Day
779
I. Am.
Exhausted.
That's
what camping will do for you. I want to
say, "never again," but that probably won't be true. More than likely, time will eventually find
me loading half of our belongings into the mini-van again, driving a few hours,
unloading everything into a cabin smaller than my living room and attempting
to cook food over a fire that refuses to
start again.
Ugh.
But
more on that later.
********************************
David
was gone last week at camp - his first working.
He enjoyed it although he said he about "passed out" from the
heat. It was really hot last week. He came back with the "camp crud,"
that nasty cold stuff that all campers eventually come down with. I remember last year Will ended up having to
go to Urgent Care while working at camp - dx with an ear infection, had to miss
a couple days of work.
That
meant I had to do the yard work. I had
never in my life run a weedeater before.
My shoulders, back, and arms hurt for days! I never did get all the mowing done because
I'd do it piecemeal, to avoid being out in the heat so much and because I had
so much other inside stuff to do. I
actually kind of like mowing - probably for the instant sense of satisfaction
it provides.
I'll
have a lot of the satisfaction in the next 3 weeks. David leaves Monday for Sr. High Camp and
then he will stay to work the following Sat - Friday of Family Camp. He comes home that Sat and leaves on Monday
for his missions trip. That will be a
good experience for him. They're going
to swing into Ohio and take the kids to Cedar Point, which is this humongous
theme park, I guess. Paul's sister used
to live in Ohio and I know everyone in his family eventually visited her
(except us) and went to Cedar Point at some time. I remember hearing the story of how Paul's 70
year old mom paid $25 extra to ride this special ride they offer. Paul and I both thought that was insane.
************************************
A week
ago I had a rough couple of days. On
Wed. morning I woke myself up at midnight with loud, painful hiccups. I have no idea if that was related to what
happened later that day or not. Probably
not. The hiccups have happened
before. I think I've blogged about
waking up with Paul holding a pillow inches from my face threatening to smother
me to death because I was hiccupping in my sleep!
I was
eating lunch later that day when a piece of ham got stuck in my throat. Ugh.
This is not uncommon, unfortunately.
I think I too often eat too large of pieces, attempt to talk while
eating, or in this particular case, sat reading while slouching and eating. Nothing I did would dislodge the piece of
meat, including attempting to gag myself and doing the heimilech remover. My ribs are still sore from that move.
I
could still breathe, but every time I ate or drank even the tiniest amount it
would close up my airway, I would panic and immediately begin to vomit. Eventually that turned to unrelentless dry
heaving. I couldn't even get stuff like
pudding or applesauce down.
For
the first few hours I went about my normal business. I had noticed that Paul's grave was looking
awfully neglected a few days earlier (it turned out that he got skipped by the
weed eater guy) so I went up there with some lawn shears that same afternoon
with the kids. The guy who does the
mowing was doing his job, which was fine.
So the kids and I got to work, pulling all the decorations out of the
ground and trimming the weeds and grass around the stone. The guy on his mower comes over, turns it
off, and conversationally asks, "Are you Sarah?" He was a chatty sort and was wondering if I
was related to some people he knows in Pville.
I'm not. I just look like
everyone's sister/neice/cousin whatever.
I get that question a lot. He
wanted to talk and to my horror, I could feel my throat begin to fill with
vomit from the stuck piece of ham. The
next thing I knew, I barfed all over Paul's grave, right in front of the
groundskeeper. I told him what was going
on, but I don't think he understood. He
probably thought I was still so emotionally overwrought that it made me
nauseous.
Or
else I've turned to drinking to cope and am not very good at holding my liquor.
We
were driving home and Lizzie was quiet.
She finally asked, "Aren't you so embarrassed,
Mom?" I was, but probably not as
much as I should have been. I was really
getting too miserable to care.
The
rest of the day was shot. I was getting
too weak from not eating and drinking and the continual vomiting to do much of
anything. I spent a miserable night. The next morning I decided I really needed to
see a doctor. But that meant finding a
sitter. The first friend I texted didn't
answer (she responded the next day when she finally saw my message) but my next
friend said, "Bring them over!"
I got an appointment with the ARNP at my doctor's office.
