The Perfect Present

This time of the year is a very busy time for many people.  Stores are crowded, music is playing and cash registers are ringing with the sounds of the season.  There is so much emphasis on finding just the right present for those we love.  Many items are considered until that one special present is selected.  This Christmas Season I have slowed down my hustling and bustling and remember that the most perfect present I have ever received was time with my Grandlove.  This picture was one of many times that I stopped what I was doing to cuddle with Stephen as he ate his meal.  He could cuddle and the world became so focused for me.  He would grab at me and close his beautiful eyes as he napped in my arms.  I knew that each time I held him it was one of the pre-determined times we had left. 

When he was born I listened in the hall and heard what I thought was odd for the early morning hours in the hospital, it sounded like a kitten.  That wasn't a kitten's soft cry, that was my brand new grandson announcing his arrival.  He was a wrinkly mess of love, even then.  Cuddling was our special time together throughout the years.  He slept the most soundly when he was in my arms.  Spoiled?  Naw, just good grandparenting.

Fast forward through many obstacles to a few weeks ago, Thanksgiving week.  He was approaching his angel wings and we all took turns holding, comforting him.  On December 1st, I said that I needed to hold him.  My son-in-law (Stephen's Nathan) gave over the rocking chair and his sweet boy.  Stephen's hospice volunteer and I cleared the living room of all distractions and the house settled down peacefully.  The hours passed with us talking about nonsense, eating cake and drinking tea, until a little after three there was a marked change in Stephen's breathing.  I said, "That's different," as he took a sweet, deep breath.  Susan ran to get Stephen's mom, dad and his Nathan up.  Stephen took two more sweet, deep breaths and then a soft smile was on his lips.  We all kissed him and told him how much we love him, but it was time to run with his friends and fly free of all his pain and suffering. (He had been looking at the angels all week and we knew that he would join them when he was ready.) 

I will never forget that moment that I watched him take his last breath and smile at the glorious angels who had come for him. 

That moment, that is my perfect present.  Can't buy it in the store, can't order it off the internet, can't duplicate it, 'cause it's imprinted on my heart forever.

Two Brave Souls Joined Forever

This picture of my friend as she makes sure that her sweet boy captures every last bit of love he can before he receives his Angel wings. 

No mother has more love for her child than one who will comfort her child as he slips away from constant, excruciating pain caused by the monster known as Leukodystrophy.  Leukodystrophy crushed his milestones and replaced them with pain.  Throughout his short life, he didn't question why he could no longer run and play like other boys; he only brought thousands of people together to fight this insidious monster.  There is no cure and because this is considered a rare disorder, the research goes on better known diseases. 

His mom is my hero, because in spite of her pain of watching her sweet boy die, she has reached back to help my family on our journey.  You see, this will be our fate in a short time.  The Grandlove will be the little boy in the bed receiving the last bit of love we can give him before his time on Earth is gone. 

Thank you, Tadan and Carisa for seeing beyond your pain and helping so many others.

CHRISTMAS CHALLENGE: STILL CHAMP

When I am confronted by a challenge, the little hairs on the back of my neck start to rise.  When I am told, "I am sorry, Ma'am, but we won't be getting any more before Christmas,"my backbone become more rigid and I prepare for the challenge.  When all of the common resources have been exhausted, it becomes a matter of honor for me to conquer the insurmountable task set before me.  Defeated people fall to the wayside as I trudge forward to the goal.  This challenge of acquiring the unattainable fuels my determination.  I realize that this is part of my genetic makeup, because my mom wouldn't give up either. 

My first challenge was a couple of decades ago, when Cabbage Patch dolls first hit the market.  It didn't matter how much you were willing to spend, a person couldn't  find one.  When stores would have a shipment, there were actually fist fights among the harried shoppers.  (Remember this was before E-Bay, Amazon and all the other online purchase sites.)  Try as we might, we couldn't find one for our little girl for Christmas and then a little miracle happened in our world. 

My husband was laid off from the railroad and I was working in a clothing store to support our family.  At our local grocery store, there was to be a drawing every fifteen minutes to win a Cabbage Patch doll, but the catch was that you had to be present to claim the prize.  I left instructions that Hubby was to take our sweet girl to the store and wait the four hours for all of the drawings.  Every fifteen minutes a name would be drawn and a replacement one if the person wasn't there. 

After a couple of mind-numbing hours, Hubby zoned out. Luckily a little curly-headed girl brought him back in focus with, "Daddy, they just called your name!"  Sure enough, he got to claim the doll and brought a smile to our little girl's face.  He protected both the doll and our daughter as they went out to the car, because people were crazy about those silly dolls.

As I said, I was working in a clothing store and I didn't know what was going on in the drawing, until I walked into the shoe department of the store and there was a sight for sore eyes.  My hubby was holding our precious little girl, who in turn was hugging a cute baby boy Cabbage Patch doll.  My hubby provided something that even the wealthy couldn't acquire that year.  That red-sailor-suited little doll brought a smile to everyone's faces.

