Waiting for the Shoe to Drop

18 years ago in the early part of 1995 (or the latter part of 1994, my brother Mike left Idaho for a few months. For a time, he rented a mailbox (not from USPS) in Henderson NV. He knew a young woman from his days working at JR Simplot’s. Apparently things didn’t work out and he headed to Woodland Hills in Southern California to visit my brother, Steven. He didn’t stay long before he headed out. It was our impression that he headed north to Washington State, but he never got there. For a few weeks, my family and I had no clue where he was or if he was alive. While he was gone, I had a dream that he had come home.  When I told a co-worker of my dream, I accepted the notion that he might have reunited with my dad. Then one March or April day, Mom called to say he had arrived at the house. All that I remember is that he lost a gun somewhere in Northern California or Oregon.  (He told Mom that it was stolen.) In the spring of 1995, Mike parked his Jeep in the back of house where the clothesline once was.  Mike hasn’t left the property since he returned home, except for a ride in Mom’s new car. Mom drove the car to northern property line of Dad’s farm (that was sold after Dad died). Mike will go out in the front yard to greet us when we come. When we had lunch at Mom’s a few years back, he helped with the yard work. This fall he put up a fence where the garden once was. While Mom was alive, she would get groceries and other necessities for him from town. When Mom left for Washington, a grocery fund was set up at Swenson’s in Paul. The plan was to have an employee deliver groceries to him while Mom fought cancer. But he never called in an order and when she had her funeral in Paul a month later, we bought him some groceries and visited with him. He doesn’t leave the property and mostly stays inside the house. My brothers and I make monthly trips to the groceries stores in the Mini-Cassia area. When we can’t a neighbor delivers groceries to him.

It is hard living with someone else’s mental illness. It is like waiting for a shoe to drop as it hanging by a shoe lace from the light fixture. Since my brother carries a gun with him at all times, we always make sure he knows when we are coming home. Even Mom felt threatened a few times when she come home from church or shopping trip. Years ago, there was a shooting at the Salt Lake Library. The person who held some of people hostage had a history of mental illness. At first, I blamed the family for not doing enough until I realized that my family and I were in similar shoes. I realized the pain they lived with and how helpless they felt.

Four years ago, I wrote my young friend while he was in the Mission Training Center in Provo, Utah. “Jay needs to write to my brother, so I better go.  My brother is undiagnosed paranoid schizophrenia and/or bipolar.  And my mom’s home teacher has asked we write to Mike on a regular basis.  Mike is one of the reasons that my brothers and I quit going home.  Mike disinvited some family members, so my Mom decided not to be partial.   I miss home, but I know I will get back there some day.  In the mean time, I just need to be understanding of Mike.”

I recently told another co-worker (I have a different employer than I did 18 years ago) that I have been mourning the death of my brother for 15 years. It is more of a loss than death. For one, Mike is still breathing.

But I miss the person Mike once was. He was a kind person who once gave me a teddy bear for Christmas when I was in junior high. I remember the evening before I left Idaho to go LDS Business College; he took me out for pizza. On the way home, one of his favorite songs Gordon Lightfoot’s “The Wreck of Edmund Fitzgerald” came on. He told me the background of the song. During my freshman year, I bought the album (a recording on black vinyl 12 inch disc). Since his return home, Mike has become fixated with murder. It is one reason that he carries a gun is because he feels threatened. He has accused Mom’s home teacher of murder and others too. When Baby X was found burned in a county landfill, he personalized that event. Last March, he was upset when a person drove from Pocatello to commit suicide on the lawn of a Mini-Cassia health facility. Mike hasn’t been the Mike I grew up with and I feel that loss every day.

It is difficult dealing with someone has a mental illness. But I am learning to hope and keep the faith. When resurrection happens, the old will be cast off and newness will come. And as I said to Elder Pugh four years, I need to be understanding and to have patience. I remind myself again and again, this too will pass.

