An Angel Smiling

This is the image I can't get out of my head this week.

Five years ago this past Monday a gorgeous, fun, spirited and happy 11-year-old girl passed away from cancer. Kaitlyn is the oldest daughter of my friends Nick and Kelly, and big sister to their daughter Megan... and this smiley face is the symbol of her life.

I don't know how to explain it when I tell you that such a sad time is one of the most treasured times of my life. So often we experience a death in our lives and want to run away from it; leave it behind so sadness doesn't follow you. But that's not how it was in this case. Heartbreaking, yes. Sad, terribly. But in her struggle with cancer and even in her death, Kaitlyn taught all of us about living more than anyone seven times her age could hope to.

Megan asked me out of the blue a few years ago when it was that I became their friend... and this is one of those rare times I can't pinpoint the moment. Kelly and I became close friends in that year before Kate died, but I really think the week of her death and wake and funeral turned us into family. The kind of friendship where, whether they realized it or not, they were going to be stuck with me for life. But Kaitlyn had that effect on people ... the ability to bring them together. This little girl who put up the fight of her life, who never lost her spunk and looked out for other little kids in the cancer wing, brought a whole world of people together as they all fought along with her.

And she did it all while smiling.

I'm sure her mom could tell of many times when orneriness was more prevalent than a grin, but only a cool and happy kid would want to rock out to Bon Jovi's It's My Life on her way to Mayo for treatments. Or know all the words to Barenaked Ladies If I Had A Million Dollars. They had fun as a family and it's obvious in every photo you see of her with extended family that they loved each other beyond words.

I had the privilege, along with so many others, to be there with their family at Hospice when Kate died. At different times that day the room was filled with people who loved her... her young friends holding her hand... people gathering around her to pray for her or remind her of stories. And even when crying and reminiscing, there was always a touch of laughter. Because she brought that out in people. Even before she was gone it was obvious we would never think of her without eventually turning to a smile.

I know so much of that week was a blur for her parents, but pretty much every moment of it is seared in my memory. And this week, five years later, I can't help but stop each day and remember where I was. Yesterday, Thursday, was her wake service and today was her funeral. In the days between when she died and the services their house was a revolving door of people, and because their friend Joe and I were singing at the services there was a lot of planning to be done and decisions to be made. And I am so grateful that I got to be a part of it. I didn't know how to make it better for her family, because there is no way to make it better. But we did make it a celebration.

Nick walked into her wake service with a big smiley face balloon, and spoke so eloquently of their girl. He captured her spirit and her joys and her young wisdom that touched everyone. The wake and funeral were beautiful, and at the cemetery there was a warm wind that circled everyone and made it impossible not to feel the spirit that was there. The sky filled with colorful balloons that were released in her honor, and that night as we all gathered at their home no one wanted to leave. It was like if we stayed long enough, if we didn't let the week come to an end, we wouldn't have to really say goodbye.

But we did leave, and five years later Kate's spirit is just as present as it ever was. And when we talk about her she brings us together as much as she ever did. She lived 11 years on this earth, and that kid truly lived her whole life. She touched people and left a mark. She accomplished what we all are trying to do... she laughed and she loved and she caused trouble and taught lessons. She really lived her life.

And she did it all while smiling.

Mmmm... Raccoon

Here's an interesting dilemma in my life: my condo complex has a raccoon problem. See that photo below? It's of the world's largest raccoon. And it's in my parking lot. Even more disgusting is the fact that right after this photo was taken it slithered down into the storm drain. That's apparently where it lives.

I added those handy-dandy red arrows to make sure you could tell what blob I was talking about, seeing as it is a bit on the blurry side. That's because I took the photo at night, without the flash, through the window of my sliding glass door. That, and the fact that Riley was jumping up and down, knocking me off-balance, begging for the chance to save us from the raccoon that could eat him for a midnight snack. He's a protector, that 10 pound ball of fluff.

Mostly, the raccoon has been stalking my neighbor, Candace. On more than one occasion he/she has cornered Candace in the parking lot while she was walking her dog, Martini (who is about Riley's size but smart enough to be scared out of her wits). Candace was throwing garbage in the dumpster at one point and the animal leaped out of the dumpster at her. If there is anything that could get me to throw down my crutches and run, I'm pretty sure that would be it.

