ShOw tHeM..

~That moment when you show your kids how to live, instead of tell them~

We went to the grocery store to get treats for Cole's birthday tomorrow.  When we checked out I had a thought to take out some cash, which I never do.  

As we drove out of the parking lot, an elderly homeless man, shaking from Parkinson's, holding onto his walker held a hand-written sign, and a smile on his face.  I never want to be the judge of when someone else needs help or not so I usually give a few dollars, or whatever small cash I have in my wallet, usually less than $5. 

I rolled down my window and reached the $5 out the window.  He had to stumble with great effort over his walker to get the money.  I wished him 'good luck', and drove away.  My kids are used to seeing me do this.  Half a mile down the road I had a very strong feeling I should go back and give him more money.  I became emotional and struggled with whether to turn around or not...I was almost to my neighborhood, and I had pop-cycles in my trunk.

I pulled the car around, and drove back.  I gave Cole the money from my wallet I took out when I was paying for the groceries, and told him I wanted him to jump out of the car to hand it to the man when we pulled through the parking lot again. 

As we pulled around, I saw 1 out of 5 cars in line hand him some money.  I was sure he wouldn't remember us.  I pulled around, and as Cole jumped out to give him the money the elderly man looked me right in the face and said with a smile oh his face, 'oh you are back'.

I tried not to cry as I told him I had a strong feeling to come back and give him more.  He began to tell me he needed to find better shelter, and he was grateful for me

turning back around.  He touched my kids faces through the door of the car as they smiled at him and gave him well wishes.

We had to leave as cars pulled up behind us. Cole asked, 'Mom, why was that man shaking so bad, and why did we go back and give him the money from the store?'

I got the opportunity to share a lesson with my boys. I had their undivided attention because of the homeless man. The lesson was not judging others, and helping them when we can.

'We can't always help, but when we can, we should'.

We talked about how sometimes things happen to us beyond our control.  I asked Cole if he remembered daddy getting cancer.  He said 'yes'.  

I told him that the old man's body got sick, just like his dad's body had.  I could see him grasping the concept of humility as we talked about it. I explained how the man's shaking would make it really hard for him to work, and that's probably why he was asking for money.

Cole asked me if people helped us out when we needed it.

I said, 'yes'.

My kids sat back in their seats, and seemed to feel compassion for the situation the man was in.

 It's moments like that which will ultimately shape who my children will be as they get older. 

  

I feel good...

today I woke up with

messy curls in my hair,

a smile on my face,

and feeling peace.

i love my life.

it's not a perfect life.

it's not the life i wanted, 

or planned for myself.

but...

i have 2 beautiful kids.

i have amazing friends.

i love who i choose to be.

i know what i want,

and who i am.

nothing can replace the warmth in my heart.

good morning world,

good morning life...

A ChriStMaS TreE fOr ThReE

A Christmas Tree For Three 

by Tatum Merrill

written for sprouts Cole &Ethan

____________ 

The hunt was on,

to find a tree,

one to be

the tree for three.

A 'noble' fir showed up the rest,

'we three' had found the tree,

the best.

Tradition called for mom

to trim, 

to prune, to groom, 

and make us

grin.

Our music tunes

we danced about,

the Christmas spirit

left no doubt, 

 Our tree would soon 

be glam adorn,

with lights,

and magic, 

and trinkets 

forlorn.

 Our favorite decor 

so long packed away...

A snow globe,

a reindeer, 

 a bike,

 and toy sleigh, 

Visions of Santa,

soon came to mind..

boxes, presents,

and gestures of kind.

So much magic

for a tree to unlock.

Is Christmas more 

than a toy-filled

sock?

Dreams of eight 

reindeer,

and the man 

who wears red,

quickly changed pace,

as I thought in my head.

The story oft told, 

during the holiday 

season, 

made me ponder the tree,

it's message, 

and reason.

 The star atop the tree

lit up the sky,

shone brightly 

back then,

for The Lord, 

Prince,

One High.

 It lit up a path

where the babe Jesus lay,

born in a stable, 

a manger with hay.

