What If?

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My life has had many changes over the last year. If you would ask me I would say dramatically, but then I do add drama to things that maybe because of my reactive personality get blown out of proportion.

As my journey again changes I contemplate the word purpose. The last few years my purpose, whether I chose it or not was somewhat of a caretaker. It consumed my life, at least in my mind, and now I find myself a little lost.

The world has told us we need to have a purpose. Once I was told it was my purpose in life to bring my mother-in-law out of the nursing home into my home to take care of her. That one I knew was not my calling, though I did believe I needed to help to do everything to make her life better. I was able to discern what to choose for her and me as a good choice.

As I sit with my coffee and think about purpose and the future, I wonder what if … the way the world challenges people to have a purpose in life, perhaps makes finding our purpose more important than it should be. We tend to worry if we don’t see or feel we have one, which then causes us anxiety. The quest to find meaning, to make a difference, often causes anguish in someone’s life because we define the word as doing a great service that others recognize. It makes us feel less than because we don’t feel we measure up to the definition of others, and what the world expects. We see high profile people shouting out what their purpose is, and telling us we need to find ours. If we’re not doing that than we are failing.

What if…we defined our purpose as just being. Not doing anything earth shattering or great in the world’s and society’s eyes, but just breathing and living?

Immediately when a baby is born we put our hopes and dreams of their future upon them. Babies and children revel in just being. They are spontaneous with their laughter, their tears and their innocence until they get out into the world. They feel our stress. We pass that down to them. They grow and they learn from us. But at the beginning their purpose is just to be. To eat and sleep and laugh and cry, to be loved and to accept that love. Wouldn’t it be nice to feel that again?

We strive so hard to matter and to be remembered yet…if I think about those in my life that left their influence on me, it’s not the Robert Redford’s or the John F. Kennedy’s or anyone in the news. It’s the quiet ones. The people I am close to. Someone who has entered my life as a friend. It’s family members or those I’ve had contact with that live their lives being real and reaching out as a friend. They don’t hold high offices. They aren’t great speakers or writers. They haven’t won tons of awards or are famous. They are regular everyday people living their lives the best they know how, at work or at home and in the community.

Purpose. As I find my life changing again I am going to change what I believe about my purpose in life. I think I want to just be…a mom, a grandmother, a friend first and foremost, and see where that leads.

Sitting here floundering in the quietness of wondering what is next, I am going to hold on to this quote by Charles M Schulz

My life has no purpose, no direction, no aim, no meaning, and yet I’m happy. I can’t figure it out. What am I doing right?

Charles M. Schulz

And this Bible verse:

Many are the plans in a person’s heart, but it is the Lord’s purpose that prevails.

Proverbs 19:21

Freedom Isn’t Free

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You’ve heard the words, freedom isn’t free. It’s a catchy phrase, thrown out on days such as the 4th of July. And it’s true. Our freedom was built on the backs of those that came before us.

My husband died a week ago. He was a Vietnam Vet who spent 364 days on the ground fighting for our country those many years ago. You could say he died for our country. Someone might question that statement as he lived a full long life. He didn’t lose his earthly life those many years ago in a foreign country, but a piece of who he was died in Vietnam, left behind, never to be the same again. I suspect it is the same for all those who have come home from the battles they fought protecting our freedom.

I didn’t know my husband prior to his service in Vietnam. I met him soon afterward. I saw the nightmares, the diving for shelter when fireworks were shot off or a car backfired. I lived with the part of him kept locked away, never to talk about until Alzheimer’s set in.

I saw his ways to numb the pain and the way he kept himself closed off so he wouldn’t always feel, not being able to handle seeing someone he loved hurting. He paid a price for our freedom in a war that wasn’t popular as there were no acclaims when those vets came home from service. So for a time they bottled it up inside feeling shamed for fighting for a war that was not popular, yet they still believed our country was the greatest there is.

On this day when we celebrate our freedom, many see it as a day off work. A day to party. A day for fun with friends. Yet we shouldn’t forget that we are celebrating our freedom. We have the freedom to worship. The freedom to speak freely. The freedom to move about our country freely and the list is endless. Is it any wonder so many are coming from oppressed countries to share what we have?

After Vietnam my husband was always grateful for seeing another day. It came from surviving. When fighting to see another day these men didn’t think about if the person next to them was black, white, or any other race. They didn’t care if someone was a Catholic, or Lutheran or Jewish. They knew their souls after sharing these life and death situations. Race and religion didn’t matter. They had each others backs.

