by April | Nov 15, 2011 | Grief, Pet Loss, Writing
It’s times like now that I’m glad I write. I can put my memories, my feelings on paper, and that gives me a bit of relief. And today, I need that relief–we had to euthanize our kitty. He’d suffered from illness for most of his life, and lived quite a long time for a kitty with feline Leukemia, although he went downhill quite fast this past weekend. He was 4 1/2 years of age.
Our Jack was a spitfire at 5 weeks, taking on our adult cat, Spookers, and winning. Spookers lost his voice after hissing at Jack so often, but he never put Jack in his place. The alpha cat (if there is such a thing) had clearly arrived. At two pounds, he’d taken over, making it clear through his actions we lived in HIS house, not the other way around. Even so, he feared non-family members—so most outsiders never got to see his fuzzy, cuddly side. But, I assure you, he had one.
We first met Jack as our family was out for a walk. A small, orange bundle of fur hopped and skipped
across our path. We were dismayed that no one claimed the little guy. After two weeks of advertising, we realized he’d been dumped and decided to keep him. He immediately ingratiated himself to our family through cuddles, goofiness and fun.
Partially due to his own personality, and partially due to illness, Jack was highly OCD. He had ingrained routines like walking my husband to the door every morning on his way to work and giving the scratching post a good going over. He didn’t like variations on his routine. One time my husband left (Jack scratched the post) then came back inside with something he got from the car. Jack hissed at him, upset that he’d come back—Ken’s role was to leave and not come back until dinner time!
Jack hated things out of place, letting us know how unhappy it made him to have a sock left laying around. He had a great fear of slippers (even doll slippers). My kids would position slippers around the house to keep him from places he shouldn’t be, away from toys they didn’t want him getting hold of. He had a passion for pipe cleaners (the kids use them for art projects), and could some how sniff them out no matter how well we hid them. He loved drinking from the faucet of the tub. He would chase plastic Easter eggs around the house (only the green ones). He scampered about after tiny Lego blocks up and down the wood floors at 2AM (groan!). He enjoyed hiding under things and racing out to grab our toes. His favorite perch was on top of the entertainment center—I think he was keeping an eye on his pride (I fancy he believed himself to be a tiger). Wherever there was activity, there was Jack—sitting on our school books, climbing into grocery bags, sleeping in game box lids.
When Jack was a kitten, he loved to be pushed in the doll stroller. Even as he got too big for that, he still enjoyed being wrapped in a blanket and rocked by my daughter. He would steal bracelets, necklaces and had a soft spot for My Little Ponies (would carry them around the house by his teeth). The kids often had to build barriers around their things (remember the slippers!). I wondered when company came over if they’d think we had some odd habits or collections!
It’s hard to say what I’ll miss the most. Jack would often sit on a small chair in the kitchen and watch me cook. I got in the habit of telling him what I was doing. He seemed so curious and interested—much like the kids when they were younger. I’m sure if he had thumbs, he would have been quite the chef. After watching me for a bit, he would flop down and press his feet to ours, a sign of submission and love. And then, every night, at about ten, he’d climb onto my lap and purr himself into a pre-bedtime nap. He was my therapy cat. A constant companion. My cozy friend. I’m so glad God chose him for us, and I feel so privileged to have had him in my life. I’ll miss him so.
by April | Oct 23, 2011 | Chronic Illness, CVID, Encouragement, Expectations, Immune Deficiency
I love the sound of the geese flying overhead as they leave thePacific Northwest for warmer locales. I know that some are really just moving from place to place here, because they stay in the area. But most are on their way south.
I remember once when my daughter was about 6. We had just parked the car and I saw multiple V’s of geese flying overhead. I rolled down the windows to let in the sound of their honking and grinned at my daughter, wanting her to share in my excitement. “Hear that sound? Those are the geese flying over on their way south. They’re leaving for the winter.”
