Birth and Death

Posted on January 3, 2014 by Christine

Birth and death. These events are the bookends of our lives. They are the two dates that appear together on the memorial cards and on our tombstones. One day we were welcomed into the world by an extended family and years later a completely different set of close family members sits at our bedside or gathers at a funeral to ease our way into the life beyond. Mothers love to recount their birth stories as a way of processing the experience and I’m finding that grieving family members need to share their stories as well.

Birth and death are both processes. Though there might be an exact time of birth or of death, the reality is that there is anticipation and preparation, a beginning of labor, transition, and even active labor and active dying. And there is celebration and adjustment afterwards.

My mom, Eldora Ruth Marshall (nee Freeberg) was born on March 1, 1926. She was welcomed into a family of second generation Swedish immigrants living on the north side of Chicago. Art and Ellen Freeberg had a two-year old son, Artie, at the time of Eldora’s birth and the family was complete ten years later when her sister Carol was born.

She died on January 1, 2014. By then, her family consisted of her husband and sister, three children and three more children-by-marriage (daughters and son-in law), ten grandchildren (and six more married-in grandchildren) and eight great-grandchildren. The expanding size of the family is interesting enough, but it is the individual relationships within those numbers that give meaning and joy to family life (And some of life’s challenges too, let’s be honest :-)) My mom dearly loved her family, but really enjoyed the grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

When the dying process came to its conclusion last night, we were all focused on the events of the last weeks, days and hours we spent with her. While we are still processing the experience, we are also starting to focus on the bigger picture of her life and legacy. For us as believers, we also are comforted in focusing on the hope of heaven that we share. (We can’t imagine doing this without that very real hope.)

I’m tempted to write the stories of the last days, but I have a feeling that they really should be shared more privately with others who either shared the experience with me or have gone through similar experiences (kind of like sharing your birth stories with other moms.) I’m not ready to write a tribute to my mother though I am working on it. And someday very soon, I’d like to write about heaven. I’ve been reading two very different books on the subject. For now, I just want you to know that my Mom died peacefully at the hospice center and we are all gathering in various ways, planning her funeral, contacting friends and family, and resting. Visitation is on Sunday at the Harris Funeral Home in Livonia just north of 5 mile on Farmington Rd. 1-4 pm. At 4 pm, there will be a service and the burial will take place privately the next morning. As always, I appreciate your prayers for me and my family. For strength, grace, rest and peace.

God is good.

End of Life

Posted on December 31, 2013 by Christine

When 2013 began, I fully expected that I would bury my mother and possibly my father during the year. My mother has had multiple myeloma for nearly four years, responding remarkably well to treatment. Her condition began to decline this past year and I began to mentally prepare myself. My dad has been planning to die since his heart attack in 1985 but his condition, too, declined over the past year or so with worsening congestive heart failure.

I did not expect to be diagnosed with cancer. Instead of facing their deaths, to some degree, I faced the possibility of my own and in the process questioned some of the treatments we undergo to avoid death. I’ve thought a lot about the costs of treatment, both financial costs as well as other hidden tolls. Insured Americans, like myself, seem mostly inured from the reality of the cost (and privilege) of health care. Although the whole medical billing system seems wildly inflated, it is pretty shocking to think that upwards of 300K has been billed to my insurance company for my treatment thus far. (95K has actually been paid.)

But after all this, I find myself keeping vigil at my mother’s bedside. Today we made the decision to stop further dialysis, blood transfusions and declined a procedure to possibly protect her heart and lungs from a dislodged blood clot. Today we signed up for hospice.

We are late in doing so but the intricacies of the same insurance system that so amply covered the costs of my care did not allow us to access hospice services while mom still received dialysis. We had to choose between them and for the last two months, our family chose to sustain her life with dialysis. As the quality of her life declined even with dialysis, we all began to question whether dialysis was worth continuing. She had hoped to live through the holidays and had accomplished that, enjoying brief family times during Thanksgiving and Christmas.

Another fluke of the insurance system is that the rules for hospice required that we leave the hospital and transfer either to a separate hospice facility, a nursing home or our home. “Problems” such as a blood clot, dangerously low blood counts or dangerously high potassium no longer counted in the equation once we signed the papers admitting her to hospice. Now “symptoms” alone mattered: pain, shortness of breath or difficulty breathing, unresponsiveness. Because Mom was alert, pain-free and breathing comfortably at the time of her evaluation, we could no longer stay in the hospital. It was surprisingly difficult (emotional) to leave one facility and move to another, even though the new one is really much nicer.

