That Didn't Last Long

Retired English Teacher is fully retired again.

On January 24, 2017, I began my new job teaching English language learners for a local school district.   The day dawned earlier than most of my days have dawned for a long time.  After going to bed early, I was still a bit stunned when the alarm on my phone signaled to me that it was not only time to get up, but time to shower, dress, eat breakfast, gather my things and head out the door.  The amazing thing is:  I was able to find my way to my school via Google maps and arrive on time.  

Since I would be working at three elementary schools, and one middle school, I walked in the school where I was first assigned to be and was taken to the room (small, cramped, but at least a room that was completely designated for use by the ELL teacher and her aide) and met the delightful young woman whom would be my aide at this school.  We didn’t have much time together because I was scheduled to visit a principal at another school where I would be working, but we did establish a quick working relationship which I thought would be very productive and full-filling. 

We discussed the needs of the school, the students in the program, the schedule, and the materials available.  I felt quite uplifted about the initial contact I had made in a school where I would work for half days two days a week.

That afternoon, I drove over to the middle school where I would have a planning period and be assigned to teach a class every afternoon.  Already a bit familiar with the school, I was greatly looking forward to teaching there. 

The principal introduced me to the assistant principal whom would be my evaluator and contact person for any needs or concerns that I might have.  I was then given a tour of the building and shown three possible sites that I could choose as my “home” while I was in the building during my planning period: 

·      a narrow storage room between two technology classrooms that was full of a lot of stuff and hadn’t been used as an office in years. “But it can be cleaned out if you want to use this space originally designated as the itinerant teacher office”

·      an office off the library shared by another itinerant teacher which I could not use on Wednesdays,

·      a workspace used by all the aides to the sixth grade teachers that was located in the sixth grade workroom.  The former teacher had used the latter space as her “office.”

I was also briefly shown the room where I would teach during seventh period.  The room was dark, and I couldn’t really see it because a group of teachers were in there watching Trump’s Inauguration during their planning period, lunch, or whatever. 

I met the aide that would assist me for the briefest of moments because she had to leave to test students. 

At 4:00 p.m., I left the building at the end of my day.  It was cold.  The wind had been blowing all day, and I asked myself what I had gotten myself into.

*****

On January 25, 2017, I repeated the part about getting up early and getting out the door.  This time, I went to a different elementary school.  It was the one where I would also spend half a day three days a week. 

The ELL teacher’s aid is a delightful person whom has the luxury of actually having a classroom designated entirely for use for serving the ELL population of the school.  The room was very pleasantly decorated and set up to serve the students. 

I spent much of the morning in mainstream classrooms with two students just learning English.  I was very excited about the possibility of working with these students and their teachers.  I was able to spend some time with a teacher helping her with strategies for best teaching the student she had that was just learning English. “I’m back in the saddle, and it feels so good and so right,” I said to myself as I left the classroom to meet with the district level leadership for the ELL Department.

That encounter left me again wondering what I had gotten myself into.

And so the week went.  I got up early.  I went to the assigned school for the day.  I tried to remember where my classroom was, and tried to rehearse in my mind the schedules that did not really align with the task that been assigned to me. I gave it all my very best brain power, organizational skills, and knowledge of how best to teach the students and was trying to come up with a reasonable plan that would serve the population I was there to teach.

On Saturday, January 28, 2017, I awoke with a terrible ear ache.  I am not one to get viruses such as colds or flu.  It is rare for me to be sick.  I may have my multiple health problems, but I am rarely sick with a virus.  Since the ear ache was quite painful, and since I needed to be back at work on Monday, I went to the doctor.

Indeed, my ears were bulging.  I was given a prescription for an antibiotic, and for a decongestant and sent on my way.  I spent the weekend resting, taking my medicine, and drinking fluids. 

*****

On Monday, January 30, I was back at the job.  This time, I spent the morning in the third school to which I had been assigned.  I was to spend half a day one day a week at this school. 

The school is a wonderful elementary school.  I was thrilled to be there.  The ELL aide was quite competent and delightful.  The classroom space dedicated to the program was not large, but it was more than adequate, and it was welcoming and stocked with great teaching materials.  We had a productive time together. 

When it was time for me to go the middle school, I was worn down and overwhelmed with the task that had been assigned to me with this job.  Mostly, though, I was just sick.  I felt terrible.

******

On Tuesday, January 31, 2017, I called off sick.  I felt worse than I had when I went to the doctor on Saturday.  The meds did not seem to be working.  I went to the doctor again.  This time, she gave me a penicillin shot and a prescription for prednisone.  We discussed my problems with steroids, but I agreed to try taking the

prednisone anyway.

******

On Wednesday, February 1, 2017, I called off sick again.  I then took the prednisone in an attempt to try and get well.  By three o’clock that afternoon, my husband had me back in the doctor’s office because I had a negative reaction to prednisone, could not breathe, and had chest pain.  I told her I was allergic to it.  Now she believes me.  No more prednisone for me!

Discouraged, and being fully aware of the fact that I was as sick, or sicker than I had been on Saturday, I fretted all day about what to do about the job.  In my heart of hearts, I knew that it just was not the right job for me at this time in my life.  It was not a good fit.  It involved way too many moving parts, too much travel, too many schedules, and little real opportunity to make a difference in the lives of the students most needing instruction. 

******

On Wednesday, February 1, 2017, after much discussion with my wise husband, and after shedding many tears, I called the human resources department and asked how I would go about resigning from my position.  I then called the principal of the school which was my home school to tell him that I was still sick, and felt it was only right that I resign from my teaching position.  I then sent a letter of resignation, effective for that day’s date.  Relief flooded my heart and mind once I had actually made my decision and acted upon it.

Life Lessons

My latest chapter, and my last chapter, in my experience as a classroom teacher was very, very short.  I spent five complete days in the classroom.  Then, I spent two days on sick leave.  On the seventh day of this short teaching gig, I resigned. 

While I was trying to decide what to do about the job, I realized that the known aspects of the position were aspects that would stretch me to the limits physically, mentally, and emotionally.  The stress evidently had been too much for the two teachers before me. 

The unknown aspects of the job were the students.  I had not had a chance to interact with them much.  I was just learning the ropes and trying to develop a reasonable schedule that would serve those needing my services best.  In the meantime, I picked up all those germs floating around the schools where I was working because my immune system no longer has the ability to fight off all those new germs like it once did when I was in the classroom every day. 

Looking back on this latest venture of mine, I am reminded of a line from Mission Impossible.

Your mission should you agree to accept it…

Oh how I wish I would have thought of this line during the interview for the job.  The first question asked of me was, “Why do you want to be hired for this job that requires you to go to four school.”  I laughed and said, “Well, I didn’t know that the job required me to go to four schools.”  Right then and there, I should have interviewed the committee myself.  I should have said, “May I please visit these schools, speak with the teacher aides, and look at the requirements of the job and determine just how the school district expects me to fulfill these duties and requirements before I accept the job?”

I learned this life lesson about jobs a long time ago. 

A little over twenty-five years ago, before my husband and I were to be married, I applied for a job as an accounting assistant for a school district.  I had a B.S. in Business Administration, and I was working as an accounting assistant in a non-profit in Denver.  Since I had much experience in school district bookkeeping, and since I was moving to the town where the job was located in a very short time because of my impending marriage, I thought the job would be perfect.  The salary was low, too low for me to accept, so I negotiated for a higher salary.  My husband-to-be (now my husband) said I’d never get it.  He said they would never pay me what I was asking.  They did.  They gave the salary.

 The others in the department were not happy when I started the job because word had gotten around about my salary.  Never mind that I had a degree which they did not, and I had a great deal of experience. 

In just a few days, the joke was on me.  What I should have done was ask to see the books before I took the job.  None of the accounts had been balanced in over three months.  Some accounts had not been balanced in nearly a year.  The report to the state was due in just a few short months and all the books had to be balanced before work on the report could even begin.  All of this while learning how the system associated with district worked.

I caught up the balancing of the books and completed the report for the audit.  In the meantime, after spending five or six hours a day on the ten-key calculator or doing data entry on a ten key computer pad, my hands no longer could even tell if I dropped something until I heard the item hit the floor.  I couldn’t remove a paper clip from paper.  I had a very serious case of carpal tunnel.  That job ended my career as a bookkeeper/accounting technician. 

After surgery for carpel tunnel syndrome, during the recovery time, I was not allowed to work.  In fact, my doctor told me he would never release me to do that type of work again. 

That is when I went back to school and earned a BA in English and a certificate to teach Secondary Language Arts. 

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

All of the lessons of life are applicable in other areas.  When I was interviewed for this most recent teaching job, I just didn’t remember to ask that important question:

“May I see the books before I start the job?”

In this case, I really should have visited the schools and seen the entire scope of the job.  If I had, the famous line from Mission Impossible would have given me a true picture of mission which I found impossible for me to do.  The job was not a good fit for me.  I do hope that some way, somehow, the needs of the students with limited proficiency in using English in the academic setting will get the services they deserve and are guaranteed for them under the laws which we currently have in place. 

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

Today, February 7, 2017, a full week after I resigned, my husband said to me this morning.  “If you were working, you still would not be well enough to go back to work.”  He is right.  The virus has now settled in my chest.  I am more sick than I was a week ago.  Hopefully, this stubborn virus doesn’t hang on much longer.  At least I am home, fully retired, and able to do what I need to do to get well. 

Retired English Teacher Is Going To Work

Once the Christmas decorations were down and put away, I looked at the winter months spreading before me and wondered just how I would get through those long days when my hubby was off to work.  Oh, I had plenty to do.  The desk is covered with family papers, old letters,  and photos needing to be sorted, filed, and archived.  I promised myself I would get that done after the first of the year.