Instead of having a warm fuzzy moment with my daughter, I learned something about her character. Unbeknownst to me, she had a deep-set fear of change (she’s still not happy about it, but it’s better now). Rather than share in my enthusiasm, she began to cry, “I don’t want the geese to leave!” In seconds, she became inconsolable. She wanted me to bring them back. I tried my best to assure her they would be back in the spring, but nothing I said made any difference to her.
I can identify with that. This past year I’ve had become accustomed to a new way of living. After a lifetime of illness, I was diagnosed with CVID (If you want to know what that is, please read here). The diagnosis explained why I’d been sick so often (starting at 4 mos with tonsillitis). But, at the same time, it ushered in this new phase of change, of letting go, of slowing down (consuming fatigue as my body does it’s best to fight off germs the best it can), of learning to protect myself from illness (RUN!) and how open doors in public places without touching them.
As glad as I was to get the diagnosis, I’ve fought the idea of it. I wanted a cure-all treatment. Now that I knew what was broken, I wanted the doctors to fix it. Well, that’s not to be. I can be treated with SCIG (subcutaneous immunoglobulin via weekly home infusions for the rest of my life), but I can’t be ‘fixed’ medically. I might have to fight this fatigue for the rest of my life. I’ll always have to be careful of germy places (i.e the public). And the treatments are quite expensive (so much so no one really wants to tell you how much they cost). We thank the Lord for our insurance and His provision to pay for it when I start in January.
Anyway, I didn’t want to have a chronic illness. I didn’t want to have a disability. I wanted my life back. But, what I came around to is this is my life. We had to change dramatically when my son was diagnosed some time back with a-typical celiac and other food allergies, and here we go changing again. It’s disconcerting, uncomfortable, and it’s really not much fun. But, God’s helping me handle it. I listened to a sermon today that reminded me of a very important truth:
God doesn’t often change our circumstances, but He can change us through our circumstances. And He’s ALWAYS with us.
Change is an un-comfy thing. But, like my daughter, with the Lord’s help I’m getting better at it. And I’m so thankful for that the love of the Lord is unchanging, never faltering, and always sustaining.
Psalm 9:9-10 The LORD is a refuge for the oppressed, a stronghold in times of trouble. Those who know your name trust in you, for you, LORD, have never forsaken those who seek you. (Full text here.)
Psalm 46:1 God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. (Full text here.)
by April | Oct 9, 2011 | Short Stories, Writing
“Well, you can’t have it!” She screamed loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear.
Jimmy slammed the door in Macy’s face as she tried to follow him into the front yard of his mother’s house. He felt her eyes on him as he approached the aging swing hanging sideways off the old oak.
“Why does that old thing matter to you anyway? You were never here to use it.” She stood on the other side of the screen door as the accusing tone in her voice raked over him. Macy didn’t seem understand his penchant for keeping everything. Or at least his trying to. Did she forget how he’d owned nothing for years?
“I’m doing my best to clear out this house, and all you want to do is pack everything away.” Macy pushed open the door, stood on the steps and put her hands on her hips, a stance that told him he was on her last straw. Some things never changed.
Jimmy wiped his eyes and pretended to ignore her. He turned over the swing seat and saw the initials carved there. His finger followed their outline, bumping over rough, cracking wood. He glanced back at his wife.
“I don’t expect you to do anything. I just want it.” Taking out his pocket knife, he cut the single lasting rope that held it suspended over the ground for the past twenty years. Satisfied, he tucked it up under his arm, ignoring the splinters that poked through his shirt and into his flesh.
“Fine. You keep whatever you want. Go rent a truck and haul all that garbage out of here by Monday. Whatever’s left is being donated to the poor.” She pushed past him towards her car.
Jimmy grabbed her as she moved by, pulling her towards him. She swung around, wrenching her arm away. He put his hands up and took two steps back. “Listen, I appreciate your taking care of everything all this time, Macy.” She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I know you did a lot.” Her head snapped up, eyes blazing at him. That got her attention.
“I did it all.” The last word ground out past her teeth.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”
“That was your doing.” The bitterness in her tone didn’t shock him. The accusing looks didn’t either. He deserved her wrath.
“I know it was.” But, there was something he didn’t understand at all.
