The Finisher

Wayne and I have a phrase of encouragement that we share with each other:  "Someday this will be in the rear-view mirror."  Hard things will pass, and we will put them behind us.  Sometimes that takes weeks or even years to gain the hindsight.  Gratefully, some things pass by more quickly.  Our recent experience with Peter's scary race was one of those things.

We gathered this morning with Peter's cross country team and 103 other high school teams for a race on a beautiful but difficult course at the Oatlands Plantation in Leesburg, VA.  After warming up and sampling the course, Peter thought he would not be able to run this race today. His leg hurt, and the memories of his previous heat stroke and hospitalization were heavily on his mind (and on mine, too.) His wise coach encouraged him to just try. He said, "Just start it, and if you can't make it, then turn around and come back."  That was good counsel.  If you have to turn around and come back, you might just as well keep going.  Nobody wants to make a demoralizing 180 degree turn on a race course.

With prayers from his parents, teammates, and self, he exerted strong faith, and lots of grit and determination.  Peter ran the whole race on a very tough course. All of the anxiety tears that I had choked back 2 weeks ago changed to gratitude tears and found their way out today when he crossed the finish line. Now he has more confidence that he can do it, and he has a literal track record to prove it.

Whew.  Our ambulance ride is just a memory in the rearview mirror.  Here's a photo of our runner crossing the finish line because he did not turn back.

Where to Begin

It’s hard to know where to start to describe a weekend so full of fear, blessings, and reflections. Sometimes life events come upon us unforeseen and unbidden. Those are the times when faith, family, and friends help us overcome challenges that would be ever so much worse to face alone. To understand the fear part, imagine watching a high school cross country race on a warm morning about 60 miles from home. You cheer on your son as he passes the 2 mile mark in a 5K race. He is smiling and keeping up his usual spot in the front half of the group. You stand at the finish line and watch the runners come in. The first half passes, and you wonder why you did not see your son. Most of the runners come in, and you think maybe he finished in a big pack of kids, and you missed seeing him. The last stragglers cross the finish line, and your son is not among them. Surely he is at the finish line congratulating his teammates. But, the panic nags you that he might be up there on the hill, injured somewhere on the course. You start running up the big hill, joined by event staff and worried teammates. Yes, there is a runner down, and you know he’s yours. 

He’s unconscious on the ground. Folks are trying to cool and revive him. You hurry off to a hospital in an ambulance and hear an emergency room physician telling you many frightening possibilities. You watch your healthy young son lay unresponsive and then awake to writhe in pain from awful medical procedures. After several hours, you watch him drive off in yet another ambulance to a bigger, better equipped hospital. You follow behind for 60 miles of anguished fear. 

So, just where were the blessings in all of this? To start, both Wayne and I were at the cross country meet. Peter has run in many events, and this was the first time we have attended a meet together. I can’t imagine how the day would have been if we had not been on the scene. While we were still on the course, Peter’s teammates gathered around and formed a prayer circle. These wonderful kids joined their faith and offered up their prayers for aid. Wayne and I will never forget that sight, and our gratitude to them will never fade. Although we were 60 miles from home, my dearest friend, Gail, and her husband found their way to the hospital to provide much needed and appreciated hugs and food. Our daughter and son-in-law, Cindy and Mario, drove many miles to arrive at the second hospital ahead of us and in time to greet Peter at his arrival with a huge comforting soft teddy bear. They supported me and drove me home and stayed the night with me in our very dark house, where a big storm had cut the electrical power. 

Although the first hospital gave needed and immediate relief and treatment, it was the second hospital that provided the calm and experienced judgment of pediatric specialists who frequently treat kids’ athletic and heat stroke related injuries and could keep a level head as to exactly which tests and treatments were needed. I was filled with gratitude for the competent doctors we met who had studied and prepared themselves to calmly offer skilled care. Before long, our runner, Peter, was talking and joking and looking forward to a return to school and sports and friends. His buddy was soon at his bedside offering the best medicine that only a seventeen year old “bro’-ski” can provide. 

I’m very tired, having only been back at home for a few hours, but I reflect on how my prayers were answered and how people who could help us were put in our path. I am grateful for God who whispers peace to my heart and assurance that He loves me and my son. I’m thankful for my husband, who was at my side when I needed him and at our son’s bedside all night long. I’m in awe at the delicate balance that our bodies need to function properly under stress. It is humbling to see the devastation when simple fluids and rest are inadequate, and physical demand is too great. I don’t want to have this experience ever again, but as I lived it, I was never alone. All is well, and we will sleep much better tonight.

