I don’t consider myself a religious person anymore, but I do believe there is someone out there who knows all of us – and perhaps all the stars – by name. Sometimes that’s what gets me through the day. To be known by a God who is greater than life makes me feel like I’m here on purpose along with all the other people and creations in the universe.
Happy Friday, everyone! I hope your weekend is wonderful.
I promise this won’t turn into the death blog, but I just finished “The Fault in Our Stars,” a book I enjoyed very much for several reasons, including the way death was described and dealt with. It looms over the book’s characters, who are teens with cancer.
The book is written in the voice of a teenager, which was enjoyable. I liked her spunk and edge while facing horrific things. The book gave me perspective of what having cancer at a young age might feel like – to always wonder if you’re going to live or die, and continue living anyway.
I’m going to share some of my favorite lines – some may sound familiar as they seem to keep popping up on Pinterest … at least in my feed.
Enjoy!
• • • • •
I fell in love the way you fall asleep: slowly, and then all at once.
• • • • •
My thoughts are stars I cannot fathom into constellations.
• • • • •
That’s part of what I like about the book in some ways. It portrays death truthfully. You die in the middle of your life, in the middle of a sentence.
• • • • •
When you go into the ER, one of the first things they ask you to do is rate your pain on a scale of one to ten, and from there they decide which drugs to use and how quickly to use them. I’d been asked this question hundreds of times over the years, and I remember once early on when I couldn’t get my breath and it felt like my chest was on fire, flames licking the inside of my ribs fighting for a way to burn out of my body, my parents took me to the ER. nurse asked me about the pain, and I couldn’t even speak, so I held up nine fingers.
Later, after they’d given me something, the nurse came in and she was kind of stroking my head while she took my blood pressure and said, “You know how I know you’re a fighter? You called a ten a nine.”
But that wasn’t quite right. I called it a nine because I was saving my ten. And here it was, the great and terrible ten, slamming me again and again as I lay still and alone in my bed staring at the ceiling, the waves tossing me against the rocks then pulling me back out to sea so they could launch me again into the jagged face of the cliff, leaving me floating face up on the water, undrowned.
This speaks to me. Does it speak to you?
What are you afraid to try? What makes you brave? What will pull you out of your comfort zone?
I have a few things going in my head I want to accomplish this year and I know it’s about time to just fully put myself out there. Whatever you dream of doing, I hope you get there soon, too.
Happy Friday, everyone! And happy end of February! I’m floored it’s already March. I will never understand how time goes so fast.
For the last three months, I’ve been visiting a woman with Alzheimer’s. Every Wednesday, we’d sit at her table, watch Today, drink coffee, and talk about the same things over and over – where she grew up, her kids, her grandkids, her sparkly purple sweater, the garden, the white car across the street, going to school. I’d ask her how old she was and she’d say, “old enough,” and we’d laugh.
My job as a hospice volunteer is just to provide company and friendship to patients. I don’t take care of them, feed them or give them medicine. I don’t have any sort of medical certificate. I’m just supposed to provide company for those who may leave this life soon.
This morning, I found out this cute woman I’ve visited for the last little while has moved on to join the stars, to hopefully shine her light on her family and friends she’s left behind. Over the last few months, I’ve gotten to know her sweet husband who walked her down the aisle 60 years ago. They were two kids in love – she was young enough at 19 or 20 that state law required her to get her parents’ permission to marry. And they’ve been together ever since, living in different states out east, volunteering at their church and raising their family.
Her husband told me he asks God why he’s still here, living in his 80s. Then he’d point to his wife and say, “I’m here for her.”
It breaks my heart to think of this man alone now – a man who told me just last week his house felt too empty when his wife moved into an assisted living facility a few days before. She didn’t have the highest quality of life anymore and would sometimes do things that confuse those of us who have more control over our minds. But I wonder what it must feel like to have the love of your life – 60 years of your life – gone overnight.
The last few years, death has started to enter my life. I realize the longer I live, the more I’ll experience it, but it’s not easy. Losing my hospice patients affects me differently than losing other people in my life, or learning the tragic stories of lives ended too short. But with every death, there is a little heart ache, a little confusion, and wonder at how someone can be here one day and not the next.
