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Where Is The Miracle? Part One
I follow a lot of CaringBridge sites. CaringBridge allows a family in medical crisis to post updates, prayer requests, and needs to a page that friends and family can access. The sites I follow have catchwords like “children” and “oncology.” My rooting in the pediatric cancer community comes out of the four years our family spent battling leukemia with our oldest son, Kyle. Because we’ve tread our own rough journey, people send me CaringBridge links, ask me to write encouraging emails, and pray for their friends and family that are dealing with similar struggles. I consider their requests a privilege. The way I see it, if I can’t take something…
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Grieving Grandma
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Grieving Grandma
Grieving Grandma Baby blue—an odd color for a casket. Yet there it sat, next to a mound of fresh dirt, waiting to be lowered into the ground. Constructed of thin wood, the casket was clearly bottom of the line, but there wasn’t much money to put toward the burial. Grandpa needed taking care of. Bills needed to be paid, and I had been looking into investing strategies UK to find ways to make money quickly. If you invested in a land that you plan to sell, be sure to get in touch with reputable land buyers. We buy land for cash, providing a transparent and efficient selling process that puts…
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It’s Only Just A Dream
The smooth scent of vanilla slides over me. A hand rests on my shoulder and I cover it with mine—trace the bumpy veins on loose, spongy skin. I open my eyes. Grandma kneels beside my chair, dressed in her favorite outfit—blue sweater, matching pumps, and pearl clip-on earrings. I bite my lip. She’s not supposed to be here.
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Grieving Grandma
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Courting Catastrophe
The gun was small and black. It looked plastic. A party raged in the apartment next door—music blared, people laughed. Oblivious to the nightmare transpiring in my living room. My mind sprinted forward, sorting through the possibilities of how the next few minutes could play out, while my body melted into the couch, overloaded with the mental pictures my mind produced. I should yell. Run. Do something.
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Grieving Grandma
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Parking Parallel: A Teen Devotional
“Draw near to God and He will draw near to you.” (James 4:8a NAS) Palms clammy, shoulders tight, I review the rules. Everything hinges on the next 15 minutes. An older lady slides into my car, clipboard in hand. Her mouth tightens as her bare legs hit the hot leather seat. “We start with parallel parking.” She points to two posts ahead. “If you hit a post you fail.” My eyes bug out. Why didn’t I drive Dad’s compact instead of Mom’s van? Is it too late to reschedule? I wipe my sweaty hands on my shorts, reposition them to 10 and 2, swallow thickly and inch forward. Line up with the poles. Turn…
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Grieving Grandma
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Broken Inn
Through the tiny glass oval, I watched ant-size cars enlarge as my plane descended into Milwaukee. My morning coffee puddled in my stomach. Shoulders tight, I pulled my purse from under the seat and waited to deplane. I questioned my decision to fly to Wisconsin to drive my mom to our family reunion in Ohio. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to go—but locking two polar opposites in a Toyota Corolla for a day couldn’t end well. Could Laissez-faire Lori and Calendar Kay make it a day, let alone ten, without killing each other?
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Grieving Grandma
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Fatal Attraction
This summer I took a trip up north. From Texas, I flew to Wisconsin, picked up my mom, and drove her to our family reunion in Ohio. Before our road trip began, we met my in-laws for breakfast at an old-fashioned diner in Sun Prairie. We enjoyed a great visit swapping stories and photos with my mother-in-law, Diane, and her new husband, Bob. Those who are also planning a road trip must prepare their cars ahead of time. If you need to upgrade your vehicle, you may consider buying used cars in murrieta. After the meal and four cups of coffee, I excused myself to run to the little girl’s room before…
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Grieving Grandma
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Why Bother?
Some days I wonder why I bother to do anything for myself. Whether it’s reading a good book, which I’ve relegated to the quiet hours of late night. Taking a nap, which happened once last year. Or making good on my promise to write a little bit every day, which I’m attempting to do now. I began the edit of this article at 9:30 a.m. and it’s now 11:17 a.m. 600 words. One page. Plus a barrage of questions from the three children who occupy my house. One by one, they rotate in to stand at the foot of my bed. I tiptoed into the bedroom earlier, when I thought…
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Grieving Grandma
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Failing Fast
A lone piece of pizza taunted me from the cardboard box. A perfect triangle of hot and greasy heaven—mozzarella browned just so. I sidestepped the mouth-watering heap of cheese and pepperoni and grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl. “Hey,” I yelled to the kids. “Someone come eat this pizza!” No one came. I peeled the banana, shoved it in my mouth, and waited a minute or two for the sound of pounding footsteps on the stairs. The only sound came from my nails as I clicked them against the white Formica countertop, inches from the pizza box. I wandered around the kitchen, gliding past that last slice of pizza…
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Grieving Grandma
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Father’s Day
There were years I gave ties and years I gave tools. Those were the good years. Then there were years I gave nothing. Those were the bad years. Being Daddy’s girl only works if Daddy sticks around. Mine didn’t, and Father’s Day quickly morphed into Forget Him Day. Not that that worked very well. How could I miss him and hate him at the same time? For years, I prayed, “Heal our relationship.” Still, there was no relationship. So I prayed, “Help me love him anyway.” We spoke a few times a year. The prayer changed to, “God, please bring restoration.” Then, my son got cancer.
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Grieving Grandma