It's All Good

These are my friends, Maggie and Debbie. I took this picture November 1, 2007. Maggie is the one sitting in the chair. She is my age. She has breast cancer and she died yesterday.

Five years ago, Maggie, Debbie and I were neighbors. We have watched our children grow, talked about how they would marry each other and shared our daily ups and downs. It's great having neighbors like that. When Maggie's husband Pat announced that his job was transferring him out of state, we couldn't believe it. I remember praying that thru some miracle the transfer wouldn't go thru. Maggie just said "It's all good"...packed up her little family and left us. We continued our friendship long distance. Debbie and Maggie were especially close so, I stayed in touch thru Christmas letters, occassional calls and Debbie. I couldn't believe it when Deb told me that Maggie had breast cancer. You have to know that Maggie is an optomist. I am an optomist too, but Maggie has raised being positive to an art-form. More truthfully said, living with hope was the only way Maggie lived. And so when she told us about her surgery, her hair loss and her chemo, she would say, "It's all good." Deb and I prayed for miracles.

Maggie's cancer seemed to go away, and then about four years ago it came back with a vengence. The Dr.'s caring for her didn't see a long future. Pat moved the family back to Utah and with a smile on her face, and amidst raising three growing girls (12, 10 and 8), holding down church callings and working part-time, Maggie engaged in a battle for her life. She took her family to counseling to prepare them and she received a blessing that thru the next few years, she would often talk about, saying "I was promised that I would be able to raise my girls to maturity." And Deb and I prayed for a miracle.

The picture above was the last time I saw Maggie. She wanted to know all about Dane's recent illness, and as I was telling her the story any time I hesitated, she would urge me to tell her more details, she would say "Oh, Kjirsten, it must've been awful, I am so glad Dane is ok!" I felt so uncomfortable talking about my happy ending when I knew her family would not receive one. And again she talked about the blessing she had received four years ago. She said she was so thankful that it took so long for the cancer to reach one of her major organs, she said "My girls are so much more mature now (16, 14 and 12) than they were 4 years ago. It's all good." I love this picture, because I love the looks on our faces. It was a happy day. I knew I would never see Maggie again in this life, and it felt great to be with her. We left her after saying a prayer together. It was all good.

When I heard that Maggie went in to the ICU right before Thanksgiving, Deb and I prayed for her and her family...and yes, we prayed for a miracle. The Dr's said 24 for hours was all she had left. When she was still hanging on by the Monday after Thanksgiving, we thought maybe our miracle had come. Pat called Debbie last night and told her that Maggie had gone home. He was in good spirits Deb said. Pat told her that a harpist had come and played in Maggie's room on Wed. and had asked him if she could return to play for Maggie again on Thursday. By this time, Maggie had been incoherent for a few days. The harpist came and played again the next day anyway, and after she left, Pat went over to Maggie, and noticed a tear on her cheek. He said it was then that she returned to Heavenly Father.

I wanted a miracle, just like when she moved away, I didn't want her to leave. Now I understand that Maggie, the way she lived her life and loved the Lord,...Maggie was the miracle. And she was right, it's all been good. God bless you, Maggie.

Letters from the Family Dog

Dear Big Teenage Masters:
Please stop telling Big Momma Master that I am spoiled. Have you spent any time with your Grandma C. and her puppies lately? I do not have as many toys and my dog food is out of a bag and not a can. I think you can see what I mean. And one other thing, I will shake, I will sit and I will even lay down for you, but I will never roll over. Never. I won't ever hunt pheasants, either. This doesn't have anything to do with being spoiled. It's just who I am. Deal with it.
All my love and devotion,
Wilma the humble dog

Dear Cute Little Kid Masters:
You have tasty crumbs around your ears and nose. Hold still and let me lick you. I am a good licker.
Hoping to lick you soon,
Wilma

Dear kitty cats:
Please don't hiss and scratch me when I come over to offer a paw of friendship. I just want to smell you. And lick you. And maybe fetch you. It will be fun. You'll see. Just because it hasn't worked out for other dogs and cats doesn't mean it can't work for us.
Affectionately,
Wilma, the dog who is in touch with her inner kitty and wants you to let her touch your outer kitty

Dear Big Master:
What's up with keeping me off the couch? I know you say that you don't want stinky dog bums on the furniture. But you let other stinky bums sit there. I know. I've sniffed them. I clean my hindquarters at least a million times a day. If one speck of dirt winds up there, boom! I'm right on it. What's it going to take for you to rethink the couch policy? I would be willing to clean myself more often, but hey - I only have one tongue, and I might not be able to clean Cute Little Kid Masters' faces as much. Get back with me on this.
Your clean, cute, loving and clean dog
Wilma, the clean dog

Dear Master with the Good Scent:
Where are you? I check your room every day about 100 times to see if you've come home yet. When Big Momma Master looks at your empty room she makes sad eyes like the cat on Shrek II. So you need to come back home, because no one else but you sneeks me into their room and lets me stay all night. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone. But please come back soon.
Missing you,
Wilma, the good secret keeper

Dear Big Momma Master:
You must have a higher intelligence because it's like you can almost understand me! If there is reincarnation, I'm sure you've earned the right to come back as a dog in your next life. Only I see how hard you work at home when your family is gone. You get a lot done in that 1/2 hour before everyone gets back from school. Don't feel guilty about reading books and snuggling with me the rest of the time. Its bad Karma. If you have to feel bad about something, feel bad about blogging. It cuts into our snuggle time.
With love,
Your Wilma

P.S.
Ask Big Master if I could start sitting on the couch now. Think of all the fun we could have snuggling there!