Gifts, treasures, and love unfold, 

were brought to the babe, 

they even brought gold.

The gift he gave back was

life to man-kind.

No greater a gift could 

any man find.

 

So why the tree 

in the dead of the night?

...to represent life,

new birth, gift, 

and light?

  Yes, my heart said,

this was the reason,

for Christmas,

gift-giving,

the tree, 

and the season.

Christmas is more than just

Santa and toys.

It's the cause

of our 

happiness,

and all 

of our

joys.

 

I stood back from the

tree,

and stood with some

poise,

 

it needed respect,

we quieted the

noise.

 How lovely our tree 

made my heart simply say,

this is a message

we should give away.

In our actions, 

our thoughts, 

and even our deeds, 

we should pay attention

to others needs.

Whenever a gleaming 

tree 

I walk by,

I'll give the true 

meaning

of Christmas

a try.

Who knew

the message of 

The Christmas 

Tree, 

would give new 

meaning

of Christmas for 

me.

Merry Christmas!

Surviving Cancer, My Story Part 17: 'She is my wife'

Part 17: 'She is my wife'

Dan purchased a bike shirt, biking shoes and a can of coke with his gift cards he got for his birthday.  I watched him sit on the couch in his orange bike shirt that looked ridiculously large, while he looked over his new shimano shoes and clips.  He loved to mountain bike; it was his true passion in life. I knew he wished he were out on a trail rather than sitting in our house day after day.  Truthfully, I wish he were out doing that as well.  It was strange to be together all the time, not really doing our usual married roles of divide and conquer.

 Dan also got an updated MRI and CAT scan worked into the day of his shopping trip. Monday was only two days before we were scheduled to be back up to the hospital for round 4 of chemo, our last round before the amputation.  The tests were reviewed as usual, in addition to discussion about Dan’s poor health and his extreme low weight, which was now becoming a problem.  Dr. Chen and Dr. Randall both agreed that at full strength Dan would not survive the next round of chemotherapy.  They decided to lessen the amount of chemo for Wednesday by 20%.  He would be at the hospital the same amount of days and have the same amount of time for the medicine drip but it would be pumped into his veins a lot slower, hopefully to ease some of his symptoms.  They didn’t want to see him back at the hospital between rounds anymore.  The treatment was becoming too dangerous and almost more life threatening than his cancer.

Dan was admitted to the hospital on Wednesday. I was eager to get him checked in so I could go home to rest.  A nasty chest cold, and infection had settled into my lungs; taking my voice to a low raspy whisper.  I could barely speak and I felt miserable. No one was taking care of me, and with Dan coming home a few days later I needed to be in a position to be his ‘beckon call girl’ rather than his ‘death bed buddy’.

As the nurse checked us in she stood next to Dan’s bed reviewing his chart, checking off a list of questions she needed to ask.  I answered some of the questions while Dan’s mouth was getting looked at. My voice was so horrible, I sounded like I ought to be the patient checking into the hospital. In the least I could be categorized as a former chain smoker whose voice was permanently damaged by it’s effects.  I let him answer the rest of the questions while I stare at Ethan sitting in his car seat, wishing I had a throat lozenge. She proceeded to get his vitals. As she was waiting for the machines to give her readings she started some small talk with Dan. I was hardly paying attention to what she was saying.  My throat was so sore, it was all I could focus on. My brain was in a fog and the conversations around me muffled.  A few minutes later I pulled out of my daze and heard the nurse still talking to Dan, “That’s nice your mother came with you today", she said.

I pulled my head up from staring at Ethan in his car seat and looked directly at the back of her head. Was she talking about me?  She wasn’t looking at me, but if she had glanced back she would have gotten the death stare I was beaming into her poofy blonde curls.  Dan must have saw the shock on my face as my mouth hung open because he started laughing and said, “no, no, no!...she isn’t my mother, she is my wife.”