No-More Goodbyes

This thought comes to mind every time I travel to visit family and friends:  I don't like good-byes.  I am always so eager to see the folks at the other end of the trip, but when it comes to leaving my loved ones at home, I hate to part.  While I feel immersed in love with the folks I'm visiting, my heart aches for the ones I left back at home.  When I turn my face back toward home, I'm so happy to ease my homesickness, but I immediately ache to stay with those I am leaving.  I want to have all of the folks I love in one place.  I don't want to say good-bye and to miss you.  That whole absense makes the heart grow fonder idea is over-rated.

 

My vision of heaven is where I will always be surrounded by those I love.  Sure, you can roam about as you will and won't be chained to me, but I never want to be far from you.  I want to be at your side without the time and distance of travel.  I want to see my darling grandchildren whenever we wish it.  I want to chat face to face with my kids without buying plane tickets.  I want to talk about music with a beloved friend without having to send a text or squeeze in a quick hour when we wish we could talk all day.  I don't want to dread the day when my best friend will move, and I will remain behind.  I want to spend forever with my husband at my side and surrounded by all of our loving family and friends.  I want it all so much, that I think about my heaven every day. 

 

Make no mistake, I'm not suggesting that I am in a hurry to change my residence from earth to heaven just yet.  For now, and for many more years to come, I will settle for my pieces of heaven, and I will travel back and forth between them.  It is good to know that when I leave one place on the map, I can anticipate joy at each end of the long car ride or airplane flight where another group of folks waits to welcome me.  But some day, I want each of you to have a home on my block.  To never have to miss you will be happiness forever for me.

Deep Down Gratitude

It has been a long time since I have taken the time to write. That doesn't mean I have not had times of joy and many moments of joyful thoughts. I'm pretty good at pondering, but I've been slow to compose my thoughts. 

This thought has been on my mind for the past couple of years, and I have often repeated it to my family. "To have wealth, one must have two things - charity and gratitude. You must be grateful for what you have, and you must be willing to share it generously and without expectation of a return." I could write on this topic all day and expound on my personal economic policy. Fear not, I will spare you this time. What I want to reflect upon today is profound gratitude. 

Recently, we had a very pleasant trip to New York. We enjoyed visiting with our family and friends whom we dearly love. We stayed in a local hotel. In fact, it was the very hotel where I worked for several years as a maid during high school and college. That was 35 years ago when I learned for myself how hard it is to clean bathrooms and make up a couple hundred beds in one day. I also worked there in the laundry and folded so many sheets and towels that I would daily wear off the skin on the palms of my hands. It was very hard work, even for a young energetic body. I don't think there was a minute when I enjoyed it, but I knew that if I were to return to college each fall, I would need to do this back breaking work. I was grateful for the employment, and I remember that I earned the minimum wage of $2.37 per hour. 

Well, on this recent trip, I recognized a familiar face at the hotel. One of the maids who worked with me in 1977, is still working there today. She has recently advanced to the position of head housekeeper, but for about 35 years, she has continuously performed the tasks that I remember as being so hard. While I was earning a BS degree in music education, she was cleaning. As I earned an MA degree in music performance, she was cleaning. While I moved to Virginia and reared five children and enjoyed teaching hundreds of music students, she was cleaning. A huge volume of water has passed under my bridge of life in the past 35 years. Through it all, she was cleaning and then coming home exhausted to her own home and children. Her face looks much older and more careworn. She was happy to see me, and she asked if there was anything that I needed for my hotel room. I had to choke back my tears as I thanked her and refused her kind offer to serve me. 

This is not a treatise on who should have to work and for how long, nor is it an attempt to cast pity. It is a deep heartfelt thank you for the opportunities that have blessed me these last 35 years. I am profoundly grateful for my education, the sacrifices of my parents, the devoted care of my husband, the support of my friends, and the many experiences I have had to spread my wings and achieve my dreams. To my housekeeper colleague, I salute you. To my God and Protector, I most humbly thank Thee. Without consideration of any financial sums, which, in my book, is never an indicator of wealth, I feel abundantly blessed and eager to share. May you feel similarly.

Over My Head

Written on June 25, 2010

Today started off very noisy, but by noon, we had a new roof on our house.  It gives me joy to see it and to know that we are protected with lovely shingles with a lifetime warranty, but it is even more joyful to reflect on all the life that has gone on under that roof.  Our five children have grown up here and are now beginning to bring their own children to rejoice with us under this roof.  Under this roof we have been protected from the storms and stress of life, both physically, and most especially, spiritually.  It gives me joy to think of all that has happened here and all that will yet happen, all under new Georgetown Grey, high definition shingles.  It is a metaphor for the love of God that has surrounded us, blessed us and protected us for so many years. 