Communication is way over rated

So, I know what Dr. Phil says about couples and communication, but after 20 years of marriage I can honestly say that Joe and I have done pretty well without it. I'm sure its a handy tool for some people, it just doesn't work for us. In fact, the very first fight we ever had was about communication, or the lack thereof. We had just seen a movie that was a spin-off of Cyrano DeBurjurac (or however its spelled) anyway, the guy in the movie (none other than Steve Martin) had all these wonderful ways of describing his burning love for his girlfriend. He put in to words, romantic words, details about her beauty, her hair, and even her feet (for pete's sake). After that movie, I was addicted and wanted some pretty words from my man, too. So, for the next two hours I pleaded, begged, nagged and bribed my newlywed husband to wax poetic and tell me some beautiful reasons why he couldn't resist me. And he absolutely refused! Now, I am not without my charms, at least back in the day anyway, and there had been lots of boys before Joe that had gone on and on about them in song and poem, so I knew it could be done. Alas the more Joe refused the more angry I became. Finally, around 11:00pm he relented and said "OK, if I tell you something I like about you, you have to promise me not to laugh." Finally, I was going to get the romance I craved, and what made it even sweeter was that my guy was so shy about it. "Of course I would never laugh, darling, you can tell me anything." And I really did mean it, at the time I sincerely believed I was telling the truth. But I was so totally unprepared for what was about to come out of his mouth, after which, me laughing at him was the least of his worries. I remember we were sitting on the bed, facing each other and holding hands, and he looked into my dewy honeymoon eyes and said, "Well, when you kiss me it makes feel like going to sleep". For real. No lie. That is what he said, you see the quotation marks don't you? Things like that a girl doesn't forget. Ever. EVER. E V E R! If I thought I was angry before when he wouldn't whisper sweet nothings in my ear, after his declaration of "love" - I don't even know what you could call it. But I will tell you this, saying I was mad then is like saying Niagra Falls is an irrigation ditch. (I'm going for the understatement here). I stormed off, and in a small basement apartment, that is quite an accomplishment. Joe promptly fell into a deep, peaceful sleep. Without me even kissing him. Go figure. I know his sleep was deep and peaceful because I stayed up until the wee hours of the morning watching him do it. I was fuming like Geneva Steel. All night. Well a week or two later when I began talking to him again (Ibelieve it is important not to hold grudges in a marriage) he explained that what he was saying was that when I kiss him, it was so wonderful and relaxing , that he felt like floating away, like you do when you sleep. Hmmmm.

Now fast forward 2o years from that day to the present. Communication still continues to taunt us, dangling in our relationship somewhere just out of reach. Luckily, we have 6 children who interrupt us any time we attempt it, or there might be many more stories like the one above. I don't pretend to understand Joe any better than he understands me. However, we can communicate by the raise of an eyebrow, a smirk, a sigh (sighs speak volumes!) things like that that don't get us in trouble the way words do. We have learned to compensate for our handicap by just really being in love with each other anyway. Kind of like a person who can't see will hear really well. I love Joe so much some times I feel my heart will jump out of my chest and start tapdancing for him on the table. That's serious love. When I see him at the end of the day, I am amazed at how handsome he has grown in my abscense. And when he puts on his black Sunday suit, wow! I can't take my eyes off of him. (It's a good thing he is no longer in the bishopric sitting on the stand, it made it very hard for me to focus on the sermons.) Still, it might be nice if talking were an option.

Case in point, today he came home from work early. I was thrilled, the kids were gone and we would have time to talk after he rested. I busied myself with housework while he napped, and when he woke up he called me in to the bedroom and said "Hey, you should watch Oprah today." Joe hates Oprah, clear back from the days when I watched her religiously, he called her the "prophetess" and he didn't say it in a nice way, either. So as I pondered Joe's suggestion, it dawned on me that he had seen all the work I was doing and he wanted me to relax and watch something I enjoyed - not realizing it had been years since I'd seen the prophetess. So I took his advice, laid down on the bed, took the controls and began to watch. The show that day was about people who hoard things, but like in the extreme. Animals and small children go missing on a regular basis in these hoarding homes. I was getting pretty "creeped out" as my kids would say. Then Joe entered the room, and I got the distinct impression - again from what he said (dang those words!) he wasn't wanting me to rest from my labors, he was wanting me to labor harder....because he thinks I am a hoarder! Talk about your miscommunication.

All of this clearly says to me that Joe either has a death wish, or an I want to sleep on the couch til March wish. But since we have such problems communicating, I will never know for sure which one it really is.