Glancing back at the old house, the only home he’d known really, he decided the question had waited long enough. “Why’d you stay married to me, Macy?” He didn’t look at her. Rather, he hoped she was already driving away in her car.
“We made a covenant.”
Jimmy closed his eyes at the pain he heard in her voice to avoid seeing it in her face. “I broke that, didn’t I?”
“No. You never did. Least ways, I don’t think you did.” She sounded strange. Regretful?
“I’ve been in jail for twenty years. That’s not enough to break it?”
“No.” Resentful.
“I robbed a bank and that man died because of it. That’s not enough?”
“No.” Macy’s voice was just above a whisper.
Jimmy moved away and sat down on the front step. He slipped the swing seat from under his arm, tracing the dedication. “Did they use it?” He heard her step closer, then stop.
“Yes.” Her voice choked. “They’d push each other and pretend you were pushing them.”
Pain. Clear and bright it tore through him. He’d missed his children’s growing years. He’d missed being married to the most amazing woman he’d ever known. He’d missed taking care of his mother in her aging years. Missed Christmases and birthdays. Flu’s and chicken pox. First days of school, first dances, first dates and first broken hearts. He’d missed his mother’s funeral. For what?
“There’s nothing I can do to set things right. God knows I tried.”
“God knows?”
He glanced up at her face, wondering at the tone she’d used.
“I think so. I talk to Him about it.” Jimmy shook his head in shame. “Those men I was with. They knew they had me. They found a stupid desperate kid who wanted nothing more than to take care of his wife and new twin babies. They promised him things, things deep down he knew they’d never deliver on. And that stupid boy agreed to drive their car for them.” He shook his head at the memory. Even now he could feel the fear and excitement that had welled inside. He’d gripped the wheel, ready to make their escape as soon as they climbed in the car. He’d gun the engine and they’d make off with everything he needed to take care of his family. No working sixty hours a week at a minimum wage job could give him that kind of security. Their bills would be paid in minutes. They’d be set for months until he could find another job. And then the next one.
He would have never stopped.
“I thank God the police caught me, Macy.” They hadn’t caught the others. He’d been honest at the trial, he didn’t know their names, didn’t know where they lived. There was a public outcry. Someone had to pay for that security guard getting shot. Jimmy paid.
“Did I hear you right?”
Tears welled as his eyes met hers. “Yes, you heard me.”
“You had to suffer for what those men did. You lost everything for them!”
How could he make her understand? “If the police hadn’t caught me, I’d have gone right on taking the easy way. The kids would have grown up with a father who was a criminal.”
“That is how they grew up.”
He shook his head. “No. They grew up with a father who paid for the crime he committed.”
“You didn’t commit that crime.” She sniffed. “Robbery. You should have been out in five. You paid for someone else’s crime.”
That was the rub. The very thing that opened his eyes to God. “I needed that time to turn my heart around. If I hadn’t got caught, who knows what kind of man I’d have become.”
She shook her head at him. She probably thought he was crazy. “You haven’t become any kind of man.”
Macy’s words cut him. She hadn’t let the kids come by more than once a year to see him. She blamed it on the prison atmosphere. She only came to see him three times a year, claiming it was too hard to see him in there. None of it was true. She was punishing him, over and over again for the mistake he’d made.
“Are you ever going to forgive me for being weak?”
“I don’t know that I can.” Tears streamed down her cheeks.
He glanced down at his hands, rubbing his thumbs over the seat. “You know why I made this?”
“I have no idea. But your mother insisted we put it up in the yard.”
“So part of me would be here.”
She tried to snort, but it ended in a sob.
“Sometimes it takes a man a long time to realize what’s important to him.” He held out a handkerchief to her. Taking it, she dabbed her eyes.
“You had to go to jail for twenty years to see what’s important?” Anguish laced her every word.
He shook his head, unable to make her understand. She would stay married to him forever, because of a vow she made before God. But, it’d be like they were strangers. He didn’t think she’d let him live in the same house with her. There was nothing he could do to change her mind.