As I
sat in the waiting room I noticed that I was suddenly feeling,
"burpy" - the kind that come with indigestion. I saw the medical assistant first. When I mentioned "vomiting" he
immediately assumed I had the flu and started jabbering. I stopped him, interrupted, and said,
"I'm NOT sick. Listen to
me!" I guess I get cranky when I
feel bad.
The
nurse practitioner came in and the most interesting thing about her was her
first name - "Brach." Like the
candy. I wonder what her parents were
thinking?
She
told me I needed to go to the ER and I would probably have to have surgery and
spend the night. I began to mentally
panic. I know how high my insurance
deductible is. I cannot afford surgery! Who
would take care of my kids? And if
someone did take care of my kids, they'd have to see my messy house! She mentioned that most often, lodged food
does eventually move but it can take up to a week. A person won't do too well without eating or
drinking anything for a week.
So, I
reluctantly agreed to visit the ER. I
got out to my van and I had brought along a bottle of water just in case. I took a swallow, preparing to vomit
again. To my surprise, the water went
down this time and stayed down!
Experimentally, I took a piece of emergency chocolate out of my purse
and ate a small bite. It also stayed
down. Woo-hoo! Somewhere between leaving my house and
getting out of the dr's office, that piece of ham had finally decided to
migrate where it needed to be. Just to
see if this was real and because I was completely starving, I went through a
Taco John's drive-through because I love their
taco bravos- although, in retrospect, eating Mexican on a raw throat is probably not the wisest
of decisions. It all stayed down. I was just praising the Lord that I didn't
have to go to the hospital!
I have
since found out that both my parents have swallowing/digestive issues, too, so
I probably inherited this. The nurse
practitioner commented that she'd me like to come back for some testing for
GERD and to see if I have an abnormally small esophogus. Maybe sometime. In the meantime, I will just cut my food up
into miniscule bites, focus on my eating, actually chew all my food before swallowing,
and try to sit straight while eating.
All's
well that ends well.
I'm
just really glad I didn't die. When I
go, I want it to be for normal reasons.
I do not want people saying for rest of their lives, "Do you
remember Sarah Heywood? Yeah, she choked
to death on a piece of ham."
Now, that
would be embarrasing!
********************************
I
heard from the Iowa Donor Network last week.
They told me that they made grafts from Paul's bone donation and so far,
47 people have received those grafts, some right here in the Midwest and some
as far away as S. Korea and Chile. I was
thrilled to receive the news. It's
comforting. I just do NOT remembering
authorizing bone donation, though. I
must have. It's fine. I was good with them taking whatever they
could use as long as Paul still looked pretty
normal for the funeral - he did.
Just
think, parts of Paul are walking around right now speaking Korean and
Spanish.
*********************************
Oh,
last Wed. night when I couldn't get that meat down? It dawned on me that I had not seen Bella for
hours. She even had fresh food in her
dish that had not been touched. This was
NOT normal since that cat acts like she is starving about every hour. I got really concerned and was hunting around
outside with a flash light. She has
gotten out once or twice, but it's not something she really tries to do. I remember the cat I had growing up would
hang around doors and dash out the second she had a chance. Bella doesn't do that.
But I
couldn't find her and a storm was rolling in.
So I finally went to bed with a heavy heart thinking that on top of
having meat stuck in my esophogus, I now had lost Paul's last birthday present
to me. I imagined Bella shivering in the
rain, having fleas jump all over her, and getting attacked by outdoor cats who
still have all their claws. I laid down
and then I heard the tinkle of Bella's collar as she crawled out from under my
bed. Apparently, she'd been taking a
VERY long nap. Boy, was I relieved. I scooped her up and hugged her which she
tolerated for all of 17 seconds. That
was ok. I was just glad she was still
dry, flea-free, and not being attacked by wild cat gangs.
********************************
The
Littles were talking about Will and Arien the other day amongst
themselves. I heard Lizzie assert that
she was "sure they're kissing by now." Sam replied confidently, "No, I don't
think Will is in the 'kissing zone' yet!"
It's a good thing I wasn't eating ham at the time - I might have found
myself choking once again!