Last week, Riley and I were laying on the couch when he sat up ready to fight and I heard this annoyingly high-pitched screaming coming from outside. And there, on my patio, was the huge raccoon FREAKING OUT. 

So, after calling my friend Susie to tell her about the crazy raccoon, I called Animal Control. Otherwise known as the most unhelpful people on the planet. (If someone from Animal Control is reading this, I'm sorry. But in this case it was true.) I explained to the woman that there was what I assumed to be a rabid raccoon on my patio and could they please do something about it? Ummm... yeah. Not so much.

Apparently the animal control people only have a contract with my town between the hours of 8 and 5. Even though it was before 5:00 when I made the call, catching a raccoon would require traps to be set out overnight and since they aren't contracted to come out during the night they wouldn't do it. Why, you ask? Because it would be inhumane to let the raccoon sit in a trap overnight.

Yep.

Then the woman proceeds to ask me if the raccoon was female. She said it may be up around my house freaking out because it was in labor. I told her I had no idea if it was male or female. Did she think I went out to pet it and give it an exam? I mean, seriously. Then she asked me if there is a food source outside, like a dumpster. I explained to her again that I lived in a condo complex, so yes, there were dumpsters on every corner.

The woman then told me that if we could remove the dumpsters it would help the situation.

I'm just going to let you digest that comment for a second.

Ok, moving on. She then informed me that really, because our town is growing farther out we are actually encroaching on the raccoon's home... so it's really more us irritating them than them irritating us.

I realized at that point if I wasn't willing to join hands with the raccoon and sing "Kumbaya" I wasn't going to get very far with animal control. So apparently the raccoons have a permanent home in the storm drains. 

All of this, believe it or not, reminded me of a story from my childhood. (You all knew it was coming eventually, didn't you?) There was a sweet little old lady that lived in the teeny-tiny town of Irvington, near where I grew up. We called her Grandma Colwell, even though we were of no relation... but we had known her forever and she babysat my dad when he was little. 

Irvington, to give you perspective, had a building that housed a general store, post office, restaurant, gas station and hotel. All in the same building. Growing up we would ride our horses to see Grandma Colwell and she'd give us a nickel to buy candy at the General Store. Basically, think of the Walton's and you've got the picture. 

My dad would sometimes take me with him to see Grandma Colwell and have lunch with her. She truly made the best apple pie I've ever tasted, but other than that my main staple at her house was peanut butter and jelly. Thank God. Because she would concoct dishes for dad and herself that I never really had an interest in trying. I may have been young, but I wasn't stupid.

I remember one particular afternoon when dad carried the dishes into the kitchen and came back out looking green. We sped in his truck the mile down the road to our house where he went inside and was not seen for awhile.

You've guessed by now, right? Yep... she fed him raccoon. My dad ate roadkill. And if Grandma Colwell was alive today I'm pretty sure she'd have a solution to my raccoon problem.

I'm just sayin'.

Daily Affirmations (by Riley)

I'm good enough. I'm smart enough. And doggone it, people like me.

(If you don't know what this means, then you didn't watch enough Stuart Smalley on Saturday Night Live in the 90's.)

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

When I saw this photo of Riley, I obviously thought of Stuart Smalley, but it also totally made me think of my friend Katie. We were best friends in high school, rode the bus together since kindergarten and then went to college together at UNI. I love her to pieces and so when I tell you this, it is meant in the nicest, most loving way.

She's obnoxious.

And she made me laugh a lot. Growing up she was a total girl and a total tomboy all at the same time, and her family ...  they were not quiet people. When I would eat at their house and we would say the table prayer, by the time "Amen" was uttered you had better have your hand on the dish and the spoon to your plate or you'd wind up with a piece of bread and nothing else. In my family we each took a dish and then passed to the left. It was a culture shock... and a whole lot of fun.

There isn't a big long story as to why this photo reminds me of Katie. It's just that she didn't lack in self-esteem and didn't need to remind herself she was good enough. Actually, she often referred to herself as a "Pretty, Pretty Princess."