His gaze traveled over the porch, stopping on a looped rope he’d intended to use to secure the boxes on the trailer they were pulling. Standing up, Jimmy grabbed the rope and headed towards the big oak in the front yard. He tossed the rope high, slung it over the branch, and then he did it again. Fall leaves rained down over his head, showering him with the dust of passing time. He secured the swing seat and patted it.
“Let me push you.”
Macy shook her head at him. Then her eyes went wide. He could see almost see the light turn on in her mind. She’d finally remembered.
“We used to swing together, in the park.” Her voice was just above a whisper.
“That’s right. You said you felt free when you were swinging; lifted up, the ground rushing by, but you were safe. You said you’d always want to swing with me. That you felt like nothing could touch you when I was pushing you. Invincible.”
Tears streamed as she clenched her eyes closed. “We were kids.”
“We were in love.” He patted the seat. “Let me push you.”
Macy crossed her arms over her chest. She shook her head at him.
“Please. Then you can go.”
Jimmy didn’t know if it was the word please or the promise he’d let her leave. Whatever it was, she gave in. Walking slowly towards the swing, she turned her back to him and slipped down onto the seat, the ropes creaking against her weight as she settled back. He put his hands over hers, gave them a squeeze and stepped back, pulling her on the swing with him. Then, he let go.
He pushed her, again and again, and watched her legs instinctively go out and back, pumping. He gave her a harder push. She let out a quick gasp and laughed. Ten years fell away.
“Not so high.”
“Swings are meant to go high. That’s the whole point,” he repeated the same words he’d used all those years ago. Fifteen more years stripped off. She was above him now, head tipped back, looking through the branches.
“What do you see?” He took a quick peek past the orange and yellow of the dying leaves.
“Blue sky.” Her voice came in a wisp to him as she swung away.
He smiled as joy met and mingled with bittersweet regret. They’d never be the same, but he’d always have this. He pushed her again, but he didn’t need to. She was on her own, pumping higher and higher, laughing now. Then, as if someone blew a whistle on the playground, she slowed her legs and came back to rest in front of him. He stood behind her, once again putting his hands over hers. She didn’t move away. Instead she leaned back, her head coming to rest against his chest.
“I missed you.”
“Me, too.” This was it. Goodbye. He braced himself for the pain he knew was coming.
Macy stood and stretched in front of the swing. Her hair was mussed and interwoven with tiny bits of leaf and moss. She ruffled her hair, shaking out the lose pieces and gave him an embarrassed smile. Then she came around behind him whispering in his ear, sending a shiver of hope down his side. “Your turn.”
Holding his breath, Jimmy met her eyes and found warmth there.
“You going to get on, or what?”
He nodded and squeezed his body in between the ropes. Again, they groaned. He put his feet up, feeling like a little boy. He felt her hands wrap over his.
“Ready?”
“I’m set.”
Her hands pulled him back, and then she gave him a heaving push. He was much bigger than she was, but she got the job done. He began pumping his legs back and forth. Laughter bubbled up from his chest. The ground swung away and back, his stomach pulling down with gravity at each pass. Her hands pushed, her voice laughed and then he heard a thud. Turning behind him he saw Macy sprawled along the ground, shaking. He jumped from the swing, out of instinct. Landing hard, he felt his ankle give a bit. He’d pay for that tomorrow.
Racing to her side, he saw her shuddering was from laughter. He knelt down and began pulling bits of earth and tree from her hair and clothes.
“Are you okay?”
“I tripped over the root.” She kept laughing, drawing him in to share her joy with him. As their smiles faded, she focused on the sky above. “Thank you for the swing.”
“I’m glad you liked it.”
Macy’s locked her eyes on his. “We need to take it with us. I want you to put it up in the back yard.”
“For the grandkids?” A hopeful confusion washed over him.
“For us.” She took his hand. “For us.”
Copyright by April McGowan 2011
by April | Sep 20, 2011 | Chronic Illness, Encouragement, Expectations, Immune Deficiency
Do you ever have one of those days where you wake from a deep sleep, which should have been restful, but the dreams you had erode that restfulness away? I had one of those last night. Slept hard and long, but awoke with the strangest trepidation.