Last
week Lizzie asked me, "How old will I be when you're 90?" I did the math, told her (52) but then Sam
quickly interjected, "Mom isn't going to live that long." Well, then...
Under
the category of things I never thought I'd find myself saying to my
children: Last week...
Me:
"We can't go camping if you have a dead sister!"
Lizzie:
"We can't?"
I
don't even remember what precipitated this exchange now.
************************
I had
another "faith builder" experience.
Really, the past two years have been filled with them, but I think this
one, in particular, may always stand out in my memory.
A few
weeks ago I was doing my monthly shopping.
I had Ben and Lizzie with me.
We were at the Hy-Vee on Park Ave. in Des Moines, which is NOT a good
area of town. But I needed to go to this
particular store. So I did my business
and got out as fast as I could. On top
of the store being in an unsavory part of the city and attracting all sorts of
distasteful types (don't I sound proud?
I can't imagine Jesus complaining about the types of people he had to
interact with during His earthly
ministry), it's also undergoing remodeling, which makes for even more
unease and unfamiliarity. We were
walking back to the van when Lizzie darted out of my grasp and stood peering
over something on the ground. I told her
to come back but she said, "Money, Mom!" I went over and saw that it was a $50
bill! I told her to pick it up and she
handed it to me. All the way back to my
van and unloading my groceries, I wondered what I should do. I could turn it into the store manager, but
would anyone inquire about a missing $50?
If not, then the store would get to keep the money. Besides, if I went back in, I'd have to drag
the kids with me and that would be no fun.
Did I mention it was hot out, too?
I could see turning in $100 find, but $50?
So, I
got in my van, still stewing about what I should do, and shooting up quick prayer for wisdom. I finally drove away but the uncomfortable
image of a poor, old, widow lady getting to the check out lane with her
groceries and being unable to find her $50 bill kept bothering me. But then, I just as quickly imagined a
grizzled, toothless, and heavily tatooed man realizing he had just lost his
beer money - and that thought didn't
bother me at all!
I
tried to reason that this was God's way of blessing me and even commented to
the kids that maybe we could use the money on our upcoming trip. But that didn't set right with me
either. I found myself wishing I could
call Paul and get his opinion. So often,
he was the voice of my conscience and I came to rely on his widom a lot. I did the next best thing and called Will up
at camp. He told me that that same day
he had found a $20 bill at camp. It was
the last day of Family Camp and most of the families had already left for
home. He had no way of finding the
owner. So he had determined that he
would hang onto the money until he learned of someone in need and then quietly
pass the money along to them.
I liked the sound of that.
The
crumpled bill sat in my wallet for two weeks.
Every time I saw it I would be tempted to tell myself God wanted me to
have the money - why wouldn't He? I'm a
widow raising six fatherless children.
If that doesn't speak of need, I don't know what does! But I couldn't bring myself to pocket the
money. Besides, every couple of days,
Lizzie would ask, "Have you found someone to give the money to yet,
Mom?"
Every
month, following communion, our church takes up a Deacons Fund offering. The fund is to help families and individuals
in the church who are going through a particularly rough time - job loss, medical emergency, etc. Paul and I were the recipients of the
church's generosity several times throughout the years. That morning I slipped the $50 into the
offering plate when it came around for this collection.
I am not
sharing this story to show my readers how great I am. I'm not.
I'm selfish. There was a big part
of me that wanted to keep that money! My
only point to this story is to show how great and amazing our God is.
Lizzie
asked me that week if I had taken care of the money and I was relieved to tell
her that yes, I had. I no longer had to
think about it. It was done. She seemed satisfied.
A week
later, the church treasurer approached me.
He handed me a check and said, "Last week, this came in, marked for
you, when the Deacon's Fund offering was taken." I was very surprised because I haven't been
the recipient of any financial gifts, from church members or otherwise, for
close to a year now.
Later,
I opened the check.
It was
for $100.
As my friend, Karen, frequently says,
"There are no cooincidences - only 'God-incidences.'"
*****************************
And
now...a report on the Great Camping Expedition of 2015...
