Live Like You Were Dying

For the last year I've been dragging; many noted that my blogs and tweets dried up. Pain and illness drove me inward. Then when I reached a certain point ... God reached in and gave me a boost. 

I listen to Contemporary Christian music online, and silence as I drive my old Jeep; the radio died nearly three years ago.

For my birthday, my husband had a replacement radio installed. It still uses cassettes instead of CD's; it will never connect to a smart phone or iPod.

No Contemporary Christian music stations are in my area, but there are plenty of secular.

God can and does use secular music too. Humanity draws the lines, not God. On a Country radio station, a song brought tears to my eyes. 

As the pain and illness are finally starting to subside, and I have come to terms that in several ways my body will no longer be what it once was, God is calling me to sing once more. And sweet words set me dancing upon the wind.

Regardless of what faith we follow, we all know that there is a limited time we have in this world. Life is to short to hold grudges. Life is too short to put off something to tomorrow.

We don't know when time will end - for this world or for our own life. So we need to live it to the fullest. Live like we were dying...

~ ESA

 

He said: "I was in my early forties,
"With a lot of life before me,
"An' a moment came that stopped me on a dime.
"I spent most of the next days,
"Looking at the x-rays,
"An' talking 'bout the options an' talkin’ ‘bout sweet time."
I asked him when it sank in,
That this might really be the real end?
How’s it hit you when you get that kind of news?
Man whatcha do?

An' he said: "I went sky diving, I went rocky mountain climbing,
"I went two point seven seconds on a bull named Fu Man Chu.
"And I loved deeper and I spoke sweeter,
"And I gave forgiveness I'd been denying."
An' he said: "Some day, I hope you get the chance,
"To live like you were dyin'."

He said "I was finally the husband,
"That most the time I wasn’t.
"An' I became a friend a friend would like to have.
"And all of a sudden goin' fishin’,
"Wasn’t such an imposition,
"And I went three times that year I lost my Dad.
"Well, I finally read the Good Book,
"And I took a good long hard look,
"At what I'd do if I could do it all again,
"And then:

"I went sky diving, I went rocky mountain climbing,
"I went two point seven seconds on a bull named Fu Man Chu.
"And I loved deeper and I spoke sweeter,
"And I gave forgiveness I'd been denying."
An' he said: "Some day, I hope you get the chance,
"To live like you were dyin'."

Like tomorrow was a gift,
And you got eternity,
To think about what you’d do with it.
An' what did you do with it?
An' what can I do with it?
An' what would I do with it?

"Sky diving, I went rocky mountain climbing,
"I went two point seven seconds on a bull named Fu Man Chu.
"And then I loved deeper and I spoke sweeter,
"And I watched Blue Eagle as it was flyin'."
An' he said: "Some day, I hope you get the chance,
"To live like you were dyin'."

"To live like you were dyin'."
"To live like you were dyin'."
"To live like you were dyin'."
"To live like you were dyin'."
 

~ Tim McGraw

Priorities

This particular blog post is dedicated to my "little" brother (who ended up being the tallest of our generation).

When my brother was 12 years old, he was diagnosed with AVM, which is a malformation in his brain. Granted, medicine and technology have come a long way since he was first diagnosed in the early 1980's; he one of the first cases in the United States.

They told my parents that he would not likely live to see adulthood. They could try to prolong his life a little by alleviating the pressure on the brain. The first of many brain-surgeries opened a place in his skull, so he could no longer participate in track - a sport he loved. In fact, with nothing but hair and skin between a potential impact and his brain, he was banned from all sports, including the school's gym class.

I don't know how much my brother realized his time in this world was limited; he did know that each time he went into the hospital (yearly at times) may be his last time. But beyond that, he continued to live his life as though nothing was different. He laughed and lived each moment to the fullest.

