light.  When we don't speak of what has been the unspeakable, those who struggle with depression and mental illness feel more alone.  The stigma of suicide becomes stronger than the message that there is hope and there is help for those who struggle.

On the evening before the day that marked what would have been the forty-eighth wedding anniversary for my former husband and myself, we spoke in voices to each other that expressed support and concern over our children.  News such as the news that has been all over the media traumatizes survivors of suicide.  My former husband, my children, other family members, and friends are all survivors of suicide.  Those who suffer the death of loved one by suicide are called survivors.  We also are quite familiar with the effects of PTSD that can be triggered very easily.  As my one daughter said to me today, "We have to give Mom and Dad a pass on this.  They have suffered deeply.  They will never get over Julie's death.  They will always fear for the rest of us.  We have to give them a pass."

I've read many things today about a subject that is just way too close to home for me.  Friends have reached out to me today expressing thoughts of concern and support.  I spoke with a trusted helper today who helped me understand why I seek to deal with those things which cannot be understood.

I will never fully understand why my daughter took her life.  I will never fully understand the pain and suffering that she endured in her life.  I will grieve her death until the day I die.  I will also celebrate the life and memory of the beautiful, talented, intelligent, funny, articulate, hardworking daughter that graced my life.  I will continue to give thanks for remaining four children whose lives enrich my life and bring me much joy and pride.

I was woefully unknowledgeable about mental illness when Julie was alive.  I am cognizant that awareness about mental health issues is where I must now focus my attention.  We all need to recognize warning signs of suicide.  We need to arm ourselves with effective interventions and treatments.  I carry a card with the warning signs of suicide in my wallet.  I have a list of them next to my computer.  I refer to the list of indicators of serious depression when I think I recognize it in others.  I ask hard questions when I think they need to be asked.  I try to keep my head out of the sand and my eyes open.  I try to keep my heart in tune so I recognize those who need a helping hand.  I will not let the stigma that once surrounded suicide silence me.

The topic of suicide has been unspeakable for too long.

The unimaginable pain that a suicide brings to those left behind is just that:  unimaginable.

Please join me in doing what you can to prevent suicide by arming yourself with information.  Visit the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention to print out this information.

If you are in crisis, or know someone who is, call 1-800-273-TALK (8255)

For My Grandchildren

This is a letter to my grandchildren, or perhaps, it is a letter to myself.  I’m not so sure my grandchildren will ever even read these words I have to say.  The words in my heart must be expressed even if the ones for whom they are intended never read them.

My grandchildren, my dear grandchildren, you are on the cusp of life.  

The point of transition where all of you now stand is quite dramatic.  

There was a time a few years back, when together you climbed a fence to see what was on the other side.  With curiosity, together you all climbed higher to have a better view of what was beyond where you had been standing on your side of the fence.

Today, you are all four year older.
You are on the side of the fence that represents childhood.
You will quickly go over that fence between childhood and move into adulthood.

One of you has graduated from high school and is going off to college.  

Two of you are going to be getting your license to drive. 

Add caption

 I will have four of you in high school this year. 

I will have two of you in middle school.  

I look at this place where you all stand right now, this place where you will soon make the transition into the next stage of your growing up years, and recognize that those days when I was your grandma who took you on adventures to Lagoon, or to penny arcade, or out for an ice cream cone, or to the zoo are fading into the past. 

I must admit that I have tears in my eyes when I write these words.  I wish we would have had more times together.  You all lived far from me, so times together were not always easy to come-by.  Every single moment I have ever had with each one of you is a treasured memory in my heart.

These tears that are falling from my eyes are a grandma thing.  They are sort of like lipstick kisses, and grandma taking too many pictures of you.

The tears are there because I have loved and treasured my days with you as a grandmother.  I hope to have many more days with you all as you move into your futures.  As your grandmother, I also am taking this opportunity to speak to you about the lives I hope to see you live.

I have no doubt that you all will work hard and accomplish much.  You are a talented, intelligent, good hearted bunch of kids.  All of you have so much going for you.  I am very proud of that.  

Of course I want you to 

study hard,

read many good books,

write,

learn those math equations,

turn in your homework,

get to class,

don't skip school, 

put on your seat belts in the car,

drive carefully,

stay away from drugs and alcohol,

make good friends,

respect your teachers,

and 

make wise choices.

There is one more reason why I am writing this letter. 

There is a very important thing I don’t want you to neglect as you move on with your life: family.

We live in such a disconnected world these days.  It is easy to get busy living our own lives and forget about building those relationships that matter.  

Family matters.  

