The Journey Home

Three months ago, my Mom mentioned she had some weakness in her legs. Yesterday, we learned that she probably only has six months to live. She has ALS. Although most people with ALS live for at least three to ten to fifteen years, her strain is extremely aggressive. That is my Mom, she doesn't do anything half way.

I have been so blessed to have her as my Mom. The greatest gift she and my Dad gave me was bringing me up in the Lutheran faith. My faith in Jesus has brought me through so many dark times, but also have given me great joy. It may sound funny, but in a way, I am glad that we have a time line. We have time to say the things we need to say, to spend time together and to look forward to the celebration of her life. As much as I know my Mom hates leaving us, she is so looking forward to being with her Lord in heaven. A favorite song of hers is "Heaven is My Home.

I’m But a Stranger Here

I’m but a stranger here, Heaven is my home;
Earth is a desert drear, Heaven is my home;
Danger and sorrow stand Round me on every hand;
Heaven is my fatherland, heaven is my home.

What though the tempest rage, Heaven is my home;
Short is my pilgrimage, Heaven is my home;
And time’s wintry blast Soon shall be over past;
I shall reach home at last, Heaven is my home.

Therefore I murmur not, Heaven is my home;
Whatever my earthly lot, Heaven is my home;
And I shall surely stand There at my Lord’s right hand.
Heaven is my fatherland, Heaven is my home.

Hymn # 515
Lutheran Worship
Author: Arthur S. Sullivan
Tune: Heaven Is My Home
1^st Published in: 1836

I can't even imagine the party they will have in heaven when she arrives. For she is one of God's prayer warriors. One of the stars in his crown. She has touched so many lives through her faith. She has used not only her words to share her Savior's love, but more then that she has used her actions. As a hospice nurse, she has helped many families traverse through the unfamiliar path towards the death of a love one. Now, she will take one more journey down that path. Once more she will share with us her knowledge and love. It is a path that none of us want to go down. I don't care how old you are, you are never ready to lose your mother.

But as a family, we will take this path together. It will be filled with love and grace, tears and laughter and memories. But mostly it will be filled with faith. Hers and ours. We have been greatly blessed. And God will continue to bless us.

Letting Go of Mom

As my brother Andy wrote in his blog, our Mom was recently diagnosed with ALS or Lou Gehrig’s disease. It has been difficult for my siblings and I to see our vibrant mother in her 70's who up until this fall, worked out daily and keep a schedule that would be daunting to a 20 year old, suddenly be using a walker and soon a wheel chair.

I wonder if she somehow sensed that something was wrong. Last year, she asked all of us to let her know what we wanted from the house, once her and Dad were gone. She was merciless in her mission. I was there last February for a visit and she gave me a tour of the house, pointing out the special feature of each item. Sensing reluctance in me and my siblings, she upped the sales pitch, telling the story of each item, recounting it's abstract back to the original owner. It was a wonderful trip down memory lane and also gave me a new respect for the rich heritage of my family.

When we were home for Christmas, after dinner, her and Dad talked to us about their plans for the future. That both expected my Dad to die first, but it didn't look like that would happen. Although it was difficult to talk about, it reinforced for me how blessed I have been. Not only to have two loving parents for almost 50 years, but also the rich history of our family and our ancestors. We are a family of story tellers. My Mom has recently been sharing via e-mail the journals she had written over the years. It has been a wonderful gift. She has spread before us her unsensored thoughts and comments, a living tribute to our family. Reading the memories has brought me to tears and laughter. It has given me a new perspective on my Mom and perhaps that is the reason for her sharing her unabridged journal.

I have heard of of young Mother's who have terminal cancer, leave love letters and video's for their children. My Mom is doing something similar, but in reverse. She has lived through getting our driver's licenses, minor rebellions, weddings and the birth of our children. She is giving us the gift of her memories and reinforcing ours. I realized that as a mother, she has some of the same emotions and feelings I have watching my children grow. We don't know how long we will have her here with us on earth. I told her I wasn't ready to lose my mother. When I expressed this to a neighbor at book club the other night she said. "My grandmother died when my mother was 75. My mom said she wasn't ready to lose her Mom." I guess none of us are ready to lose the person who knew us 9 months longer then anyone else. The comfort I have is knowing that when she does die, I will see her again. And she will always be looking out for me, even when it is from heaven.

It's Never Too Cold to Buy Shoes

It has been really cold in Minnesota this week. We are heading into our 3rd day of below zero temps. This morning when I woke up it was -24 with windchill factors in the -5o. It reminds me of the first winter I lived in Minnesota. I moved here from Indiana, where if the temp dared to go below zero, schools closed, store shelves were bare and everyone hunkered down until the temperatures were moderate.

The winter of 83-84 broke a lot of records for both snow and cold. I remember in December, Mark wanted to go skiing. I replied "It is only 15 degrees out. I"ll go skiing when it is a little warmer." Did I mention the temp didn't get above 20 until March that year?

Such was my mindset one cold January Saturday morning. I was disappointed when I woke up to find the temp hovering at -35 degrees. You see, I had plans for that day. I was going to go shoe shopping with Mark's Aunt Joanne and his cousins at Shoe Alee. It was their annual sale, one that was not to be missed. Joanne called me at 9 am to make sure I was ready and when I voiced my doubts about going out in the cold, she said "That's what coats are for." My Mom called to make sure I was still alive in the cold barren north country and was appalled that I would even consider going out when it was so cold.