First
of all, anyone who has spent any time at all in my company knows that I am not
a country girl. I am opposed to
heat, insects, small spaces, thin mattresses, sharing bathrooms, and having to work any harder than is
strictly necessary. Camping entails all of the above.
Paul
loved camping. He was never more at
peace and relaxed than when sitting around a campfire. This caused more than one eruption between us
- not the idea of him relaxing, but of him wanting me to accompany him while he
relaxed. Eventually, my love for him
would win out and I would go. But I
would be grumbling the entire time I loaded the camper. Paul would always say, "You just need to
throw a few things in the camper and GO.
You're going to way too much work!"
So says a man who lives in a fantasy world.
So we
would camp. And honestly, once we got to
our destination and got the campsite set up it wasn't all that bad. He would do the cooking and I would sit
around and read and attempt to keep the kids from falling into the fire pit.
Invariably,
something important would be forgotten, which would enable us to have to make a
run to the closest town and that would help me then breathe better - I need
doses of civilization, even it comes in the form of Walmart. We'd always visit a local church on Sunday,
too, and that was always kind of
interesting and sometimes, eye-opening.
Memories
were made on these trips. Of course,
what the kids probably remember most is Mom being in a surly mood. The trip that sticks out most in my mind
happened the summer Sam was a baby. We
went up to Nevada to a campground that was a little nicer than most.
I
still laugh about this trip. We had not
been there a half hour when someone's yip yip dog ran up to David on his bike
and bit him on the back of the knee.
Paul promptly informed the camp management and they set out to find the
owner, which they eventually did. The
camp gave David some free ice cream (I'm sure in hopes we wouldn't sue
them). We parked our camper next to the
playground thinking that would be perfect - the kids could play while we stayed
at the camper, enabling us to keep an eye on them at the same time. What we didn't realize was that the
playground became party central after the sun went down on Sat. night. We didn't get much sleep that night.
That
same weekend Will lobbed a camper cushion across the camper and burned a streak
off David's forehead. Paul took the boys
fishing and while he and Will caught several, David got his line tangled in a
tree.
Poor
kid.
Then,
while we were loading up Sunday, a terrible storm rolled in. The wind was gusting like crazy and Paul was
working with all his might to secure the bikes to the camper. It began pelting rain and the entire van and
camper were shaking. The sky was a
funny color and it was getting downright scary.
We finally got everything done and Paul and I jumped into the van, both
of us soaking wet. As we drove out of
the campground, I got a call from my brother letting me know the area was under
a tornado warning!
Memories...
And
people wonder why I'm not a fan of camping.
We
sold our pop-up camper in May 2013. We
knew we'd have to get something larger once the girls came the summer
before. The plan was to find something
larger that summer. That obviously
didn't happen. In fact, I remember
raiding the envelope of camper money in the safe to buy Paul's burial plot that
terrible morning of his death. Kind of ironic in a way. As much as I wasn't crazy about spending
money on another camper, I certainly would have done that rather than use some
of it for his grave.
The
boys miss camping. More than one has
commented to me how they think I should buy a new camper. I've resisted. I know exactly how that would go down. I would use the camper exactly twice, after
spending money on a hitch (if my van could even pull a larger model - maybe I'd
have to buy an SUV or truck). If I
didn't lose the camper enroute to the campground I wouldn't know what to do
with it once we arrived. Those things
have to be leveled and hooked up to the sewer and water. And they have to be backed into place. I can't even back a minivan into a parking
spot with no other vehicles around!
The
camper would sit unused for about four years until Will would offer to
"take it off your hands" and he would end up with a free camper. And then it would then get lots of usage. So here's a thought: I'll save myself a bunch of money and stress
and let him buy his OWN camper someday.
I know
what the boys are missing are the memories of those trips we took as a family
before life exploded with the arrival of the girls and Paul's death. Camping
won't take us back to where we were.
Those days are gone forever.