But now we are settled into the Angela Hospice center and becoming comfortable with another set of caregivers.

As soon as Mom was comfortably settled in her new room, one of the nurses cut off her hospital name band and DNR bracelet. When I arrived on Saturday I found that purple bracelet a stark reminder even though I knew my Mom’s wishes. I am in total agreement with the DNR decision as well as the decision to discontinue dialysis, but it still was a bit of a shock.

For now, we sit and wait. We attend. We attend to her needs, to any opportunity for meaningful conversation, to the process of dying. We also attend to the will of our Father because even if we can choose to decline treatment, we still watch and wait to see how God’s timing will be worked out. My mom has three “problems” that could cause an instant sort of death (hyperkalemia, a blood clot, and severe anemia) or she could die a more slow, peaceful death from renal failure.

Although “end of life” issues have been on my mind for much of the year, I am quite sure I’m not done with my pondering. With hospice, I am experiencing a world that is new to me. And while I’ve worked with dying patients and lost grandparents, in-laws, and close family members, I’ve never watched my own parent die. I’m spending New Year’s Eve in a room with two parents who are drifting in and out of sleep.

And pondering.

Christmas Cookies

Posted on December 29, 2013 by Christine

We made it through the Christmas craziness!

Years ago I read a couple books about de-stressing Christmas but I’ve never been able to manage it as well as I’d like. It was interesting having an outside perspective on our Christmas this year. James comes from a culture that is much more “chill” about the season and I was very aware of it this Christmas. I wanted to be careful about not overwhelming him with our American obsessions but Anne was hoping for everything she missed last Christmas. Fortunately, James is an easy-going, adaptable young man and handled all the fuss just fine. Their mentors in New Zealand, an American woman married to a Kiwi, told them that Christmas was one of the biggest differences between their cultures. It will be interesting to see how James and Anne blend their different styles in the Christmases to come.

I love how families develop their own traditions. We all make them up as we go, borrowing from others and discarding ones that don’t fit. For years, my mother made lots of Christmas cookies and stored them in a mountain of tins, as did her mother before her. My dad used to keep track of how many cookies she made on a 3 x 5 card, obviously pleased with the results of her labors. Early in marriage, I tried to follow her tradition but as the years have gone by it is one part of Christmas that doesn’t happen in the Hurni house. I usually manage to make one batch of gingerbread cookies and that is all. (My mom must have had more self-discipline than me because my main reason for discontinuing the tradition was that I ended up eating most of them.)

But we have a growing nutcracker collection that belongs to Anne, a Father Christmas display and matching Christmas dishes. We have oyster stew on Christmas Eve and homemade cinnamon rolls on Christmas morning. Many years ago we learned from Petersburg friends to include sharing small gifts with friends and neighbors so we share our cinnamon rolls with two neighbors each year (and faithfully receive a plate of those Christmas cookies and a loaf of yummy bread back.) It isn’t quite the same as the Petersburg tradition of visiting on Christmas afternoon bearing gifts, but it is what works for us. We read the Christmas story before gift opening to remind ourselves what it’s all really about. We write–and receive–Christmas letters. And now we have developed a fun tradition of “Family Gifts” on Christmas Eve. This year the family gifts were red union suits complete with butt flaps. I also started collecting the 12 Days of Christmas pieces from Pottery Barn, purchased in the mark-down sales after Christmas.

Speaking of cookies, my Mom made no Christmas cookies this year, a first. Since Thanksgiving, she has been battling anemia and extreme fatigue and has had several falls. She spends three days a week getting dialysis and other days receiving blood transfusions. Her hemoglobin has dropped to 6.0 and below a couple of times now. She was able to enjoy a short part of a family Christmas on the Sunday prior (after dialysis at 7-10:30 am) but was exhausted the following day. On Christmas Eve she went to the ER to have an x-ray after a fall and was admitted again for dangerously low blood counts.