Now, forward a few decades and my daughter said that she wanted her little guy to have a Fisher Price record player.  No problem, right?  Wrong! That re-issued record player has been sucked up by greedy people who are turning around and selling it for two to three times its worth on Amazon and Ebay. 

Target stores are the exclusive carriers of this toy, with JCPenney offering it in their catalogue.  Daily checking with the store, online stores and finally Fisher Price itself told me that the record player acquisition was becoming a dream.  Not realizing my level of determination, my daughter told me, "Mom, it's okay, you don't have to get it, I just thought it would be nice.  Don't worry about it." 

Huh, me not worry about it or give up?  Really?  Not with the blood that flows through my veins.

I wrote down all the contact information for the Target stores within 130 miles.  I continued the web-search for JCPenney's availability.  No luck.  Getting people on the phone, netted me only a lot of, "I'm sorry Ma'am, but I don't know when or if we will be getting any more."  Fisher Price factory wouldn't sell me one, because it was a store exclusive.  Rolling up my sleeves, I went down the contact list once more Thursday morning.  Finally, I hit pay dirt.  I called a distant (hundred miles away)Target store and the girl said they had three.  Would she hold one for a couple of hours, until I could get there?  "No, Ma'am, not this time of the year."  Really?  I kept my cool as I asked for the manager; which she was and still no sympathy.  Finally, a little pleading  and, "I'll make an exception, but if you're not here by five, it's going back on the shelf."  No problem. 

Thank Goodness for Gypsy (GPS), because I didn't know the way to this town/Target.  Some of the roads I traveled were out in the middle of nowhere, barren landscape except for highway memorials with faded flowers and signs warning me not to pick up hitchhikers (because there were prisons nearby.)  A few hours later, I approached the Target office and when the girl behind the counter asked me, "So you really drove all the way to get this record player?"  I smiled and said, "Yep and batteries, too."

When I arrived at daughter's and she hugged the record player, she crooned, "It's just like I remembered."  The happiness radiating from her eyes reminded me of the joy I saw when she was little and her daddy hung the moon by winning the unattainable doll.  Maybe she's not a kid anymore, but the little girl is still alive deep in her heart and mine.

Scars: Life's Memories Markers

Recently, I was at a new doctor's office and he touched my left hand and questioned me about a rather large scar that I have worn for almost all of my life. When I explained how I got that scar and what it represented to me, I gained more appreciation for the love and care I have received all of my life. My hand's scar wasn't the first one I received and it sure wouldn't be the last in my long active life. Funny thing is that each scar helps me remember my adventures and keeps those memories fresh for me.

I will start with the first scar that I was born with and before it healed, it caused many people immense amount of pain. My stomach was covered with an angry, blistered, birth mark that required radiation treatment and boric acid poured on for the first three weeks of my life. Even though I was a newborn, it took my mom and my Godmother to hold me down for those excruciating treatments. Being a mom now, I can only imagine the heartbreak that those two women endured for my benefit.

My left hand scar occurred when I was a toddler. Back in the days there were only glass milk jugs and during the confusion of unloading the car of the bottles, I got hold of one. The burden proved to be more than I could carry and I hit the bottom of the bottle on the outside step. I actually remember watching the blood spurt up onto the pink siding of the house. I don't remember the pain, just a lot of people rushing around and taking me to the doctor's office for help. Later, I learned that the doctor tried to talk my mom in letting him amputate my hand, because he said that I would never have control over it again. You see, back then, if you severed arteries and ligaments, the chances of complete recovery were slim to none. My mom wanted as full of a life for me as possible, so she refused the amputation and hospitalization. She watched the doctor retrieve the ligaments with a long hook and stitch up the arteries and everything else under local anesthesia. We went home that night and she laid next to me to make sure that my hand was kept on the ice bag and perfectly still all night long. Bless my mom's heart, I know that she carried guilt for years that I slipped out of her sight and found the glass danger that caused so much damage. My scar healed and my hand is completely useful. Thanks, Mom for believing you knew what I needed and going against the doctor's advice. Quite amazing for the early fifties, because most people were intimidated by professional men.

I will not go into such great details about all of my scars, but they each carry part of what makes me who I am.

There is a c-section scar which was made to save a premature baby girl, who has now given me the most precious grandson.

Knee surgery scars help me walk better.

Of all the most recently acquired scars that I treasure are the ones I got this year from back surgery. Because of the surgery I can walk longer and with less pain, but what I take away from those scars are the memories of the care that I received from my husband. You see, my husband passes out at the site of bodily injuries to the ones he loves...I mean literally passes out. When I came home from the hospital and my stomach and back had surgery wounds that needed daily dressings, we knew that he was the one who had to take care of them. We laid everything out and then he knelt down behind me. I questioned him why he was on his knees by the bed and he explained, "If I should faint, while I am doing this, I don't want to fall so far down and get hurt." At first I thought he was joking and then I realized that he was serious. So each day, he would help me shower and we would lay the new salve, gauze, tape, etc. out and he would pat me dry and minister to my needs.

All of my scars mean more about love than any card Hallmark could ever print for love never ending. People have helped me heal from physical pain and all the pain that only they could see. I will be eternally grateful for all the care and love my healing process has received from my friends and family.