This summer, while most of us were at Ryan and Sheridan’s wedding, I was so thrilled to see how many good times you had with your cousins.  You hiked, fished, toasted marshmallows, played games, stayed up late, and talked, and laughed.  Times like these are more rare than I wish they were, but at least we have them now and again.

While we were together, I had the gift of having lunch with two of you.  We talked about divorce.  We talked about how hard it is for families who go through a divorce.  Divorce has touched our family more times than I wish it had, yet we have also seen new relationships bless our family after a divorce.

I never had to deal with the divorce of my parents.  For that I am grateful.  Even though I have not had to deal with what you are dealing with after your parents have divorced, I know one thing for sure, one must learn to forgive the failures of one’s parents and do one’s own part to make the relationship between the parent and the child a strong one.  Parents disappoint and hurt us.  It is a part of life.  We disappoint and hurt our parents.  That is why we have the opportunity to learn about forgiveness.  

As you move on into life, you have the opportunity to become mature adults and make your own way, but for now, all but one of you need the guidance and wisdom that comes from your mom and your dad.  

I left home at eighteen when I went off to college.  In those days, it was not easy to keep in touch with my parents.  Long distance phone calls were expensive and were only used for emergencies.  I wrote letters to my mom and dad.  I learned that from my father who always wrote letters to his mother until she died.  He was faithful to stay in touch with her on a weekly basis by writing long letters every week even though he was nearly seventy years old.  

As you know, my mom is nearly one hundred years old.  For nearly fifty years, I have made many car trips to see her.  She has never learned to drive and has not been to see me in my home over twelve years.  It has not always been easy for me to make these trips, but as a daughter who honors her mother for who she is in my life, I take the responsibility of making sure I see her as often as I can.

You are all just beginning the adventures you will have in your future.  As you move on into the next year, I am so excited for all of you.  I hope you have much success and a lot of fun discovering who you are and what you want out of life.  I hope you will stay in touch with me.  I love texts, phone calls, or video calls.  I am here.  Call me.  I’ll try not to bug you much, but I will check in once in a while with a text or a call.

More importantly, keep communication open with your mom and your dad.  They are the ones who love you more than any other person in this world.  They have made great sacrifices for you so you have the wonderful material things that you have had in this life.  They have worried over you and cried over you when you are hurting.  They still do this, and they will always continue to do worry over you while they allow you to spread your wings and fly into the future.  As you soar off into those teen years and adult years remember, becoming a responsible teenager/adult involves learning how to love and show honor and respect to your parents.  

Our family has had a lot of sadness in the past few years.  I hope if there is one truth that you all know for sure, it is this:

We are all here for you.

You have grandparents who adore and love you and would do anything to help you.

You have aunts and uncles who adore and love you and are there for you.

You have cousins who will be there after your grandparents, your moms, your dads, and your aunts and uncles are gone.

Your family will always be here for you.  

Each and every single one of you.

My life has been rich in friendship.  My life has given me many great relationships.  The most difficult, and yet the most treasured relationships in my life, have been within the family.  Our family is not perfect, but I hope you all remember that we are all here for you cheering you on as you move into this next chapter of your lives.  Make it a good one.  

I have great confidence in you abilities to make wise choices.  I also know that if and when you make a misstep, and we all do, you know that you have a team behind you cheering you on in your family.  

Text an uncle or an aunt or a cousin, or make a call to you mom or to your dad, or to you grandma and let them know you love them now and again.  We truly are all here for you.  If you need help, ask one of us for it.

Know that I pray for you, each of you, every day.  

I love you all beyond measure.

Love,
Grandma Sally

A Perfect Summer Saturday

We've had some changes around here.

My husband has taken a job.

Yes, he is working.

Clear back in November we were at the Apple Store where my husband was trying to convince me I needed to buy a new computer.

I didn't agree.

My old MacBook Pro that I purchased ten years ago still works fine.

"Maybe you would like an iPad." says my husband.

"No," said I.

I'm fine without an iPad.

"Maybe I should get a job here," says the man in my life.

He turns to the one patiently showing us computers and iPads and asks,

"Do you ever hire old farts like me?"

Well, it turns out that my husband was serious when he asked that question.

Now, all these months later he an employee of Apple.

He trained for three days in Denver last week.

He worked another day at the store here in town on Monday.

Then, he had three days off.

Tomorrow, he goes off to work again.

What a change this is in our lives.

Today, we spent the day doing all the things we love to do together.
It was a date day.

We started out by driving to the nearby Margarita at Pine Creek, 

our favorite Saturday morning place where we can shop at the farmer's market

and eat the most delicious coffee cake and egg puffs ever!

We love coming to this place on Saturday mornings in the summer.

The ambiance is perfect.