I decided to drive to Detroit on Saturday thinking that she was going to be released from the hospital to home and I could help with her care. Friday night my brothers told me that they’d requested rehab instead since she was so weak. By Saturday it was obvious that she wasn’t going anywhere. Lizi and I arrived in the late afternoon and I’ve just been sitting at her bedside, mostly watching her sleep. She drifts in and out of consciousness and says something, but often falls back to sleep before completing her thought.

From this hospital room it seems odd that three days ago we opened our stockings and gifts, roasted lamb for our holiday meal, and enjoyed relaxing by the fire when it was all over. Today I’m remembering the end of Kellen’s two videos, one announcing the gender of his baby brother, the other heralding Christmas. Near the end of both videos, Kellen leans forward and says “He will be here soon” in a voice obviously filled with excitement. Though I feel sad that my mother’s life on earth is drawing to a close, there is a small part of me that wants to lean forward, like Kellen, and announce she will soon be in heaven. Like Kellen, I really don’t understand what is coming but I’m excited anyways.

Excited seems like the wrong word to use at a time like this so I looked it up in a thesaurus, hoping to find a more appropriate word. I liked “enraptured” and “enlivened” because that is the truth of what we believe. My mom will shed her earthly tent but will enter a life that is more real, more blessed, and more lasting than we can ever imagine.

Of Hobbits and Hair

Posted on December 22, 2013 by Christine

Last night my family tried to persuade me to stick with short hair. Although I’ve found the experience a lot more fun than I ever expected, I am not at all convinced.

At 4 months post-chemo, my hair is about an inch long. It seems perfectly straight and a medium brown in color with one little patch of grey. It is thick and soft. It is certainly easy to maintain.

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Before our dinner conversation (this occurred during Anne’s birthday supper) we’d decorated cake pops to look like Hobbit characters. After dinner, we all went to see the second episode of The Hobbit movie: The Desolation of Smaug. The dwarves had really interesting hairstyles (though certainly better than Orc hair.)

Speaking of orcs with their ghastly gashes and scars, my neck scar is finally doing better. After three fluid extractions, the surgeon put a drain in for three days and the lump finally seems to have disappeared for good. The scar still seems to “weep” a tiny bit of clear fluid on occasion, but seems okay. I have one more check up on the 24th.

Life has been pretty crazy this week. Anne and James arrived home late Tuesday night and we’ve been enjoying the fun and laughter of having them around. We’ve tried to be as relaxed as possible about our schedules so that they could catch up on badly needed rest as they are both coming off intense ministry schedules plus jet lag. But that is easier said than done at this time of year, especially with Anne’s birthday coming on the 21st. We planned a simple dinner with the family and going to see the Hobbit. While John and Anne went out to look at cameras, James and I had a great time creating a Hobbiton cake and character cake pops. John cooked a whole lobster and steak (outdoors) and we added some favorite greens including steamed artichokes. (Basically a butter meal.) The kitchen is still a disaster.

Tomorrow we are headed downtown for lunch under the Big Christmas Tree at Macy’s/Marshall Fields. This is an annual tradition for our family, one often celebrated on Anne’s birthday. And part of that tradition was always a visit to the girls’ department to try on fancy, expensive dresses (but never buy.) As Anne grew older, we wandered past the prom and wedding gowns. This year we have an appointment at the wedding salon. We’re planning to continue the tradition of looking, trying, but not buying. It should be fun.

In the next few days, I’ll post more pictures from our trip downtown and Christmas. Hopefully I’ll get some good pictures of my short “do”. We’re planning on a lot of crazy fun–and imagine that you are too. Enjoy!

NaNo

Posted on December 1, 2013 by Christine

I finished writing over 50,000 words this month to earn my second NaNo badge on 750 Words, a site I have used for daily writing since June 2012 (and love.) November is National Novel Writers’ Month and so the last two years I’ve taken on the challenge of writing 50K words and attempting to work on a fictionalized story about my Gramma Christie’s life.

Last year I wrote a Prologue and a few sketches. I also did a lot of research on her second husband, Laurence Christie. When I started we knew very little about him except that he had come from the Shetland Islands, shared the same boarding house with my grandmother’s first husband, worked in the commercial real estate sector (pre- and post-depression), married my grandmother in his 50s, and died seven years later of a bleeding gastric ulcer.