The middle-aged nurse stopped what she was doing and flipped her body around to see my horrified look.  Embarrassment flashed across her face and she began apologizing profusely. Excusing her mistake by how young Dan looked it was clear she didn’t see his birth date on his chart, nor did she imagine that the baby I had toted into his room could be his.  It was hard to blame her after she had listened to my harsh, deep, manly voice.  I’m sure the dark circles and bags under my eyes added to her conclusion. My body still hadn’t had a chance to fully recover from having a baby five months prior leaving my look anything but resembling the wife of a young cancer patient.  It was the most insulted I’d felt in a long time.
Cancer made my husband look young, while it made me look like I was old.
It was confirmation that I was in need of some serious rest.

Alone time at home gave me a chance to get caught up with everyday chores I couldn’t do while I was taking care of Dan.  Laundry had piled up and dishes needed to bed done. I spent a good part of the day doing chores.  The doorbell rang and Cole ran to see who it was.  He loved visitors.  One of my neighbors stood there with a box full of groceries, including diapers and luxury household items our church welfare system didn’t supply.  Cereal, baby wipes, nice laundry soap, and dryer sheets caught my eye instantly.  I hadn’t been expecting this.  She came into my house with smiles and a hug, explaining that she had way overbought at Costco on accident, even though we both knew that wasn’t the case.  I had been assigned to visit this neighbor from our church roster once a month the year prior.  Although very nice when I would visit and check up on her I sometimes wondered if she liked me very much. It was hard to read how she perceived our visits. I attributed my insecure feelings to social awkward moments at the time.  I liked this neighbor but didn’t know her very well at all.  My heart felt humbled as she came into my son’s room and sat with me on his bed while I folded his clothes.  I had never seen her be so outgoing as she reached out to me in kindness.  Her attention to my fragile emotions and situation where exactly what I needed.

She was God’s angel on an errand and she didn’t even know it. 

I had never cared for the assigned visits at church before but at that moment realized their potential in finding unexpected friendships and was grateful I’d been assigned to visit her in the past.  She was a working mother who didn’t have a lot extra.  I knew her efforts to help me provide for my family came straight from the goodness of her heart. 

I wasn’t fully aware at the time but people were watching what was happening to Dan and I. Several times when we came home from the hospital and opened the front door there would be plates of home made cookies and a note, or a card attached to fancy lotion wrapped in cellophane.  A boy from our youth program wanted to have a car wash for an activity to raise some money for our family.  I was hardly aware of the behind the scenes efforts. I usually first learned about it only when the act of service was complete. When answering the door and seeing a boy with a humble smile on his face and his hands outstretched to mine holding $400 cash in small bills, I felt a warm shudder of humility travel through my body as he told me what he wanted to do and how he wanted to give.  I knew it was the spirit, confirming that God hadn’t forgotten me in my trials.  He was sending me love and help through others.

I was the beggar who wasn't forced to beg.

Dan was kept at the hospital several days longer before he came home from this round.  The doctors found it imperative to get his nausea under control before they’d release him this time.  My voice was still gone when I brought him home.  Dan was managing his symptoms with medication and home IV potassium fluids, trying to not throw up. Neither of us had any desire or ability to talk.  We sat in the living room together and watch Cole ‘mother’ Ethan. He had recently developed a number of unrecognizable words and began talking the baby’s ear off.  It was cute to watch him play and talk to his brother, oblivious to the elements surrounding him as being something other than normal.

Round 4 was over.  It was the beginning of time away from the chemo. Dan's body needed to heal.  He would need to be in good enough health to have the amputation, the surgery that would save his life and dismember parts from his body.  It felt like we had crossed a hurdle, even though the race was far from over. 
With a small break from chemo, Dan put himself on detail to mend while I was forced to focus on the secondary aspects of our situation….the bills.  The ones from the hospital had been coming every day, never one under $1000 for our portion to be paid.  I had been stacking them in a pile on my microwave, sometimes unopened.  I only paid the bills to keep us living in our small home and able to get by every month.  I rarely wanted to talk about bills to anyone; my first option in conversation was always how Dan’s cancer was doing.

 Opening my financial life to others was painful. When you need help everyone wants the details and every financial transaction becomes public for scrutinizing. It reminded me of needing help with my remedial math homework in grade school. I hated asking for the help and sometimes felt like I was failing in the subject of our financial life, as most people who get cancer do.