What could be better than sipping coffee and eating a delicious breakfast

while sitting under the shade of a pine tree

on a sunny Colorado blue sky morning?

Just beyond the peak of the white tent set up as a place for farmers and artisans to sell the wares,

I can see the tip of Pikes Peak.

Pinch me.

Am I really back home living in Colorado Springs?

I love the rather funky features I find all over this place.

The gardens with untrimmed edges and a bit of whimsy provide interest when I'm not people watching 

or listening to music.

Today, Crystal Hill Billys were setting up to play when we were just getting ready to leave.

This blue grass group is one of my favorites.

They were quietly practicing "I Am A Poor Wayfaring Stranger" as we left.

I hated to miss listening to this group today, but we had a lot on our list for the day.

(Click on the link above to listen to them.  Don't miss hearing the song I mentioned.)

Next on the list for the day, was the Parade of Homes.

We saw some mighty expensive homes.

Can you say, $1million homes?

We even saw one I really did like that cost a little bit less..

Then, we saw homes where they said the price was half a mil.

They said it with a straight face while our chins dropped and we said under our breath,

"For this????"

One of the homes on the tour was an Eco Home.
Total square footage for the home: 320.
Jim is wondering if we can get permission from our HOA to build one out behind our house for him.

Touring those homes was exhausting,
so we decided to indulge in eating a big juicy hamburger.
Then, we went home to rest.


After our naps,
we rented and watched a movie in the comfort of our own home.
It was my turn to pick a movie.
I picked, The Grand Budapest Hotel.
At first, I wasn't sure Jim would like my choice, but in the end, we both really enjoyed the movie.
Have any of you seen it?
What did you think?

After the movie, we took Boston for a walk in our wonderful part of the world.
It was a perfect Saturday summer evening.
In fact, it felt more like an early fall evening.
Will winter come early this year?
Immediately, as we walked up the street, we saw the field across the road a block from our home was filled with a herd of deer having dinner.
I counted nine.
A little bit up the road, I saw three more buck.

I think we are seeing the buck early this year.  Usually, I don't think they come down this low until later in September.  This is another reason why I wonder if we will have an early winter.
Next year, I must record when I first see the buck down in this area.

In the park, we see three doe.
They are always interested in Boston,
and he is interested in them.

While this photo isn't the greatest, you can see the field on the mountainside where I counted nine deer.

One of the doe lingers to watch Jim and Boston walk by.

With my iPhone camera, I was unable to capture the doe and her two fawns that were up on the hillside.
The fawns were scampering about as the mother kept a watchful eye.
This year, I've only seen the twin fawns, and they were born later than I saw fawns last year.
I did capture this photo of the doe feeding her twin fawns as we walked the other evening.
They were feeding right next to the walkway just three houses up from our house.
We live on Fawn Meadow View.
The street was well named.

Tonight as we stood and watched the buck and doe dine on the lush grass growing so well after all our rains, and watched the fawn playfully sprint among the trees,
I turned to my husband and said,
"It's just magical here."
"Magical."
"If you come into a million dollars and wanted to buy me a million dollar home with a fancy address,
I'm not moving."
"Priceless, our neighborhood is priceless."

(Yes, I do get frustrated  when the deer and bunnies eat my flowers.  "Look, now they've eaten the lupine and poppies, and even the bee balm." I must be honest in my frustration as I marvel at the beauty of of those who dine on my perennials.)

I really don't want to live any place else.
I love it here,
and I'm so grateful to live in such beauty.


That is how we spent our perfect summer Saturday.

We've Had A Crazy, Busy July

Blogging has been on the back burner for the month of July.  We are having a busy, happy, productive, and wonderful summer.  I hope to catch you up on all our news soon.

As July ends, I hope we have warmer days in August.  We've had very strange and unusual weather around here this month.  For days it has rained.  We've had so much rain, I am beginning to think I live in the Pacific Northwest.  It has been so cold and rainy that the moisture came down as snow on top Pikes Peak the other day. I haven't seen the mountain itself in days, so I can't tell you if there is still snow up there or not, but I would guess there is.

If one lives in Colorado, we spend a lot of time joking about the weather.  We say, "If you don't like the weather, stick around for five minutes and it will change."  One thing doesn't change around here: the beautiful scenery where we live.  Until I have time to write a more detailed account of our summer, I thought I would share a short video that illustrates some of the reasons I love where I live in beautiful Colorado Springs, Colorado.




As the summer progresses, I hope all of you are having fun with your family and friends.  I heard a quote the other day that really spoke to me.  As our summer days fill up with busy activities, I hope we all remember this adage while we strive to work towards balance in our lives.