I found his family in Cunningsburgh, Shetland, learning that his older brother suffered from bipolar disorder but was a talented musician, writer, and stone carver. Laurence emigrated to Chicago in 1907, where he worked hard enabling him to send money home to help his family and also likely helped a sister-in-law and nephew come to the States. He met Bob Marshall by 1910, when they shared the same boarding house (and were entered on the US Census on consecutive lines.) Robert Marshall died tragically in 1925, hit by a train as he was commuting to the family’s new summer home in Cedar Lake, Indiana. My grandmother was expecting my father at the time. Thirteen years later, Laurence married my grandmother.

I have enjoyed being in contact with Pat Christie, a native Shetlander and family historian. Her husband is the grandson of the son that stayed on the croft and took care of his and Laurence’s aging parents. She has sent me pictures and letters and answered a lot of my questions. We’ve shared our genealogical discoveries and information.

This November I tried hard to understand the times and context of their lives and wrote a lot of what I call sketches. I would take an event that I knew had occurred and write about it from that person’s imaginary perspective, adding details to the story that I thought were reasonable: what it must have been like for fourteen year old Laurence the night his older brother was taken away to an asylum; my grandmother’s thoughts when two men knocked on the door of her summer cottage to tell her that Robert had been killed by a train; Laurence’s thoughts on his long wait to marry; and so on.

I’ve been pretty focused on stories. I’ve journaled for years but when you stop writing the facts or even feelings about what happened, when you start telling stories, something different happens. I’ve found it really fun.

Recently I read a memoir (Global Mom Melissa Dalton-Bradford.) After sharing her story, she wrote:

“The story we’re writing with our brief lives can never be told in its entirety, neither its length nor its fragility nor its density. By that I mean that we’re all born into the middle of a perpetual narrative, and our simple strand of personal story does not begin when our life does. In view of that, whenever we leave this place–be it at eighteen or eighty–we are always, inevitably leaving in the middle of the story. That singular tale is woven in multiples of others, so our leaving will be in the middle of others’ tales. Our stories go on. We go on. We are always in the middle of the Great, Infinite Story” (pg 292.)

Working on my grandmother’s story while battling cancer and dealing with my parents’ declining health, has made me very aware of the interconnectedness of our stories. At the same time, my son and daughters are in the midst of their stories of disability; miscarriage and new life; travel, romance and wedding plans. There was no great parentheses around any portion of this last year, no time when our stories didn’t affect others’ stories.*

I best remember by grandmother in her early 90s, bed-bound and unable to see well enough to read anymore, telling me that God was good to keep her hearing intact. Earlier in her life, she chided two of my cousins for their assessment of the “tragedy” of her earlier life saying “There are no tragedies in life.” My grandmother wasn’t in denial: she simply believed that God was sovereign and that He was good. Today my Dad prays “God, You are good, You are kind. Thank you.” And then he tells me that “God is in control,” even when he struggles to believe it.

I am in the middle of so many stories and I’ll bet you are too. Let’s share our stories and keep reminding one another that God is good, that it is–in the end–God’s great infinite story that we all get to share.

* I googled affect vs effect, but I’m still not sure if I used the right one. What do you think? I also know that I don’t technically spell “Gramma” correctly, but it’s the way I’ve always spelled it and I have emotional connections to my spelling, so I will continue. Just saying.

Do Your Ears Hang Low?

Posted on November 14, 2013 by Christine

Do your ears hang low? Do they wobble to and fro? Can you throw them o’er your back? Can you tie them in a bow? Can you throw them o’er your shoulder like a Continental soldier? Do you ears hang low?

My daughters have the cutest little ears that they didn’t get from me. I never cared at all about the size of my ears until I lost my hair. They’d always looked okay surrounded by a lot of hair. Now, I’m wishing I had cute little ears. My ears hang low.

And what’s worse, is that there is was a parotid tumor just below and slightly back from the left ear lobe. People kept wondering why I didn’t wear earrings with my bald look. It was at least partly because it seemed to draw attention to the lump behind my ear.

I actually noticed the lump about three years ago. I went to see an ENT doctor who did a fine needle biopsy in his office. It came back benign, a pleomorphic adenoma. He wanted to take it out, but I decided to wait awhile because I knew that an important facial nerve runs through that area. I consulted with my regular doctor and his research showed that they could turn into cancer but usually don’t for 10-15 years. I decided to hang onto my smile for a few more years (until Anne got married) and take the risk.

