Walk With Me

This week was a hard week; it felt like a really long week. Today was a long, heavy heart day. As Christmas draws near, there's a sadness in my heart that is hard to overcome with Bing Crosby singing White Christmas, decorating cookies, or watching Frosty the Snowman with the girls. Then I think to myself how much worse it will feel when Dad is not here.   I know I’m not alone in feeling this way this season. So many others dealing with loss. Right now, I so badly miss hearing my Dad's voice. How heartbroken I am now when he looks at me as though he wants to speak and nothing comes. I wish he were here speaking to me telling me it will be okay, because he would be the one to tell me it will be okay and I would believe him wholeheartedly. I remember playing piano for one or two of his Longest Night services. While my heart aches to hear his voice, I'm grateful to have his written words. In my mind, I can hear him speaking these words and that is what I have n

I walked out the door this morning, the dog on leash and feeling hopeful for a quiet walk in the woods and a good reset to the week. I came home feeling defeated. Any other day it probably wouldn’t have mattered much. Even now, I know I’ll be able to call the company and they’ll send a replacement or we’ll just have to buy a new one. But I lost the dog collar remote and dang it all if that wasn’t the straw the broke the camel’s back. I searched for over an hour. Retraced my steps multiple times, kicked away snow, and knelt down near indents in the snow thinking it was where the remote had landed. Debris on the snow just played tricks on my eyes and I’d get this little glimmer of hope only to be let down when I got close enough to see it was a stick or a leaf.  (Meanwhile, the dog gleefully running and playing through the woods.) But to lose something yet again; to be wandering around there in the woods feeling lost, looking for something that was lost, and hoping for somethin

This summer, Bethany came with me alone one day to visit Grandpa. She helped me with communion and we sat out on the patio and enjoyed a summer day. I selfishly asked her to quick snap a picture of me holding my Dad's hand. Dad was never a photogenic person and at the time I honestly felt guilty and selfish asking her to take the picture. When I look at it now, I don't regret having her take it. Because looking at this photo reminds me of so much more than just my hands or Dad's hands. His hands wrote books and magazine articles and sermons. Those hands chopped wood and built fires. Those hands baptized my girls and my nieces and prayed and presided over milestones in other peoples' lives. Neither of us are perfect, these hands have accompanied a heart and mind and mouth that have said and done things we wish we hadn't. But, they are hands that have also done good and helped others and have shown love. I wanted a memory because I need the memory. I visit with

Dad, I’m missing you something fierce today. And gol dangit I want to tell you how the other day while walking in the paint section at Menards, I started crying when “Good Day Sunshine” came on because you liked The Beatles and it made me think of you, but it was anything but a good day. And sometimes I want to say I’m angry at you because you have no idea how hard it is watching my kids grieve losing you in this way and sometimes I can’t do anything to make them feel better and I don’t know what to say to them because nothing is going to bring you back. I want to tell you how every season of the year makes me think of you and particularly now when the leaves start changing color and the nights get colder. Because it meant time for you to start chopping wood and bringing it in for the wood stove. It makes me think of the picture you gave me of the maple in our front yard. I think of the conversation we had about how even though we’d lost huge portions of that tree in s

One of the things I’ve yet to write about is what happened with Dad’s job when we first started discovering Dad had dementia. I haven’t written about this part of the story because it hurts; it felt like betrayal. Yet, I am realizing it is a part of the story I have been holding too tight for too long; it is a part of the story that has been holding me captive for too long. There comes a time when you need to name it, face it, forgive it, and lay it down. I’m working on it… The journey for Dad to become a pastor was not easy for our family. He commuted 1 ½ hours to seminary, money was tight, and we traveled around to different churches. When Dad was ordained and installed, I was finishing high school, deciding on a college, etc… We were fortunate that we didn’t have to move and in a time that felt a bit chaotic, I felt we now had a church to call home. For several years, I was one of the organists and my sister and I traded accompanying for the choir. I was thankful to have a job