*Please note, I am not in the pictures. That is my older sister, Mary, who happens to be a redhead like me.*

 I shared this on Facebook, but I thought I would include the video. It was the only video I saw, but I liked that included a clip from ABC News or whatever network Harry Reasoner was with in 1975.

My Last Gift

On Valentine’s Day 1980, one of the co-workers raved about the giant valentine cookies that were on sale at Albertsons on 200 South (Salt Lake City). I went along to buy my Dad a cookie. A heart failure the weekend before had put him in the hospital. (His first and only stay at the hospital) Now he was home and I was going home the coming weekend to see him. The cookie was covered in pink frosting and had other decorations. That is all I remember of it. I don’t even remember if my Dad ate it or if it got thrown out after I got back to Utah.

I remember dropping off my brother in Provo on Sunday, the 17^th after a two day weekend in Idaho. When I got back to my apartment in Salt Lake City, I called home to let my mom know that John and I made it safely home. I wasn't prepared for the news that I got. Sometime while I was on the road (probably passing Salt Lake as John and I headed toward Provo), my Dad had a heart attack and he died on the way to the hospital in Burley.

(For some reason, I don’t associate Valentine’s Day with the death of my dad, but I do associate President’s Holiday because he died that weekend.)

I think of the last gift I gave my dad and I realize he still gives me gifts, not material of course, but the gifts are of his love. And they aren't on Valentine’s Day, but when I need them the most. I felt his love and support when I had an EKG in February 2004. (The doctor was concerned about a possible heart murmur.) Once when I was sick, I felt his support as I walked to my bed when I started to black out. Recently I felt his comfort one September morning after a tough night. In his own way, he let me know my mom had survived another difficult night.My dad is gone from my earthly life, but he stills loves me.  Yeah, love is eternal. Happy Valentine’s Day, Dad.

Cupid's Heart Attacks

A few years ago, Jay and I were watching TV in the evening. Jay heard someone outside the door. He opened the door, but no one was there. But I did see some familiar looking valentines on the door. Cupid aka Crystal, Whitney and/or Brittany had decorated Crystal’s grandma’s bedroom wall with homemade valentines. Grandma had no clue who did, even though she saw them wander in and out of her room as the posted the heart attacks (valentines) on the wall. I knew it was the three amigos because I recognized Mom’s car. Crystal and her friends weren’t old enough to drive then, so Mom was recruited in the heart attacks on my door. And I was at the house while they gave Grandma heart attacks.

When I asked Crystal, she flat out denied it; claiming she had no clue who did or what heart attacks (or cupids as I called the heart attacks then). I guess she forgot that I had witnessed her cupid her Grandma’s bedroom wall.

A few months later, those heart attacks saved my life. I was down on myself because of problems at work. I felt as if I didn’t have the ability to get along with co-workers and I was having a tough time thinking well of myself. I happen to notice one of the heart on my bedroom door and then another. One of the Cupids had wrote “U always think of others”, “the most amazing kind person”, “U brighten lives around you” and others. Looking at those heart attacks made me realize that I mattered to someone. A young woman still in her teens, who thought a lot of me. Crystal helped me pick up myself from ground and lifted me up in my time of need. Crystal and the Cupid team saved my life.

It is true that you never know what a kind word will do or when it is needed. Marjorie Pay Hinckley once quoted “There is no such thing as a small act of kindness.”

Thank you, Crystal, Whitney, Brittany and Jewel.

Sikovit

It’s only been a month, but it seems like winter has been forever. I can’t remember the last time I saw a sidewalk without snow. Tuesday night after I got off the bus, I was greeted by an unshoveled sidewalk. Suddenly, I had my fill of tromping thru the snow, climbing over snow banks on the corner. Tired of having the bus drop or pick me up in the middle of a driveway. So today, I sought therapy with the camera on my cell phone. (I’ve included a few pictures that I took earlier in the month. My cell phone has been busy.)

 Jay said this was frozen fog. It was just strange seeing frost or ice on one side of the bush.

 Waterskiing on the Snake River in January?