2 Pieces of Heaven

Written on June 24, 2010

I don't know exactly what heaven will be like, but I have a pretty good idea.  Our joyful times on Earth can be replicated and expanded upon in heaven.  Today I met a dear friend who I had not seen for many years.  She is now on temporary assignment at the Washington, DC, temple.  We had a lovely visit at her apartment, and then we rejoiced to serve in the temple together.  I happily thought that that scene will play out again and again, to be in the House of the Lord with those we love. 

 

My other piece of joy, which I also believe will be a part of heaven, was tasting my first ripe tomato of the summer.  I wait all year for that.  Thanks to Gail's bounteous garden, I didn't have to wait for mine to ripen.  There must be ripe tomatoes in heaven, but there is also joy on earth, and we can have that today.

Pride, Joy, and Roofing Materials

Written on June 23, 2010

Today I had a choked up joyful moment as I watched Peter carry out a very loyal act for one of his friends.  Pete showed persistance, compassion, and maturity far beyond his tender age of 14, and I had a glimpse of the man he is becoming.  That was joy.

I also tried to have the joyful luxury of a short nap, as I get pretty tired after working out.  As usual, just as I stretched out and fell asleep, I was interrupted and never got to doze.  That's OK, though; the interruption was the delivery of 180 bundles of new shingles that will be put on our house on Friday.  It was pretty cool to see them get hoisted up on the roof by a huge crane.  Much cooler than a nap would have been. 

2 Things Unrelated

Written on June 22, 2010

What I did for love ended up in what I did for joy, which is often the way it is.  If you haven't tried it, you haven't experienced the challenge of gluten free baking.  You see, gluten is the protein that holds wheat together.  Remove that, and well, it's a challenge.  This evening I successfully made a yummy batch of chewy cookies for Wayne.  It was a triumph, as many of my gluten free efforts have not been as fortunate.  The joyful part is watching Wayne sneaking back into the kitchen for another treat.  Yes, I notice as each cookie disappears. 

As an unrelated piece of joy, I just ordered a pair of rocking chairs for our new front porch.  If you've been following that saga, you know that it has been long and very frustrating.  But, the end is in sight, and at last, it's time to get the chairs.  The next step will be the 5 hanging baskets of flowers that I will need.  That will wait until next week when Cox Farms begins its annual 50% off sale.  Expect more joyful notes as I peacefully rock and enjoy the blooms on our lovely new porch.  Ah, I can hardly wait.  What will make it even better is when the grandchildren visit and find their way into our laps as we rock.  Now that is is joy. 

2 Days of Happy Contacts

Written on June 21, 2010


My kids bring me joy every day - some days more than others.  Yesterday and today were "more" days.  Our 3 girls all remembered to call their dad for Fathers' Day.  That made him happy, and it gave me joy, too.  They know that they have a wonderful father, and they love him very much.  That kind of joy is at the foundation of my happiness.  Today we heard from our missionary son, Joseph.  Some of you may not have met Joseph or know what he is up to.  He has been a full time missionary in California, teaching the gospel of Christ in the Latino communities of the San Francisco area, for nearly 2 years.  We are very proud of him and the service that he gives.  He brings honor to his father and to me, and that fills my heart.  Taking care of little ones for all of those years had its own joys, but now it is a very fulfilling joy.  Thanks to my kids, for calling and for honoring and loving us.  May your days be long upon the land for doing so.

I'm not Julia Child

Written on June 19, 2010


I've been too busy cooking all day for 2 days and one evening to reflect and write.  I've been preparing for a bridal shower and a dinner with friends.  I'm not a great cook, and I'm not sure I enjoy it all that much, but I did find joy.  It's a joy to make and share with friends.  It's a joy to easily buy fresh, delicious, healthy food and to prepare it in a kitchen that is outfitted with all the modern conveniences and decorated to my taste.  It is a joy to be healthy and strong and to feel it (except for the sore back and knee, but it's all good.) Bon Appetite.