The truth was simple.  Ignoring the bills weren’t making them go away.  I shifted my thoughts and prayers from Dan to the bills. 

Surviving Cancer, My Story Part 13: Cancer love letters

Part 13: Cancer love letters

 After Dan was hooked up to round 2 of his chemo we got out a deck of cards and began to play a game.  Somehow games had been a great distraction in our marriage when one of us was sick.  At the end of my pregnancy with our first baby, I was in so much pain I was pretty much housebound.  Dan would come home from work and set up a station of games around the bed and we would play for hours.  We were both competitive in nature, which kept us motivated to keep playing until we individually felt we had the upper hand at winning. Games were a good distraction for the hospital stay and kept our minds on superficial subject matter.

He finally looked like he belonged at the hospital. He was bald headed, and 40 pounds thinner.  His clothes hung on him like he was a teenager wearing his dad’s clothes.  His head became shiny, as all cancer patients do, with no stubble to take the glare down a notche.

The room we were assigned this time around was in the back of the hospital.  It was a smaller room, with a view of rocks on the mountainside where the hospital was built against instead of the cityscape like we had before.   It was dark and cold.  I didn’t want to be there, I longed for the comforts and luxuries my own home and bed provided me that the hospital never could.

 A hospital routine soon settled in for us. I would stay with Dan at the hospital with our baby until he was administered his chemotherapy and spend the night on the fold out couch. Depending on how Dan’s system handled the drugs I would leave during his nap the next day to pick up Cole from the various houses he was being passed back and forth between, spend some time with him and then head back up to the hospital for another night or two before bringing him home.

Dan soon gave into the drugs and fell asleep.  I tried to do the same but my mind raced with worry and stress.  ‘Is this chemo working?’ ‘It better be working.’ ‘How can I get the insurance company to pay for Dan’s treatments?’  ‘I miss my Cole.’ ‘I still can’t believe this is real’. My thoughts never settled but my body eventually gave into exhaustion.

One of the rules for cancer patients is that their guests are not allowed to use their private bathroom.  A high risk to infection made it important to keep everything sterile and hospital approved.  When I woke up I walked down to the community bathrooms and showers still in my pajamas. This was common in the morning, to see spouses and caretakers with wild bed hair, wearing pajamas, and bags in hand making their way to their ‘assigned areas’ for bathroom and shower privileges. It reminded me of Holocaust films where the Jews and outcasts were herded into separate sectors.

Caretakers of cancer patients bear so much more burdens than anyone ever realizes.  They also take a backseat to the cancer patient in all areas.  The responsibility of keeping everything together for the cancer patient lies within their hands. All responsibilities’ are turned over to them, emotional, financial, mental, and physical. Ultimately the sense of personal duty to make sure everything does turn out the way you promise and want it to becomes the central focus and an obsession to fulfill.  No one is ready to fail his or her loved one.

Dan was awake when I returned and we talked about the daily plans.  The chemo he was getting made him want to sleep most the time we were there.  Around five o’clock that night he was ready to close his eyes.  I said goodnight and kissed him good-bye. 

In the morning I took both boys up to the hospital to spend with Dan. It was Cole’s first time visiting.  He had gotten used to his dad looking different from all the other dads, and took on the changes as if they were normal.  He behaved as if others should feel that way too.  Broken hands were not weird to him, and he frequently held one hand with the other and confessed a fib to various strangers that he had a broken hand, and could magically pull his hair out. When we first walked in, Cole looked scared to see his dad hooked up to so many machines and colorful bags hooked to tubes filtering under his shirt.  He was aware of the sensitivity his dad felt in his body and was usually careful when around him.  Any worry he had soon abandoned his mind after he was able to sit up in his dad’s bed with him and watch cartoons like he used to at home.

We stayed most of the day.  We had been lacking in family time and although the circumstances were less than ideal it felt comfortable to be together as a family.  Something about being separated during a crisis makes everything seem ten times worse.