 There’s nothing like a ice cold diet coke on a cold January morning in Idaho.

 Padded benches on campus?

 No cutting in allowed, get in line at the entrance.

 Who wants to be King of the Hill?

 This snow on this corner has been here so long, I can’t remember where the sidewalk ends.

 It has been awhile since I saw the sun set as I get off the bus. Lately it’s been while I was on the bus or on Trax or as I walk to Trax station at the Rice Eccles Stadium. Seeing this as I walked down the sidewalk, gave me hope. The days are getting longer and that means spring will come.

My Friday Morning Commute

Now that the day is almost over, I'm going to tell my story of my snowy commute to work. I walked out of my unit, I saw it was snowing; not heavy, but not light either. The parking lot had been plowed, but the sidewalk in front had not been shoveled. I saw a large guy walking in the street because the of the sidewalk. But I decided to play it safe and trudge thru knee deep snow. When I got to the corner I crossed the street which had been plowed. The man had turned the corner and was waiting in the street for his bus. Instead of heading down the other side of the street like I usually do, I decided to catch the bus in front of the gas station. I had to detour thru the gas pump area because the gas station seldom shovels their sidewalks. I made a little clearing with my shoes. I think that is the only shoveling that sidewalk got today. 
I got on the bus about 6:40. After the bus made another turn, I heard a guy (who had just got on) call his wife to tell her not to send the children to school today. His knee deep snowy walk occurred in the middle of the street. About 3300 South I texted Penny "On the dang bus. Even TB is. That means the work place isn't closed down." (TB is a VP's secretary.) All hope for a university closure was lost. At 7:18, I texted Penny again "Bus is on Foothill Parking Lot. Maybe it (will) make it to Sunnyside before long. Are we having fun yet?" 
An hour after boarding the bus, I got off. As I was walking toward the business building, I touched my glasses and one of the lens fell out. (I have a loose screw.) I couldn't see the lens in the snow, so I bent down and with the help of little light that the dawn was provided I found my lens. I stuck in my coat pocket and pressed forward. But I decided I didn't want to be loopy, so I took my glasses off and stuck them in my bag. When I got to the business building I secured the glasses a little further in the bag and proceeded across campus half blind. 
When I got to my building, I took my coat off and my socks.  After my feet dried out, I put on some dry socks. It felt so good and warm. I also put on my spare glasses, an old prescription. Then I fixed my other glass and put them in my purse. I wasn't going to wear screw loose glasses on a snowy campus. Then I got down to business; I attempted to work on a snowy Friday morning.
(Classes were canceled at 1p.m. TB's boss gave us the approval to leave campus.)

Looking Back on 2012

When I was driving home from Christmas 1980, I heard Barry Manilow on the radio singing "I made it thru the rain" and it hit me. I made it thru a difficult year. I grew in unexpected ways. I had experienced trials before like death of a cousin, uncles and a neighbor before that awful year, but not this closely related. Looking back at that year, I realized at 22 years of age that I didn't want to go back to the life before December 26, 1979. Life before had it challenges, but none that had strengthen me like 1980 had. I learned what having faith was.
I wrote the above around the first of May 2012. I had attended a one session class about change. One of the bosses for our division at University of Utah strongly advised that the employees under her attend the class.. Little did I realize then that 2012 would be wrought with change. At the time, life was good and nothing on horizon indicated change. But as fate would have, things started happening during the summer that brought another big change in my life. My mom passed away from cancer.

In this summary, I will start at the first of the year, when life was calm. 2012 wasn’t all bad and I want to remember that, even though it was another year of growth. So glad I had that class when I did. 2011 would have been too early and 2013 would have been too late.  And like 1980, I feel like "I made it thru the rain" again. But then again, I still feel as if I will be still dancing in the rain when 2013. There is still unfinished business to complete.

We are doing okay. We enjoyed more blue skies in January than any other January in recent history. My iPad and cell phone documented this little known fact quite a bit.

Between Jay’s birthday and mine, I volunteered once more at the Race for the Cure. I helped out the day before the race activities. I had to pass a background check first because I took donations. It was at new venue this year. Because the race outgrew The Gateway, it had to be moved to Library Square. The numbers were down this year because of a certain beneficiary causing a controversy. But there was still a large turnout, thanks to those who have hope for a cure.

Summer was okay. There were more than usual range fires close to homes in Utah.(and Idaho and Colorado, my other home states.) Jay and I were never in danger, but others were. I didn't go anywhere, not even to Park City. Jay and John went home a few times. I don't like traveling during the summer that much. Too hot.
Things got a bit too eventful as fall approached. Three or four weeks after being diagnosed with stage 4 cancer, my mom left us to reunite with my dad. Although I didn't see her until a few hours after she passed, I did cherish the moments I got to hear her voice. It was weak, but thanks to my parents' sacrifice when I was twelve, I got to hear her voice. (I had an ear operation before I entered 7th grade.) My sisters took care of Mom in Washington, but the services were in Idaho where she is resting now.
Looking back on the past year, I find that I am grateful for kindness. Crystal was thrilled when she got a gift card to Cafe Zupas. Tracina thanked me for the Swedish Fish I threw in a package at the last minute. A lot of people sent my mom get well cards. Mom did her best to cheerful toward the nurses. My work gave me funeral chocolates instead of flowers. I liked that. But the most comforting kindness I knew that people were praying for Mom and my family in our time of need and being kind to my older brother even though he didn't deserve it.

Although I am glad 2012 is almost over, I am glad I went thru it. I've learned quite a bit and still will as I continue in 2013. Sorry the world didn’t end 12/21/12. Marty McFly went back to the future in 2015. For once Hollywood got it right.

Trains

I rode UTA's Frontrunner to Provo Saturday morning. Regular service started Monday, so Saturday was a free ride. At least between Salt Lake Central and Provo. I woke up earlier than usual for a weekend and caught the bus at 9am. I decided to go for the morning hours because I had an event that evening. I also assumed the line would be shorter than the afternoon hours. In April 2008, when Frontrunner debuted, Jay and I stood in line for hours before we boarded for our hour ride to Ogden. My assumption proved correct, because when I got off the UTA Trax Blue line at Salt Lake Central, there was hardly a line. When I boarded the train, I had my choice of seats. So different than four years ago when I boarded a standing room only train. When we finally pulled into the Provo Station, there was a long line forming. I took a picture and texted it to Isaac, who had plans to ride it free that afternoon.

When Isaac was born I took my last round trip to Seattle from Salt Lake City on Amtrak. I had taken my first trip on Amtrak five years earlier on the same route. My love of traveling by rail blossomed with Amtrak and I didn't realize how much I missed trains until Frontrunner opened up four years ago. There is just something about riding a train.

A few summers ago in 2009, I took a trip on the Heber Valley Railroad with my mom, my sister, Mary and her best friend, Deborah. The cars were pulled by a steam engine locomotive. There was a dining car like Amtrak and passenger cars like Frontrunner, except it was a single level of seats instead of two. We sat out in the open air car, which was what Mom preferred. She had a taken a few train trips in her youth.

Although my love affair with began with Amtrak, it really started while I was living at home. Growing up I would often see the freight trains north of where I lived. Sometime when we go to Paul, Burley, Heyburn or Rupert, we get stopped at the railroad lights waiting for the freight line to pass. If there were a lot of cars following the locomotive, we would count the cars. Sometimes when I couldn't sleep at night I would hear a train north of us, passing thru the night. The conductor would blow the whistle as the train crossed roads. It was comforting because I knew I wasn't the only one awake. When I traveled to Seattle both times on Amtrak, the train would pass thru Southern Idaho in the middle of night. I always wonder if there was someone awake who could hear the train and I wondered if it was as comforting to them as it had me for me.

I like trains, probably because I have such good memories and will continue to create good memories. After all, I usually ride the UTA Trax Red line home from work most weekday nights.

Glass Houses

I usually don't political in my blogs. I leave that to others. But after this election year, I thought I would share my thoughts. I did share this on Facebook before Tuesday, November 6th.

I find myself telling me that I am glad that the election is over. The verbal attacks have been again intense this year. But then I remember 4 years ago, the verbal attacks didn't stop after the election; they got worse. Not only have Romney and Obama been throttling each other necks, but Matheson and Love were throwing mud at each other. I am sure their parents and/or mentors would not approve of or taught such behaviors. It is quite sad that the candidates engaged in such blistering accusations, but it is even sadder that voters and media commentators followed their example and engaged in such profane exchanges. The profanity used during the election year did not always include swearing and the usual foul language, but it was often full of condemning words. I found myself confused at some of the anger expressed. Both major parties were speaking lies and casting accusations at the other parties.
Some of my Facebook friends engaged in the mud throwing. Most of them that did, just posted the photo that expressed their view, but some felt a need to throw more mud when they post a comment about the photo. I had to limit what came thru my newsfeed, mostly to keep myself sane in time of bitterness. When I saw these postings I was reminded of the LDS hymn that has the words "Let Oft Speak Kind Words".  Sometimes I thought of the words that Pres. Dieter F. Uchtdorf spoke in April 2012 LDS General Conference "Let us put our stones down. Let us be kind." I am reminded of the quote "People in glass houses should not throw stones." We all live in glass houses and none of us are better than the other, even though we vote differently.
When the election was over in 2008, I thought the anger would subside. It didn't, people were offended that Obama won. A former student refused to do his exit interview because Obama was in the White House. And it is the same this year. A coal mining CEO, Bob Murray closed down a mine in Central Utah because Obama won. I see Facebook postings that blame the evils of the nation on election results. Why do people insist on beating a dead dog senseless? If the dog is dead, it is safe to say that the dog has no sense, therefore the job is done. Why waste the energy? The election is over, the votes have been counted - move on and live with the results. I remember when Bush lost to Clinton in 1992; he asked the American public to support Clinton. It had been a bitter battle for the White House like it was this year. But Clinton has became like a son to Bush, because both were willing to put turn their swords into plowshares and be kind to each other. They rebuilt the bridge they burned.
Secret Agent L. said, "Be kind. No exceptions." I don't know who Secret Agent L is or what kind of media he or she is from, but I like what was said. So now that the election is over, I hope Romney, Obama, Matheson, Love, members of congress and the senate, the media commentators and the voters can turn their swords into plowshares. Please don't beat the dead dog on the sidewalk senseless. Be kind and give it a proper burial. The dog won't know of your kindness. But others will know, even if you bury the dog quietly. As Dieter F. Uchtdorf  said last April  "Let us put our stones down. Let us be kind."

Loss

I lost my mom, but they lost their grandma.

 I look at this picture and  I see their long, sad faces. I wish I had just given them a hug instead of taking the picture.  Losing a loved one isn't easy when you are a teenager. I lost my cousin, Edward when I was in 9th grade. When I heard of his death; it seemed unreal. I can only imagine that is what my nephews are feeling when I look at this picture.  When Laura and I got back to house from the care center after the mortuary took Mom's body, Skylar went outside and jumped on the tramp a few times. His actions reminded me that life went on. It was comforting to see him on the tramp. Skylar had been waiting in the car most of afternoon while we waited for the mortuary to come and while we also made a few phone calls and preliminary funeral plans. He had been patience and probably had to release some stress. After all, his grandma just died.

As I was sitting in church this past Sunday, I realized I had something in common with these young men. Like them, I never knew my Grandpa Jackson. He died before my parents were married. Skylar, Brennan and Spencer never knew their Grandpa Jackson, my dad. My mom was a widow before either of my nephews parents had been married. As I was growing up, I missed knowing my dad's parents. (Grandma Jackson died shortly after my oldest brother was born.) Maybe the sadness I see on my nephews' faces are of missing another grandparent. And then maybe I can understand their pain. Losing a grandparent is tough.