I'd begun going through closets and cupboards sorting and tossing while I put away Christmas, but I still had much more of that type of sorting and tossing to do.  

Books are stacked waiting to be read during the winter months.  

Writing a personal history was also on my to do list.

I had my ladies groups at church to look forward to.  And, there is my writing group that needs to get going again.  All of that would also take up much of my time.  Not to mention that I could always go to lunch with my girlfriends.  Yes, I had all of that going on, and I so enjoy these activities.

I'd started a workout plan on our new elliptical machine.  I hoped to make sure I also got the club to do water aerobics at least twice a week.  There were Zumba classes being offered, and those low impact aerobics class also.

I promised myself that I would start cooking more at home and planning healthier meals.  I have been pretty consistent in doing that since the beginning of December.  

Yes, I had plenty to do while Jim was working.

Yet, I could not shake the desire to go back to work, so there was this job, and I applied for it.  As I told one of my girlfriends, I hate filling out the application process on-line, so one day, I sat myself down and completed the process anyway, partly as a practice of discipline.  

I had another year and a half left on a teaching license that I had renewed and never used since I had renewed it.  It took some doing just to renew that license on-line.  I'd had to reconstruct all the professional development I had done, prove I had done it, and submit all the papers to get the renewal.  It seemed so much easier when we just found our papers and submitted them to the Colorado Department of Education.  Now, it all had to be done electronically.  My husband, and many of my friends thought I was crazy for doing it.  "Why do you want to renew again?"  In my heart, I just wasn't ready to let that hard won certificate expire, so I renewed it.  After all of that, I had never used the renewed certificate to teach again.

Mostly, I have just been missing working in the profession I loved so much.  I missed the mental and intellectual challenge that teaching brings.  I missed the contact with students.  I missed working with other teachers. I wanted and needed the feeling that my days had a purpose that met the passion I have always had for teaching.

A phone call came.  An interview was granted.  I was greatly impressed by the principals I met.  I loved the school.  I was excited about the possibilities.  The next day, a job was offered.  I took it.

Today, I signed a contract to teach again.  I will begin my new job on January 24.  I will be teaching ELL (English Language Learners, or English as A Second Language.  I will go between three elementary schools and one middle school in School District 11.  I am quite happy about it all.  

Tonight we went to dinner to celebrate that I had signed a contract to teach through the end of the school year.  As Jim signed the check, I mentioned to the waiter that we had just eaten a celebratory dinner.  Soon, very unexpectedly, the waiter reappeared with a dessert to help me celebrate my new adventure.  He said,  

"Thank you for being a teacher."  

After I signed my paperwork today, I was quite humbled to think that I can again become a part of a profession that has given me so much more than I ever gave it.  I'm grateful to have the health and the desire to go back and work with young people again.  I'm looking forward to mentoring and working with the aides whom work with the ELL population in the schools where I will be working.  

Many years ago, a fellow worker in the school where I worked said to me, "I could never give up working as an elementary school secretary, because I'm hooked on the smiles I get each day."  I understand that.  I love seeing the light come on and the excitement that a child expresses when he or she finally understands and can speak a language that is new to them.  I can't wait to get back to working with my dear ELL students.  

Bidding Goodbye to Our President and His Vice President

Just back from a massage, my muscles a bit more relaxed, my tensions beginning to ease, hungry, now that is well past noon, I toast some raisin bread, grab the peanut butter, and pour myself a glass a milk while I pick up my phone so I can check out what is happening on Facebook.  

The White House tribute and farewell to Vice President Joe Biden is live.  He had just been awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom.  The farewell speech is nearly over when I join others watching this man speak so lovingly and respectfully about his time in office and about the friendship and bond that has developed between President Obama and himself.  Heart emoticons, and thumbs up emoticons float across the bottom of the screen on phone.  Comments are scrolling below the emoticons.  I hit the heart emoticon and think about how much I love this man and his boss.  Words like dignity, class, civility, and humility come to my mind as I watch the man we commonly call Joe speak.  He hits the nail on the head for when he describes Obama as a man devoid of any sense of entitlement.  I would say the same could be applied to Joe Biden.

I begin to reflect upon our current political environment, upon my own political beliefs, and about the world of politics in which I have lived since I was a child.  To me, The Office of the President of the United States has never really been about politics.  I have respected all of the presidents whom have presided over our country throughout all of my lifetime because of a sense of patriotism that was bred in me from my earliest days.  I learned values of respect for my elders, for my leaders, and for our system of government while I sat at the dinner table and was encouraged by my father to participate in whatever discussions we would have at dinner.  I learned these same values all throughout my school career.  

I learned American History from my parents and grandparents as stories of our own family history, so linked to the history of this country, were told on long Sunday afternoon rides throughout the countryside of Colorado, or when we took vacations with our grandparents.  

As I watched those emoticons float across the screen, read the remarks that others made in the comments, on a Thursday afternoon in January, listening to Joe Biden speak, I wondered just why I was weeping again.  

I had wept earlier this week as I listened to President Barack Obama give his farewell speech.  I wept as if I were saying goodbye to a loved one and to an era which this loved one represented.  Indeed, I had the sense that this was exactly what was happening.  I was weeping because not only was a much admired and loved leader leaving office, but also because the end of an era which I had embraced so fully was coming to an end.

A sense of history washed over me as I listened to President Obama speak.  I thought of the farewell addresses I had read and studied in school.  I thought of the lessons and warnings that we as students were to discover from the departing president's speech.  As we studied those speeches of past presidents, we were asked to note what could we learn about the times in which that president lived from the speech.  What was the background for the remarks that we could learn from history?  What did the speech tell us about the president himself, his administration, his goals and achievements? Earlier this week, as I listened to this man speak, our current and outgoing president, knowing we will not see the likes of his oratory skills for a long time to come, if ever in my lifetime, I resolved to get a printed copy of his speech so I could read it, ponder it, and reflect upon in the days to come.

Today, as I watched the love of a people float across the screen in form of emoticons as Vice President Biden spoke, I realized anew the very different type of connection we feel with each other and with our leaders during these days.  In an instant, we can express to the rest of the world how we are feeling about any given moment in history as we view that moment live on the screen.  

There were comments not worthy of the country in which we live that would pop up in the comments.  Those commenters have the right to express such thoughts because of the rights we in America have, and I support the right to speak one’s beliefs as fundamental to our democracy, but oh how I miss the days of civility and respect.  Yes, to be honest, and I wish to be, our democracy has never been perfect.  We have a history that shows that often we have not shown respect or civility or social justice to our fellow citizens, but never, as far as I know, has such lack of respect and civility been seen in the behavior of those seeking public office as occurred during the election of 2016.

Phillip Yancey recently wrote the following about the political season we just survived:

First, civility lost.  I must fault Trump especially for debasing the presidential campaign.  He had a pejorative nickname for almost everyone: Crooked Hillary, Crazy Bernie, Low-Energy Jeb, Lyin’ Ted, Little Marco.  In the three presidential debates, Trump interrupted Clinton almost one hundred times.  He bullied people offstage and on, mocking a disabled reporter, disparaging women for their looks or their weight, playing to racist fears and ethnic prejudice.  Bullying, racism, sexism, and xenophobia have always been present in American society, but never before has a candidate for the presidency modeled them so blatantly.  Trump let the bats out of the cave, in effect legitimizing the darkest side of a free society. 

On a Thursday afternoon in January, just a few short days before a new president steps into the highest office in the land, my mind went back to an earlier time in my life.  

It was the Sixties.  I was a freshman in college.  To be exact, the year was 1963.  Martin Luther King gave a speech, one I would later teach to ninth grade students, I Have a Dream that year.  There was no civility or dignity or respect in that year when the Ku Klux Klan blew up a church in Alabama.  It was in that era, in that time, when wars over civil rights were being fought in this country, that I walked across campus one night to hear John Howard Griffin speak about the experiences that he had that became the basis for his book, Black Like Me.  

Away from home for the first time in my life, and in the academic setting, I began to develop more fully the beliefs about civil rights and social justice that I would hold throughout my lifetime.  

In 1963, war was raging in Viet Nam, and I had seen many from my family and from among my schoolmates ship off to a place I'd never heard of before to fight in a war I didn't understand.

It was in those days when I walked down the hall of my dorm from my room to the community bath, that groups of girls dressed in nightgowns and pajamas, with rollers in their hair, would be sitting cross-legged in the hallway around a record player one of them had drug into the hall singing I Want To Hold Your Hand and I Saw Her Standing There.  Those were the earliest days of Beatlemania.

Those thoughts all came to me on the heels of the memory I had today as I listened to Joe Biden and wept.  I remembered another day in history when I had wept because I sensed an era had ended.  That day in November I will never forget.  The date was November 22, 1963. On that day, I listened to the radio in that dorm room in Wilson Hall on the campus of the University of Northern Colorado as it was announced to the nation that President John F. Kennedy was dead.  

Yes, this is what this feels like, I said to myself as I watched Vice President Joe Biden bid his farewell to the nation.  Seeing Obama and Biden leave office feels like I am seeing the death of Camelot again.  

I surprised myself when I compared the previous eight years to Camelot.  Certainly, I don't want to infer that these years have been the makings of a myth.  A myth always involves a hero, and I am not one given to hero worship.  Even as I think back to Kennedy, I know for certain that he was a flawed man with many traits I find personally reprehensible.  While I greatly admire Barack Obama, I am not going suggest that he is without his faults.  I do believe he will go down as one of the greatest presidents in the history of our country, but I know he did not always have my support on every issue.

So why am I feeling like I am bidding Camelot goodbye again?  Why did I weep when both Obama and Biden bid us farewell? 

When I was young, our country was so different.  I believe we had a sort of innocence about us not found in today’s society.  I have always believed we lost our innocence as a Nation that day when JFK was assassinated.