To make up for no message yesterday, I'll send a second one this afternoon.  I attended a lovely piano recital this afternoon, another one where kids that I substitute taught earlier this spring were performing.  Some of them played like little professionals, and others played liked regular kids who take piano lessons, but each of them gave up free time to practice and to prepare.  As I listened, I thought, "I love my job."  I work so hard all year to make these performance opportunities happen for literally thousands of kids.  When I see them play and see their happiness when they achieve a level of artistry, I feel joy.  It warms my heart to the core.

The Circle of Life

Written on June 17, 2010

Today I had a wonderful visit from a former student and her 2 sweet little daughters.  I was delighted to see Jen.  I was her teacher for 10 years and have watched her grow from a little girl to a lovely young mother.  She was a joy to teach, and she is still a joy to see again.  Before she leaves town, she will stop by again, and I will teach her little girl a few notes on the piano.  Yes, I feel a little old, but mostly very complete.  Life is beautiful!

A Pattern

Written on June 16, 2010

I'm seeing a pattern in what I do for joy, and it's no surprise that it's music.  For today's joy, I practiced the piano for about the tenth day in a row, which is a real record for me these days.  I haven't done that in years, and although I'm awfully rusty, I still love it.  I also finished another year of teaching with a great lesson where the student is reaching that point where she loves to play and sees herself as a pianist.  I love that moment when a student "gets it"  and is ready for a bigger challenge.  So, that's my joy for today.  What's black and white and happy all over?  Mom at the piano.

2 Songs

Written on June 15, 2010

While I'm still sweating from today's walk in very humid Virginia, I will pause to write about a joy I have several times each week.  I work out at the gym and pool on M, W, and F.  On T, Th, and Sat., I walk the streets of Greenbriar, sometimes with Gail, sometimes with my I-pod.  When I walk alone, I always start and end with the same 2 songs, and they always bring me joy.  Here they are:  I leave the house with Helen Reddy, singing "I am Woman."  No, it's not the feminist message that brings me joy, but the confidence that I can accomplish hard things.  These last 2 years have been quite a journey for me. The piece I end my walks with is even better, "The Promise of Living," from The Tender Land by Aaron Copland.  The music is wonderful, but the words are even more so 

"The promise of living with faith and thanksgiving is born of our loving our friends and our labors."  

If I were clever enough, I'd post the music here for you.  (here you go mom!) I can't hear it too often.  I feel gratitude and rededication every time I hear it.  Yes, I feel joy every time, joy that life is rich for me and has the promise of lasting forever.

White Bean Chicken Soup, and Piano Music

Written on June 13, 2012 

Once again, I found a message stuck in my outbox.  It is Saturday's.  Sorry to send out of order, but here it is:

Two joyful things to report today:

 

1.  I heard a lovely piano recital given by 2 girls at the tender age of 14 or 15.  They played beautifully, and I was pleased to be the teacher of one of them for 3 weeks this spring while her regular teacher recovered from surgery.  These 2 girls are truly gifted, and they work hard to develop their gift.

 

2.  This is much more practical and probably cognitively incongruent on such a hot day, but I found joy in making a big pot of a family favorite and my own original recipe.  Here is the recipe, in case you like soup on hot days, too.  It makes a big pot, but it's so good, you'll want to eat all of it, or freeze it for another day when you don't have time to cook.  Pretty much every day.

 

1 or 1.5 lbs, skinless, boneless chicken breasts cut into bite sized pieces. (I use kitchen scissors for this, and they work great.)

1 lg Vidalia onion, chopped ( a bag of frozen chopped onion works,too)

1 bunch of celery, washed and chopped, including leaves

6 carrots, peeled and sliced

2 Tbl. butter (I know, use olive oil, if you must.)

2 cans diced tomatoes, with juice

2 cans white beans (cannellini) drained and rinsed to remove excess salt

2 Tbl. chicken stock paste (or bullion or broth, whatever you have)

1/2  tsp crushed red pepper  (more, if you dare)

1/4 C fresh cilantro, chopped (I have great new multi-blade scissors to chop herbs.  I highly recommend them.   The fact that I can now harvest the herbs from my garden also gives me joy.)

Enough water to make the consistency that you want.  I add about 4 cups, maybe less.

 

In a big Dutch oven or stock pot, sauté the chopped veggies and chicken in butter until onions are translucent.  Add the tomatoes and juice, water, beans, and stock.  Stir in red pepper and herbs and simmer for a couple of hours.  If you're in a hurry, you can eat it when the veggies are soft, and the chicken is done.  It's healthy and delicious, and it gives us joy every time I make it, which is about once a month or so.