If I get to be with my husband for 60 years, I’ll consider myself one of the luckiest women in the world. But as I’ve seen with hospice patients and my grandparents – it doesn’t matter how long you live; it always seems too short.
A little over a month ago, a friend and I were emailing each other about how hard death can be after we learned our college professor’s wife died at age 58, after battling an illness that took her away. We both said death is so hard and surprising and shocking every time.
Life is so strange. It’s long and it’s short. And it’s hard when you’re the one living. It’s like in the last Harry Potter movie when Dumblerdore says, “Do not pity the dead, Harry, pity the living. Above all, pity those who live without love.”
I think the only good thing about acknowledging death is that is makes you live life more fully because you realize nothing is for certain, not even tomorrow. And some days that helps me put things in better perspective. But most days, I’m not to the point of feeling that comfortable with it. Mostly I just fear it. And instead of worrying about me dying, which would probably be the most beneficial because then I’d really make sure to take advantage of every moment, I worry about losing the ones I love.
I also wonder if it’s hard for the one who dies. Wouldn’t that person miss the same things? Wouldn’t that person hate leaving families and friends behind knowing they are suffering?
And when I think of my problems, I think they are so small. Really, people are dying everywhere, every moment, and people are crying over them. Since I work in news, I read all these stories of children and young people dying. I read about those who die in the most horrific ways. And then there are wars and there’s sickness and it’s all over the world and if I think about it too long, it’s too overwhelming.
I do believe there is a God and that he watches over everyone before, during and after this life. I do believe there is something wonderful after this life, too. I’ve never blamed God for anything, but that doesn’t mean I understand why some people leave the earth early, either. And I really do believe death can teach us how to live. But all the other parts in between can be very agonizing and painful. I think maybe death helps us look out for each other, which is a silver lining.
When my friend and I were emailing, I stumbled across this quote from the book “Horseradish: Bitter Truths You Can’t Avoid,” by Lemony Snicket. I think it’s fitting.
“It is a curious thing, the death of a loved one. We all know that our time in this world is limited, and that eventually all of us will end up underneath some sheet, never to wake up. And yet it is always a surprise when it happens to someone we know. It is like walking up the stairs to your bedroom in the dark, and thinking there is one more stair than there is. Your foot falls down, through the air, and there is a sickly moment of dark surprise as you try and readjust the way you thought of things.”
I’m so thankful for this life – for its twists and turns, and mostly for the love within it. The beautiful thing about love is it lasts beyond life. It can live anywhere – in the sun, in warm summer breezes, in those moments when our hearts are so full they feel like they are going to explode. Love is in the sky and in the stars that remind us of heaven. It’s in the faces of our family members, friends and even strangers. It’s in life and in death.
Though I don’t know if there’s anything more difficult to handle or understand than losing those we care for, maybe love is the point of all of it.
Here are a few of my little lovely stars for February. What are yours?
The morning after my grandma died last October, the sun turned the clouds the most brilliant orange I’ve ever seen. There was also lavender and grayish blues and golden yellows. I’d never seen a sunrise like it. It was like God and my grandma were telling me everything was going to be OK – that even though I’d lost one of the best people I’ll ever know, there was more beauty to come, and someone was watching over me.
I wouldn’t have seen that sunrise had I not asked the pilot who flies our station’s helicopter if I could have a ride that day. It was during the week of Albuquerque’s annual Balloon Fiesta and our station was taking aerial video of the launches every day that week. I wouldn’t be flying to Utah for the funeral for a couple more days and decided I couldn’t miss this opportunity.
I had to get up crazy early, when the night was still in charge, and drive to the airport in the dark. The pilot would take three of us up that morning and as we waited for him to get everything ready, we walked outside the garage where the helicopter was parked and began to see amazing views of the sun rising behind the mountains. I felt so thankful to be there, to have this incredible moment the day after I fell apart making pumpkin pie in an effort to keep it together.
We got to ride in the helicopter for a couple hours and the views were incredible – hundreds of balloons in 1,000 colors rising and falling near the Rio Grande, green trees covering the ground to the west, the Sandia mountains in shades of purple to the east. I kept thinking through it all that this ride was for my grandma – I only wished she could see it.
About a month ago, my husband and I drove to the airport in the early hours of the morning so he could fly out east for a work conference. The sky was similar to that day in October and I kept looking behind us as Travis steered us to the freeway. Once we were on I-25, I had a good view to my left and some of the same thankful feelings I had in October returned.