I'm so not kidding.

We lived together off campus (in a small house... before the Big House) but in different rooms. Some nights when we were all in bed she would shout for me to tell her a story so she could go to sleep. I always made her give me a sentence to start and I would take it from there. Nine times out of ten the first sentence would be, "Once upon a time there was a Pretty, Pretty Princess named Katie, and everybody loved her."

And after I stopped laughing, I would weave a tale and turn her into the wicked witch by the ending.

Sometimes it pays to be the one telling the story.

:)

Hello, Thailand!

I love technology. Probably because when we were growing up we thought Pong was the most technologically challenging game EVER... so pretty much anything beyond that is impressive to me. When I went to college and my friend Nicole had a word processor (for the younger readers... that's basically a typewriter that could save one document to a floppy disk) she was the hit of our dorm floor. I borrowed her superior technology frequently so I didn't have to trek to the computer lab in exchange for maybe helping her "correctly word" a few papers of her own. To clarify, I didn't write them... I just "worded" them. Big difference.

We also tried to force technology to happen a few times, to no avail. On a summer trip home to my parents' house, Nicole and I were driving in separate cars and couldn't really stomach the idea of following each other for 2 hours and not talking. And because we were brilliant but poor college students who couldn't afford those new-fangled cell phones we decided to do this:

Don't try this at home, kids... because walkie-talkies don't work in moving cars. Thank God cell phones became an affordable option.

My world really opened up when I got a home computer during college. It was a used model and had the capacity to write a paper and check email. Imagine my surprise when I was writing an email one day and my friend Doug, who was in a student exchange program, instant messaged me. I had NO IDEA what was happening, and he had to type me instructions about what buttons to push and how to respond. Thank God I had friends who kept me relevant. He just IM'd me the other day to fill me in on his wife and three kids... sometimes it blows me away how much our lives have changed on every level.

And now, here I am ... literally confined to my home but thanks to technology, connecting with the world. I've been doing this blog such a short time and have gotten emails from people in Thailand, Switzerland and Belgium. Who knew a cute dog could attract attention from people so far away? [Even my brother Hoody figured out how to leave a comment on a post. :)] It's been lovely feeling so connected to the world again without having to leave my little sanctuary... thanks for being on the receiving end of my little quips, people. It's been nice having you around.

The Big House

I'd like you to meet the Big House Girls...

Amy, Susie, Wente and me (Wente was forced to wear that crown and "cape" in celebration of her engagement, but I think she looks pretty cute with it on)

We all met in college and lived together for a few years in... you guessed it... a big house. :) I feel the need to inform you all that we were intelligent, creative individuals and I have NO IDEA why we started referring to our home as the big house. All of our friends did too, and it didn't seem odd at the time. Now, however, when I say it to people they think it sounds silly... like how my friend Katie used to say they were having long spaghetti for dinner. Like short spaghetti was an option? A bit of stating the obvious. Anyway, regardless of how it started we lived in The Big House and became The Big House Girls and had Big House Parties. Good times.

Susie and I were best friends, and while I knew Amy and Wente (whose name is really Sara) from church we didn't know each other all that well. The three of them were all in grad school studying to be speech pathologists (which is why I know terms like aphasia and try to sound smarter than I am). Amy and I have talked often about how before we moved in together we would have thought we had nothing in common, but we turned out to be so much alike it was scary. I love it when life surprises you like that.

I'll be telling you lots of Big House stories in the future, I have no doubt, but for now I'll tell you that these three girls are amazing, supportive and life-long friends. Right now my friend Wente is having to say goodbye to her dad who passed away last week. Yesterday was the wake and today is the funeral and it's times like these when I normally would move heaven and earth to be there for her. I wish more than anything I could get in a car and travel. We're taught how to be good friends when we're in preschool and are told to share and be kind and considerate. But no one teaches how to do that from a distance ... fill in a gap of space and let someone know you care when words seem inadequate and a hug would say it all.