Sing Along

Written on June 13, 2012

This gives me joy every time we do it, and today was no exception.  Nearly every month, I go with members of my church choir to a local assisted living facility  where one of our former choir members is a resident.  He looks forward to the visits, and usually sings along with us, as do several of the other residents.  We sing favorite hymns and patriotic songs, or Christmas carols - songs that the folks love and remember.  I have seen for years what researchers are now reporting in scholarly journals - musical memory is one of the last parts of our brains to leave us.  I have seen folks who have long since forgotten their own names and those of their families.  Still, they can sing familiar songs, often in more than one language.  It is remarkable.  I have read the reports and understand the physiology to some degree, but it still is miraculous to me. 

Movie Night

Written on June 11, 2010

OK, today's offering is just an old black and white movie I borrowed from Netflix.  I recommend it - "Roberta."  It's a Fred Astaire/Ginger Rogers musical with great songs by Jerome Kern, wonderful dancing, gorgeous costumes, lovely sets, and plenty of sweet romance.  The movie has it all.  I didn't realize that it was the source of so many famous songs.  I have to say, it gave me joy - alone in the house, stretched out on the couch. Put it on your cue!

Not Everything is Profound

Written on June 10, 2010

Not every piece of joy comes from profound reflection.  Today I felt it when I moussed (is that really a verb?) my hair and put on a pair of funky earrings, handmade for me by a dear friend.  I smiled in the mirror, and thought, "Take that, you 50 year old grandmother!"  My other joy will be this evening when Wayne and Peter and I  drive to Baltimore, sit right behind homeplate, and watch my boys' favorite team, the NY Yankees.  I love to see the bond that Peter feels with his Dad and Grandfather Rotz and Uncle Jeff, who are also Yankees fans.  He will have Grandpa and Jeff on the cell phone throughout the game.  I go along for the ride and certainly NOT for the food at the ball park.  Go Yankees.  Sorry, in advance, for the defeat, O's.

Watch for us on TV.  I'll be the one with the great hair and earrings and the happy face.  Look for the joy.

I don't plan to write a daily double, but I do have another moment of joy to add for today.  As you probably know, Peter and I deliver Meals on Wheels on Thursdays as part of his homeschooling experience.  I drive, and he delivers.  I have always loved watching his interaction with the grateful clients.  Today, an elderly Asian lady who speaks very little English said, "When your boy bring me food, I happy."  I was happy, too, even joyful.

 

My Lillies

Written on June 9, 2010

For today's moment of joy, I looked at my lillies.  I even talk to them and thank them.  They are happily blooming in the front, sides, and back of my house.  I have loved them for the 25 years that we have lived here, but especially for the last 5 years.  In 2005 when our house burned, I saw and felt devastation.  To my surprise, in early June, my lillies opened their lovely faces, just as they always had.  They didn't seem to notice that we weren't home, the windows were boarded up, and my heart was so heavy.  I remember tearfully saying to Gail, "My lillies are blooming."  She, ever pratical, said, "Don't cry.  Cut some and put them in a vase."  She said just what I needed to hear, as she always does.  I have reflected on those lillies ever since as the symbol of graceful beauty amidst heartache, and I have tried to behave that same way.  I have chosen more lillies as decorative accents in my house to remind me.  Even in hard times, they hold their heads up and show their splendor, opening a new bloom every day for a season.  They rest, and then they come back again the next year, year after year.  They toil not, neither do they spin, and yet Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed as one of these.  Today I found joy as I considered the lillies.

The First Entry

A note from the blog manager~ this was my mother's first "Moments of Joy" entry, sent out in an email.  Now that I have convinced her to let me publish her words, I'm slowly going to add to her current entries, those she has previously written, starting with this one, written on June 8, 2010.  You will be able to recognize these previously written entries by the "written on" date I will be sure to always list at the top.

Written on June 8, 2010

 I can't seem to get into blogging.  It takes too long.  Today while taking my morning walk, I decided to start a daily (ok, almost daily) practice of writing and sending a short note called "What I did for joy" to a group of folks who are dear to me.  I want to spend a minute each day thinking of something I did that day that brought me joy.  Thank of it as Cindy's little zen place.  Trust me, the rest of the day did not go so well, but reflecting on the happy spot can't hurt.  So, here is today's.