I see my grandma in the clouds now. Sometimes I miss her so much it hurts. There have been days lately where I long to call her and catch up – to hear her say, “Well, hello sweetheart, how are you?” I wish I could hear her wit, get her to tell me all the family secrets and just talk about the day.
But sometimes, I see her in the clouds – in sunrises and sunsets. In the oranges and pinks and yellows. And I know she’s there. Somewhere.
When I was 19 years old, my friend inspired me to make a bucket list. We stayed up late one night decorating yellow pieces of paper with markers and glitter and writing down all our dreams. Go on an African Safari. Put my feet in the Atlantic Ocean. See New York. Eat a large pizza by myself.
That last goal was inspired by my friend … and we did it … miserably.
I had that bucket list for a long time, but I have no idea where it is now. Since then, I’m not sure I’ve made another official life-long list, but I’ve definitely made lists – usually in the summers, when I wanted to make sure I attended concerts and fairs, went to lakes and climbed mountains. Before I moved a year and a half ago, I had a whole list of things I needed to do. Among a bunch of other things, I needed to hike the Wellsvilles, see the play “Big River” at a local theater, float the Oneida Narrows in Idaho, go the The Famous Preston Night Rodeo, run the Logan Half Marathon one more time and plan a going-away fiesta for myself.
For half a dozen years or so, I also made a list at the end of each year of five things I needed to do that I hadn’t done before in lieu of New Year’s resolutions. I learned to sew blankets and purses, I went to Oregon, Hawaii and Florida, I took my first Illustrator class, got my first professional massage and bought my first pair of stilettos.
What I’ve learned about making these lists is they make my life more fun. They give me goals to buy plane tickets, to see new places, to experience new things, to read new books.
When we make lists such as these, we’re also giving ourselves hope. There’s hope that we will have at least one more day to look forward to. When we make life-long bucket lists, we’re hoping we have years ahead of us filled with happiness, love and adventure. We’re hoping amazing things will happen to us, and maybe if we’re really lucky, we’ll create amazing things.
I started a new bucket list a while ago. I put it in a place I can add to it easily when I think of more things, because a bucket list should never really be completed. And now I’m going to share it with you in its current state, but I’m also going to make a page for it on this blog where I can cross adventures off as I go, and add more as I think of them.
And my idea for you? Make your own bucket list if you don’t have one! And share it with me! I’d love to see it. Maybe we can inspire each other and share the same dreams and hope. For now, here’s mine:
New Mexico Bucket List
It’s Wednesday, which is pretty much the longest day of the week if you ask me. My scheduled changed from Sunday through Thursday to Monday through Friday and for some reason, the week seems longer now. Don’t get me wrong, I do like having Saturdays and Sundays off with my husband, and I really liked that I didn’t have to miss this year’s Super Bowl party. But Wednesdays used to feel like the end of the week and now they feel very, very much in the middle of the five-day stretch and they no longer make me as happy as they used to.
So, in case your Wednesday is going about like mine, I’m going to fill you in on my happy song list. On my lunch break tonight, I went outside to move my car into our gated parking lot, and when I turned on the ignition, the Spice Girls’ “Wannabe” song came on. It made my day. It always, always does. I belted it all the way around the block. If I’m not currently listening to a book, I’m usually listening to our wedding mix which, yes, has Spice Girls on it. On drives with the wedding mix, I may just listen to that song 10 times in a row some days. Ridiculous, I know.
Or I may listen to these songs over and over:
So, in case you needed a new mix today, or on some other long day, those songs are my suggestions.
Happy Wednesday, all! Let’s all make it to Friday!
In seven months from today, I’m going to reach the age every 20-something is supposed to dread … 30. But you know what? I don’t want to dread it. Thirty is way too young to start thinking our lives are over. I want to celebrate! I want to go skydiving, have a party and maybe go to the Blake Shelton concert that will be in town a couple days before the big day.
A while ago, while watching the Today Show, I heard about the book “Thirty Things Every Woman Should Have and Should Know by the Time She’s 30.” And even though I knew it might be fluffy, I vowed to read it. Months went by and maybe even a year, until a couple days ago when I figured now was better than ever in case there was anything on that list I needed to accomplish by Sept. 6 … before it was too late.