JFK transmitted a vision civic duty and participation to many of those of us whom came of age during his presidency. I was educated and came of age during post World War II.  Our teachers and our parents, those from the Greatest Generation, taught us about dignity, respect, honor, civility, honesty, courtesy, patriotism.  These values were modeled for us.  I was taught at home and in school to read, to think, to question, to be responsible, to participate in civic discourse in an educated and informed manner. 

So many of the values that I was taught, that I tried to teach to my children and to my students, that I have seen displayed in the public square for most of my life are disappearing in the current political climate. 

Oratory skills have been lacking in much of our political world for a long time.  Perhaps that is why I took such delight in listening to Obama whenever he spoke.  His breadth of knowledge, his command of English language, his ability to inspire and motivate others to take positive action, were always on display when he spoke. It was apparent that he thought things through.  He is a critical thinker.  His legal training and expertise is apparent.  Beyond that, he is a man who has faced many adversaries, but has emerged as a man who loves and respects others, and gives that love and respect freely.  Have you ever seen him show disrespect?  Have you?  I haven’t.  He loves his wife and his children.  In many ways, he is Everyman.  Perhaps that is why I find I like him so much.  He is a man of the people.  Yes, Joe Biden, he truly does seem to be a man without a trace of entitlement. 

That is why I feel the sadness and sorrow that I do as I face the days of the incoming administration.  I am not mourning the death of myth.  I am not mourning a death of Camelot. I am mourning the death of all of those values and virtues that I held dearest in my leaders: civility, respectful treatment of others, a sense of dignity, evidence of critical thinking, wisdom, inspiration, hope for the future, and grace under fire. 

Just before I embarked on writing this long post, as is my practice after I eat my lunch each day, I opened a piece of Dove chocolate.  The inside of wrapping was imprinted with these words: “Be more loquacious, starting with learning the meaning of loquacious.”  No one has ever accused me of not being loquacious.  I love words.  I place great value in the ability to use words well. 

Now, we are entering an era where the incoming President of the United States does not seem to value the time honored way of our forefathers in fostering hope through the use of well-chosen words.  We are entering an era where the President-elect chooses to communicate in sound bite like messages made up of 140 characters.  We are entering an era where derogatory adjectives are applied to describe the person of which the President-elect is speaking.  We are entering an era where truth is subjective.  The times are being described as times of post-truth. 

My grandmother’s maxim keeps coming to me whenever I hear of a new tweet being sent out from our President-elect ensconced like a demagogue (Oxford University Press definition in mind) in Trump Tower:  Fool’s names and fool’s faces are always seen in public places. 

Today, we lived in a time of great political divide.  We always had political divisions.  That is the American way, but I’ve never known the divides to be quite so divisive when it comes to friendships and family relationships.  I’ve never seen political beliefs cause people to interact in disrespectful ways like I have in the few months.  I’ve never seen my values and my beliefs questioned like they have been recently.  “How can you be a Christian and think that way?”  “You are a baby killer if you vote for Hillary.”  Yes, all of that has been said to me.  My patriotism has been called into question ever since I began supporting Obama years ago and stood against Bush and the wars he got us into.  

Jim & Sally Obama Rally 2008 Pueblo, Colorado

I’ve been labeled a liberal, when I think of myself as a lifelong moderate.  None of the personal affronts I have experienced matter to me, except that they represent a lack of ability to discuss issues rationally and are indicators that so many no longer respect differences of view and show disrespect towards those who see things in a different light.  The attacks or label applications represent how we no longer appear to be able to discuss issues but rather prefer to slip into labeling and name calling.  I mourn over the loss of civility that I have witnessed and experienced even in my closest relationships within my family, neighborhood, in friendships of long standing, and even in informal church gatherings. 

I know many of you will not share the views and my beliefs that I have expressed in this post.  I would not wish to live in a country where we all had to think alike.  I certainly would not wish to live in a country where I had to participate in group think, nor would I wish to live in this great nation of ours if the very freedom that made us so great was stripped away from us:  Freedom of Speech.  Perhaps, that is what I fear most as I watch reporters and journalists being mocked by our President-elect.  I fear we will lose our freedom of speech, and our freedom to express dissent. 

I weep when I hear President Obama or Vice President Biden say their farewells because good and decent men are leaving the highest office of our land, and I fear that dignity, grace, and civility are leaving the Office of Presidency of the United State of America when they walk out the door.  That is why I weep. 

Home for The Holidays

This is not a newsflash for those whom know me best.  I was a frenzied mess before Christmas.  Nothing new there. The closer December 25th came the more I found myself eliminating from my mental check list the things I hoped to get done before Christmas.  There would be no baking.  There would be no cards sent out.  I may have written a Christmas letter, sent out cards, and done a lot of baking earlier in my life, but this year, I had to make some choices.  I only have so much time and energy, and I had to decide how to spend each.

The decorating of the house seemed to take me weeks.  I don't put up a lot, but it all takes time.  We have a small tree because space is limited in the living room.  One of my favorite things to do each year is to hang the ornaments on the tree because so many memories are associated with each ornament.

This year I added a few ornaments that I had made back in the 70's.  They had been tossed in some forgotten box long ago and had not been on the tree in at least twenty years.  My former sister-in-law had taught me how to make these.  I had crocheted around small round mirrors with metallic gold thread.  When I found a few of the remaining ornaments this year, I marveled that I had created them at all, especially when I considered that I was raising five young children at the time and had at least one of them in cloth diapers.  I wonder how I accomplished all that I did back in those days.  I think I put a lot more pressure on myself to do it all.  I remember I would sew nightgowns, and dresses, bake cookies, make candy, and do all the other Christmas activities that a mother of five children would do.  I was younger then.  I had more energy.  I also think I had unrealistic expectations concerning all that I needed to accomplish.  Thankfully, I am older and wiser now.  I do like having a few of these ornaments as a reminder of those days of long ago.

This year, part of the delay in decorating happened because a nasty virus hit me a few weeks before Christmas.  I seldom get colds or flu these days, so I was surprised when I woke one morning with a fever of 100.4.  After nearly eighteen hours of sleep, and the downing of many fluids, I was better the next day.  No one likes to be sick during the holidays, but I was especially disappointed at the timing of my illness as I had planned on hosting a party for group of my church friends for the next day.  That all had to be cancelled when I became ill.

It had been more years than I like since I had hosted a family Christmas celebration, so this year, I got my bid in early so that others would know how to plan.  Only three of Jim's daughters and their families were able to attend.  It seems that as the grandchildren become older, we are spread out in even more directions.

Jim and I decided upon our traditional Christmas Eve menu of Mexican food.  We had homemade (not by me) tamales, several cheese and chili casseroles, Spanish rice and homemade green chili.  Every year in the fall, we freeze a bushel of Pueblo green chilies.  We love to add these wonderful chilies to everything from eggs to grilled cheese sandwiches.  This year, my husband said I added too many chilies to green chili because it was HOT.  It was hot, but I thought it was just right.  (Others said it had a nice kick to it, so I guess it was ok.)  The downside to cooking with a lot of these chilies is that my hands were burning and so were my lungs from breathing in the fumes when I was chopping those green beauties.  After the first bag of chilies, I put on some plastic gloves.

We also had ham and rolls and salad for those whose palates haven't grown accustomed to the hot chili flavors we enjoy.  When it came time to serve the food, things got a bit crazy, but somehow, the buffet we set up worked even if it wasn't very fancy.

Just before dinner, at sundown, Jim had us all gather in the dining room so he could light the first candle of Hanukkah.  He explained the significance of lighting the candle and spoke of his heritage and of his parents.  He then said a blessing for us all.

I snapped a quick photo of part of the family as they sat down to eat.  Later, I had to laugh at just how bad of a photo I had taken.  A candle seems to burn right on top of Caleb's face.  Obviously, our Christmas Eve dinner was eaten a  more relaxed style. With a cabinet full of china behind us, we chose to eat from paper plates.  My children imposed the paper plates routine a few years back for holidays other than Thanksgiving.  While I still wish we had a more formal table, it is so much easier with the size of our family to toss the dishes when we are all done eating.  Jim's former wife and her husband joined us for Christmas Eve celebration as is our usual practice.

In the kitchen, the grandchildren seemed to especially enjoy the holiday poppers that were a surprise gift at each place setting.  I love the paper crowns they all donned.

After dinner, we all went downstairs for a gift exchange.

Julie's tree that I decorate every year with her ornaments has a bit of a funny story this year.  I think she would enjoy the story of this year's tree.  I bought a live tree, as I always do, at the grocery store where I always buy the tree each year.  In her first years of college she worked for this particular grocery chain, and I know she always liked a live tree, so I buy an "elf" tree.  I quickly picked up a tree this year without checking to see how fresh it was and realized when I got it home it was already losing needles.  I put it up anyway, gave it some water, and planned to decorate it in a few days.  By the time I got around to decorating it, it was seriously dry.  I had Jim take it upstairs and set it out for with the garbage on the Monday before Christmas.  The garbage collectors left it.  I guess they thought it was a mistake that I set it out.  So, I stuck it in the garage.  Then two days before Christmas, I decided that I should rescue the poor rejected tree and decorate it after all.  I only turned the lights on for the time we exchanged presents because I feared it would go up in flames.

Upper right of the photos is one of the newly weds.  We were so happy to have grandson Caleb and his wife Rachel with us here from Ogden, Utah.  The middle photo typifies our Christmas.  Brad is wearing Jim's readers.  It seemed we were always asking if someone had a pair of readers one of us could borrow.  Jim just had cataract surgery, and for the first time since he was eight years old, he no longer wears glasses except to read.  The problem is, he can never find the readers.  It seems the children are also getting to the point where they need readers also.

