Post 42 | The Championship Painting

"every champion was once a contender who refused to give up."
rocky balboa

I've thought of Mama's life and death in many different analogies and ways.  Earth is like a womb -- we're alive, but once we come out of the womb we're REALLY alive.  Crossing a bridge.  Sailing a sea.  A chapter or two in an endless novel series.  But, currently, as our basketball team is one week from tournament play, sports themes are on my mind.  And I view Mama's last days as the Championship Memories.  

Sports has an incredible ability to engage your body, mind, heart and soul.  Big games I participated in as a player and coach come to mind almost daily.  There is no way to describe a championship season with a team you love.  You work and labor and practice and run and it seems repetitive.  And games start -- you win some, you lose some.  You try to take the good and enhance, and take the bad and change.  Each event has the big event in mind.  Every day is working toward that day.  Play-offs come.  This swear-word gets serious.  Play-offs are wars.  And if you make it through, you're a player in the finals.  It's extremely emotional.  I would dream about the game multiple times throughout multiple nights.  Every routine, every conversation, every feeling stapled to my memory.  Laying out my uniform.  Filling my water bottle.  Dressing myself.  Rehearsing plays and mantras and goals.  Arriving at the school.  Seeing my girls.  Warm-ups.  Tip-off.  We go up! We go down! How will it end!  All that time, and now it's gone by so fast! It was nervey-fun.

Mama's last few weeks were our Championship Days.  So nerve-wracking.  So intense.  So memorable.  So fun.  After a life of practicing, cheering, competing, running the end of the season was upon her.  This was it.  All she'd been living for.  Her last chance to "leave it on the court."  The wonderful news is that she did it.  She finished the game and was victorious,  The difficult news is that we missed the awards ceremony.  We miss her.  But God allowed us so much.  He gave us time He could have taken.  He gave us the chance to lay out the uniform one more time.  To warm-up together, one more time.  To walk out on the court with our loved ones cheering for us, one more time.  He gave us Holy Ground days we could never replace.  We made many memories in those end months, and we'd like to share some of them with you.  

One day in early December our family was summoned together by my mom's best girlfriend, Tracy.  A few of the kids couldn't make it, but there was a 'big surprise' she had for us.  I couldn't guess what it might be.  With a group of Mama's friends huddled around we watched an artist unveil the gift:

I photographed mom so I saw her reaction to the surprise before I saw it: the painting.  In my whole 24 years I've never seen mom burst into blessed-tears like she did that evening.  She did for good reason.  Tracy pooled money from dozens of eager friends.  They got in touch with Becca DiMiao and hired her to paint our magical masterpiece.  All of us -- all of us.  Mama, Dad, the seven kids, Caleb and Rowdy.  All of us.  Just a couple short months ago in front of Mama (and her mother's) favorite ride at her favorite place in the world.  This meticulously crafted gift is what we would grab if the house was on fire.  

There are more details that mean something to us every time we look at it.  Katie is wearing a shirt my mom bought with her mom in Hawaii when she was Katie's age.  Bacca was with us that day, I know it.  Dad is smiling.  Mom is wearing her favorite present from my dad: a diamond eternity necklace.  Kevin's hair is curly -- mom's favorite way for it to be.  She loves his curls.  Lauren is wearing a shirt my mother-in-law sent to me, and Caleb is wearing his new logo on his cap proudly.  There is a long (ridiculous) story behind the white shorts I'm wearing, but it includes my husband and mom being very patient and gracious.  Tim was with us this trip.  Rowdy happened to have his ears on.  This is the only picture we have of the eleven of us.  

After hanging the treasure on our wall, we enjoyed a feast from Copper Canyon that mom's friends brought with them.  We also read through the cards from everyone who contributed financially to the gift.  Thank you.  Every one.  We saw each name.  Mama cried through them (ps. Heather, she promised to send Alivia your love and, yes, she will definitely snuggle her up for you.)  If you gave $5, you gave us this.  This Championship Game Memory.  Next time you're at our home, please make sure you look at the painting.  Call to mind mom's beautiful response.  Thank God for good things such as these.  We're so grateful.  Thank you over and over.  And Tracy, thank you for going above and beyond the call of duty.  I know you love my mom.  Your love, ideas and presence have been God to us.  Thank you.  You hit a three to go into halftime.