In school, he was one a handful selected to learn the newest "rage" - the computer. Like my dad, he had an exceptionally sharp mind and uncanny ability to figure out the technology with very little instruction. Soon he was teaching the teachers on the school's first computer (which, if I recall correctly, was in a storage room next to the mimeograph machine they still used at the time).

My brother always looked at the positive side of things, though, and found humor in the strangest places. He would get such a thrill when he told people to place their hand on a certain part of his head. Then he'd lean forward so they would feel his brain slosh against their fingertips, laughing at the expression on their face. It was certainly something they couldn't do.

But his medical condition wasn't the only thing he laughed about. He'd enjoy laughing at everything. It was this sense of humor that lifted the entire family, through both his problems and ones we faced in our own lives.

Because of my little brother's example, we all held onto a child-like heart through life's ups and downs.

 
Needless to say, despite the doctor's warnings, my little brother reached adulthood. He went on to become a Director of IT for a company, got married, bought a nice house and had three beautiful children.

While his kids were still young, my brother's health began to decline. He could no longer drive long distances safely, so I helped him work with his HR department to arrange a telecommuting option. This was a golden opportunity, as it enabled him to spend even more time with the ones he loved dearly.

Then came the terrible news, his marriage was ending. While loosing his wife was horrific enough, being separated from his children was unbearable.
So he fought hard to have the kids with him every other day as well as alternating weekends. He was there to walk them to/from the bus stop, check their homework, make them dinner, read to them, and tuck them in at night. He attended school plays, games and every function that was important to the kids.

I think the kids realized something was wrong with their daddy. Unlike other dad's, he went to the doctors a lot and had many brain surgeries; they'd visit him in the hospital when they were old enough.

Just as the last of the kids entered grade school, my brother needed to use a cane to manage his balance. They had no qualms about his handicap; they'd play with his cane or hang on to it instead of his hand when they walked together. It was part of who their daddy was.

As they grew older, I could see how even the youngest instinctively knew when to use her slight weight just enough to counter the way dad would suddenly lean when he was distracted, helping him to stay balanced.

In 2010, we needed to rent a scooter for him at our annual family trip to a local amusement park. The kids had the best time with that; they'd fight over who got to ride with daddy on the scooter between the rides. In fact, riding the scooter with daddy was the BEST ride in the park.
...

My brother had a stroke around 8pm on April 1st last year (2011). His ex-wife had just dropped off the kids for the weekend. They were worried when the ambulance came to take their unconscious father to the hospital. It wasn't the first time; he's been rushed to the hospital many times in their short lives. But he always came back home.

Always.

This time he didn't. He lasted a few more hours, enough for my sister, mother and I to arrive and say goodbye. My other brother had only just landed in NY on his mad-dash flight from San Diego when our little brother breathed his last.

* * *

It wasn't until I was going through some pictures following his death that I realized there was something my little brother did consistently. He always did things with and for the kids first. His house was badly in need of repairs and cleaning at times, but there was always time to play.

Even when low-points of his condition created severe migraines or caused him to sleep deeply for hours through the day, his kids would play quietly around him, being near to him. Some day's he'd wake up to discover his daughter had surrounded him with little paper tanks she folded when he was sleeping. There was even the time their mischievous aunt helped them build a playhouse over daddy- couch and all.

The middle-child was the one closest to my brother. He was the one who had his own head shaved every time  daddy needed his head shaved for surgery. He was the one that laughed the loudest and stuck by his dad's side through thick and thin....

He was the hardest hit when daddy was no longer a part of his young life.

 
The video shows the last birthday this child shared with his daddy. It was a common moment perhaps shared countless times between the two, but none of us ever knew it would be the last time...

A few months ago, the anniversary of their dad's passing, this child asked for some things he wanted to have. While the house they spent many happy memories with their dad had since been cleared out and sold, my mom kept a few items that belonged to my brother.
The first item he asked for was my brother's cane. This I think is a very big part of their memories of daddy. This was a part of him. In the last few years, he couldn't walk across the room without it. Now he is in a place where he no longer needs it.