Today as we celebrate our freedoms we need to be aware of how precious they are, and remember the sacrifice others made for us to be free. We must not let history be repeated with these freedoms are being threatened. Voting rights are being challenged and put down, women’s rights and the rights of those that are not white but different races are being trampled on, not to mention the right to live safely no matter the diversity in gender. Religions are fighting in the name of God, threatening those that have no voice. Freedom of religion was not meant for only certain religions to rule. Freedom for all seems to be threatened by some factions that want freedom only for those that agree with a certain point of view.

Freedom of speech, religion in our world todays appears to be chosen by whether we are Democrat or Republican, black or white. Our freedom was fought for on the strength of Americans on the battlefield. These men and women didn’t divide up by political party to protect our freedom. They were and are Americans fighting to defend our right to live free.

We take our freedom for granted. Today is a day for us to stop, in the midst of the revelry and noise and be thankful we are Americans. United we stand, divided we fall. We can make a promise to unite, not divide so freedom can ring always for everyone in this great land.

We owe it to those heroes dead and alive whose lives have been forever changed by their experiences in war who fought to protect our freedom to do better and not take that freedom for granted.

In the Waiting Room

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I have always been a writer. The hobby started as a child and was something my mom encouraged. She was big on documentation. I certainly believed that after she died, and I inherited all the paperwork detailing things in her long life. The paper paraphernalia weren’t always appreciated, but after she left us, those writings became more precious.

My documentation started as a diary in my early youth, in my middle years journaling, and finally as an older adult, a column called Something About Nothing in the Albert Lea Tribune. That was I think, a twelve year gig. Technology changed from writing a column to this blog.

Recently I began looking back through my journals and they were helpful in reviewing my life, bringing back memories and seeing where I have grown, and where I have been stuck. Writing and journaling has always been a way to get my feelings out and to process them, many times letting of what I was upset about because I released it in word on paper without exploding at anyone. The times I didn’t journal are the moments I wrongly exploded at people including my husband and children.

Since our life with Alzheimer’s has begun I have shared with you the ups and downs. I’ve laid bare my feelings and emotions risking the backlash and disapproval of some. It was my way of coping and as I have received wisdom from others writings I wanted to share my experiences to let readers know they are not alone. I have heard from so many of you the life path we share. We have a choice to stay private or to put our hearts out there for all to see.

Thinking back to the times I’ve sat by bedsides of my family, and those acquaintances in the nursing home where it was at one time my job to comfort people in their last hours, I believe it never gets easier no matter how frequent you’ve been in that last waiting room with someone.

Each person’s last journey is different, which makes your own experience unique. It impacts wives, children and friends in separate ways, though they are with the same person. If each person at a bedside sat down and wrote their feelings each perspective would not be the same.

The waiting room. Minutes and seconds tick off on the clock. The first person whose death I witnessed was my cousin Ervin. He was in the hospital and we came to visit. My aunt, his mother, and also his wife were there. He took a quick turn for the worse and we knew he would go to a better place soon. My aunt asked if my husband and I would stay with them. I wanted to run out of the room and go home but felt we had to stay. I had never seen anyone die before and I was scared of my reaction, and instead of being a comfort, I would be a problem. I need not have worried. I held it together and kept my aunt close and my cousins death was peaceful.

A few years later my mom called me to be with my uncle, my dad’s brother. My mom left and he got worse. I was left with the choice of life support. I knew he didn’t want that and he had lived his life. I was there when he too left this earth.

There have been other occasions to sit with my loved ones on a final journey. It is never easy. It is never the same. It is never where I want to be. Yet, I have felt the presence of God. I have felt the presence of angels or messengers or whatever you want to call them and have seen the faces of my loved ones smile in welcome. Sometimes the waiting room lasts for weeks, or it might be hours or days. It is never easy but it is what you do for someone you love

That isn’t always the experience of everyone but that has been mine. My mother had a glowing smile on her face while she was in the waiting room. I asked her what she was smiling about and she answered, “Because I’m going to see your dad, my mom and dad and my brothers soon.”

Those words gave me peace. I don’t pretend to understand what happens while our loved ones are in the waiting room. And I have no explanation why some leave this earth easy and why some have to struggle so much.

Life is full of puzzles. When serious things are happening our emotions can get jumbled. We don’t see things clearly. All we can do is wait for the outcome no matter the situation. We can’t see the forest for the trees. We begin our life in the waiting room waiting to be born. And we occasionally end our life in the waiting room too.

For me sharing the journey through journaling and writing helps me sort out all those confusing moments preparing us for the next journey, or the waiting room where we can be silent and find our next path.