Ps.  Wasn't my mom beautiful?

Post 41 | Mama, Bear

mama bear.

mama, you shall bear a son... thrice.
as well as four sugars-and-spice.

mama, bear a hand. join in! help out!  begin! step up!
go on! yes now! that's it! filled cup!

mama, bear arms -- the weapons for their defense.
your muscle, your steel, your common sense.

mama, bear fruit. it is a juicy sweet reward!
enjoy every flavor, wish and want for more.

mama, bear in mind their feelings, their questions, their fears,
their humor, their ideas, their quirks, their tears.

mama, bear with them.  with all your self, dripping and aching.

"bear usually implies the power to sustain without flinching or breaking,"
(says merriam-webster.)

"i will bear, i have made.  i will carry, i have saved."
said the holy one, through isaiah one day.

mama, bear the yoke of your youth.  bear witness to good and truth!
bear marks of christ, bear zeal, bear words, bear seals,
bear music, bear loads, bear gentleness, bear hope.

mama, you will not fail, you will not fall.
"love bears all."

mama, bear.

Post 40 | Try To Remember

remember when I was young 
and so were you?
and time stood still and love was all we knew?
alan jackson

Long division almost made me runaway from home.  I sat at our white kitchen table, atop white large kitchen tiles, in a white stucco San Diego town-home devising my plan.  The sun light reflected off the interior brightness; I could hear perfect squeals of fun and happiness from my neighbor buds playing outside in the goodnight sun air.  My brothers and sister were out there, too.  But I was stuck.  Stuck inside while mom made dinner.  Stuck staring at numbers and ruled-notebook paper.  Stuck in the dumb education system.  I thought about running away.  Boxcar Children style.  I'd live in a barn by the sea and eat buttered green peas for lunch.  I didn't understand long division.  I already hated math but long division took me to a new level of despair, stress and frustration.  I felt like an idiot.  I felt hot and flushed.  I felt anxious.  Both of my parents had been tenderly patient, and had come at it from all kinds of angles.  We'd been working on it for days.  It wasn't their fault (I went on to have about five other math teachers besides my parents, and my understanding and ability to complete 'math' only got worse.  It's just how I am.) but it wasn't fair, I felt.

"Never forget this," I told myself, "all these people say it's so easy.  It's NOT easy.  And if someday it ever is easy, don't forget how hard it used to be.  This is THE worst."  I would send myself mental e-mails.  Everything in life was now based on how hard long-division was.  Sick in bed with strep throat? Not as bad as doing long division.  Having to mop the bathroom floor? Not as bad as doing long division.  I kept my word to myself and I never forgot.

It's helped me be a mama.  For some reason I remember 'little kid struggle' awfully well.  It's the same.  Sure, long division isn't the 10 on the 1-10 hardship scale anymore, but I always had a 10.  Everyone does.  Isn't it hard to see someone move into your dream house, while you have to sell yours because money sucks?  Isn't it hard to see her nice jewelry and her cute little gym body and her expensive haircut, while you don't have enough to pay your monthly bills?  Isn't it hard to find out another one is pregnant, and you aren't... again?  Isn't it hard that he isn't in your life -- whether he is real or 'someone hoped for'?  Isn't it hard to see life-you-can't-have paraded in front of you?  Be honest! Be human.  Yeah it's hard!  Well, it's hard to be four and to walk into a grocery store and see dozens and dozens of life-you-can't-have paraded in front of you.  It's hard to be told "No. Not for you, at least not for now."  Whether that's financial stability or a pack of M&M's.

Isn't it hard to be hungry?  I get snappy, short, quiet.  Leave me alone and get me some food.  It's hard to wait an hour at a restaurant for a table to open up.  Heck, it's hard to wait for the food to arrive after the waiter takes the order!  "Goshdernit, it's been 20 MINUTES.  What on earth is taking them so long?! This is RIDICULOUS.  I'm going to talk to the manager." It's hard to be patient when your body is ready for it's basic needs.  Isn't it hard to feel miserably uncomfortable in your clothes?  Your bra has been on too long, and is too tight, and needs to stop?  Your pants have become too small after a full-meal?  You sneezed too hard and weren't prepared and now you just need to change? You spilled pasta sauce down the front of your shirt?  Your body isn't at the health and fitness level that feels 'right' and you want to hide?  You feel uncomfortable, messy, blah?  I hate wearing a maxi pad that needs to be changed, let alone a whole diaper!  It's hard! It makes me cranky too!

It's the same.  They're the same.  Their struggle is the same.  At least to them in their world it is.  They don't know any better.  Of course you know you're not going to leave them alone in a dark room forever.  But do you ever fear that you'll feel *this* lonely forever?  It's unnerving!  It's unknown!  You want someone to come be with you!  Of course you know eating vegetables is good for them.  Do you know that swallowing untasty, hard things in life is good for you?  Or do you sulk in your chair and chant for dessert and try to sneak cauliflower into your pockets so you don't have to swallow? (Tip: if you're going to try to get rid of your food by throwing it under the table, make sure it doesn't hit your mom in the shin.)  Of course, now is not a good time to do something silly like take off your clothes and explore the magic of a Sharpie.  We're late! We have to go! Why are you undressed again?! But do you ever procrastinate on silly things?  Do you ever come up with something you feel motivated and excited to do, even though you have a large to-do list of things you should 'really' do first? 

Babies, toddlers, children, teenagers, young adults, mid-lifers, the elderly want to be loved, want to be understood, want to be valued, want to be respected, want to be heard.  My husband listening to my story, enjoying my sense of humor, looking me in the eye, sharing his story of the day and communicating through tone, touch, body language, words, (whatever!) that he is delighted to be with me changes my day.  Those practices consistently can change a life.  

"Imagine yourself as your child.  Try to examine what life for him is really like.  Be honest.  Are you the kid who wants to paint more than anything in the world but your mom doesn't want the mess?  Are you the one who stands with your mom while she complains about you to strangers in line?  Do you feel lonely, left out, ignored, a burden?  Do you have reason to believe your parents aren't interested in you?  Do your parents only seem to give token hugs?" Rachel Jankovic

Parents work your imaginations, tap into their hearts, understand that they may honestly, in their naive-visioned way, be lonely, scared, sad, confused, tempted, distracted or hurt.  Perhaps if we hourly connect with their hardships we may gain their magic.  Maybe we'd get to be carefree more often.  Maybe we'd lose ourselves in a game.  Maybe we'd believe, just for a second, that the floor is made of lava.  Maybe we'd laugh harder.  Maybe our work would become sweeter.  Maybe enhancing their crazy instead of hampering it would change the attitude in their heart. Maybe we'd be able to see the good quicker.  Maybe the annoying things wouldn't pinch as aggressively.  Maybe we'd care less what 'everyone' thought.  Maybe diaper changes wouldn't be so easy to complain about.  Maybe we'd make private memories just for our household.  Maybe it would inspire us.  Maybe God would make plain His creativity, compassion, happiness through the bizarre thoughts, noises and actions of children.  Maybe they'd know.  Maybe it'd change their life.  Maybe they'd never forget.

Because, see, I never forgot mama going over long division again, and again, and again.  Patiently.  Again.  One more time. Again.  While folding socks.  Again.  While stirring pasta sauce. Again.  In bed. Again.  They'll never forget that you were there, aware, ready when their 10's came.  So enjoy the easy ones through threes, don't brush off the fours through sixes, stop everything for the sevens to nines... and then you'll have the discernment, care and heart for the tens.  For the really bad diaper rash. For teething.  For temper tantrums.  For wanting to be barefoot.  For long division.  For shot-gunning the window seat.  For not making the team.  For being the weird one in class.  For final exams.  For disappointing report cards.  For moving away to college. For the first real heart breaks.  They have to face these things.  They have to feel them and go through them.  Understanding their struggle doesn't mean you hide them from any negative experience.  It doesn't mean that you don't discipline, set boundaries, and tell them "No, not now" at the grocery store.  But it means you remember and that you have their back; and remembering them and supporting them means you care.

“Because I was once a child, I am always a child. Because I was once a searching adolescent, given to moods and ecstasies, these are still part of me, and always will be... This does not mean that I ought to be trapped or enclosed in any of these ages...the delayed adolescent, the childish adult, but that they are in me to be drawn on; to forget is a form of suicide.

Far too many people misunderstand what *putting away childish things* means, and think that forgetting what it is like to think and feel and touch and smell and taste and see and hear like a three-year-old or a thirteen-year-old or a twenty-three-year-old means being grown-up. When I'm with these people I, like the kids, feel that if this is what it means to be a grown-up, then I don't ever want to be one. Instead of which, if I can retain a child's awareness and joy, and *be* fifty-one, then I will really learn what it means to be grownup.”  Madeleine L'Engle

Post 39 | The Best Vacation of Our Lives

“I should like to bury something precious in every place where I've been happy and then, when I'm old and ugly and miserable, I could come back and dig it up and remember.” [Evelyn Waugh]

Post 38 | Thank You

"your love is too way too much 
to give us lesser things."
laura story

almost two years ago when mom was first admitted to the hospital for returned breast cancer and collapsed lungs -- i'm very grateful.  two whole years!  two more please? actually, at least ten? 

When it comes to "actually loving and good and supportive support" I'm finding myself grateful for three kinds: those who are understanding, those who understand and those who know. 

Thank you, understanding ones.  Thank you for you patience, gracious spirits and lack of demand.  Thank you for understanding the unanswered note, email, text and phone call, and for sending them anyway.  Thank you for holding us to different standards and not expecting more than we can do.  We probably aren't particularly close.  You know of us, or know one of the children, or maybe used to be friends with mom or dad at some point and you care.  We aren't intimate, but you do what you can.  Your heart sinks a bit at sad news, and is genuinely warmed at good news.  You bring meals, or pray, or wrap presents, or fold laundry, or think of us and it means so much.  Thank you for being the fuzzy sea out in the distance -- we see you, we know you're there, you make life better.  The sun reflects off of you and its dazzling.  Thank you, understanding ones.

Thank you, those who understand.  Those who under us stand.  You're like a bridge, holding us up and being rather strong.  Maybe you have not quite walked our shoes, but you're throwing yourself into being as available, helpful and sensitive as you can.  You understand what life looks like for us, and you know what to ask, and you "take the hints."  We're close and you're the sort of friend who drops anything. "I'm on my way.  Give me 15 minutes."  You can joke with us about baldness, and pray with us without making us uncomfortable, and when you come in our house there is increased joy.  Thank you for defending us and having our back.  Some might wonder why we do so much if we can't keep up with it all -- you understand the deep desire to try to keep normalcy, tradition.  You know how much mama bear wants to watch her husband coach her boy.  So we add it to our lives, even if there is no more room -- even if other people are washing their jerseys.  Thank you for, in so many ways, holding us up.  Thank you for not making us feel bad when we call or ask for things -- it's not fun to do, but you don't make us feel stupid.  Thank you, you really do understand.

Thank you, those who know. Also, I'm sorry too.  I'm sorry you know.  I'm sorry you've been on this side.  I hate this for all of us.  Thanks for not freaking out when I start crying, thanks for crying too.  Thanks for affirming that it's normal to eat salted caramel pretzel ice cream with your fingers in a parking lot (even though you're supposed to be losing weight).  Thank you for knowing how you can be exhausted on every level and yet not be able to sleep.  Thank you for knowing that sometimes there is more to a person than being professional at work; that sometimes people have long, hard days and gosh it makes a world of difference when someone is human with you and not "business business!" with you.  We can feel like we're the rocks.  Not because we're solid and dependable and sturdy.  But because we're dark, laying in the dirt, and cold.  We can sometimes feel like there is a world of balloons.  Not because they are air-heads or childish.  But because they are colorful, and flying high!, and having a great view.  Why can't we be the balloons?  I love parties.  You know how badly scripture can sting, or how completely empty it can feel.  And oftentimes just having someone who nods their head, says nothing, and lets tears slide down their face can speak more to God's presence, kindness and heart than anything else.

We've had our "trials that no one brings dinner for."  The depression, rebellion, isolation, betrayal, silent and alone hardships.  The ones where your character is skewed, your motives are harshly judged, your mistakes are aired and your trust is broken.  We're grateful that today is not one of those kinds of burdens.  We're grateful that we have love coming out of our ears and literally filling our bellies.  Thank you for your empathy and for "giving us your very selves."

God is in our midst; He's here through you. 

Ps.  ^ This is so concise, poignant and true.  If you want a little tid-bit on loving people in in sad places, this is excellent.  "Empathy fuels connection... empathy is feeling with people."