Jim got an elliptical machine for Christmas this year.  It didn't come in his stocking, but it did provide a good place to hang his stocking.

The guys all had beards this year.  Jim started growing one a few weeks back.  He hadn't shaved in a few days, and I said there was no reason to rush into anything and suggested he grow a beard.  He never has grown one before, so it has been a fun adventure for him to learn how to trim it.  He has a ways to go before he catches up with his grandson Caleb.

Back upstairs, the family waited for dessert.

Thia, Jim's oldest daughter made the most amazing cake.  It tasted as good as it looked.

It was all over much too soon.

On Christmas Day, Jim and I attended church before we came home to eat a light breakfast and open gifts.  Amy, who had spent Christmas Eve at her own home with her children, came down to see us in the early afternoon.

Jim totally spoiled me this year with an Apple watch.  I was thrilled to get it and have really enjoyed having it.

Amy brought me this beautiful bouquet for Christmas.  It seems that girl never fails to bring me flowers whenever she shows up for special occasion.  I so appreciate that about her.  She really outdid herself this time.

She wouldn't let me take her photo.  It kills me not to photograph my beautiful girl, but she just doesn't like me taking photos of her, so I honor that wish.  It was wonderful to have her with us.  She brought gifts, flowers, and her presence which was the best of all.  Her children spend Christmas Day with their father and his family.  Later in the evening she returned home so she could sleep in her own bed.  I can understand that desire.

Jim has been enjoying his elliptical.  He loves the way it mimics running as he was once a runner.  I think it is a great thing to have in the house because he never has time to go to the club to work out.  Here he is pushing himself to get back in shape in the comfort of his man cave.  The other bonus about working out at home is, in his words, "And I don't have to wear white socks."

On the day after Christmas, as I walked from my office towards the main living space of our home, I was taken by just how grateful I am for all the blessings in my life.  Our home is a place of comfort and peace.  The best kind of evening is one spent at home with the man I love as we quietly read.  There is still just enough clutter left from opening Christmas presents, and from the dog's toys to make this home a place that is lived in.  It always seems a bit empty when the kids leave after a visit, but at this time in our life, we are so grateful to be living close enough to our children that they can drop in even for a short visit.  Jim always jokes that he "loves to see the headlights, but the tail lights are even better."  In truth, it is good to know our children have established their own lives and their own traditions.

After so many years of working long hard days, it is a true blessing to have quiet peaceful evenings at home.  Tonight we had thought of going to a movie, but preferred to stay home.

As the year comes to an end, this post is being sent out with wishes for the very happiest of new year wishes.  2016 has ended on a very happy and healthy note for us.  We are so grateful for that.  We look forward to see what 2017 has in store.  Blessings to all you, my dear friends.  I truly do wish you

A very

Happy

New

Year.

The Passing of the Family Patriarch

Just past midnight I received a text from my daughter Keicha telling me her paternal grandfather had passed away. I'm so grateful I had the opportunity to spend some time with him this fall.  He was a dear and special man in my life. 

On February 14, 1966, I went to work at the Internal Revenue Service in Ogden, Utah.  On that same day, another young man also started working at this same place.  We met two days later, and it was clear that we were quite taken by each other.  We would marry six months later.  

My dear in-laws were our only attendants when my former husband and I married.  I loved these two people as if they were my very own parents.  They always treated me as if I were their daughter.  I could never have picked finer in-laws.  Now, both of them are gone.  

Dad, as I called my father-in-law, worked at IRS during the night shift.  After I was married, and when I was pregnant with my first child, Dad and I would often eat our dinner together at work.  He always checked in on me during break to see how I was doing.  Once, someone asked me who the man was I kept talking to at work.  "I even see you eating lunch with him," the person noted.  I said, "Oh, that is my father-in-law."  The person responded on how young he looked and remarked that they could not believe he was really just my father-in-law.  

He was a young and good looking man in those days.  He was only twenty years or so older than I, but he was very fit and active, so I guess I can understand how people questioned who he really was.  Dad was a river runner, a fisherman, a gardener, and had been quite a skier back in his day. 

Unfortunately, the marriage between my first husband and myself did not last, but my respect for and love for his parents never diminished.  Over the years, they both always treated me with great love and respect also, and I always looked forward to seeing them when I was in Utah, or on the few occasions when they came to Colorado to visit.  This past fall,  I am so grateful I had the see my dear father-in-law one last time.  Below is an account of the occasion:

I think we all have places that have become central to us when we look back on our lives.  Certainly the home of my former in-laws is one of those places for me.  It was in this home where I first got to know my former husband and his family.  Fifty years ago last month, I left this house to walk across the street to the church on the corner to marry my former husband and father of my children.  

Nearly every Sunday afternoon or evening during the years my family was young when I lived in Utah, we would visit Grandma and Grandpa at their home.  Often we were treated with homemade raspberry ice cream made by Grandpa.  The raspberries came from his garden.   His garden kept his grown family and probably half of the neighborhood in fresh produce throughout the summer for as long as I can remember.  How I loved those fresh tomatoes from his garden.  Often, my lunch consisted of just garden fresh tomatoes from Grandpa.

The backyard was the gathering place for so many summer evening picnics to celebrate a birthday, a baby shower, or Father's Day. I asked Grandpa how his garden was doing, and he said he only had a few tomato plants that had not done well this year, oh, and of course there were the raspberries.  And, there had been some good peaches earlier, he said.

Hoping to find some raspberries, Bridger and I headed to the backyard.  We were in luck.  There were a few delicious ripe raspberries waiting to be picked and eaten.  

Keicha came out to see what we were doing.  As she stood on the stairs of the deck memories of the day she walked down those stairs on her wedding day to be married in this very yard also came flooding back.  

My former father-in-law, now in his early 90's,  is a bit stooped over, and he said he can't hear or see "too good," but his voice was strong as he asked for all of the the children and grandchildren, my husband, and for my mother.  He told about a book he was reading.  He reminisced  a bit about the days he was a pilot for Bridger.  His once youthful, handsome face now seemed as if it had been refined by the years he has lived.  He has always been such a kind and good man to me.  Always.  I kissed him on the cheek when we left and told him I loved him.  He remains "Dad" to me.  It was hard to visit him and know that "Mother" is no longer there with him.  I'm so grateful to have had this short visit with him.

*******

It is hard to imagine life without Grandpa Chris in it.  I will forever be grateful that he was a part of my life.  I am also grateful that he was such a great grandfather to my children and grandchildren.  All of them adored him.  I was blessed when I married into his family, and he continued to be a blessing to the generations that were added to his family.  We all will miss him terribly.  He was one of the greatest generation, and he was one of the finest examples of devotion to home, family, church, and country that his generation produced.  My heart is so very sad to see him pass to the next life, but I am grateful to know he no longer suffering and in pain.  My heartfelt condolences go out to his children and grandchildren.  God bless you all.

Christmas Present: A Time of Modern Celebration ~ A Need for The Ageless Message

The onslaught of messages on just what would make the perfect

Christmas present come long before November.

Christmas catalogs, mailers, newspaper inserts heralding sales on the perfect Christmas gift, pile up in the mailbox and on the table.

Texts are sent to grandchildren inquiring just which gift would be perfect for them.

Shopping commences at malls, in local shops, and online.

This is Christmas present.

It all seems so complicated -

the way we do Christmas present.

A modern and technologically savvy grandma with “old school” habits,

 I write post it notes and stick them to my phone as I scurry about

trying to find the perfect Christmas present.

I check the lists and where to find the gifts.

“What size will fit each now nearly grown grandchild,” I ask myself,

“and will I find something in budget in that size.”

The gifts are all simple really, but Grandma wants all the grandchildren to have a

Christmas gift from her to open.

Shopping, shopping, shopping, I scurry about before I head home.

I check the budget.

I check the checking account.

I run out of checks, still have a bit of money, but can’t find more checks.

“Good thing I’m buying gifts and not sending checks,” I think.

I note the last check is numbered 1225

Wrapping is done in paper from remnants that remain from years gone by because I forgot to put new paper on the list of things I need.

 I find a nearly empty roll of tape. 

I have no ribbon and the bows that remain are smashed and ruined.

Christmas Present is wrapped in leftovers from Christmas Past.

Boxes are found, filled, and shipped.

Hoping to create the perfect Christmas Present,

I arduously haul up boxes of decorations with which to decorate the house.

I both delight in and cry over the memories that escape those boxes holding memories from so many Christmas Pasts.

“Will the children, none living near me, even make it home for Christmas?” I wonder, “And if they don’t, just why am I going to all this work?”

My heart is touched by memories as I hang each ornament, but honestly,  

I am mostly doing all of this decorating for

Christmas Present

perfunctorily,

as if I’m doing

a routine duty,

superficially.

There is no true Christmas spirit being conjured up within my heart or mind.

Christmas Present is filled with messages:

This year be present for Christmas.

 Be the present to someone else this Christmas.

Your presence is the present.

It no longer is Christmas Past, I tell myself as I the Ghost of Grandmother French reminds me of all the candy, cookies, pies, and fruit cakes she made to prepare for a Merry Christmas where all the family gathered in her home.

It is not 1950.

It is 2016.

 Christmas Present is complex.

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

On the fourth Sunday of Advent,

One week before Christmas,

I search for something festive that fits to wear to church.

Festive clothing hanging in the closet screams of Christmas Past when I could fit into those clothes.

Finally, I conjure up some sort of outfit that will be suitable for the tradition that I carry in my head.  The tradition dictates that I must clothe myself in festive, dressy attire to attend church.

Most folks never wear dressy clothes to church these days,

but I am stuck in Christmas Past.

After all, if I dress the part, won’t I feel like I have the Christmas spirit?

