Today I am flooded with thankfulness.
After 11 years of marriage, we found out that what we were once told was not happening, was now knocking on our door.
We learned that sometimes when you think God is saying "No", He is actually saying "Not Yet".
I know that no one can have God figured out. His ways are not our ways, and we will never understand. But I also believe His timing is perfect.
I know that God knew I was going to need a blessing so big that my thankfulness would outweigh my grief.
I know that God has given me a son who, when the storms and grief are at their darkest hour, one tiny smile makes the clouds go away and the thunder stop.
I know I am truly blessed.
Thursday, December 6, 2012
Monday, December 3, 2012
Moments.....
In August of 2009, My Father and I traveled down to Florida to pick up his boat, and to visit with my Grandmother, and my brother Darrell. AT this point, my family was residing in Detroit.
While we were in Florida, I went one day with Darrell to the home of hi ex-wife, so I could visit with my niece and nephew, who I hadn't seen in a long time. Darrell had been diagnosed with a "Severe ear infection" by his family physician. He was using some drops, but his symptoms had actually been getting worse. He was experiencing an extreme headache, and it had lasted for over two weeks. We were standing in the dining area of his ex-wife Nikki's apartment, when he saw flashing lights, and he just went limp. I grabbed him on his way down, and we both kind of fell into a chair. I have such vivid memories of this time. I believe the "french" I used was "I'm taking your ass to the hospital". He had explained his symptoms a day or two earlier to Pop and I, and we tried to convince him to go to the hospital. He wanted to give the ear drops more time.
We drove quickly to the hospital in Starke, Fl, which was only about 1/4 mile away. He checked in at the desk inside, and we waited. Now, many of you know, that even today, going to the Emergency room with your major symptom as a "headache", puts you dead last on the priority list. there were three people in the waiting room when we got there, and those three went to the back, and left in our time in the waiting room. As a matter of fact, more people had come in, went back, and left, in the four hours we sat and waited.
Finally, the nurse called us back, and they took Darrell back for an X-Ray. They wheeled him back from there, and again I heard him ask if he could have something for the pain. The nurse kind of sarcastically said that she could get him tylenol, but the doctor had to make the call for anything stronger. By this time Pop had arrived, he was waiting to come up, just in case it was a quick turn around and no big deal, but once we passed the 3-4 hour mark, he decided to come up. Just then, the nurse comes back in, and says that they were having trouble reading the X-Ray, and that he needed to go for a scan. They promptly came and got him. Whatever they did, didn't take long, and it seemed like he was back in just minutes. I was sitting next to the gurney, when out of the blue Darrell looked at me, and he said I think there is something major wrong with me. I put my hand on his knee and asked him "what"? Even though I had heard what he said. He said that he could tell by the faces of the people in the scan room that something was wrong. "Something bad". Just then, the nurse came in the room, and said that the doctor told her to put in an IV line, and to give him Morphine. Her face spoke volumes, because now it was a look of pity. She told us that the doctor would be back to talk to Darrell in about 30 minutes. Darrell was feeling a bit woozy from the morphine, so I told him I was going to go hit the vending machine and make some phone calls.
SO many thoughts went swirling through my head on that walk to the vending machines. My heart just sank. Darrell was scared, I was scared, even Dad looked nervous, which was really out of character for him. Bottom line, when you are with someone at the hospital, and X-rays and scans change everyones tone around you, it's not a good feeling.
I was on the phone with Shanon, when the nurse came out the door looking for Darrell White's family. (My Dad was outside with me, on his phone also.) I hung up my phone, and as Pop and I walked towards her, she explained that the doctor had tried to talk to Darrell, but Darrell said he didn't want to hear anything without us there. This still makes me smile. I don't know why, I guess it's the first time that I felt like the big brother.
Darrell was antsy when we got back to the room, he couldn't sit still. I sat next to him, and put my hand on his leg. The doctor spoke of lemons and oranges, inter-cranial pressure, masses, and emergency surgery. Darrell was to be taken to Gainesville by ambulance, in order to have his first brain surgery.