When I was diagnosed with breast cancer last winter, one of my first questions was whether it was time to deal with the parotid. Dr. O’Rourke thought it could wait. When it came up with my breast surgeon, he listened to my reasoning but thought I should get it out sooner rather than later. He told me that he used to do the surgery and that it could be done without facial nerve damage. After surgery and the first few chemo treatments, my oncologist also encouraged me to get it out. Both of them recommended the same doctor at Rush, so I went to see him in September.

Dr. Nielson says there is only a 1% chance of permanent facial nerve damage and that he has only had such case in his entire career. He also wanted to get it out sooner rather than later, recommending that I not put it off for another year. He says that the position of it is better than average (Slightly back from my ear. Many parotid tumors are further forward.)

So, I decided to go ahead and get it done in November. I figured I’d be needing extra rest from radiation fatigue so I might as well be recovering from surgery at the same time. Post radiation and still a couple weeks before Thanksgiving and the rest of the holidays. (I called him back and asked for an estimate for short term recovery and he said I’ll look good in the Christmas pictures. I hope his word is good.)

A part of me is was terrified by this surgery but after all I’ve been through, the larger part of me is accepting that it needs to be done and trusting in the skill of my doctors and the will of my Father. I’m not going to worry about the “what ifs”. A lopsided smile seems too cruel at this point in my life, so I’m just going to assume that it isn’t going to happen. If it does, I guess I’ll deal with it then. (Good strategy!)

Post Script (quite literally): This was written about two weeks ago with plans to post it last week before my surgery. I was just working on embedding the video into the post when my domain apparently expired. So no blog for the last five days. I found I really missed being able to communicate my need for prayer, but fortunately, Facebook worked as a decent alternative.

The surgery went well. My smile is intact, I can blink my eye and scrunch my face. The recovery period was a little rough the following night and day, but I truly was so relieved and happy about my smile that a little nausea and vomiting seemed like a small price to pay. I stayed an extra 36 hours and came home this morning.

Before and after pictures (warning: second picture may be too graphic! (But look at all that hair 🙂

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Peace

Posted on October 19, 2013 by Christine

After spending the last six months in recovery mode, things have become a little hectic during the month of October.

For one thing, October is birthday month in the Marshall/Hurni family. During my birthday week, I celebrated with lunch out three days in a row and dinner with my family on my actual birthdate. Then it was my Dad’s birthday (88) on the 13th so I drove to Detroit and celebrated with him and the family. I was still feeling pretty good and paced myself on the drive so that I could stop and rest as needed. The 16th was John’s birthday so we set aside the day for some family fun. Plan A was to visit a National Park and buy his Lifetime Senior Pass to the National Parks. The government shutdown meant that wasn’t possible. Plan B was to fly to Lake Lawn Lodge in Wisconsin for lunch. The weather nixed that idea. In the end we came up with Plan C: spending the morning at a kid’s science museum in Aurora with Kellen, lunch at Zoup!, and flying with Johnny during nap time. I think playing hooky from work was the best part of the day for John. In the evening, we ended up bringing Kellen back to our house while Laura went to be with a close friend in labor. John and I enjoyed climbing in bed with Kellen and pretending that we were settling him down. “Papa John tell me a story about a sword…Papa John….” Sweet moments. (There are still more Marshall birthdays on the 8th, 12th, 18th, 19th, and 24th, plus two wedding anniversaries.)

I spent last Monday visiting doctors. I had my radiation treatment at Elmhurst Hospital in the morning and then drove downtown to see the Nurse Practitioner to follow up with my surgeon and get a mammogram. Between the latter two appointments I became sick and had to call John to come rescue me and give me a ride home. I spent the next day recovering.

That day my Mom received a call from her myeloma specialist instructing her to go immediately to the ER. A routine blood test done the previous day showed that her kidneys were failing (an expected complication with myeloma.) She was admitted to the hospital for hydration and more tests. On Wednesday, she saw a nephrologist who recommended dialysis. After a family meeting on Thursday morning, everybody agreed on starting dialysis. A temporary port was placed that afternoon and Mom had her first dialysis and a blood transfusion simultaneously. She had another dialysis on Friday and will likely stay in the hospital over the weekend. The plan is that she will have dialysis 3 times a week (3 hours each time) through the holidays. Fortunately, there is a dialysis center right around the corner from their home so it will be convenient, though certainly a big change in the routines of their lives.