I know Dan was happy to have the boys there, but he started feeling sick this time around during his treatment and became irritated at everything.  This in combination with the chemo plus eight other medications for pain, nausea, including a strong steroid made him physically ill, emotionally unstable, and mentally unsound. I packed up the boys to take Cole home and planned to return after my mom came to stay with him to help Dan during the night. He had been snappy in his tone about everything that day toward me and open about his discomfort.  He was mad at me for his being sick.  I tried to ignore it, knowing it was the circumstances making him act this way.  Tension in the room became thicker as the time for me to leave approached.  I knew Dan didn’t want to be left behind, that he prefer to just get up and come with us. Everything in his life was out of his control.  He was tethered to the hospital by machines and would remain a prisoner there for at least another day.

I remember this moment signifying the beginning of Dan subtlety pushing me out of his life.  Keeping me at a distance made it easier to attach the negative feelings from our circumstances and shift blame of the cancer onto a liable person. He began making me the enemy in his mind.

“Why don’t you just stay home tonight since you’re leaving”, he said as he turned his head away from me like a pouting child. 

I was too annoyed to let my hurt feelings control my emotions, “is that what you really want?” I asked him.   Although I knew that wasn’t what he wanted, a crying hungry baby and toddler jumping on me kept me from playing mother to his childish game.

“Yep!” he replied coldly and pursed his lips together.

I leaned over his bed to hug him good-bye.  I knew he was mad at me, and deep down inside I was mad at him.  He was making things harder on me than they already were.  He loosely threw one arm over my back with his head still turned to the side as if he were being forced to hug his worst enemy as punishment for fighting with them.  When I was younger my dad used to make us hold hands and walk half a mile down the road with the sibling we were at war with.  It was torture.  I knew Dan needed someone or something to blame for the misery he was going through. I hated that he picked me to be that ‘someone’; even though most people blame those they are closest to for things they are unhappy about.

 “Why are you pushing me away?” I whispered as I began to pull away.

He didn’t answer, but wouldn’t let go of me. He pulled me closer to him finally taking me into his arms.  His grip tightened and I felt his sincere embrace as he held me on his chest for a few minutes longer.  I didn’t want him to let go.  Nothing more between us was said before I left, just an exchange of glances that said, ‘I get you’.  I waited until I was in the car before I let myself cry.  I subconsciously felt the inner conflict Dan was adopting between loving me and blaming me for what was going on.

 I fed the kids and put them to sleep.  Before I got ready for bed I got on the computer to check my emails.  One addressed with no subject was from Dan only an hour earlier.

i wanted to send you a quick note.

i love you.

thank you so much for coming up to see me.

 sorry i was being a pain.

  it means the world to me to have you hug me. 
that touch was what my body needed, it was hard to let you go.

 felt like the old days, when we were dating,

 before we got married.

i really love you.

 i cant wait to get home and be apart of the family again.  we can
make it through this.

Dan

My mind flashed back to the time he was referring to.  Our relationship never felt perfect or without problems even then, but I knew he loved me, and it made me love him.  His email confirmed my thoughts and that we felt the same.
Dan wrote me a lot of letters before we got married. Reading the email he sent from the hospital pricked my heart reminding me how I had carefully chosen him as my mate.
My childhood broken home left me with fears about finding the right person to
share my life with.

I printed the note for safekeeping and quick retrieval for future bad days that were sure to come. My self worth was fragile and cracking. The small confirmations that Dan gave that we had each other, and we were in it together were the only things that gave me reason to keep going and act strong.  I needed to feel that same love he had for me in the beginning. I craved it, although I could feel it slowly slipping away the longer he had cancer.

We picked him up from the hospital the next day.  The boys decided to be with daddy, and brought their toys into our room so we could be together. Things felt better for the moment and I dismissed the hospital incident in my mind. 

Love is forgiving the ones you have relationships with, regardless of if they are sorry or not.  I knew by Dan’s ‘cancer love letter’ that he was sorry, that he didn’t want to push me away, and that he loved me.  I believed his letter that ‘we would make it through this’, meaning his cancer. I just didn’t suspect that there would be other things happen that we might not make it through.