I started this on July 4, just before leaving for our trip. I look back over the past couple years and realize how much my children have changed in what is really such a short span of time. And then I look back over the past couple years, the past couple of months and see what this disease has done to my Dad in such a short span of time… July 4 If ever there is a doubt that people with dementia can still hear, feel, listen, etc… you can trust me I’ve doubted. And yet I know in my heart that it’s just not true. This evil disease has finally taken the words from my Dad. He’s trying so hard to speak to me and the look on his face – sometimes seeming desperate – is now by far the most heartbreaking thing on this journey. My Dad, the author, technical writer, sermon-giver has lost the words. And some days its makes me feel like he’s gone. I just find myself grappling with how to relate to him. But it’s presence my friends. If ever there were something Dad is helping me re-learn

It's been a couple years hemming and hawing over taking this trip. Last fall, we made the reservations and started the planning. I have wanted to be so excited and yet, I didn't allow myself to get excited until the trip was pretty much over. I love to travel but this is the first time ever that I didn't want to leave for a trip. I didn't want to leave my Dad because he continues to slip away from me and I just don't know what kind of time I have left. And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't selfishly scared that he would leave me while we were gone. I was so anxious about it, that the first day of driving I was already exhausted. Wednesday we spent a day exploring Waterton National Park and while it was beautiful and the hike challenging all I kept thinking on the hike was "Where are you God?" and "What am I supposed to do?" "Where have I gone?"  On Thursday, we hadn't planned to do any hiking. Just simply drive

So, Jon will save something on TV about dementia and he knows that sometimes I can handle watching it and other times I feel like I’m living it enough that I don’t want to hear anything about it. I thought I could handle this one on CBS 60 Minutes about Frontotemporal Dementia . But boy if I had a punching bag I can guarantee it may just be pulverized to bits right now. I’ve written more than once about circling through all the stages of grief over and over and right now I can’t lie when I say I’m so angry. And this is why… "FTD (Frontotemporal Dementia) attacks people at the very soul of their humanity." "This is profound as anything that can happen to a human being. It robs us of our very essence, our humanity, who we are." Almost 3 years since Dad was formally diagnosed with FTD. He was 64 at the time but hindsight tells us things were going on before that. I had conversations with Dad more than once - but one time using that exact word, essence. In

For quite a while, many Tuesday’s have been Grandpa day. Lydia had just started school so she missed out on coming with Mom to spend time with Grandpa so Grandma could work. But, Bethany came for a year and then Rachel has been doing this with Mom since the beginning. We moved Dad into memory care the middle of February. The time had come not only for Dad, but the toll it is taking on my Mom has never stopped worrying me. That morning, before helping move Dad’s stuff I said goodbye to a family friend who left this world too soon.   And in the moment, adrenaline and denial and maybe, by God’s grace, a little bit of strength helped to push through that day. While that works, and sometimes is necessary to get through life, at some point you can’t keep pushing through. Dementia steals memories, moments and just so many things. Today is Tuesday. Rachel knows it is Tuesday. She had a rough morning and I couldn’t figure out why. Until I sat her down and waited patiently for her to t

I've heard Barbara Brown Taylor quoted in sermons, but it was through hearing her in good old Oprah's SuperSoul podcast talking about lunar spirituality vs. full solar spirituality that had me intrigued and wanting to read her books. Naturally "Learning to Walk in the Dark" was the first title that grabbed at me because it's basically what I feel like I've been trying to do for the past several years.   If you are in need of a book that says it's okay - in fact necessary - to be in the dark, this may be a book you need to read. I Googled books on grief to see if this one would pop up and it did not. I've tried to read other books on grief and while I'm sure there are good ones out there I've only encountered the clinical, 10 ways to get over grief, etc.... If you're looking for a book to be a companion as you grieve, this may be a book that helps. (And bonus, it's an easy, relatable read with less than 200 pages.) Now I'