I also worked two full days this week and will work three days next week. I’d only been able to sign up for 4 days in the month of October, but thought that with the unknown of radiation side effects that might be enough. Radiation fatigue hasn’t set in yet, so when my lead nurse called to see if I could add some days, I agreed. (I’ve enjoyed the light schedule but miss the paychecks.)

By the middle of the week, I found that I was unable to turn off my brain at night. Even after a full day of work and obvious fatigue, I was bombarded by all that was going on around me. (I’ve only given you the highlights. There’s more.) I had this frustrating sense of my life being back to “before”–before the cancer, before the big slowdown, before all the rest and recovery. I had a sense of life spinning out of control and I couldn’t figure out how that had happened. I’d tried to make reasonable choices, pacing myself in my activities and limiting my commitments. (I’d been so proud of myself for giving up the goal of finishing my Dad’s quilt in time for his birthday.)

But life happens even when you’re trying to stay in recovery mode. Governments shut down, dreary clouds descend, cold weather sets in. And it isn’t all bad stuff. Babies are born on senior citizen’s birthdays and grandparents enjoy an hour of bliss with a wiggly, talkative little boy.

I’m excited daily by my new hair growth 🙂 I finished reading my last Jane Austen book and watching most of the movies/series. I enjoyed blue skies, warm weather, my red convertible, and Michigan colors on my trip. I’m already having fun thinking about Christmas and there are wedding ideas being discussed over Skype. Today we learned that Laura and Taylor’s baby is a healthy boy! (If you haven’t seen it, check out Kellen’s press conference on Facebook. It’s really funny.)

Last night I prayed for peace and God allowed me to have a refreshing night of sleep. But I’m going to need a lot more peace in the days ahead. I’ve thought of all the people praying for me and wanted to ask you to pray specifically for peace and rest in the midst of life. Please pray for my Mom & Dad as they adjust to dialysis and the changes in her health and for the rest of the Marshall family as well. Please pray for Johnny during the coming fall, winter and holiday season. There is definitely a seasonal impact on his condition and he finds these months the most difficult. Pray for me in the daily routine of radiation and the coming side effects. (In spite of constant moisturizing, my skin is starting to redden and I’m expecting fatigue to set in. I’m also trying to ward off muscle scarring and lymphedema with specific exercises.) You can also pray for Anne and James during his six week ABS cycle when he’s busy and exhausted with 24-7 activity and responsibility. Anne is winding down her 15-month internship and trying to figure out her plans for the coming year.

I could go on, but my real prayer is for peace, for me, for my family and my extended family. Jesus told us that we’d have trouble in this world, but promised us peace, His peace that is beyond our understanding. I so want peace and I’m learning that I can’t maintain or manufacture peace on my own, even in a period of recovery.

“Peace I leave with you; My peace I give to you; not as the world gives, do I give to you. Let not your heart be troubled, nor let it be fearful. John 14:27

“These things I have spoken to you, that in Me you may have peace. In the world you have tribulation, but take courage; I have overcome the world.”John 16:33

Friends

Posted on October 14, 2013 by Christine

I have to admit that when I included my bucket list on my birthday blog, I left out one item. I wrote the list sometime last year and one of my hopes for the future was to “have friends again.”

During that wonderful 30s decade and even beyond, John and I enjoyed being surrounded by lots of fun and special friends. We were involved in a smaller church where we enjoyed the fellowship of people of all ages. We met weekly with small groups that varied in composition over the years, but loved sharing meals, study, and our lives with others on a regular basis. Although we didn’t have family living in the area, we managed to maintain friendships with our brothers and sisters and enjoyed regular reunions. And we developed family-like relationships with closer friends, sharing holidays, life events, vacations, etc.

In the 40s & 50s, we changed churches twice and everybody’s lives got busier. We’ve met new friends along the way and lost touch with some old friends. Our circle of acquaintances grew, but the deep friendships waxed and waned. With the advent of Facebook, we have lots of “friends” but felt–at times–lonelier than ever. I learned to accept the changes, but longed for a return of the kind of friendships I remembered.