I walk into church feeling like I am in costume,

masquerading as one whose heart is ready for the final week of Advent.

The music leader tells us that yellow strips of paper on in the bulletin.  We are to take them and write on them all that is keeping us from worshiping Jesus this year.  What is filling our hearts and minds instead of the One we came to worship? What is robbing us of our joy?  I turn and look at my husband.  He mouths the words I don’t want to hear.  He knows what it is that I am focused on. 

How do I write those words on that strip of paper?  They would reveal just who I am and what thoughts rob me of my joy and keep me from Jesus.  Will anyone read these?  I worry that someone might.  I print the words.  I don’t want the pastors to recognize my handwriting.  Will I be known as the woman masquerading around dressed in Christmas cheer when she really feels no good cheer at all?  Will my lack of faith in believing that God is able to answer the prayers that I keep as constant requests on my heart be exposed? 

I write down those robbers of joy and peace and hope anyway.  I write down what is keeping me from worshiping the one I came to worship.  I write down what keeps me from Jesus on His birthday. 

We are reminded that all that keeps us from God, from worshiping His Son, His Gift to us, is just straw. Straw.  I write down my confession on that yellow strip of paper and carry it to the front of the church and drop it in a simple, rough-hewn wooden manger.  Other strips of paper filled with other confessions are also strewn in that manger.  The replica of the place where Baby Jesus would be placed has become a straw filled receptacle containing not the Christ child, the baby Jesus, but instead it holds the confessions of a people who need a Savior, One to save them from all the things of this world that bring no joy, no peace, no hope.  This manger at the front of church is a crib filled with pain and sorrow and envy and pride and materialism and striving that will burn like straw.  It is filled with worthless things.

It is such a bed as this that would hold the One who came to save us from our sins, the One who came to save us from the idols we worship instead of Him.

The manger contains straw.

It is the Season of Advent.

I have not yet received the joy of His coming this season because I am trying to recreate the rituals, the traditions, of the season.  I am stuck in the trappings of Christmas.  I am seeing and reading the messages of the world about the season.

I have not focused on The Word made flesh who came to dwell among us.

Immanuel – which means God with us – has come,

yet I live as if He has not yet arrived.

Christmas Present is not about me being present at all, it is about

Christ being present in me.

There is no supernatural filling by some Spirit of Christmas Present that fills me with the Christmas Spirit.

I know this.

I need to remember this.

Christmas, like every other time of the year, is about walking in the truth that I am filled with

 His Presence,

and His Spirit.

There is no joy in my heart because my eyes have not been on Jesus;

my eyes were on the trappings of the season.

There was not peace in my soul because I was worried about the

problems of this world,

of my world,

of the world of those I love,

rather than in trusting in the One whom came to bring us

healing, and hope, and peace.

Christmas Present:

Political unrest,

“Wars and rumors of wars,”

ALLEPO,

The children of Allepo,

Wars and rumors of wars

Fill the news.

On the fourth Sunday of Advent, the pastor reads from Jeremiah 23,

Woe to the shepherds who destroy and scatter the sheep of my pasture! declares the LORD.

Jeremiah tells the people that the LORD has declared that He will attend to the evil deeds of the shepherds that have not cared for the flock.  Evil leaders will answer to God.  A good shepherd will come to care for the flock and to bring them back to the fold.

Earlier that day, on the fourth Sunday of Advent, burdened down with fears for the future, and for my loved ones, I had turned to Hebrews 1 before I prayed for those worries and concerns that were robbing me from fully trusting in the One able to take those worries and concerns and carry them for me.

As I heard the words of Jeremiah, I was reminded of the first verses in Hebrews.

Long ago, at many times and in many ways, God spoke to our fathers by the prophets,

but in these last days he has spoken to us by his Son, through whom also he created the world.

The promise of those prophets for a good shepherd was fulfilled.

Jesus, my good shepherd, has come.

He knows me.

He sees me.

He knows what is in my heart, and what is written on that yellow slip of paper.

He doesn’t ask me to clean myself up so I can come into his presence.

Instead, He cleanses me so I am purged of all the sin that separates me from Him.

He doesn’t tell me to follow in His footsteps so I can prove myself worthy.

No, He shows me I will never prove myself worthy of Him, and so by His grace He robes me in His righteousness so I am worthy before the throne of God.

The Gift,

The child born with the government upon his shoulder,

The child named

Wonderful Counselor,

Mighty God,

Everlasting Father,

Prince of Peace,

 came to save His people from their sins and the sins of this world.

I am no longer wearing those ill-fitting, inappropriate, filthy rags that I thought would cover up what I didn’t want the world to see.  I have taken my eyes off the Creator of the Universe and focused on looking at the world.  I have put my energy into my own efforts to brings a measure of joy to others. I have sought to put on the trappings of the season and make sure all rituals and traditions are followed.  I had not had time to focus on the One we celebrate. 

As I move forward into Christmas Present and towards Christmas Future, my prayer is that I will remember the words of this hymn, O Holy Night.

Truly He taught us to love one another.

His law is love and His gospel is peace.

Chains shall He break for the slave is our brother

And in His name all oppression is ceased.

The pastor tells us as believers in Christ we are robed in the Righteousness of Christ, which is referenced in Jeremiah.

And this is the name by which he will be called: ‘The LORD is our righteousness.’

He robed us in that righteousness not just to someday stand before His throne worthy but to also do His work in this world with compassion, justice, and mercy.

In 2016, I know of no other way to have hope for the future than for me to continue to trust in the One who came to put an end to the hopelessness, injustice, and lack of joy and peace we find in this world. 

I am here to fulfill is my purpose He has given me

to know Him and make Him known.

Everything else is just straw.

Christmas Present

Christ present in me.

Christmas Present

I am filled with His presence.

* Thank you to my pastor Mark Bates for his sermon which spoke to me so powerfully this Sunday and inspired this post.  

Holiday Gatherings ~ A Time for Creating and Passing on Family Traditions

Earlier today when I had a task that seemed a mile long, I spent ten minutes that I felt I did not have to spare untangling a necklace chain from which the first letter of each of my children’s name dangle.  I could have tossed the necklace back in jewelry box and decided not to wear it as I ran errands, but I just had to untangle that mess.

“Being good at untangling chains” is not on my resume, but despite the time it takes, I’m usually up for the challenge of untangling such messes.  One pesky knot around the letter “R”  refused to untangle each time I would think I had it freed to join the rest of the letters. This is a metaphor for life,  I thought as I determinedly sought to free the chain from knots.  

So many times in the past, there have been assorted types of knots in the chain that links my family to each other.  These knots prevent us in one way or another from  joining each other in the creating events that strengthen in a positive way the ties that bind us as a family. Relationship problems, time, work obligations, schooling, money, and distance create the knots that keep us apart, yet despite these pesky problems, perhaps no other time of year stirs up longing for family like the holidays do. 

Family ~ Creators and Custodians of Memory of Rituals

I recently read an article which stated that family creates and becomes the custodian of rituals that define the family narrative.*  These narratives are especially developed and passed on during the holidays.  

The rituals of holiday were created for me as a child.  Now, those from the generation before me are gone, but those times when we gathered around the holiday table created connections that remain.  The traditions, the rituals, the connections become an important part of the legacy of family which I hope my children and grandchildren will embrace and continue long after I am gone. 

Cousins gathered in giddy anticipation of family celebrations create powerful memories that last a lifetime.  Cousins share a family history that spans the generations from childhood to old age.  Cousins remain connected long after the aunts and uncles are gone.  

It is worth every minute of untangling knots in the family chain that links us all together to create moments worth remembering when one thinks of the those nearest and dearest to the heart.  

This year, I know it was not without great sacrifice of time, money, and distance that my family and I came together to celebrate Thanksgiving.  That makes the celebration all the more precious.

Family ~  Memory of Rituals 

Filed away in memory bank are many wonderful memories of Thanksgivings from long ago.  Thanksgivings when I was a child were always spent at the home of my grandparents.

Sorting through those memories, certain images stand out in my mind:

The dining room table, large, solid, and the dominating feature 

of the room where my grandparents spent most of their time,

 was set for dinner long before the guests arrived.

The silver had been polished days before.

The china had been removed from the china buffet to be placed

 on white linen table cloths.

Each place setting was perfectly placed according to rule of etiquette.

We learned the rules of etiquette at home and at my grandmother’s table.

“Where is the salad plate?” my father would ask if his place setting was not properly set for even the simplest of meals.

Good manners were very much a part of my family narrative.

I have vivid memories of Grandma and the aunts bustling around the kitchen, 

best dresses covered with aprons, 

shooing all the kids out of the kitchen 

as they fill china dishes with Thanksgiving fare.

“Get out of the kitchen,” 

we were told as the cousins and I ran excitedly around the circle that connected

 the dining room, the kitchen, the bedroom where my grandparents slept, and the hallway to the bathroom and stair that led upstairs.

“Stop chasing each other.   Someone will get hurt.”

Indeed,

I did get hurt.

I was barely three, or maybe younger, 

when playing a game of chase around that circle I fell, 

 hit the foot of that gigantic and very solid oak dining room table.

 I knocked out one of my front teeth.

Was that on Thanksgiving, or Christmas?

Either way, the story became a part of my personal narrative of why I had a missing front tooth from the earliest days of childhood.

I love that my homes where grandchildren have come also have that circle that connects the kitchen with the rest of the house.

It reminds me of the circle that we cousins loved to run around at my grandmother’s home even as she reprimanded us for doing so.

Grandma was a wonderful cook.

Her Thanksgiving dinners were the best.

So, was Christmas dinner.

She made amazing pies, 

but her homemade candy was what we really looked forward to eating.

The trappings of Thanksgiving long ago created a rich tapestry of visual images that formed a template in my mind of how Thanksgiving should always look.