I ended up with a couple of new pairs of shoes (at a nice bargain I might add) and new respect for my newly adopted state. Minnesota is the land of cold temps but warm hearts and great shoe sales.

What's in a name?

Tim (or Timothy) Tyrell-Smith wrote a great blog posting about names "Are you a Kate or Katie" I found it interesting not only from a personal perspective, but also from a professional standpoint.

The implication, regardless of how it was framed, is that being a Kate or a Katie suggests something about you. That you and your supposed opposite are truly two different peas in the same pod.

It got me thinking because I have multiple personalities. Depending on the era we met, I am either, Chrissy, Chris, Little Etz or Christine.

My family calls me Chrissy. I am not sure if it is because I come from a large family of six kids, or what but we tend to add a Y and shorten everyone's name. Cindy, Debbie, Neicy (Denise), Chrissy, Andy and Johnny. Of course there are my kids Rossie and Neddy (Edmund). I also have a few close friends who call my Chrissy.

The majority of people who know me before I got married, refer to me as Chris. Short and sweet. I am little Etz to my sister's friends (i.e. Big Etz, and Etz were already taken) Etzler being my maiden name, by close friends and sorority sisters.

Shortly after I got married my sister in law Cynthia (sometimes Cyth, never Cyndy) made the comment "Chris Smith, sounds like you are saying Christmas with a lisp." It was a combination of that comment and a mother in law who didn't believe in shortening names - (Mark, Cynthia, Pamela, David) that helped me make the switch to Christine.

I have always been a fan of nicknames. I tried to go with Tina for a short while, but since my name was not Christina, it was hard going to get the name to catch on. I went through that phase after my sister Cindy asked to be called Thea - very dramatic. She wouldn't answer to anything else. At least until Dad came home and told her If he wanted a Thea, he would have named her Thea.

I tend to address people by their formal names, especially if they introduce themselves as such. I don't change Michael or Mike or Theodore to Ted. It is a pet peeve of mine when people call me Chris, especially after I tell them my name is Christine, especially in business settings.

My husband says that it is time to start calling my younger brother John, since he is an adult. But, back with my family at Christmas, I find myself falling into the natural order of things and dropping the y's everywhere. But isn't that what home is for?

The Dog Ate My Homework

My Mom has been sharing with us entries from her journal from years ago. In the most recent installment, she listed the excuses my younger brother used for being late. If you are tired of using the old excuse, I forgot the time here are some new, imaginative ones you might not have thought of. Andy is now a father of 4 with 2 teenagers. Poor kids, hard to come up with excuses better then these.

1. Contact lost in corner of eye – couldn’t get it out.
2. 4^th of July – lost Contact – took friends 1 ½ hour to find it.
3. The girl driving the car he was in ran out of gas – only dime they had (4 of them) was used to call her parents.
4. He had no pocket in the pants he was wearing and gave the keys to the car to Dan Pasche to keep for him. Dan left with someone else and took Andy’s keys with him.
5. At the Three Rivers Festival their car was blocked in by another – 1 ½ hour late.
6. He want to watch marching band practice. He called when he was due home – he was with kids from St. Peters at the Putt Putt. They had just started a game and he can’t leave until they are finished since his bike is in their car.
7. He rode his bike to football practice and wasn’t home by midnight. He had fallen asleep at Christie’s house and he couldn’t call before because her mom was on the phone.

Have you seen my contact?

Remember when contacts were small hard discs that barely fit into your eye? A time before disposable or even soft contacts?

Aast the oldest, my sister Cindy paved the way for the rest of us. She was the suffragette who fought for longer showers, wearing eye shadow and ear piercing. This daring heroine was the first one in our family to break Dad down to allow contacts in the house. We had to pay for our own contacts of course, since my Dad considered them a luxury and next to hair, the root of all evil. I have to admit, she almost sabotaged us all the first day when she dove into the pool with contact in and they promptly floated away. Fortunately for the rest of us, they were found in the skimmers.

Wearing contacts was really a commitment. They were uncomfortable to wear, the smallest piece of dust would feel like a knife going through your eye. The first day I tried to put in my contacts it took me almost an hour to get the first one in, fortunately, I was able to master the act much quicker. It came down to logistics - I need a lot of sleep and getting up two hours earlier in the morning to put in contacts just wasn't an option. Taking them out also took a lot of time, until the eye doctor gave me a little suction cup to remove them (awesome invention).

You would think something that was so difficult to put in and take out would stay put. But no, those little puppies would pop out at the most inconvenient times, taking tests, playing volleyball or tether ball. It became common practice during sports events for the whistle to blow and every player would drop to the floor looking for that elusive plastic disk. Fans would cheer as the player held up the contact and play would resume. One time that sticks in my mind was walking with friends to a party. My contact popped out and landed on the ground, on the ice. Since it was a light blue, it was difficult to find. Enterprising guys would carry flashlights to help identify contacts. My knight in shining armor that night and many others was Mark. Always prepared, he had the flashlight and was able to find the contact.

Even when you took your contact out, you weren't safe. There was no worse sound then hearing a crack as you closed the case. Yep, another broken contact. I became quite adept at seeing the world through one eye. Since my vision is so bad, the doctor always had to order my contacts which would take a week or two.

So, one of the things I am thankful about is disposable contacts that are comfortable. I have thought about Lasix surgery. But I am not sure I want to open my eyes and see clearly in the morning. I kind of like seeing easing into the world and having everything a little fuzzy at first.

S