The youngest had made a drawing to place in her daddy's casket. It was her memory of the two of them picking apples. He was holding her up so she could reach the apples on the tree branches. Leaning in easy reach against the tree's truck is that ever-present cane.

The second item the middle-child requested was a surprise to us. When my brother decided to try to meet someone new, after the divorce, he tried to create a roguish appearance. His hair, after all those surgeries, was thinned if not completely gone in sections. So he shaved it all off and grew a goatie instead.

Then one day the family noticed a new image on his FaceBook account. My brother had gotten a new hat, and wore it quite frequently at family gatherings as well as on dates.

His son wanted that hat.

When we dug it out, I expected that it would be far too big for his young head. After all, my brother was 6'7" and had a big head to match. But, remarkably, it fit the son's head perfectly! He was a dapper young man wearing his dad's hat and strutting with his dad's cane.

It was the first time I've seen even a hint of a smile on that child's face for a year.

---

Like my little brother, each of us are only here a short time. We never know when our life will end, we only know the moment we have in our hands. If my brother had worked long hours, or only saw them every-other weekend, or focused on the to-do list at home, I don't think he would have built the close ties he had with his kids. It's true he only had a short time with them; none had yet reached middle-school when he died. 

But they do have some beautiful memories that they can share for the rest of their lives.

Happy Father's Day - may you share it with those you love.

~ ESA

Keep Your Fork (Story)

This was passed on to me via email; I wanted to share it with my readers.

___________________________________________________________________________

There was a young woman who had been diagnosed with a terminal illness and had been given three months to live. So as she was getting her things "in order," she contacted her Pastor and had him come to her house to discuss certain aspects of her final wishes.She told him which songs she wanted sung at the service, what scriptures she would like read, and what outfit she wanted to be buried in.

Everything was in order and the Pastor was preparing to leave when the young woman suddenly remembered something very important to her. "There's one more thing," she said excitedly.

"What's that?" came the Pastor's reply.

"This is very important," the young woman continued. "I want to be buried with a fork in my right hand."

The Pastor stood looking at the young woman, not knowing quite what to say.

"That surprises you, doesn't it?" the young woman asked.

"Well, to be honest, I'm puzzled by the request," said the Pastor.

The young woman explained. "My grandmother once told me this story, and from that time on I have always tried to pass along its message to those I love and those who are in need of encouragement."

In all my years of attending socials and dinners, I always remember that when the dishes of the main course were being cleared, someone would inevitably lean over and say, "Keep your fork." It was my favorite part because I knew that something better was coming...like velvety chocolate cake or deep-dish apple pie. Something wonderful, and with substance!

So, I just want people to see me there in that casket with a fork in my hand and I want them to wonder "What's with the fork?" Then I want you to tell them: "Keep your fork; the best is yet to come."

The Pastor's eyes welled up with tears of joy as he hugged the young woman good-bye. He knew this would be one of the last times he would see her before her death. But he also knew that the young woman had a better grasp of Heaven than he did. She had a better grasp of what Heaven would be like than many people twice her age, with twice as much experience and knowledge. She KNEW that something better was coming.

At the funeral people were walking by the young woman's casket and they saw the cloak she was wearing and the fork placed in her right hand. Over and over, the Pastor heard the question, "What's with the fork?" And over and over he smiled.

During his message, the Pastor told the people of the conversation he had with the young woman shortly before she died. He also told them about the fork and about what it symbolized to her. He told the people how he could not stop thinking about the fork and told them that they probably would not be able to stop thinking about it either.

He was right. So the next time you reach down for your fork let it remind you, ever so gently, that the best is yet to come.

_________________________________________________________________________________

- ESA

May Day

What does Easter, May Day and Winston Churchill's funeral all have in common?

