Mama's Christmas miracles

Hey Mama-Just returned from a lovely Christmas with you and the family, once again. This was a hard year, but not without its blessings. Jeff called them "a Christmas miracle"-and he, the unbeliever. One was the lovely way you sang each Christmas carol-each and every verse, even the ones in Latin. You haven't forgotten, have you mom? Another was the way your stiff, bent arms came to life when Christina started playing a Chopin piece-man, I have not seen them that agile in a long time. I asked you if you enjoyed playing Chopin and you said "yes, I did." You played it, mom, every note, in your mind and with your hands-it was magnificent to watch. The last miracle was your demeanor on Christmas day. All lovely in your purple suit, your eyes were so bright and focused as you were watching us play a game. I know you knew who we were, that we loved you, that it was a special day and there was joy in that room. You talked so much about so many things and followed us with your eyes. It was such a gift. Thanking God, today, for all of it. What beauty in the midst of the ashes of your Alzheimers.

Magic Window

This is my 30th year to come home to Colorado for Christmas, save a year or two. Each time I come, it is like entering into a magic window-a machine of sorts where all time stops and we are a family, together once again. We have issues, but they are set aside for meaningful talks, games, food, and laughter. Our bodies age but our minds stay the same, and our love grows each year. The world outside melts away and we are able to encourage one another and bring joy into each others' lives. We are not exclusive-there are lots of other people that enter the window as well at one time or another-and they, too, feel the joy. The joy of family, of connection, of love, hope, cheer. The joy that Jesus brings as He binds us all together in His love that will continue into eternity, for those of us that are with Him. I have just returned from yet another year in the Magic Window, and all it feels like is a huge, gaping hole in my heart.

Things I don't want to give up

It's Christmas time again. This Christmas we moved into a new house, and had 2 sets of wisdom teeth extracted. Not much time for decorating, caroling, partying, baking, or any of those other Christmasy things normally done. I am trying to decide if I miss it or not. Or....if the simplicity is much more in keeping with what Christmas is truly about. I am not ready to give up my Christmas traditions altogether. I feel we have done a good job in keeping them in perspective. However, for this year, I think I will rest in the fact that it is not about all those things at all, only Jesus, His birth, life, death, unchanging character, relentless love and pursuit of us. Even if I am in a prison cell somewhere, I still have all that, which is everything. No trappings needed. I am also thinking about all the special things my girls and I have done over the years. Not ready to give those up either. They are both home now, for a short time, and I want those things again: reading together, talking, praying, doing crafts, baking, singing, ministering, I want to always be doing those things with them: even when they are married and have kids of their own. And I think we will. I think so. It may be more or less some times due to circumstances, but when those times come, I will relish them and instead of mourning what was, I will be thankful for what is and look forward to what might be.

Strange how you think you want something until you get it and then realize it is not all it is cracked up to be. Strange what ungrateful "grass greener" creatures we are. I actually miss my little duplex. Not sure why. Maybe because we at least have memories there and we don't have any here yet. Maybe because it was small, cozy, easy to take care of. Maybe because of what God did in my heart while I was there-moving me away from Austin, giving me new life here, working His contentment in my heart. Maybe that is why it took us so long to find a house: God had a purpose for that time. I really do love our house as I sit here and look out the window at a backyard full of trees and nothing beyond-it is refreshing, but not as refreshing as God changing your perspective. That is what the duplex was all about. Oh, God, please do Your work here as well. Don't let me ever be content just existing. I never want to give up my quest for You.

Man, this sucks. Hitting me in the face tonight how little control I really have. Can't make my kids turn out a certain way or even make them love or trust me. Can't change people and can't control their hearts or the path God has for them. I can only focus on me and God. Me and God. Why do I keep forgetting that and trying to play God instead by manipulating and seeking control? Do I really even want control? No way. Way too much for me. I can't force people to relate to me like I want them to. I can only love them. That is always enough. When will I learn? Not control, but love. Not demanding certain behavior, but love. Not harboring grudges or being envious but love. I wish I knew how to love better. Then I might actually be surprised at what I see I. People. Pleasantly surprised.

Life moving

Dear mom: We are all moved in to our new home. You would love it. I think about you all the time, as I am doing little things just like you used to and as my girls probably will someday. Today I was putting all my jewelry boxes in my underwear drawer remembering that you did that, too, and wondering if someday my girls will or if they even notice I do that. Clearly I noticed at one time that you did. Such a strange feeling, being in this house. The duplex was temporary so I did not really get attached to it. I think being here makes me miss my house in Austin and also makes it clear that I am in a totally different phase in life than I was when I was there: the girls are older-their little knick-knacks don't adorn their shelves like they used to. You are dwindling more each day and there is an emptiness where you should be. I feel a little lost. Today when I talked with you, the silence on the other end of the line was deafening. Are you still there? How much of you? Do you know who I am? So many questions.

Bits and Pieces

Dear Mom: I just got an email from dad reminding me that a little bit of you is going away, it seems every day. He told me that you don't ask where everyone is anymore. I don't know if it is because you are not able to, but still want to know, or if in your state of mind, it just is not important anymore. Makes me so sad. That was always so important to you: to know where your famiy was at all times-you kept in such good touch with us all. Now we will have to carry that on. I dreamed another dream a few nights ago about us all being home again. Aunt Eva was there in a blue dress and she looked me in the eye and said: "carry on the things that you have learned", or something like that. It spoke to me of tradition and how it is important for me to carry those on with my own kids and they with theirs. God is a God of unchanging promises-the same yesterday, today, and forever. I think there are some sweet traditions you have passed on to us from Grams that we need to keep alive. The dream was a good reminder. I don't have "you" anymore but I always have your influence. That is comforting. I love you, mom.