But I
also recognize the importance of making memories with the kids. Trips are one of the big things kids
remember. I've had more than one adult
friend comment to me wistfully and almost resentfully that their families never
took vacations while growing up. It
would be a lot easier and lot cheaper and a whole lot less stressful for me to
always stay home but I don't want to be that kind of parent. I can't afford to take my kids places every
summer and they're never going to be exotic get-aways (I'm saving up for a trip
to Kentucky so we can see the Creation Museum when David graduates - which will
be a big trip and about as "exotic" as I get) but I can still do
something to generate precious memories.
With
all this in mind, I rented a cabin just outside Omaha. My friend, Kathy, and I had driven by it on
one of our shopping trips and she mentioned that she and her family always stay
at KOAs when they camp, which is what this was.
Honestly, renting a cabin wasn't a whole lot cheaper than getting a
hotel suite when all was said and done.
I probably spent even more with the extra food and supplies I had
to buy in preparation for the trip.
With
David's crazy summer schedule I didn't have a whole lot of time in which to fit
this trip in. We have a number of
friends in the Omaha/Council Bluffs area and I had hoped to spend some time
with some of them, but I couldn't fit it in; our time was so limited.
I
began preparing for the trip last week.
And as the time grew closer I found myself wallopped with a grief wave
that nearly knocked me off my feet. I
wasn't expecting that. I haven't gone
through terribly deep waters since last Dec. and was kind of hoping I was past
all that now. The best way to describe
involves yet another water metaphor.
When these things hit I feel like I am walking through chest deep
water. We've all done that, as kids in a
swimming pool, if nothing else. No
matter how quickly you try to move, the water acts like a barrier. You know you'll eventually get to where you
want to go, but your steps are exaggerated and slowed down by the pull of the
water. That how I felt by the end of the
week. I just wanted to sit and cry. But I had to keep moving instead.
I'm
pretty sure it was because I was preparing for a camping trip without
Paul. This was always his thing,
never mine.
By the
time I picked up my kids Sat. night from Single Parent Provision I was actually
feeling better, which was a relief.
Maybe I just needed a few hours alone, away from the packing.
And
then yesterday morning the kids were all at the park playing while I packed up
the cabin. For some reason I had
awakened with Steve Green's, "Calvary's Love" running through my
head. I actually have a recording of
Paul singing it, too. As I wiped things
down, threw away garbage, sorted dirty clothes from clean, and folded blankets,
my heart grew heavier and heavier. It
literally (and I mean, "literally") felt like like I had a 10 pound
rock sitting on top of my heart. The
grief was so intense during that time I could barely move. I begged God to take it away - I could not do
this. And then the words from
"Calvary's Love" popped into my head again and this time I began to
sing them outloud (and I cannot sing at all).
...Calvary’s love, Calvary’s love
Priceless gift Christ makes us worthy of
The deepest sin can’t rise above
Calvary’s love
Calvary’s love can heal the Spirit
Life has crushed and cast aside
And redeem til Heaven’s promise
Fills with joy once empty eyes
Priceless gift Christ makes us worthy of
The deepest sin can’t rise above
Calvary’s love
Calvary’s love can heal the Spirit
Life has crushed and cast aside
And redeem til Heaven’s promise
Fills with joy once empty eyes
So desire to tell His story
Of a love that loved enough to die
Burns away all other passions
And fed by Calvary’s love becomes a fire.
I worked with tears running down my face as I thanked God
once again for the gift of Calvary - the truth that, as heavy as it is, my sorrow is only temporary. He is so faithful.
And I've really been ok since, even though I'm crying now
as I write this. I don't want to forget
it, though, long after the tears have permanently dried (will they ever, though? I wonder) and Paul has faded more into the
recesses of my distant memory.
So anyway...the trip.
It went well. My van hit 200,000
miles on Day 2. That means I've put on
50,000 miles in just two years.
Wow. I was hoping to get 4 years
out of the thing when I bought it, but I don't know if that's going to happen
or not. So far, it seems to be holding
up just fine, though.
We were able to load everything in without having to use
the topper, which was good, because I'm not sure how that thing attaches to the
top of the van. I could just see it
flying off as I hurtled down the interstate!
I do praise God for stow and go seating, though. I don't think I'll ever buy another vehicle
without that!
I didn't forget a single thing when packing, which was a
minor miracle, too.
I like to keep busy.
A friend commented on that to me a number of years ago that that seemed
to be an element of my personality. At
the time I wasn't so sure and I thought she might be comparing me to her own
homebody preferences. But I've since
decided she was pretty spot on in her assessment.
We got there mid-afternoon on Monday. KOA campgrounds typically have more amenities
than the ones that Paul usually chose for us to camp at. So, we spent all of Monday just enjoying the
pool, play area, and mini golf. In fact,
as I was doing a back float in the pool that afternoon, I found myself looking
up into the blue, blue sky and imagining Paul just on the other side of the blueness. I even "talked" to him in my thoughts
and exclaimed, "Do you see me right now?
I took your kids CAMPING!" I
bet he was laughing, particularly later that evening when I couldn't get a fire
going for our supper.
The next day we went to the Omaha zoo. I've been there many times in the 25 years
since Paul and I first began to date. It
never gets old. However, this time it
really seemed stinkier. Maybe I
just didn't remember that element. David
woke up that morning feverish and congested.
His camp crud had taken full effect.
So he stayed in the cabin all day and nursed himself with Advil cold and
sinus and thieves oil and lots of naps.
He also ate nearly an entire box of zingers. I'm not so sure that was conducive to good
healing, although he was feeling much better the next day.
It was fun to take the girls to the zoo because they had
never been to this one before. I got
there and realized I had forgotten the sunscreen I set out on the table in the
cabin. So our first stop was the gift
store to buy some - $12 for an 8 oz bottle. They get you coming and going there. The weather was not unbearably hot, although
it did get pretty warm as the day went on.
We finally wrapped things up after about 6 hours, left the zoo, and I
quickly realized I had absolutely no clue where I had parked my van. They even have these cute signs with animal
names that differentiate parts of the parking lot. Of course, I paid no attention to which
animal we were parked in! But thank God
for Sam, who is so much like his
logical, oldest brother. Sam assured me
he knew the general area where we had parked and he was right on the money and
we did find the van rather than having to wonder around for hours.
That evening we went swimming again, which felt esp. good
after our long day of walking. Ellie
mastered putting her head under water on this trip, which I think is pretty
good for a 4 year old. Now she just
needs to figure out how to hold her breath.
David got the fire going for me that night and we roasted hot dogs. Later, we went to the KOA store and bought
ice cream treats. The kids were so
exhausted they fell asleep almost immediately, unlike the night before.
I packed up the next morning and we were on the road by
late morning. We all felt like pizza so
we found a Pizza Ranch in W. Omaha and had an early lunch. I had forgotten how much the retired set like
buffets for their meals. They all began
pouring in about 15 min. after we got there.
I got so many smiles and compliments on my "beautiful family"
from these older folks. I'm pretty sure
it's the obvious adoption factor. One
older lady came by and one by one, pretended to pull quarters from behind the
ears of each of the Littles. They were
all completely amazed and couldn't figure out how it was that they've
never found money in their ears! I told
them that was how I paid for the trip - cleaning out their ears after they're
asleep at night.
We then went to the Children's Museum in downtown
Omaha. I used to take my big boys there
quite regularly. So I was anxious to
take the Littles. They were in
heaven! The museum has made a lot of
changes and added a lot of things in the 11 years since I was there last. But one thing that hasn't changed is the
noise level. Holy cow. How do the workers not lose their hearing,
over time?
They've installed a carosol, which my kids rode. The operator was a friendly, young, black
woman. We got into a good discussion
about hair and she gave me some tips and product suggestions. And she didn't blink when I used the term,
"black" to refer to people of color.
It is just as I have long suspected.
"African American" is more of a white thing than a black
thing.
But anyway...
And then we got back last night around 7. The kids went from being mostly cooperative
to extending their claws and being at eachother's throats. Welcome home...
This is probably the longest post I've written since I
began blogging. I'm finally going to
wrap things up. I put up a post on
Facebook with my smiling children outside the cabin. I wrote about our trip and then I closed it
with this line. I will end this blog
post with it, as well.
I can't duplicate the camping trips my boys
remember, but maybe I can give all the kids some new memories that will cause
them to smile from time to time.
I'm trying.
.