Families today are 

overcommitted 

and 

under connected.

I Am An American

I am the daughter of

America.

The Isle of Jersey
was home
to my first American ancestors.

In 1676,
 a young man,
Philippe Gavit, (also spelled Gavet, Gavett, Gavitt, and Gavvitte)
 a Frenchman,
 left that island in the English Channel off the French coast of Normandy,
and headed for America.

He stepped ashore in Marblehead, Massachusetts.

Soon, he married and established the beginning of what would become my American family.

I am the daughter of early American entrepreneurs and land owners.

Philippe Gavit's granddaughter,
Prudence Gavit (Gavet)
married
William French,
a Protestant Scot-Irish from Londonderry, Ireland, in 1738/9
at Westerly, Washington County Rhode Island.

Their son, William French, Jr., my father's namesake,
 fought in the Revolutionary War.

A great grandfather on my maternal side fought in the Civil War.

My father and all of my uncles served proudly during World War II.

French Family sons and daughters during World War II Father, of Sally French Wessely, William French, is on far right.

I lost a first cousin, Steven Reichert in Viet Nam.

French Family Cousins 1964 Steven Reichert, killed in Viet Nam at age 19, is third from top left. Sally French Wessely is second from left.

Steven Reichert First Cousin of Sally French Wessely Name on Traveling Viet Nam Memorial Wall 2010

I am the daughter of Americans who went to war for this country.

My grandfather when asked what nationality we were always said,

"We are damn Yankee rebels."

I am the daughter of Welsh coal miners.
From the green hills of Wales they came to the dry hills of Colorado
  to work in the mines.

I am the daughter of coal miners,
union members.
railroaders.

I am the daughter of proud Democrats who always voted the Democratic ticket.

I am the daughter of Scotch Presbyterians.

I am the daughter of those who worked for the WPA.

I am a daughter of those who came west to breathe the high mountain air because
 asthma
 had made life in the humid east unbearable.

I am the daughter of storytellers.

I am the daughter of those who searched for gold in the west.

I am the daughter of
shop keepers,
a telegrapher sending and receiving messages across the wires,
housepainters,
milliners,
seamstresses,
homemakers


I am the proud granddaughter of a homesteader.
My grandmother, as a single woman, established

and lived in a homestead on her own.
It is my great sadness that I never knew this woman.

My mother as a child with her parents Albert and Lulu Townsley. Lulu homestead by herself prior to her marriage

I am the daughter of strong Christian believers,

and renegades who never believed.

I am proud of my heritage.
I believe in extending the American dream to others.

I am a teacher of immigrant children.

Their stories could break a teacher's heart.
They left family, culture, language, and friends,
sometimes unwillingly,
to have an opportunity for a better life.

These children have taught me more about the American dream
than I ever learned in any class in American history I ever took.

I married a man whose parents were refugees from Nazi Germany.

James (Jim) Wessely with his parents Kurt and Emmy Wessely 1962

I am grateful this country provides a place of refuge to those escaping
The Holocaust,
genocide,
persecution,
poverty,
and the horrors of war.

I am grateful this country remains the land of opportunity for many.
I am also aware of how much poverty and inequality we have in our own country.

I am well aware of the need for immigration reform.
Few things anger me more than calling a person "illegal."
People are NOT illegal.
Some are in the country without documentation.

This problem of immigration is a complex, generational problem.
I know many families who might not have had documentation to be in the United States.
I know this because students have trusted me enough to tell me this.
As a teacher, it is my legal responsibility to provide an equal educational opportunity to every student
K -12 regardless of immigrations status.
(Plyler vs. Doe 1982)

I am an American teacher who worked with marginalized populations.
I am proud to have worked with this strong,
determined,
hard-working,
courageous,
group of students and their parents.

I am an American.
May I never forget my roots in this democracy.

Sometimes, I see us fighting over the use of words in our Pledge of Allegiance and it breaks my heart.
We have our freedoms,
thankfully we have,
and I support,
our freedoms,
but at times it seems that we are forgetting that we are to be indivisible.
It seems our  First Amendment Rights
are used in ways that appear to shout that we no longer believe in
liberty and justice for all.

We live in troubled times,
 America,
but I,
an American,
 continue to believe in the dream my ancestors,
those damn Yankee rebels,
fought to establish.

There are fifteen lines in that famous poem, The New Colossus, written by Emma Lazarus
that became associated with the Statue of Liberty.

I am an American.

I am pondering every line of that poem written about the "Mother of Exiles."

I hope you will do the same on this Independence Day.

Read more about the poem and its author here:  How a Sonnet Made a Statue the "Mother of Exiles."