The table laden with food, the china, the silver, did not fully represent the perfect template for Thanksgiving.

All of those trappings would be absolutely meaningless if family were not there.

Family coming together to celebrate created the perfect blueprint for a what I remember best about Thanksgiving.

 Thanksgiving memories are priceless because the memories focus on family.

Time stands still in those black and white achieved photos from long ago.

Time with

grandparents,

parents,

aunts and uncles,

and cousins

made Thanksgiving my favorite holiday of all.

My father, mother, and Aunt Katherine on Thanksgiving sometime in the 50's. Look at all those homemade pies!

Cousins in the 1960's I am second from the left in the back row. Next to me is my cousin Steven. He was killed in Viet Nam when he was only nineteen.

Continuing family rituals create a sense of

“Life Is How It Should Be.”

This year’s Thanksgiving plans were not made early.  In fact, as usual, we were still up in the air about plans for Thanksgiving early in November.  Daughter Amy announced she was going to Utah with her children to spend time with her brother Ryan and his family.  I know that Thanksgiving is the very busiest time of the year for Ryan and Sheridan.  Owners of a small business, Hip and Humble (click on the link) in Salt Lake City, Bountiful, and Murray, Utah, Sheridan is especially busy and involved in Small Business Saturday activities both with her own boutiques and with other small businesses in Salt Lake City, Utah. I called and invited myself to Thanksgiving anyway. 

I had not spent Thanksgiving in Utah with my family since 1981.  We've been together at my mom's or my house, but we have not been together in Utah for Thanksgiving for a very long time.

Jim did not want to make the trip with me.  His family narrative of holiday gatherings is different from mine.  He did not grow up with extended family gatherings.  He would just as soon go out to eat on Thanksgiving.  He doesn’t like to travel to Utah in the winter.  He had to work.  He bought me plane ticket, rented me a car to use for a week in Utah, and sent me on my way for a week with my children and grandchildren. 

This year, it seemed more important than ever that we all gather together.  The grandchildren are getting older.  One is already twenty.  Three are eighteen.  One is seventeen.  Two are fourteen.  Soon, they will be going off to make their own way in life, and they will no doubt be scattered to parts unknown.  Before that happened, I wanted as many as possible of us to sit around a Thanksgiving table and make happy memories of family being together.  That is exactly what happened.

There is a sort of passing of the baton that takes place in families as one generation ages and the next takes over the hosting of Thanksgiving.  I'm sure I could no longer pull off fixing a Thanksgiving meal for a crowd.  Yes, despite my children thinking otherwise, there was a day when I could do this.  Despite my lack of cooking these days, I can still shop at the grocery store, so armed with the grocery list made by my son and daughter-in-law, I shopped for Thanksgiving while they were at work.  I loved shopping at the wonderful new grocery store near their home.  We had charted out which store would carry the items on my list.  Did you know that Costco sells a four count package of Martinelli's Sparkling Cider?  Score.  I bought two packages.  They were a big hit.

Keicha had specifically requested that I make a lemon meringue pie.  "It's been so long since I had your homemade lemon meringue," she wrote in a text.  "It's been so long since I made one," I replied.  The pressure was on.  I made the pie with help from Keicha.  It not only looked decent, it was also delicious.  

Passing the baton for Thanksgiving preparation and hosting to my children has proven to be a joy to watch and experience.  Son Ryan and his wife Sheridan were the perfect host and hostess.  They both love to cook and to entertain.  I've had some very good Thanksgiving meals, but I must say that this year's feast was one of the best I have ever eaten.  

Sheridan purchased two fresh turkeys which Ryan brined before they were roasted.  The sweet potatoes and dressing were made from Sheridan's father's recipe.  They were delicious.  The gravy was perfect.  The rolls wonderful.  I loved the winter slaw that came from a recipe from Bon Appetit.   Ryan said there would be no green bean casserole made with canned cream of mushroom soup, but daughter Amy insisted on that favorite dish being prepared, so mom bought the ingredients and made the casserole at Keicha's house.  Sometimes, you have to have that old comfort food from the days when mom put together casseroles that came from ingredients that come from a can.

The tables were beautifully set when we arrived at the lovely family home that belongs to Sheridan's parents.  Ryan and Sheridan are living in this home while Sheridan's parents are in Denmark for a year.  This home is the perfect home for holiday entertaining.  (Thank you B & B for letting us use your lovely home for our Thanksgiving.)

Family photos recorded the day for posterity.

Our hosts for the day were all smiles.  

The Mordiansen's (A name for this blended family that combines Ryan's and Sheridan's last names) Parker, Regan, Max, Bridger in back, Henry in front, Sheridan, and Ryan

Parker and Regan, a great brother and sister combo, are roommates while Parker attends college and Regan is working.

My daughter Keicha and granddaughter Gillian were joined by Gillian's boyfriend, Fran for a group photo.

Daughter Amy and her children Mason and Hannah flew in from Colorado for the holiday.

Cousins

It is always a great time when cousins are together.

Sheridan's family brought a new tradition to our family: bingo!  After Thanksgiving dinner, Sheridan's family always plays bingo.  Each person brings a gift to add to the prizes that will be awarded.  When the hostess owns boutiques, the prizes are awesome and much sought by those playing the game.  At times the competition to win was quite intense because winners can take gifts from other players.  Once the gift is stolen, the original winner can't get the prize back.  Ryan was the bingo caller.  Grandma Sally kept winning.  I think the grandchildren thought I was cheating since my card was nearly covered with beans before long.  I soon had many cool prizes, but alas, I ended up with only a box of chocolate covered orange sticks.  The grandkids showed no mercy in taking away my gifts. Regan totally scored by winning a fleece lined flannel and a cool hat.  The amazing part is that she got to keep them.  What a blast we had playing bingo.

   

At the end of the day, I declared the Thanksgiving of 2016 the very best ever! 

While I wish that son Jonathan and daughter-in-law Samantha and grandson Atticus could have joined us, the day was nearly perfect.

 Thanksgiving, a day for giving and for thanksgiving happened because each family member that could gave up time, energy, and money to come together for a time of family celebration.

Thanksgiving, a day for expressing gratitude for the love we all share for each other, reminded us all what we really like about each other.   

Thanksgiving is a time for rejoicing in gratitude for those invisible bonds that tie us together across the years.  

Those bonds have brought us all both great joy and unbearable heartbreak.

Thanksgiving, is the perfect time to make new memories that will be added to our family narrative of both love and loss. 

Mama Sal surrounded by three of her kids is a very happy lady. Amy, Mom, Keicha, Ryan

Whenever I am with my children, life truly is how it should be.

Thanksgiving 2016, is now in the books.  

It will live on fondly in my heart for a very long time.

*Tie That Binds...Bonds That Empower by Robert D. Caldwell

The Foundation for My Hope for the Future

At noon on November 9, 2016, I felt as if I had been up all night crying.  My eyes burned.  My head ached. In reality, I didn’t cry all night.  I actually slept when I finally went to bed not long after midnight after a night of watching electoral results in the nastiest political contests that I had witnessed in my lifetime. I slept soundly only because I was emotionally exhausted by the weight of the entire experience of watching the 2016 election of a President of the United States of America.   I didn’t watch this process alone.  I watched it with paid political pundits who work for the national networks, and pseudo political pundits who wrote nasty comments on Facebook.  I engaged in texting with friends and family while we viewed together the ongoing drama that unfolded before our eyes.  At times during the evening, my husband and I exchanged knowing and understanding looks and words of the mutual shock and dismay we were experiencing while witnessing history in the making. Once it was apparent to us that the die had been cast in this particular election, we trudged off to bed, turned off the lights, held hands, and fell asleep.

The feelings that distressed me upon awakening this morning were those that accompany great loss.  When one awakes after sleeping a sleep filled with broken hearted dreams and a sense of overwhelming loss, one does not awake refreshed.  One awakes feeling as if they have slept through a long nightmare. 

Once I was awake and out of bed, as I walked from the bedroom to the front room, I desperately sought out my husband who was not sitting in his usual place in that gold chair near the window reading the morning news.  He was on the back deck with the dog.  I opened the door and said, “They say the sun will shine again, and I see that it is.”  He said, “Yes, it is shining,” as I kissed him good morning.  That kiss was followed by another before I opened the door a bit wider for him to come into the house.  Thankfully, I have this man by my side during all those days when life seems so very broken and not how we hoped it would be.

Many have written that they have experienced a deep sense of loss and grief today. I don’t think I will have the answers for all of the reasons why I feel so sad today for quite some time.  I only know that deep within my idealistic soul I honestly believed that our country was not one where a person who has spewed words of bigotry, hatred, and division would actually be elected as our president.

Throughout the campaign season, I have tried to read legitimate and reputable arguments on both sides of this great divide that split our country down the middle.  I made sure what I was reading could be supported by verifiable sources. 

I watched both political conventions in their entirety.  I listened to the speeches no matter how painful I found listening the rhetoric of hate that I heard from Republican Party to be.  I was horrified when I heard and saw attendees at the Republican National Convention scream in frenzy the words, “Lock her up.” “Lock her up.”  My only thoughts were, “My God, I am witnessing mob rule before my very eyes.”

 The personal idealism that I thought would sustain a reasonable political season was destroyed when I heard those many voices affirm that hoards Republican delegates who represented the folks back home who had sent them to select a candidate for the Republican Party really did not believe in our Constitutional right to be innocent until proven guilty by a court of law.  Yes, that was the day when over sixty years of political idealism was shattered for me. 

Still, I believed that our country would not elect a person to its highest office that attacked Muslims, Latinos, and women with demeaning words of distain.  Sadly, I was wrong.