You know I love spring time in Virginia.  This morning was picture perfect, sunny, 65 degrees and breezy, perfect for an early  morning walk.  It was 7:30 AM, and the pressures of the day had not yet started.  I walked my usual route, but I took myself with me.  You see, I listened on my I-pod to a digitized performance of myself singing in 1982, when I was a much younger and more agile soprano.  Anyway, the singing sounded beautiful to me this morning.  I don't think I fully appreciated the gift when I was younger.  So, the springtime combined with the sweet high notes of Ricard Strauss, Puccini, Gounod, and others in a voice that is most familiar to me, made for a very pleasant walk.  I felt joy for an hour, and it helped to lift the burdens that were on my shoulders as the day wore on.  What will it be tomorrow?  Not sure yet.  Stay tuned.

Another Layer

It has been some time since I've written a new entry of joy.  As always, there have been plenty of joyful moments and a desire to write, but there have also been many demanding tasks and not enough hours of sleep.

As many of you know, I returned home a few days ago from a lovely visit with Lizzy and her three little ones at their home in Florida.  I treasured feeling surrounded with love every minute of my visit.  There was always a darling face and a set of soft cheeks to kiss easily within my reach.  When I snuggle the soft, warm heads, I feel my soul fill up with a wonderful glow that fills in all my empty spaces.  I loved every minute of romping in the surf of a beautiful white sand beach with Anny and Merrylee, twirling and playing "Ring around the rosy" until I was too dizzy to stand.  I loved playing games, reading dozens of story books, making Easter crafts, and spoiling the girls on a shopping trip.  I sparkled as I cuddled Baby Benjamin and delighted in his big smiles and baby talk.  

I loved it all, but there was an even deeper layer of fulfillment.  I watched in proud and profound completion, the magnificent character of my daughter.  She has grown to make my dreams for her come to their full potential.  I am so proud of her strength.  It is not easy to care for three little ones all day every day while her husband is away on military deployment.  Her job never has a break.  Through all of that exhaustion and loneliness, I see her standing like a rock.  Her faith is strong and is an example to all who know her.  I heard some of her friends talking about how their family lives are better because they have followed Lizzy's example of faith and devotion to raising her family immersed in the daily routines of prayer and scripture study.  Her children are sweet and confident and secure.  They are growing and thriving in their spiritual and academic development.  They are happy and well adjusted.

It all requires great effort, but I see Liz doing all of the things I have wished for her, and I see the blessings in her life and the lives of her children.  Watching her family life feels like a bountiful harvest for me.  The fruits of my labors in her childhood are coming to their maturity in a very pure and beautiful way.  It is another layer to my joy that I don't think I could ever have anticipated.  I'm confident that my life's work will not end with me.  What is dear and precious to me lives on through my daughters and sons and their daughters and sons, and so on forever.  It makes all of those midnight feedings and taunts from fellow grad students as I tried to haul my pregnant self into a desk seem very indifferent now.  My early days of motherhood were rich with blessings two or three decades ago, but they are exponentially sweeter now.    

A Quarter of a Century, and I Remember it All

Time is a great healer.  Memories that were hard soften to reflections on blessings received and lessons learned.  Perhaps that is how old people become as wise as they are. 

This afternoon I drove Peter to the hospital to visit a young friend.  I had an hour or so to wait, so I went to a family waiting room on the pediatrics floor, and I was not prepared for what I would see.  Or maybe I was.  Four mothers of patients were there, surrounded by family and friends.  Some were obviously suffering as their tears and anguish were evident.  After awhile, I couldn't stand to watch it anymore, and I moved to another lobby. 

The thought came to mind that I personally understood the feelings of those mothers.  I have sat in that very hospital in a state of shock and sorrow and worry as my four week old daughter suddenly was in critical care with no major organ systems functioning on their own.  I felt the disconnect, the out of body sensation when reality becomes too overwhelming to process.  I felt the gripping fear when I dared to think about what could happen and how I would deal with it.  I felt the exhaustion and the worry about my two other little ones back at home.  I struggled to understand the medical terms and processes and procedures.  It was a swirling sea of anguish that I wished I could have avoided.

I remembered it all today, but what I didn't think of until our drive home was that today is the very anniversary of that scary day back in 1987.  It has been 25 years.  That baby girl is now a mother.  While I can still recall the horror, much of it has softened to peaceful gratitude.  Many people came to our aid back then.  While expert physicians worked day and night to save our baby, our friends and family cared for our little girls and our home.  They prayed for us and visited us with hugs and encouragement.  They held me when the tears came weeks and months, and even years after the crisis was over. 

A quarter century has come and gone since then.  There are life events that I can't say I am grateful to have experienced, but I am profoundly grateful for the lessons I have learned.  Maybe I'll become a wise old lady some day.  I hope so, at least the wise part.