A few days later, Darrell and I were sitting alone in his hospital room. Pop and I had to get back to Detroit, it was going to be a long drive, and when we got there, Momma and Pop were going to head back, so Darrell wouldn't have to be down in Florida alone for the coming chemo and radiation. Darrell was telling me about how before his surgery he was sure he was going to die. He didn't know how he was going to move forward, and he wasn't sure that he could do the radiation, and chemo coming soon. I put my hand on his leg, told him to stay strong, and that I loved him. Walking out of that hospital room and down the hall, it was hard to breathe. One of the hardest things I have ever done is walk away from that room. It physically hurt.
A couple of months later, I flew down to see Darrell on his birthday. just two days before mine, we had been chatting back and fourth and he was worried that it could be his last one. At the end of this short trip, I went to say goodbye to Darrell. We had a serious moment amidst our constant joking. He told me that he felt better with me near him, and that he wished that I could stay. I put my hand on his knee, and told him I loved him. With tears in my eyes I began my drive back to the airport. I hated this feeling that I had. This was the longest drive I had ever taken. It physically hurt. I wish there was a more descriptive way to explain it.
A few months later, my family moved back to Florida. For about a year, we were able to make new memories together. The kids loved it when Uncle Darrell came over, because he had become the unofficial brush pile burner. Oh how I miss those days.
In August of this year, I got a phone call from up north, that I had been dreading for quite sometime. After 4 brain surgeries, countless doses of chemo, radiation, and experimental treatments, Darrell had decided to sign a DNR, and he went into hospice care. My mother had decided to care for him in her own home. And in the beginning, it didn't look good at all. Shanon and I were blessed enough to be able to take the whole family up to see him. The night that we left to come back to Florida, we gathered in my Mother's living room, we held hands, and I placed my hand on his knee. For so much of our time here on earth, we spoke of things that didn't matter. I didn't want it to end that way. I prayed one of the hardest prayers I have ever prayed in my life. The last completely coherent conversation I had with my brother Darrell was spent in prayer, and I am so thankful for that. Getting in the car to leave that night, was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. It physically hurt.
Just over a month later, on October 10th, 2012, I took the red eye flight from Florida to Detroit. Darrell had become unresponsive, had not eaten in days, and the Hospice nurses and my family by his side were sure he didn't have a day left. I arrived somewhere around 2pm. The only sign of life in that bed was the sound of his breathing. Right around 6pm, I was outside in the back yard with my sister Debbie, when my sister Nadine flung the back door open, and told us to get inside. I stood next to his bed, put my hand on his knee, and told him to just let go. His breaths got further and further apart. Then they finally stopped. Relief, Sadness, Thankfulness, Grief.......it physically hurt.
There is a large part of me still standing in my Mother's living room next to Darrell's bed. Try as I might, I just can't seem to leave that place. Each day is a new reminder, that our journey has ended here on earth. It physically hurts.
I look forward to the day when I think of Darrell and smile again.
While we were in Florida, I went one day with Darrell to the home of hi ex-wife, so I could visit with my niece and nephew, who I hadn't seen in a long time. Darrell had been diagnosed with a "Severe ear infection" by his family physician. He was using some drops, but his symptoms had actually been getting worse. He was experiencing an extreme headache, and it had lasted for over two weeks. We were standing in the dining area of his ex-wife Nikki's apartment, when he saw flashing lights, and he just went limp. I grabbed him on his way down, and we both kind of fell into a chair. I have such vivid memories of this time. I believe the "french" I used was "I'm taking your ass to the hospital". He had explained his symptoms a day or two earlier to Pop and I, and we tried to convince him to go to the hospital. He wanted to give the ear drops more time.
We drove quickly to the hospital in Starke, Fl, which was only about 1/4 mile away. He checked in at the desk inside, and we waited. Now, many of you know, that even today, going to the Emergency room with your major symptom as a "headache", puts you dead last on the priority list. there were three people in the waiting room when we got there, and those three went to the back, and left in our time in the waiting room. As a matter of fact, more people had come in, went back, and left, in the four hours we sat and waited.