The words I can say is that Wente's dad should be so proud of his kids. His health had been deteriorating for quite some time, and while it was time to stop medical treatment and release him from the hospital, none of them wanted him to go to a nursing home. He was a farmer who took good care of his big family and every one of her siblings stepped up with their mother when it counted to take care of him. He was released from the hospital to his home with hospice care, and his kids made a schedule for the next two weeks so one of them would always be there with him. He made it home to the farm, and passed away the next day with every one of his children by his side. We should all live such a blessed life and have such a beautiful tribute in death.

If all of you reading this could just say a little prayer for Wente and her family today I would appreciate it. Maybe it will help her feel the hug, even from a distance. 

Tough is for the Weak

There's a lesson I seem to be constantly re-teaching myself: being tough and being strong are two completely different things.

Years ago I had an employer who really enjoyed dispensing wisdom on anyone who would listen. Being in this person's employ pretty much meant I was a captive audience.

At the time I was still using my "tough it out" method of getting better. It's that whole mentality of people who walk around coughing and sneezing while declaring to everyone that they don't get sick. It's mind over matter. They're tougher than all that illness crap. Well, I was quite certain I was tougher than all this pain nonsense, too.

I wouldn't just go to work; I would stay until I could barely walk out of the place. I would be walking down the hall at the end of the night, holding onto the wall to brace myself as I limped along... determined that I could just push through it. Sooner or later my body would catch up to the idea my mind had placed before it: You'll be strong or die trying.

It didn't help that my employer enjoyed telling me that everything in life is mind over matter. You just have to decide to be well. You decide to never get sick. You decide to not have pain. You decide to be successful. If you decide something and tough it out it will happen... and if it doesn't it's because somewhere inside you weren't really committed to it. The straw that finally broke my back (if you forgive the appropriate expression) is when it was declared one evening after seeing me walk out of my office limping that if I had enough faith I would already be healed.

Which goes to prove that working for a church-going individual doesn't mean you'll be working in a positive environment.

But I have to tell you, I owe a lot to this employer. Everyone is truly put in your life for a reason because it was in that exact moment when I decided what I didn't believe. I didn't believe God was sitting somewhere waiting to see if I really wanted to be well... if I would jump through enough hoops to prove myself to Him. And I didn't believe that it was all in my power. I realized He was waiting for me to give it up and put it in His hands. And that, people, requires strength.

I have forgotten that and re-learned it many times. The most recent being this past week. I have been trying so freaking hard to be tough. I have been so weak and sick at moments that I really thought the ground would open up and swallow me whole... and I'll be damned if I was going to lay down and let it happen. I was so agitated by it I'd pace around my condo (which, if you could see me walk would be using the term loosely) or try a different medicine or eat a different food or throw my dog a toy; anything but lay down and let it take over. I had a lung reaction weeks ago when sitting outside, but by God I went out again when my breathing got a little better to see if I had somehow gotten tougher in the last week. One guess as to how that turned out.

And then I had enough strength inside me to just lay down. I let it take over. And dear God, I was tired. And I still get dizzy and nauseous and weak, but wouldn't you know it - when I have the strength to let myself lay down and be weak, I get a little stronger. It doesn't last, but it's given me precious moments of stability.

I just had to stop being tough and start being strong. Strong enough to live the life I'm given instead of the one I think I'm tough enough to make. I didn't live my life back when I had a job and activities. I pushed through my life trying to get to one that didn't exist. I was being tough back then, but there is a strength in letting go that I wouldn't trade. No matter how many times I have to re-learn the lesson.

Wuss

My pup is a wuss.

It's true. For a dog that's not just all bark... the dude has bite... he is a total mama's boy-wimp. And I think it's adorable.

I was throwing around his favorite toy and he went diving into the other room to get it when he barely brushed past the couch. Maybe the tip of his fur came in contact with the corner. Maybe. So he turns around to see if I noticed and puts his head down, slowly ambling toward me.

I, being the single and childless woman that I am, go toward him with my arms out and he lifts one defeated paw in the air as if it say, "Yes, please come to my aid." I pick him up and he rests his head on my shoulder, pitiful and beaten by life.

It's fantastic.

Can you imagine how ridiculous I'd be if I actually had children?