If you voted for Trump, you undoubtedly have your own personal reasons.  You also have the right that this great country gave you to cast that vote.  Each person must vote his or her conscience.  I voted mine, and I will support your right to vote your conscience until my dying day.  Voting is a right and privilege.  I am grateful you and I both are able to exercise that right.

My roots in this country and in this democracy go back to long before the Revolutionary War.  I identify strongly with the identity that my grandfather gave me when I asked what we were when I was a young child.  “What is our heritage,” I asked.  He said, “We are damn Yankee rebels.”  I am proud of that heritage.

 I was raised to take a stand on the issues, to study both points of view, and to stand for my own beliefs.  That does not mean that I have always found myself backed by supporters.  That has never stopped me from using my voice.  I was also taught to stand on my own if I needed to for what I believe. 

I believe in this great democracy.  I believe in the goodness of the majority of the American people.  I believe that we should do all in our power to support the peaceful transition of power. I believe our democracy was built on fundamental rights that we as a people are to have a voice so that one person never is able to exert power and control over all branches of government.  Sadly, it appears to me that many do not really support that process in today’s political climate.  It seems to me they would rather see the President, the Congress, and the Supreme Court all of one mind and with one power in control. 

President Obama said we are all on the same team, and he is right.  It isn’t about Democrats versus the Republicans when it comes to electing our leaders.  It never has been.  It is about all fighting for a strong democratic republic.  That is why I feel so diminished and dismissed when some seem to pat me on the shoulder and say, “Oh, I’m so sorry you are disappointed because I know how much you wanted Hillary to win.”  Really?  That is what you think?  That is not how I feel at all.  I was not rooting for just Hillary like she was going to be elected homecoming queen or even president of the student body.  No, I was supported Hillary because she is a gifted, intelligent public servant whom I believed was the most qualified to lead our country through the coming four years. I believe she truly loves and believes in the strength of the principles upon which our democracy was founded.  I believe she was qualified to lead us.  I do not believe that her opponent is qualified to lead, nor do I believe that he appealed to that which speaks to best that is within us all. 

I will stand for a strong America no matter whom is President.

Please don’t think that this means that I will not speak when I see injustice, hate, division, and prejudice. Speaking against such things has always been the American way.  Supporting those who spew hate-filled ideologies has never been the American way. 

On this day after the election of 2016, I am encouraged by the words of my children.  They have stated they will continue to work for civil justice and equity.  My daughter has said she will throw her energy into working to support political causes in her local area.  My son and his wife will use their voices to teach history and social justice to their students. 

As a Christian, I have never understood the political views expressed by many professing Christians.  That does not mean that I am judging their views, I just don't understand or identify with the rational many have used to support the person that is our current President-elect of the United States.   I have never identified with the “religious right” politically. Many of my dearest friends do not believe as I do politically.  That does not change my political beliefs, nor does it change my faith, nor does it make me love them any less.  

Ultimately, I identify with the One whom reminds me that I am an exile living in this world. The One who called me to be His own is ultimately in control. I have never held on to my faith in times of grief, loss, and disappointment; instead, I have been held by my Sovereign God.  He is still driving the bus.  I am sad.  I am disappointed, but ultimately, I know I am held in His Grace by His Great Mercy no matter what the future may bring.  That is the foundation for my hope for the future.  

Reflections on Autumn

Now in my seventies, with a great deal of optimism, I acknowledge that I am hopefully approaching the mid to early late part (is there such a thing?) of the autumn of my life.  No one knows the length of one's days on this earth, but since longevity seems to be in my genes, I'm hoping I am not approaching the winter of my life soon.

I also acknowledge that change in this stage of life is not always easily accepted by me.  For some reason, my resistance to change is especially marked by the changing of the seasons.  Do any of you whom find yourselves in the same stage of life where I find myself find you feel the same way about change?  That is a long sentence.  More succinctly, do you resist change?

The change  from summer to autumn was especially difficult for me this year.  I fought accepting that change was coming.  I saw the signs of the coming drastic changes in weather in the reports from the high country.  It was snowing in the mountains in September.  Having spent my late teens living in the mountains of Colorado, I certainly was not surprised by snow flurries before the autumnal equinox.  "I've seen it snow on the Fourth of July in mountains," I say to myself and others.  Knowing the facts of life about weather when one lives in Colorado does not mean that one always accepts those facts as something to embrace.  This year, I wanted to see an extended summer.  Even though I love autumn, I did not wish to see her approach because I didn't want winter to arrive on her heels.

Resisting the arrival of autumn  made no sense in many ways because I love autumn as much as I love guacamole.  That means that I love autumn a lot.  Almost more than I love any other time of the year, I love the season we sometimes call fall.  Comparing my love for fall with my love for guacamole is probably an analogy you have not seen before.  In fact, you may be scratching your head and asking, "Where IS she going with this?"  Hint:  I am also making a comparison to aging when I think of guacamole and autumn.  For the answer, please allow me to  tell you a little story to illustrate why I am comparing guacamole and autumn and aging.   I wish I'd had the original idea for this analogy, but alas, I did not.  My dear friend high school friend IC deserves the credit.

Recently, even though she is mostly retired,  IC accepted a rather intense and demanding job.  It was a job that would not last more than a year, but it meant that the days and the nights while she was working would be dedicated to accomplishing the task she had accepted.  As she told me about her decision to take the job, she used what I thought was a brilliant observation.  She said,

Working at this stage in life is a lot like guacamole.

I said,

How's that?

She said,

Guacamole is a delicious mix of just the right ingredients,

but it has a short shelf life.

I've thought about her analogy so often since she shared it with me.  I thought of how true it is that as we enter of autumn of life, if we have been blessed to still have all of out mental capabilities,  we retain all of the skills that we developed over the years of our professional lives.  Those "right ingredients" are not only in place, but we also know the recipe of how to take those ingredients and successfully turn them into a something we feel confident about serving to others.

When we were younger, did any of us now in the autumn of life ever think about the length of shelf life that we had for any of our skills? Did we ever give a thought to the short window of time we would have to serve up our best assets?  Even if we have taken the very best care of ourselves by eating right and exercising daily, did we consider the short life that our physical abilities and strengths would have?  Did we know how fleeting the days of our productivity would be before the age of retirement suddenly came upon us?  Even though many of us are engaged in working, or in being productive by volunteering, I think most of us in the same season of life where I find myself can agree that since we are now in the autumn of life, we are very much like guacamole.  We have great value, but our shelf life is short.

As I ponder these thoughts, I realize that I must not ignore the perishable aspects of life while they can still be enjoyed.  No one enjoys guacamole when it has turned from green to brown.  It truly does not last long, nor will autumn, nor will this time of life.

My fears that winter was on the heels of autumn were truly unfounded this year.  Just as the landscape has thrilled me with endless sightings of  tall gloriously clothed trees of orange, and red, and gold this year, so have I been enthralled to find that we have been given a long string of sunny and unseasonably warm days.  One truly can't predict how a season will really turn out.  Why do I spend my days fretting that days of snow, and wind, and cold weather are just around the corner?

I remind myself that though the season may signal a change that is coming, the change that I dread has not yet arrived.

While autumn does not seem capricious to me, she does announce her arrival by showing off her variegated nature.  I sense that she too is hanging on to summer just a bit when I see trees of green and gold.  She promises she will display more glory and beauty in the days ahead by edging some of  the leaves on a green and gold tree with shades of red and orange.

Autumn, you hold great interest.  You are not stuck in the season where you only wear green.  I like that about you.

Autumn, you choose so many hues of red, gold, and green to show just how much you love variety.

Robed in intense colors, the foliage of autumn calls us out of doors to capture her beauty.  Those seeking lessons from autumn learn from her golden glory against a blue sky  that such richness was not achieved overnight. It takes more than one season of the year to produce this memorable distinction.

Autumn teaches us that these golden days of great beauty do not last forever.

The irony and the lesson of autumn is that on the day she shows her most glory, she is also shedding that which has brought her the most accolade.  She gracefully lets go her golden beauty.

*********

On a perfect autumn day, my husband and I took a walk with our dog.  We kept stopping to snap photos of the scenes along the way because everything just looked so beautiful.  Once home, we took the opportunity to sit outside on a new patio we built last year and enjoy the day for a bit longer.  It is good to be in this season of life, we remarked, as retirement has meant that we now have time to enjoy fall days out of doors rather than in a school building.

On that day, I wondered why I had resisted autumn's arrival earlier in the season.  It is a glorious season of the year, and a wonderful season of life.  While this time of life may, like guacamole, have a short shelf life, I'm learning to live in the moment and make the most of that moment.  As I'm learning to let go graciously of the glories of season before me,  I'm just as sure that I'm not finished with this season of life yet.  This season of life is different than one before it.  Different in many good ways.  There seems to be a long stretch of paths ahead for me which still hold great possibility and opportunity.

September ~ Suicide Prevention Awareness Month

September

Suicide Prevention Awareness Month

As September draws to a close, I think of how much I have learned this month because of the various articles that have been shared on Facebook by the National Association for Mental Health (NAMI).  I am so grateful for this organization for the great job they are doing to educate all of us about the many facets of mental health.  I appreciate the help they give to those whom are ill and to those whom have family members, friends, or loved ones with mental illness.

My own personal passion concerns suicide prevention awareness.  Now that the month of September is over, the month designated as Suicide Prevention Awareness month, I don't want any of us to forget that suicide prevention awareness needs to be in place all twelve months of the year, every day of the week, and every hour of the day.  I have taken the liberty to copy the following paragraph from NAMI website page that specifically addresses the risk of suicide:  

According to the CDC, each year more than 41,000 individuals die by suicide, leaving behind thousands of friends and family members to navigate the tragedy of their loss. Suicide is the 10th leading cause of death among adults in the U.S. and the 2nd leading cause of death among people aged 10-24; these rates are increasing. 