Finally, the nurse called us back, and they took Darrell back for an X-Ray. They wheeled him back from there, and again I heard him ask if he could have something for the pain. The nurse kind of sarcastically said that she could get him tylenol, but the doctor had to make the call for anything stronger. By this time Pop had arrived, he was waiting to come up, just in case it was a quick turn around and no big deal, but once we passed the 3-4 hour mark, he decided to come up. Just then, the nurse comes back in, and says that they were having trouble reading the X-Ray, and that he needed to go for a scan. They promptly came and got him. Whatever they did, didn't take long, and it seemed like he was back in just minutes. I was sitting next to the gurney, when out of the blue Darrell looked at me, and he said I think there is something major wrong with me. I put my hand on his knee and asked him "what"? Even though I had heard what he said. He said that he could tell by the faces of the people in the scan room that something was wrong. "Something bad". Just then, the nurse came in the room, and said that the doctor told her to put in an IV line, and to give him Morphine. Her face spoke volumes, because now it was a look of pity. She told us that the doctor would be back to talk to Darrell in about 30 minutes. Darrell was feeling a bit woozy from the morphine, so I told him I was going to go hit the vending machine and make some phone calls.
SO many thoughts went swirling through my head on that walk to the vending machines. My heart just sank. Darrell was scared, I was scared, even Dad looked nervous, which was really out of character for him. Bottom line, when you are with someone at the hospital, and X-rays and scans change everyones tone around you, it's not a good feeling.
I was on the phone with Shanon, when the nurse came out the door looking for Darrell White's family. (My Dad was outside with me, on his phone also.) I hung up my phone, and as Pop and I walked towards her, she explained that the doctor had tried to talk to Darrell, but Darrell said he didn't want to hear anything without us there. This still makes me smile. I don't know why, I guess it's the first time that I felt like the big brother.
Darrell was antsy when we got back to the room, he couldn't sit still. I sat next to him, and put my hand on his leg. The doctor spoke of lemons and oranges, inter-cranial pressure, masses, and emergency surgery. Darrell was to be taken to Gainesville by ambulance, in order to have his first brain surgery.
A few days later, Darrell and I were sitting alone in his hospital room. Pop and I had to get back to Detroit, it was going to be a long drive, and when we got there, Momma and Pop were going to head back, so Darrell wouldn't have to be down in Florida alone for the coming chemo and radiation. Darrell was telling me about how before his surgery he was sure he was going to die. He didn't know how he was going to move forward, and he wasn't sure that he could do the radiation, and chemo coming soon. I put my hand on his leg, told him to stay strong, and that I loved him. Walking out of that hospital room and down the hall, it was hard to breathe. One of the hardest things I have ever done is walk away from that room. It physically hurt.
A couple of months later, I flew down to see Darrell on his birthday. just two days before mine, we had been chatting back and fourth and he was worried that it could be his last one. At the end of this short trip, I went to say goodbye to Darrell. We had a serious moment amidst our constant joking. He told me that he felt better with me near him, and that he wished that I could stay. I put my hand on his knee, and told him I loved him. With tears in my eyes I began my drive back to the airport. I hated this feeling that I had. This was the longest drive I had ever taken. It physically hurt. I wish there was a more descriptive way to explain it.
A few months later, my family moved back to Florida. For about a year, we were able to make new memories together. The kids loved it when Uncle Darrell came over, because he had become the unofficial brush pile burner. Oh how I miss those days.
In August of this year, I got a phone call from up north, that I had been dreading for quite sometime. After 4 brain surgeries, countless doses of chemo, radiation, and experimental treatments, Darrell had decided to sign a DNR, and he went into hospice care. My mother had decided to care for him in her own home. And in the beginning, it didn't look good at all. Shanon and I were blessed enough to be able to take the whole family up to see him. The night that we left to come back to Florida, we gathered in my Mother's living room, we held hands, and I placed my hand on his knee. For so much of our time here on earth, we spoke of things that didn't matter. I didn't want it to end that way. I prayed one of the hardest prayers I have ever prayed in my life. The last completely coherent conversation I had with my brother Darrell was spent in prayer, and I am so thankful for that. Getting in the car to leave that night, was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. It physically hurt.