Soon after my brother's funeral a few weeks ago, my family celebrated Easter. During one of the Easter celebrations I attended, someone brought up Winston Churchill's funeral. Seven days later (yesterday) was May Day, or Belltaine in my Celtic roots. It also marked the one year anniversary since my husband and I performed a memorial to our lost pregnancy described here.

Other than the timing, they all celebrate a time of moving from death into life.

Belltaine is a celebration between the cold, dark winter days in the northern hemisphere and the bright summer season full of life and growth. Easter is a celebration of passing through death into eternal life. At Winston Churchill's funeral, as he requested, the last notes were not Taps, though that was played. But immediately following Taps, was Reveille ~ the song the military uses to get people out of bed and report ready to start the new day ~ meeting life with renewed energy.

While there are times things must end in life, and our hearts are saddened by their passing. there are also times when we must remember:

LIFE ~ GOES ~ ON!

We need to see what we still have, what is just starting, and where that takes us, away from darkness, sadness and loss... back into life!

Happy Easter
Happy May Day
Reveille!

-ESA

Canceled Plans

Like many who work through grief following the sudden death of a friend or family member, I've been plodding along numbly the last few weeks, following the passing of my "kid" brother, who was only 38.

While the wake and funeral are behind us, my family kept busy between our own lives and cleaning out his house, helping his ex-wife with the kids (he had joint custody), closing bank accounts, canceling credit cards, subscriptions, memberships and appointments, returning work property, paying his bills, and dozens of others little things that follows one in life.

Then there are the moments of silence...

And in those moments, you realize that all the plans you had with that person are no longer going to happen. Pinned to our bulletin board at home are season passes my husband and I purchased for the local amusement park so we could take my brother and his kids there this summer. There were also all the events we planned: the fireworks, the bar-b-ques, birthday parties, vacation, visiting an old abandoned rock quarry to find quartz, and many other plans...

I realized the same thing created a lump in my throat and tears following both my dad's death and the miscarriage of our only pregnancy a few years ago. They are all plans where my life was interwoven with another's -- and that thread was suddenly cut, leaving me to feel suddenly alone and disconnected.

We never know what the future holds. We don't know when our last moments with loved ones are. We don't know what will cancel the plans we make for our life. The only thing we can do is make the most of the present. That is the only thing we truly have in our hands.

The last time I saw my brother alive was a simple weekend visit - less than a week before. We laughed, we joked, we helped him with some work around his house, and we watched some movies while chowing down pizza. Not a major event in anyone's mind, but the last moments I interacted with him face-to-face.

I spoke with him not more than 40 minutes before; none of us had any indication it would be our last words. I called him with a quick question, we traded a few more words, and ended with a laugh and "talk to you later." Fifty minutes later, I received the call from my sister that he had a major stroke and was en route to the hospital. There was no "later" for more words.

I consider myself very blessed that the last visit - the last words - were with smiles and laughter. I recall many who lament that if they knew it would be the last, they would not have said the words they did, would not have fought, or yelled, or told someone they didn't have the time...

I am very blessed indeed. Even though what I planned for the future will never come to fruition, I had made the best of the present. And I now have good memories that will last forever. :)

Plan for the future.
Live in the present.
We never know.

- ESA

Live For You

There is a statement of unyielding commitment that goes "I would die for you." But I propose there are times where it is more difficult to say, "I would LIVE for you."

If we are young, healthy and have life spread before us like an unblemished cloak stretching to the distant horizon, the concept of ending life is frightening; the sacrifice of one's life is great.



But if we are feeling the effects of illness, age, disability, acute pain, severe depression, or face a future with a long struggle, pain or horrors that rear large in our fear, death can be a friend and release from the suffering in life. Some are given that while others are called to continue to struggle with the hardships of this life.


It is in those times when it takes a great deal of love, commitment and courage to say, "I will LIVE for you."



The easy path can be presented in a number of ways. But there exists a wondrous strength within those who have decided to continue to struggle, to fight no matter what mountain (s)he must climb.

You can see it in their eyes; a part of their soul.

-ESA