The Beauty and Agony of Love

I should have gotten in bed long ago (darned Olympics), but my heart is full and I need to write. Two stories have just really touched my heart, and I think they will touch yours too.

The first is the story of James William Gjertsen of Orlando, FL. Sweet Baby James was born prematurely with a number of serious health issues, such as holoprosencephaly (incomplete development of the brain), and diabetes. His parents, John and Abby, went to the same church I did in Orlando.

They invested so much time and love into taking care of James. He was in the hospital for months, much of that in NICU, before he got to come home. As his parents worked with his doctors and therapists, they and James made big strides. He celebrated his first birthday and was growing stronger, and they’d begun to have hopes for his development.

But when Abby went in to check on him Wednesday morning early, he wasn’t breathing. They called 911 and did CPR, but neither their efforts nor those of the hospital staff could revive him. Sweet little James, with the curly hair, big eyes and long eyelashes, was gone. He lived 482 days.

I never met him, but I’ve seen pictures of him at their blog , and I’ve watched a video celebrating his first year, and it’s so sweet it breaks my heart. He has shown me that no matter how great our needs might seem, we always have something to give. It seems from all the comments posted about him that he gave much more than he took.

The other story is of my aunt and uncle, June and Junior. His name is actually Ray, but he is Ray Jr., and we have always called him Uncle Junior. June is my dad’s oldest sister. She is a lot like my grandmother, which is endearing, but she is special in her own right and we have a sweet relationship.

About two years ago, Uncle Junior was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease. No one else in our family has ever had this, or at least been diagnosed with it. I’m sure there have been a couple that we thought maybe had dementia or were just plain old, but this diagnosis was new and prompted a huge learning curve for them and for my cousins Steve and Deb.

For a while, his memory lapses seemed like anyone’s who is getting older, but then they began to get a bit worse. And then the disease seemed to pick up speed. He had a stroke a couple months ago that seems to have aggravated/worsened the Alzheimer’s.

He remained fairly easy going and pleasant, which was nice. But the past couple of weeks have brought greater, harsher changes. He no longer recognizes any of his family members and keeps asking to go home, even as he sits in his own bedroom. He and Aunt June have been married for 53 years. They have two children, four grandchildren and six great-grandchildren. For him to not know her anymore has broken her heart, yet she remains dedicated to keeping him at home and caring for him as long as possible, in the way she knows he would want to be cared for.

This past week he got out of the house and was trying to climb over the back fence to go “home” when they found him. It took her, Steve and Steve’s wife, Vickie, two hours to get him back inside. He didn’t go to bed until 3:30 a.m. that night/morning. They were exhausted in all ways possible. He has said and done things that have been so hurtful to them, and yet their love and commitment to him seem to get stronger.

Aunt June has tried, probably unconsciously mostly, to keep her emotions at bay so she could focus on his care, but this week the dam broke. She cried with Deb about how hard it is to see this shell of the man they love. Deb wondered, in light of this difficult week and change in his condition, if it might not be time to seek a care facility for him. “No,” Aunt June said through her tears. “No one else will love him like I do.”

He has no idea what they’re going through caring for him. Not now. But one day he will. And he will see it for what it is: the closest thing to unconditional love we humans are capable of mustering.

Deb and Uncle Junior last October at her surprise birthday party

A Few Inspirational Moments from the Olympics Past and Present

The 2008 Summer Olympics in Beijing have been exciting and inspiring so far. While there have been several athletes, teams and moments that have been inspirational for me (one is listed below), I’ve also thought of stories from past competitions. Everybody has their own favorites, but these are a few of mine:

• Derek Redmond, competing for the UK, 1992, Track & Field: After training for years, focusing all of his attention on preparing for the Olympics, suffering through eight surgeries, Derek thought he was finally ready. He’d had to withdraw from the 1988 games just before they started because of injuries. Finally, the games in Spain began, and he hoped to put all those struggles behind him. Yet in the first semi-final heat of the 400 meter race, Derek tore his hamstring early in the race and fell to the track in pain. He was determined to finish the race, so he tried to get up but was having trouble. “That’s when it happened,” said pastor Tony Evans. Derek’s father came down from the stands, passed the security guards who tried to stop him, and helped his son to his feet. Together, they walked toward the finish line. The crowd noise changed from sympathetic gasps to amazed cheers. The winners had long since finished the race by the time Derek crossed the finish line, but he finished nonetheless. He didn’t win a medal, but he finished the race set before him, helped by the love and support of his father, cheered on by many supporters.