But you know what I loved about this book? It didn’t make 30 seem like the ultimate deadline. In fact, Katie Couric mentions in one of the chapters that if you don’t have everything you imagined by age 30, don’t sweat it. She didn’t get her dream job, meet her husband or have kids until a few years after that. The book was overall very positive about women of all ages and it made me think of life as more of an entire journey that shouldn’t be limited to age deadlines. I would recommend this book to any woman, no matter her age.
I know there were certain birthdays where the number sounded old to my young, immature mind, but I’ve never actually felt old (and why should I, right?). Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever been too concerned with numbers for the most part. Yes, it seems a little crazy I’m entering my fourth decade soon, but mostly because time goes so quickly, not because I don’t want to reach it.
I worry about those silly things many of us worry about … wrinkles, gaining weight, graying hair, slowing down … but deep down inside me, I know that I shouldn’t. And those things should not be attached to one number like 30, which is an extremely vibrant age in the grand scheme of things.
A while ago, my friend shared this image on Facebook:
I fell in love with it. What greater blessing do we have than to grow old and experience life?
In the “Thirty Things” book, the list contains all kinds of things to have and know from what it’s like to live by yourself, to owning tools and a black lace bra. The book suggests knowing how to fall in love without losing yourself, when to try harder and when to walk away, and to own at least one piece of furniture that never belonged to a member of your family.
But the book also says you should find out why they say life begins at 30.
I’ve had a wonderful time “growing up,” whatever that means, but there is so much to look forward to. Once upon a time when I was 19, I really dreamed I’d publish a book by the time I turned 30. Well, that hasn’t happened yet, but I guess that’s one more thing I have to look forward to! That, along with establishing my new little family, maybe buying a house, maybe having a kid or three and a dog. I’ve got places to see – like Peru and Iceland and Germany and … Montana! I’ve got so much more living and laughing and loving to do!
So, here’s to the last seven months of my 20s. I think they’re going to be pretty great. And here’s to the years after which will hopefully only get better and better.
It’s so nice when you find inspiration in unexpected places. For many of us this week, it was in a couple Super Bowl commercials.
I’ll be honest … I didn’t actually see these commercials during the big game because I’m pretty sure I was too consumed with the food. When you have friends who make homemade vegan Jambalaya, pizza dip with these wonderful mini bread slices and put out yummy, spicy salsa, there is a lot to be consumed with. That’s not to mention there were cheese potatoes and desserts and a keg full of locally brewed beer.
And there were girls to talk to who cared about the game about as much as me. And there was a baby to be gawked at and a crazy half-time show where everyone seemed to be stunned by how uncool the Red Hot Chili Peppers have become.
But the day after the game, after that horrible Broncos loss* where I couldn’t help but feel bad for Peyton Manning (because he’s the only player I knew), Super Bowl inspiration started showing up on Facebook in the form of Coke and Budweiser ads.
The ad above was the 60-second commercial shown during the game. It’s lovely, beautifully filmed and full of real people who make our country great. One of the girls singing is actually a 16-year-old American Indian from Albuquerque, who learned “American the Beautiful” in Keres, her family’s unwritten native language. She said to learn the song, she had to get help from elders to translate the words.
I know there’s been controversy over the ad because multiple languages were used, but what could be more beautiful than celebrating and including our country’s diversity instead of making everyone look, talk and act the same? Our melting pot is one of the best things about living here.
Below is the full five-minute Coke ad which tells some of the stories of those filmed. It’s so lovely and definitely worth a watch if you haven’t seen it.
Then there was the gem below by Budweiser that is stealing people’s hearts. I think we all love the stories of unexpected animal friendships. How about Owen and Mzee, the famous hippo and turtle who became friends after the 2004 tsunami? And Bella and Tarra, the dog and elephant who couldn’t stand to be apart when Bella had a spinal injury?
It’s an amazing world we live in, with wonderful people, animals, love and friendships that can develop anywhere if we let them.
*On the Broncos. I cheered for the team on a whim. The best reason I had was that it was the team closer to my home. But if I could go back, I would have cheered for the Seahawks who have two former Utah State Aggies playing for them. I had no idea, people! I swear! But once I made that Broncos decision, the stubborn person in me just couldn’t go back.