Just over a month later, on October 10th, 2012, I took the red eye flight from Florida to Detroit. Darrell had become unresponsive, had not eaten in days, and the Hospice nurses and my family by his side were sure he didn't have a day left. I arrived somewhere around 2pm. The only sign of life in that bed was the sound of his breathing. Right around 6pm, I was outside in the back yard with my sister Debbie, when my sister Nadine flung the back door open, and told us to get inside. I stood next to his bed, put my hand on his knee, and told him to just let go. His breaths got further and further apart. Then they finally stopped. Relief, Sadness, Thankfulness, Grief.......it physically hurt.
There is a large part of me still standing in my Mother's living room next to Darrell's bed. Try as I might, I just can't seem to leave that place. Each day is a new reminder, that our journey has ended here on earth. It physically hurts.
I look forward to the day when I think of Darrell and smile again.
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
Boarding Call Part 1
Last night I received a phone call that I have been dreading for over three years now. My brother, who is in Hospice care in Detroit, is nearing the end of his battle with Terminal Brain Cancer. I promptly opened my laptop and booked passage back to Detroit.
As I sit here in the terminal at JIA, I take a long look around me, and scan the people that are sitting at the gate with me. There's that "one in every crowd" lady who remains on her cell phone, on speaker, speaking a different language. There is a delightful old couple who are speaking loudly to each other. There are several people, including me, with laptops open, trying to ignore the fact that the loud old couple have been talking about the speakerphone lady for about 20 minutes now, the old man making hilarious comments, but the lady on her phone has been way to busy to notice.
I am sitting here wondering if there is anyone else around me traveling for the same reason that I am today. Everyone seems to have the same mannerisms, same mentality. "Let's get this over with". I also wonder if anyone else can tell that I am not a very happy go-lucky traveler today. One person sitting a few seats away asked how I was doing today. I answered fine. Why did I lie? I think it's probably because we have all been around that one person, who spreads their tragic story all over a group of people, bringing everyone down around them. I personally can't stand these people, lol SO I am trying hard not to be one.
Perhaps I am just bored out of my mind. This is probably the best explanation of my sudden need to write. Perhaps this is my way of chatting on the phone like the other lady. Perhaps people really don't want to know how the stranger three seats down is really doing.
I have an overwhelming feeling of numbness right now. I feel like perhaps I should be more emotional than I am, but with the last few weeks of ups and downs with my brother, I think maybe my normal cognitive emotions may be broken.
Perhaps I should pretend to be someone else today, like a shower curtain ring salesman.
Boarding call......
As I sit here in the terminal at JIA, I take a long look around me, and scan the people that are sitting at the gate with me. There's that "one in every crowd" lady who remains on her cell phone, on speaker, speaking a different language. There is a delightful old couple who are speaking loudly to each other. There are several people, including me, with laptops open, trying to ignore the fact that the loud old couple have been talking about the speakerphone lady for about 20 minutes now, the old man making hilarious comments, but the lady on her phone has been way to busy to notice.
I am sitting here wondering if there is anyone else around me traveling for the same reason that I am today. Everyone seems to have the same mannerisms, same mentality. "Let's get this over with". I also wonder if anyone else can tell that I am not a very happy go-lucky traveler today. One person sitting a few seats away asked how I was doing today. I answered fine. Why did I lie? I think it's probably because we have all been around that one person, who spreads their tragic story all over a group of people, bringing everyone down around them. I personally can't stand these people, lol SO I am trying hard not to be one.
Perhaps I am just bored out of my mind. This is probably the best explanation of my sudden need to write. Perhaps this is my way of chatting on the phone like the other lady. Perhaps people really don't want to know how the stranger three seats down is really doing.
I have an overwhelming feeling of numbness right now. I feel like perhaps I should be more emotional than I am, but with the last few weeks of ups and downs with my brother, I think maybe my normal cognitive emotions may be broken.
Perhaps I should pretend to be someone else today, like a shower curtain ring salesman.
Boarding call......
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