• Gabrielle Anderson-Scheiss, competing for Switzerland, 1984, Track & Field: The marathon for the Los Angeles games finished in the Coliseum, where runners ran from a tunnel out onto the track to the cheers of a huge crowd. The day of the women’s marathon, the Southern California heat was intense. Water stations were located throughout the course, and every one was important. As Gabrielle neared the end of the race, she felt OK, so she decided to skip the last water station. She approached the Coliseum, ran through the dark coolness of the tunnel, and then burst into the hot sunshine to complete the final leg of the race by running one lap around the track. All of a sudden, it was like her body fell apart. Heat exhaustion had kicked in. She staggered and lurched around the track, accompanied by medical staff who wanted to let her finish the race if at all possible. Almost 6 minutes after entering the Coliseum (a lifetime for a marathoner), she finally fell across the finish line, completely exhausted. Gabrielle didn’t win a medal either—she finished in 37th place out of 50 runners—yet she finished the race set before her. Six of those 50 runners did not finish.

• Rau’Shee Warren, competing for the USA, 2008, Boxing: Rau’Shee is the first two-time American boxing Olympian in 30 years. At the 2004 Olympics, he lost his first fight and was out of the competition. Discouraged at his early exit, he decided to remain an amateur rather than turning pro, so that he could go back to the Olympics—he wanted to win a gold medal for his mom. This week, at the ‘08 games, his first fight was against Lee Ok-Sung from South Korea. Though the fight was fairly close, Rau’Shee thought he had the lead, so as the fight neared the end, he took a more evasive, defensive stance, trying to avoid getting hit. As the crowd cheered, he thought they were saying “Move!” as in, keep moving, you’ve got the lead, don’t get punched. Instead, they were cheering him on to make a move, because he didn’t have the lead after all and time was ticking. As the last bell clanged, he finally threw a punch that could have tied the match if he’d gotten it in on time, but it was too late and didn’t count. Like Derek and Gabrielle, Rau’Shee wanted to finish his race, but rather than pushing as hard as he could like they did, he tried to coast to the end, and he lost.

Each of these competitors has agony on their face, but not necessarily for the same reason. As Randy Pausch said, “The brick walls are not there to keep us out. The brick walls are there to give us a chance to show how badly we want something. Because the brick walls are there to stop the people who don’t want it badly enough.”

Favre, Conclusion

Not that this will be my last post about him (I’m pretty sure it won’t be), but at least there’s some closure and ESPN, Sports Illustrated, Fox and everybody else can get back to covering the rest of the sports world, like, oh, maybe that little event called the Olympics, for example.

The question, and one they’re discussing on NFL Live as I write, is who benefited the most from this deal—the Packers or the Jets? I say the Jets, and my reason is that adding such an experienced, talented quarterback, such a key position, along with the other additions the Jets have made, strengthens their team more than adding a younger, inexperienced quarterback helps the Packers, even if they do have most of the same players they had last year when they were so close to going to the Super Bowl. I guess we’ll see just what a difference it makes, not having Favre on their team anymore. Could Aaron Rogers have any more pressure on him? Yikes. I hope he does well, and I hope people will give him some slack. You don’t go from Brett Favre to Aaron Rogers without a little bit of a letdown.

I just think that Brett’s drive, enthusiasm, experience and commitment to win will automatically lift his teammates. They know what he’s capable of doing, and I think they’ll be ready and willing to hitch their wagons to him and follow along. With the Packers, it’s like the whole rest of the team needs to uplift Aaron Rogers, and having the skills isn’t the same as knowing how to win, and I think their challenge is greater than the Jets.

Yet Aaron also has great possibilities, not just pressure. He’s probably putting more pressure on himself than anyone, because don’t you know he’d love to have a fantastic season and prove the Packers right in choosing him as their new guy.

With Brett, if he has a great or even a good season, people will probably say he was right to come back. If the Jets don’t do well, then of course he should have retired. We’ll just have to wait and see what happens. Anything could happen, and that, as they say, is why they play the games.

Favre

If you have become your own category in the crawl at the bottom of the ESPN screen, you know you’re a certified drama, and the Brett Favre saga is just that. As I read the updates and watch the pieces on TV, I’m starting to feel the way I did when I watched OJ Simpson heading down the freeway in that white Bronco. I didn’t know what was going to happen when it stopped, but I just had a feeling it wasn’t going to be good.

I understand him wanting to play again. I understand the Packers hesitation to let him come back. I understand their attempts at trying to encourage him to stay retired and to protect his legacy as a Packer legend (not just a football legend). But if he wants to play somewhere else, they need to let him go. If Aaron is your man, you’ve got to go with him.

Just please, somebody make a decision so we can move on.

New Words

I don’t know that any of these will make it into Webster’s anytime soon (although a couple of them might have a shot), but I share them here in case you’ve got a hankerin’ for a new word.

From my grandmother:

Chogged: congested, clogged, choked. My throat is chogged up. Also, I cut the grass while it was wet, and now my mower is chogged up.

Carporch: a porch or covering for your car. I had just pulled into the carporch when it started raining.

From my aunt:

African: a small blanket. I got cool tonight, so I covered up with a little african.

Plumgranny: a fruit that contains anti-oxidents. I saw an ad for some plumgranny juice and I want to get some because it’s supposed to be really good for you.

Oxagun: ocks-a-gün (gun, as in, weapon); a chemical element necessary for respiration. They said she’s not doing good at all, and they’ve had to put her on oxagun.

Hospick: organizations that provide care for terminally ill patients and their family members. Well, she’s gotten a lot worse now. The oxagun wasn’t helping at all, so they’ve had to call in hospick.

Psychotic nerve: a large nerve that starts in the lower back and runs through the buttock into the lower limb. He has really been down in his back; his psychotic nerve has just been killin’ him.

Find Your Passion

I’m so sad about the death of Dr. Randy Pausch. This video is from ABC’s Good Morning, America on May 18—just over two months ago.

“Find your passion and follow it. And if there’s anything I’ve learned in my life, you will not find that passion in things, and you will not find that passion in money. Because the more things and the more money you have, the more you will just look around and use that as a metric, and there will always be someone with more. That passion will be grounded in people ….”

Full Yet Empty

Last night I wanted to just get out and do something, just ride for a bit. So I drove into town with the windows down and the new Trisha Yearwood CD playing. I drove past the house that my cousin and her husband and son are hoping to buy, just to check it out. It needs a little TLC, but looks like a really nice house and definitely has potential to be a good home for them. I drove through downtown and went to Sonic to get a java chiller.

There was nothing happening here on a Saturday night, of course. Even though our town is growing some, it’s still very “old timey,” as folks say around here, and while there are options aplenty for lunch, when it comes to supper, not so much. This is a daytime town, so evenings are pretty quiet. And I like that. Sure, I like going to places like Huntsville or Birmingham where there’s plenty to do day and night, but then I like coming home to the peace and quiet. Life is a highway, as the song goes, and it’s moving faster and faster all the time. I like living where it doesn’t go quite so fast. Sometimes it seems odd that I lived in Orlando for 11 years. I wouldn’t trade those years for anything, but it still feels so good to be back here. It’s like cool water to a thirsty soul.

As I drove through town, with the summer evening breeze blowing my hair around and sweet Trisha singing her little heart out, I passed a house where the family was sitting around a table on their front porch playing a game. It was such a Mayberry moment. And in that moment, I felt so full, so aware of what a wonderful moment it was—what a wonderful evening, home town, life. And yet at the same time, I felt so incredibly empty. I love being back here, love the small town, love being around family again. Yet surrounded by all this plenty, I’m keenly aware of what I lack. Someone to sit in the passenger seat on outings like that, or better yet to drive so I can just ride and soak it all in. Someone to sit on my porch with and play games.

But it’s not just loneliness. My job duties have gotten so random and scattered, I don’t feel like I’m focused on anything, and I miss having a feeling of vision and purpose. Before, when people asked what I did, I said, “I’m a writer.” Now it’s become this long, convoluted reply that’s more explanation than answer. I’ve found myself wondering a bit lately, ‘what am I doing with my life?’

It’s odd that I feel so content and yet so discontent. I’m content in my Being, just not in my Doing, I guess. I’ve lived here most of my life but am still learning how to be me here. And I pondered this as I drove back home, sipping my tasty mocha chiller, wiping my hair out of my eyes as I turned off the highway and headed toward home.

Dancing Around the Word

It actually looks a bit more like aerobics to me than dancing, but still, it’s good for a smile.

Dreaming Fields

As best as I can recall, this is only the second song ever to make me cry. It’s “Dreaming Fields” from Trisha Yearwood’s latest CD, Heaven, Heartache and the Power of Love. (The first song was “Gold” by Crystal Lewis.) Of course the music and Trisha’s voice make it so much more powerful, but I just had to spread the word. Maybe it made me cry because my cousin and I had been reminiscing, and tomorrow would have been my grandmother’s 86th birthday and I miss her so much. Hope you’ll like it too.