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

Prior to losing my daughter Julie to suicide, I would never have thought about arming myself with information regarding suicide prevention.

I should have.

Julie had threatened and attempted suicide more than once over the years before she completed suicide in 2010.

I thought I knew what I needed to know about talking to her when I recognized that she was in crisis.

I thought I recognized signs.

I thought I had a plan.

Now, I wonder how I could have been so sadly misinformed.

I find it stunning now that even after her previous attempts, I never sat down with her and went over the risk factors and discussed how some of the behavior I would see in her could indicate that she was highly at risk for attempting suicide again.

I never discussed a plan that could help her, me, or the rest of her family and friends during a time when she might be in crisis.
We didn't have a plan in place.
I don't think we would have had the tools to develop such a plan.

I assumed Julie would always call me, or she would call her sister Amy if she were in crisis.
I assumed we would get her help right away.

I  had never even heard the term "completed suicide" before Julie took her life.
That term alone would have terrified me because that would have meant that any attempt had the potential to be
final,
permanent.

That would have meant that my worst fear could have actually happened.

I thought I could deal with her attempts and threats.
I thought I would always have a way to reach her.
I never thought she wouldn't give me the opportunity to reach her.
I never believed that my worst fear would actually happen.

********************
A lifetime ago,
a decade plus one year ago,
during September of 2005,
my daughters Amy and Julie ran a marathon.
Julie was the driving force when it came to running.
She plotted out the training schedule.
She had more experience in running a race.
She knew how to pace herself.
She and Amy called this experience, the plan for, the preparation for, and the running of the race,
"Oxygen Depravation and Other Fun Times with My Sister."
That was actually the title of the book they wanted write about the fun times they had as sisters.
As they ran, they wrote chapters in their minds and shared how the chapter would read.
Oh how I wish they would have written down those stories.
Amy and Julie were born just twenty-three months apart.
They were as close as any two sister could ever be from their earliest days.

The story between these two sisters is not mine to tell.
It now belongs to Amy.


I just wish that the story of the sisterhood would never have to include a chapter on suicide.

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

To say our hearts and lives were shattered when Julie took her life would never fully convey how suicide robbed our family not only of time with our Jules, our lynchpin, our dearly treasured family member, but saying these words could also never convey how suicide robbed us of
our innocence,
our dreams for a future that had Julie in it,
her laughter,
her wit,
her wisdom.
Suicide robbed us from
a legacy that did not include a family history of suicide.

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

On that day in 2010 when Julie took her life, a dark black line was drawn down the middle of the timeline of my life.

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

A lifetime ago,

just six short years ago,

one beautiful September day,

 dear friends and family came together to walk in our very first Suicide Prevention Awareness Walk.

Team 808 for Jules was formed in 2010.
Julie's friend Leanna, a dear friend from high school, was the one who organized Team 808 and got us all involved in taking part in this important walk that raises money to go towards suicide prevention.

To this day, I am blessed to know that each year at least one member from this original team will participate in a Suicide Prevention Run/Walk.
This year, my daughter Keicha raised nearly $1000 for the walk held in Salt Lake City.
She does this walk each year in memory of her sister.

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

Julie had suffered from mental illness since her teens.  She had been diagnosed and treated for both Bi-Polar Disorder and Depression.  Julie hated her diagnosis.  I don't know if she ever fully accepted it.  I think that she thought the word stigma automatically should have been written after the official term for the diagnosis.

She didn't want to be different from others.  She didn't what this diagnosis attached to her.  I'm not sure she ever fully accepted her illness.  I don't know if she ever fully accepted that her illness was just that: an illness.

I would talk to her about diabetes.  I would say, "Do you think that a person has diabetes because of something they did or didn't do?  Do you think it is an illness that can be treated?  Do you think it is something to ignore?  Do you think it is something to be ashamed of?"  We would talk about this analogy of mental illness and an illness like diabetes often.  She always agreed that I was right about diabetes, but I'm still not sure she fully bought into her own illness as not being something she did wrong.  I'm not sure she ever really believed that her illness could be successfully treated and managed.  I think the STIGMA of suffering from her illness haunted her, caused her not to seek treatment when she could have, and caused her to ignore warning signs that she should take care of herself.  Even as I write these words, I hear her saying would a, could a, should a.  She often said that when things went wrong in life.  

She would not go into treatment for her illnesses associated with her mental illness because of the STIGMA she thought would prevent her from earning a living, getting married, having children.

She had never seen the hashtag #stigmafree because she died before we all started using hashtags.  She died before there was so much information freely available on the internet about preventing suicide, or about supporting those with mental illness.

That does not mean that Julie was not informed.  She was very informed about her illness.  She asked me to read Kay Redfield Jamison's book An Unquiet Mind when she was still in college.  She said it would help me understand what she was experiencing.  It did give me understanding to read this book.  I just wish I would have read it each year, or kept it by my bedside as a reference, or talked about it more with her.  We talked about it, but did I really get what she was going through?  Did I really comprehend all that she suffered?

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

What do you know about what you could do to prevent suicide?  

Have you informed yourself? 

I am including a link to a very important public service announcement here:

 Preventing Suicide.  

Read it.

 Print it out for ready reference.

As I read the list provided in this article, it caused me to think about how I might have been more helpful when Julie talked to me about her depression, her hopelessness, her anxiety, her suicidal thoughts.  We had many talks about these topics, and generally, she either called me or her sister Amy when she was most at risk.  On the night she took her life, she did not call me, nor did she call her sister.  It is not my wish to second guess how any of us could have been proactive in preventing her death when it occurred because quite honestly, we really did not see it coming, and none of us really know what anyone could have done had they been aware of what was going on with her on that fateful evening.

Nevertheless, I read the list, and I think of some proactive things that we might have been able to do.

I have taken the list I reference above and added a few of my thoughts about the list.  

• Removing the means of taking one's life is the most reasonable approach to take when a loved one is aware of another's struggle with depression and suicidal thoughts or tendencies.  Remove the access to guns.  Please do that.  A person struggling with these thoughts should not have access to guns.  Period.  It is not possible to removed all those items that one could use to end a life, but at least be aware of what means that person might use.  Ask them if they have a plan.  Act accordingly.  
• Asking if you can help call a therapist rather than asking if you can call a therapist is a good plan.  In my opinion, this helps the loved one think of a different plan or approach they can take rather than you taking the approach for them.  You might not be given this chance, but if you are, I like this approach.
• Ask those hard questions.  I have had to do this.  It is not easy to do, but the questions must be asked.  "Are you thinking of hurting yourself or taking your life?"  "How will you take your life?  Do you have a plan?  What is it?"  Believe me.  You would rather hear the answers to these questions so you can act accordingly, than to not ask the questions and find that your loved one has taken his or her life.
• One person speaking at a time with a loved one in distress is best.  It is calming.  There are not contradictory statements being made.  The loved one can focus better.
• Ask what you can do to help.
• Stay calm.  The world may be threatening to crumble, you may want to vomit or pass out, your blood pressure may soar, and your heart is probably racing, but try to stay calm or at least appear calm.  Don't argue.  Don't threaten.  Don't pace.  
• Provide safety and support.
• Reach out for others to help.
• Call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline:  1-800-273-TALK (8255)

I carry a pocket size National Suicide Prevention Lifeline card in my purse.  It lists the suicide prevention lifeline phone number on it.  It also lists the warning signs of suicide.  I have used these guidelines to speak to those I find are depressed or suicidal.  I turn the listed warning signs into questions, or I have addressed how I have observed these warning signs in behavior.

A larger lifeline card with similar information is next to my desk for ready reference.

I also have an app on my phone called:  Safety Net.  It is a great app.  It has some of the following features:

1. Step 1 - Warning Signs
2. Step 2 - Internal Coping Strategies
3. Step 3 - Social Supports and Social Settings 
4. Step 4 - Family and Friends for Crisis Help 
5. Step 5 - Professionals and Agencies
6. Step 6 - Making the Environment Safe

There is a place on the app to list emergency numbers that one at risk or a loved one for one at risk can find in just an instant.  I also list emergency numbers for agencies where my loved ones live because one never knows when a life threatening situation may present itself.  Our family is at risk for suicide simply because we have had a suicide take place in our family.  I take this risk seriously.

You might wish to ask your loved one if you can have the names and number of those they are seeing for treatment of mental illness.  If they wish for you to have these numbers, you can list them on this app.

Be aware that due to privacy laws, you will not get answers about the treatment you loved one is getting in many instances.  That doesn't mean that you can't give information out that might be helpful to the caregiver.  

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

My purpose for writing this has to been to increase awareness about preventing suicide.  There is hope.  There is help.  Together, by informing ourselves, and by being observant and proactive, I believe we can can make a difference in lives of those suffering from mental illness or struggling with suicide ideation.

I will always believe Julie did not wish to lose her battle with an illness that had caused her so much pain in her life and had robbed her of so much. She fought valiantly for many years.  She was brave and courageous, but in the end, her illness won.  Now, those of us left must do what we can do to support others with mental illness.  We do this to honor Julie.  

Julie passes her sister Amy at the finish line.

Runners need a plan before they enter a marathon.  They train and rehearse for every unforeseen event that might interfere with their goal.  They create a team for support.  They need cheerleaders along the way.  They need encouragers when the race seems much longer than they had planned and so much more difficult than they expected.

Be that helper.  Be that encourager.  Be that one that cheers another on.  

You can join Team 808 for Jules by informing yourself about what you can do prevent suicide.  Do what you can do to stop the stigma attached to mental illness.  Do what you can do to raise awareness about the treatment of mental illness.  Do it in memory of my beautiful daughter, Julie Ann Christiansen.

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