Christmas

Dear Mom: I am listening to Christmas music-your favorite. You would love this new artist I found: Michele McLaughlin. She plays simple piano, like Lori Line, only better. Listening to it reminds me of all the Christmas memories I have with you: coming home every year to a lovely decorated house with 2 trees-fake upstairs, real downstairs; homemade Christmas morning cinnamon rolls; Christmas Eve minestrone; playing our O Holy Night duet and laughing so hard because we would mess up so badly; the kids always putting on some kind of Christmas Eve program-and the pride in your eyes at your grandkids, whom you loved so much; hot spiced fruit on Christmas morning; billions of candles lit in your bookcase on Christmas Eve while we listened to Christmas radio or Spike Jones when you would allow it; wrapping presents late at night and stuffing the stockings; reading the Christmas story in Luke and playing mad-libs; so many other memories-can't recall them all but thanks, mom, so much, for lovely, lasting traditions that we all cherish and will for a long time. Here's hoping that this Christmas you can enjoy at least some of them-here's hoping that you will at least feel the love that is behind them all. I love you, mom.

Stuck

Dear Mom: You have seemed to even out a little and I find myself not grieving as much. Don't know if that is good or bad-just necessary. I talk to you every day-some are better than others. Sometimes you jabber and I just sit and listen and try to affirm what to me is nonsense, but to you might not be. Whatever is left inside, I want to encourage that. Sometimes a familiar phrase or two will leak out "love you, honey." Or "I don't believe I will", or another phrase you have used your whole life. It helps me know "you" are still there and brings comfort. It is the Christmas season and the strangest one of my life. First year for us to not put up a tree. First year I have not "freaked out" about getting everything ready and organized. I am learning. Christmas is about Jesus-Him alone-minus all the trimmings. He is enough. I am realizing that our family does not need all the trappings. We surely have enjoyed them over the years but for this year, let's just be together and laugh and not worry about all the extraneous stuff-shall we, mom? Let's just enjoy these days, for they go by so quickly and I want to milk each one for all it's worth.

Somewhere Over the Rainbow

Dear Mom:
Listening to "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" and thinking about you. One of these days, you will be there, over the rainbow-safe in the care of God's eternal and unchanging promises to never leave you or forsake you. You will be free at last. Wishing this for you today and grieving over it, too. You being there will be you not being here which will leave a hole in my heart. Another one for Jesus to fill. I love you, mom, and want so much for things to be as they used to. Yet I know God has not ordained that and that His will is good, acceptable and perfect. In that I rest. I miss being able to share my life with you. Love, Cindy

home

We bought a house today, mom. I should be happy but all I feel is sad-realizing that you will never see it, never come to stay in it, never come to help me fix it up like you have done with all my other houses. To me, it is just one more thing that reminds me of the loss-of what will never be again. I miss you more than I can say. I miss your input into my life. I miss you being excited with me over things-like a house. I miss your voice and you are not even gone yet.

Dreams

Dear Mom:

I dreamed of you last night-again. In my dreams you are always still sick, but still able to interract with us all. We were all together as a family, in the basement and it was Christmas. I think that time frame and room captures so many beautiful memories of which I never want to let go. In my dream, we were all writing down our Christmas memories on paper snowflakes. The kids were little again-Jeff was there-we were all happy and laughing. You worked so hard to bring about those memories and cement them in place-the cement that keeps our family strong, even though you are not any longer. Thank you for all the years you invested in us-for the beautiful tapestry you helped create that is now our family. Kind of wish I did not have to wake up.

Dear Mom 1

Dear Mom- Prayed for you and cried for you as I walked this morning. Tears of sorrow over missing you and tears of joy and hope that someday you are going to be whole again-free of this nasty disease, and safe in Jesus' arms-dancing, talking, playing Chopin (as if you'll care) or whatever we will be doing in heaven-but you will be doing it with all your might. Jesus ministered to me this morning so much through Switchfoot-a band you would not like-too raucus. However, their lyrics touch my soul. Here are just a few of them that broke me down: " I am the raindrop falling down, always looking for deeper ground. " So good. Reminded me of my thirst for God this morning and how it is unquenchable. Here is another one: "Feels like I travel but I never arrive, I want to thrive, not just survive." Expresses so deeply what I am feeling at this stage in my life. "So I close my eyes and go back in time, I can see you smiling-you're so alive." This one makes me just long for the days when you would even smile-or laugh-or say "Cindy Kay" or anything at all. I miss interracting with you. Just wanted you to know that today. Love you!

Mom, where are you?

Over 3 years since your official diagnosis of Alzheimer's, mom. There have been many plateaus but recently a steep, sudden drop off and like Elise said "mom has gone over a cliff and is on a ledge somewhere." Where are you, mom? Are you still in there? Is any of YOU left? These are the questions I wrestle with every day and sob over until I am so weary. Can I reach you still? I have to try. I can't give up. I have to believe that some part of you in there still recognizes some of me. So, until you go to be with Jesus where you are once more whole, in body and mind, I will reach into you-as deep and far as I can-and try to reach whatever is left. "Though I am a wineskin in the smoke, I will not forget Your word." That is my prayer for you, mom, that even though your mind is shriveling, like a wineskin in the smoke, that God would recall His word to your mind, every day. I know His Holy Spirit has not withdrawn from you. I can't figure out how that all works but I know that He has said "I will never leave you or forsake you...." even in Alzheimer's.