Dreaming Fields, written by Matraca Berg and Gary Harrison

Listen to a clip here: http://www.trishayearwood.com/music/index.php

Oh, the sun rolls down, big as a miracle
And fades from the Midwest Sky
And the corn and the trees wave in the breeze
As if to say goodbye
Oh, my grandfather stood right here as a younger man
In nineteen and forty three
And with the sweat and his tears, the rain and the years
He grew life from the soil and seed

Oh I’m goin’ down to the dreaming fields
But what will be my harvest now
Where every tear that falls on a memory
Feels like rain on the rusted plow
Rain on the rusted plow

And these fields they dream of wheat in the summertime
Grandchildren running free
And the bales of hay at the end of the day
And the scarecrow that just scared me

Now the houses they grow like weeds in a flower bed
This morning the silo fell
Seems the only way a man can live off the land these days
Is to buy and sell

So I’m goin’ down to the dreaming fields
But what will be my harvest now
Where every tear that falls on a memory
Feels like rain on the rusted plow
Rain on the rusted plow

Like the rain on the roof on the porch by the kitchen
Where as my grandmother sings, I can hear if I listen
Running down, running down to the end of the world I loved
This will be my harvest now

And the sun rolls down, big as a miracle
And fades in the Midwest sky
And the corn and the trees wave in the breeze
As if to say goodbye
As if to say goodbye

Happy birthday, Mamaw. I love you.

A Sunshine Patriot

A few months ago, I watched the HBO mini-series, John Adams, based on the book by David McCullough. Loved it, especially the realistic portrayal of life and conditions of the time. I was especially grateful that none of the actors displayed their Hollywood teeth; I’m sure they wore some kind of mouthpiece or insert to make their teeth look surely the way teeth must have looked in the late 1700s.

Prior to my vacation at the beach during the week of July 4, I wanted to get a new book to read while I lounged on the sugar white sand. I was in the mood for something good, something nonfiction. I chose 1776 by McCullough—”the story of those who marched with General George Washington in the year of the Declaration of Independence—when the whole American cause was riding on their success, without which all hope for independence would have been dashed and the noble ideals of the Declaration would have amounted to little more than words on paper.” Cool. Timely.

I took my beach chair, umbrella, cooler and bag and found a spot on the sand. The days were lovely; hot, bright and turquoise. I waded in the surf, I sunned for a while, I watched the people around me, and I read my new book. And as I sat out there, surrounded by my material “stuff,” on a stretch of shoreline weighted down with high-rise condominiums, watching a hot dog eating contest at the bar when I went to get a drink, I was smacked upside the mind by the thoughts of what all this freedom, this independence, cost. I know we celebrate Independence Day every year, but do I—do we—really stop to think about what we’re doing, or am I just mostly glad for a day off? Do I take any time to think about freedom, or am I just focused on grilling out burgers and watching fireworks?

The “soldiers” who helped build this country and establish its independence weren’t really soldiers at all. We didn’t have an army. They were farmers, lawyers, book sellers. They left their families, homes, farms, livelihoods to volunteer to fight for freedom. They rarely got paid. They had no uniforms and many of them ended up barely having any clothes at all. They marched miles at a time with no shoes on, in winter, leaving a trail of blood from the soles of their feet. We joke about the concept of that now, when our parents talk about how hard they had it, but these soldiers truly lived it. At every turn they were outnumbered, out-weaponed, out-trained. But they were never out-passioned.

“The fate of unborn millions will now depend, under God, on the courage and conduct of this army.” General George Washington; July 2, 1776

“I would not be understood that I should choose to march, but as I am engaged in this glorious cause, I am willing to go where I am called.” Lieutenant Joseph Hodgkins, from Massachusetts

One Connecticut unit was comprised entirely of “aged gentleman. They were twenty-four in number; and their united ages reached one thousand. They were all married men, and left behind a hundred and fifty-nine children and grandchildren.”

They went to parts of the country they hadn’t seen before, and they didn’t have GPS or night-vision goggles; they barely had maps at all. Can you imagine how hard it would be to fight a battle in a place you were unfamiliar with? You have no advantage over your enemy at all, and you’re on home turf.

“These are the times that try men’s souls. The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of their country; but he that stands it now, deserves the love and thanks of man and woman.” Thomas Paine, The Crisis

It seems fairly easy for me to be grateful to the men and women who are serving our country now; I mean there are news stories every day to remind me of them. And there are more reminders on Veteran’s Day and Memorial Day, but I confess I do not go back far enough in our history and thank those first soldiers. If not for them, there might not have been any soldiers since. There would be no Memorial Day, Independence Day, Veteran’s Day, Thanksgiving.

So this year I tried hard to refer to it as Independence Day, rather than the generic 4th of July. I read and continue to read of their sacrifices, passion and commitment. I am awed by their vision and their understanding of the importance of their actions, which seemed to transcend time. And even though I sat on the beach on a lovely summer day thinking about all this, I prayed that I was not and will not be a sunshine patriot. I want to understand and truly appreciate my independence, OUR independence. And I want to be thankful for it on January 8, June 25 and October 7, not just July 4.