When I started copying my bucket list, I couldn’t include my desire “to have friends again.” This past seven months has amply proved that I have a lot of very good friends. While there have been some lonely moments, my sense is that I am overwhelmingly cared for, prayed for, and spoiled with attention and kindness. The last month of birthday celebrations has confirmed that even more. “Make new friends, but keep the old; One is silver and the other is gold!”

There, I can check that off my bucket list.

(This is a real picture taken from my pool deck. Look carefully to see the sign in the sky!)

Six-oh!

Posted on October 9, 2013 by Christine

Today I turn 60. I’ll sleep in, get my radiation treatment, go out for lunch and hang with my family at Laura’s tonight. Here are some of my thoughts on turning the big six-o:

Favorite decade? More than a year ago when I started thinking about turning 60, I started asking random people what their favorite decade of life had been. Up to this point, I think I enjoyed my 30s most of all. From 28 to 38 in particular, John and I had four children. I loved being pregnant (most of the time) and loved raising my young family. We were active at church and hopeful for the future. The 40s & 50s were definitely tougher times that were far less enjoyable for me, so I was hoping that the 60s would be another great decade. The decade isn’t getting off to a great start but I’m still hopeful that I will get through this and really enjoy the next ten years.

T minus 15? Even before the cancer diagnosis, my “plan” was to die in my mid-70s. After spending 8+ years working with older patients in Internal Medicine, I decided that I really didn’t want to get old. I don’t consider 75 old but I hoped to die before I actually got old. I also had observed older saints for many years and was a bit dismayed at how few of them really looked forward to heaven. I wanted to enjoy my life on earth and still have a healthy anticipation of heaven. I wasn’t planning to actually do anything about it except hope God agreed with my plan. So, it’s kind of funny to think that I might only have 15 years of life left (and recognize that it could possibly be less.) Instead of wondering how I got so old (60!) I’d like to think how I can best use these next 15 years and then trust God for whatever actual plan He does have for my life.

And yes, I have a bucket list. Nothing requiring jumping out of airplanes or other wild adventures. I would like to:

Live in the city for 6-12 months
Winter in New Zealand
Visit the Scotland, particularly the Shetland Islands
Write a book or two
Paducah Quilt Show
Learn to weave
Travel USA in (small) campervan visiting National Parks
Own a hot tub
Launch Johnny
Live in Western Michigan
Meet and enjoy all my grandchildren

Somehow, my bucket list seems to miss the point spiritually. I suppose that is to be expected from a concept developed in Hollywood, but I’d like to think that I have higher goals. I just read a blog recommending coming up with a Life sentence, a single sentence that states my life purpose. One of my goals this week, as I turn 60, is to try to come up with one. At the start of my “best decade ever” with only 15 years to go 🙂 it seems like a good time to figure it out.

Another Saturday night…another surprise!

Posted on September 28, 2013 by Christine

John spent the last two Saturdays covertly texting/talking with his daughters to help them surprise me. I’ve already told you about my birthday surprise on the 14th.

This week (9/20) he helped Anne (and James) surprised me with news of their engagement. James had called him on Friday afternoon to ask his permission to marry our daughter. (Laura had instructed John this summer that when the call came, he was not to tell even me.) Anne called him the next morning to help her set up a Skype date later in the day so she could tell me “face to face.” However, I was in the same room when her call came, so she had to invent a different agenda for her call and text with him later. When he told me she wanted to Skype again that evening, I wondered why she wanted to talk so much!

We are thrilled that Anne and James have come to this point in their relationship. We like James (a lot) and feel very comfortable with the idea of Anne marrying him as well as having him join our family. While we feel some sadness at the thought of her living permanently on the other side of the world, we sense how well she fits there, both in her ministry and in her relationship with her mountain man. (When Anne was 16 she fell “in love” with the mountains so it seems appropriate that she found a mountaineer to marry.) Best of all, we love seeing her blossom as a believer in the Capernwray and Raleigh Street community, and in her shared faith with James. It is so awesome to watch her grow in faith and love.

The wedding will most likely be in New Zealand and possibly not until November 2014. There are loads of details to be worked out, not only about the wedding, but visas and jobs, as well as the complications of my health, Laura & Taylor’s baby, James’ ABS schedule and the reversed seasons down under.

Here are some pictures of the happy couple at the scene of the crime: