My 2012 Summer Tour of the Rooms

A year ago I went to a workshop on change, not by choice, but I was glad I attended. Probably the thing I remember the most is “The Rooms” of change. At the time of the workshop, I thought was okay with life; I was in the 1^st room, the Contentment Room (which was modeled after the bedroom). Last May, I was quite proud that I faced a major change in my younger life and figured that any more major changes were up the road a ways. What I didn't know was that before summer semester would end at the University of Utah, I would be in the 2^nd room, the Denial Room (modeled after the living room). My mom’s health was declining; I would hear reports from my siblings that she was losing weight. I don’t remember anger or being upset, but I was in denial; probably out of fear. My brothers went home to see my mom, but I didn't  I used the excuse that I didn't like riding in my brother’s car during the summer. (it doesn't have working air conditioning system). But in reality, it was probably more me being in denial and probably because I was tired of the tension that my oldest brother would cause. (Mike is housebound by choice and my mom was his full time caregiver.)  I am not sure when I moved to the 3^rd room, the Confusion Room (modeled after the kitchen). I was becoming hopeful, even though I was still asking questions. I had my moments of disappointments, but I was making progress. By mid August, I was listening to my siblings. My mom was having problems eating and Mike was frustrated because she wouldn't eat. He was sure someone from church or the neighborhood was poisoning my mom. My youngest sister was on vacation with her family and in-laws in Southern Utah. On August 11^th, Mike phoned me in a panic; he was fearful that Mom would not make it through the night. Apparently she wouldn't eat what he fixed for her and he must have noticed the weight loss. He told me that her legs were thin as sticks. While I was calling neighbors of my Mom, I called my sister who was wrapping up her vacation at her in-laws in Bountiful. To my dismay, I found out that Mike had called her. She was shaking as I talked to her. Apparently Mike had made Mom tell her how bad she was. So Laura’s family changed their plans and left for Idaho first thing. Laura ended up staying with my mom while her husband and son headed home to Washington (the state, not the capitol). Before Laura took Mom back to Washington with her, my Mom was diagnosed with Stage 4 Non-Hopkins Lymphoma. Right before her first and only chemo treatment, Mom said her final good bye to Mike. That Friday night, Laura and Mom caught up with Mary, my oldest sister. Mary had flown into Boise from Seattle to help Laura with the driving. Mom did manage to eat on the way to Seattle. But she was exhausted. Shortly after arriving, Mom had to hospitalize. She was too weak for anymore chemo treatments. In the next few weeks, I talked to my sisters and Mom more than I had all summer. Even though Mom couldn't talk, I was able to hear her voice or grunt. I counted my blessings when I remembered the sacrifices Mom made for me. Labor Day weekend, Mom had another difficult time, but again she made it through the night. A week later, her health improved and she was moved from the hospital in Auburn to a care center in Enumclaw. During the week, I moved to the 4^th and final room, the Renewal Room (which is modeled after the bathroom), but I probably still had one foot in the Confusion Room. I was energized and feeling relief, even though I knew Mom would probably reunite with Dad soon. Shortly after Labor Day, I made plans to visit Mom in Washington. An hour before my flight took off that Friday, Mom took her last breath. At first I was little angry, not because Mom didn't wait until I got there, but I couldn't feel Dad’s presence like I usually did when I needed comfort. While I was boarding I felt Mom’s presence. Apparently she wanted to take one last flight with me and that was comforting. (We traveled together a bit.) While in Seattle, my sisters and I made phone calls and made funeral plans. When I got back to Salt Lake, I semi-went back to work and prepared the speech for my sisters. Mom had assigned them to give her life sketch during the funeral. Then on Friday, my brothers and I went to Idaho, my first time in two years. It was refreshing, but sad. Mom was laid to rest in Paul, Idaho. That Sunday morning as my brothers and I returned to Saturday, I looked at Mom’s smiling face on my iPad and silently cried out to her to help me out as her personal representative (or executor of her will). I was back in the Confusion Room.

I took this picture the Friday before my brother called in panic. When I woke up that following morning, I saw the magnet with this quote and I identified with what Hugh B. Brown said. It continued to be a comfort to me for rest of the summer and beginning of the fall semester. 

A Tale of Two Marathons

Monday during my lunch hour, I was minding my own business on Facebook when I noticed that neighbor from Idaho posted “Explosion at the Boston Marathon finish line at least 3 dead 30 injured turn on your news!” My first thought was of a current neighbor (in Utah) who was in Boston running the marathon. Of course I thought of Jay, who ran the Boston Marathon several years ago. I texted neighbor and friend to find out if she had heard anything about Tracy, our neighbor. She texted back that she saw Tracy’s husband interviewed on KSL. I took that tidbit of news as good news. At the end of today, I kept thinking of a question that my nephew (in his younger years) frequently asked - "Why?" Jay answered back “I don’t know” and I replied to his answer that we probably never would. For once I was serious when asking “Why?” Earlier in the day I had posted on Facebook “Why do we want to hurt our fellow man so much?”

The next day as I walked out of the Campus bookstore, I saw the heading of three newspapers (two of them local). When I saw Terror on all three front pages, I probably agreed with most of America that terrorist had invaded the Boston Marathon. I think this was my first resolve to get up early on April 20^th and watch the Salt Lake Marathon pass thru my neighborhood.

Late Thursday evening, I was on Facebook again. A different neighbor and friend posted “Not 5 min into the news....shootings at MIT....man....” It wasn’t until Friday morning at work (not on Facebook) that I learned that MIT shooting was apart of the Boston Marathon bombing. Suspect #1 was dead and Suspect #2 was on the loose. I was more determined to be cheering on the runners in marathon the next morning. When I left work, I told a co-worker that I was watching the race. That was before I knew about the capture of the Suspect #2. But the capture did cement my determination even more because I posted on Facebook “I don't care, I am going to be along the race route tomorrow morning. Thanks to the terrorists, they motivated me to get up early to watch.”

To my surprise and my ability to wake up earlier than usual on a Saturday, I was up to watch the race. While Jay and I waited for the marathon to come to our neighborhood, we watched the progress on TV. I posted on Facebook  “Waiting for the marathon to pass thru the neighborhood. It is now somewhere in the Parley's Way area.” Soon after eight, Jay and I were out in the rain cheering the racers on. If the terrorists weren’t stopping me from cheering the runner on, then I wasn’t going to let the rain send me back to a comfortable home.  

I watched most of the marathon pass thru my neighborhood. A number of runner thanked the cops along the route. A quite a few told us spectators that we were awesome. I don't think I've ever seen so much gratitude along the race route. It was nice to see Boston jerseys and those running in behalf of Boston marathoner(s).As I watched the race I also noticed green jerseys and t-shirts. I read later in Trib app on my iPad that a few runners wore green to honor the City of Boston’s Irish heritage. And I yelled out “Go Boston” to a few runners.

And when one of the last runners came thru, Jay and I walked back to the condo. Usually the cops providing traffic control don’t get notice.  Even though the crowd in my neighborhood was less than in years past, I was grateful for the support from the runners and spectators that I saw. Because of what happen in Boston earlier in the week, the Salt Lake Marathon was different this year. And may next year’s marathon in Boston be bigger and better.

A Different Ride on Trax

Saturday, April 13^th was the grand opening of the Trax Green Line to the Airport and of course, UTA offered free rides to the public. And yes, I took advantage of a free Trax ride to the airport, even though I ride free on UTA free five-six days a week, courtesy of my employer. When I finally arrived at the Arena, I picked up my UTA Trax to Airport Passport, which had a page for each stop along the new extended Green Line. After I got on at the Arena stop, I rode straight to the Salt Lake International Airport without getting off at any of the stops like Jay did when he rode later. Along the way, I saw places that I haven’t seen for years, like Diamond Lil’s and the State Fairgrounds. 

As soon as I got I went into the airport; I had important business to attend to. I had never been in and out of the airport that fast. When I got back outside, I stood in line to get my “passport” stamp and my picture taken; then I got back on the train. At the 1940 stop, I saw a week day Trax line Red line regular board. She told me that there was free tamales, but I decided to stay on. She got off the Power station. At the station named after my family (not really, but I do share part of the name) I saw Viva! Market again. Now I take Trax to get products from Mexico. There is hope that I can Choco Roles and Sponch! in Utah instead of waiting six weeks to buy them in Idaho. 

Finally I got off at The Bridge Station (which also includes a Frontrunner station) where I enjoyed some chili soup and cookie samples. I also got my third and last stamp before I reboarded the new extended Trax line. Then at Arena station, I got off and waited for the regular Green Line to take me to City Creek to some shopping before I headed home.  I have to admit I had a good time.

Easter This Year

Twelve years ago in April, my Aunt Reta passed away. Her funeral was held the day before Easter. At the cemetery, I was comforted knowing that one day, her recently departed soul would one day be reunited with her body. 

Maybe this is why I was able to post on September 14, 2012 something that I had wrote two weeks earlier. “My Mom is well. She is with my Dad once again and having a joyful reunion with her sister, Verla and her parents. She has even met my Grandpa Jackson for the first time.  I will miss Mom, but I have the faith that she is where she needs to be with her family that she hasn't seen for so long.”

All of this is possible because, Our Savior, Jesus Christ, was willing to suffer and die for us.  On Sunday morning, 2000 something years ago, he conquered death and was resurrected. This bought the hope that eternal life is possible. We have the hope of being reunited with our loved ones, even those we have not met in this life. When our souls are reunited with our bodies, they will be new and whole. Aunt Reta will have a youthful body once more and Dad, her brother will hear once more. Mom is reunited with Dad and has met extended family. That is the blessing Easter brings to each and everyone.

When I saw this video more than twenty years ago, it brought comfort for me. It has since become one of my favorite LDS Church videos. I will see my parents once more and my brother one day will be whole again, all because what our Savior, Jesus Christ did for us one Easter Weekend.

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.)