In a nutshell, my dream brought up feelings I didn’t know I was having. In my dream there was a person who could do it all—and I mean all : work, take care of a home (spotless), cook entirely from scratch (grew wheat to make her own flour then proceeded to grind it and make pasta—as we are gluten free, I wasn’t as jealous of this one), taught her children, made an extra income by buying up goods for cheap and selling them at a garage sale for a profit of $890 (my dreams are always very detailed, even now I have an itemized list of the things she was selling rolling about in my memory)….I think the only thing this figure was lacking was a cape and tight pants. Speaking of tight pants, she also had a killer figure. Anyway, when I woke up and realized I couldn’t do even a portion of what she got accomplished I began to feel like…less.
I think that we all feel the need to do it all. Hopefully we acknowledge we really can’t and let stuff go. But, sometimes those ideas sneak into our heads when we aren’t looking. When we’re tired, ill, or overwhelmed from stress it becomes much too clear we are at our end and aren’t living up to our own expectations. Hmm…there’s that word again (see previous posts).
I think I’ve struggled my whole life to feel like a person of value. I mean, you can know it on paper, but there’s a nagging voice that says, “Do you really believe it?” As I adjust to this life of chronic illness, I’m looking more and more to the Lord for His value of my life, rather than my own. But, in times of exhaustion, relapse, what have you, those voices start wheedling in, stealing my joy—making me nothing.
So, on that note, I’ve got a few Bible verses I’ve looked up to combat the lies. Because, that’s what they are, out and out lies. No matter what condition I am in, I’m of value to the Lord. If I can’t get my house cleaned, He still loves me. If I don’t finish a lesson of math with my kids, I’m still under His grace. If I never feel entirely well again in this life—He’s got my back. He’s got me. Thank God, He’s got me.
The following is from one of my favorite Psalms. Read the whole thing in context here.
Psalm 139: 13-18 For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place, when I was woven together in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be. How precious to me are your thoughts, God! How vast is the sum of them! Were I to count them, they would outnumber the grains of sand— when I awake, I am still with you.
When I am awake, I’m still with you. AMEN.
1 John 9-10 This is how God showed his love among us: He sent his one and only Son into the world that we might live through him. This is love: not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins. (Full text here)
Romans 5: 6-8 You see, at just the right time, when we were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly. Very rarely will anyone die for a righteous person, though for a good person someone might possibly dare to die. But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us. (Full text here)
I hope today that you feel the sacrificial love of Christ wrapped around you and you are insulated from the voices of nothing by the love of Him who saves.
by April | Sep 6, 2011 | Chronic Illness, Encouragement, Expectations, Food Allergies, homeschooling, Thankfulness, Uncategorized
Right now, uppermost in my mind, is the beginning of our school year. We homeschool our children—have from the very beginning, and intend to go all the way through high school.
People not familiar with homeschooling usually ask me what the benefits are of schooling at home. First and foremost, it’s created a bond in our family that I don’t think we’d otherwise have. It’s also allowed my children to not only learn about our faith, but see it lived out in our daily lives. God’s definitely not just for Sundays around here. They also have opportunities to try out many different areas of focus—where as the public school system just can’t afford the staff to do that. We hold a belief that God grants each of us a gift—and that gift is to be used to bring Him glory (rather than ourselves). We are blessed to see their gifts growing and encourage them in their use. My son is on his way to being a building or robotic engineer, and my daughter has a passion for drawing and working with children. I don’t know how the Lord will use these gifts, but I do know that if my children are looking to Him, He will.
Every year we begin and I think to myself, “This year is going to be normal.” By that I mean things will go according to schedule with no hic-ups. I don’t know why I think this every year—it has never gone the way I expected. Ever. The first year we formally home-schooled I was pregnant with my second child and, unlike many other lucky mom’s out there (but I’m not bitter), I spent 9 months throwing up about 9 times a day. It’s rather hard to teach like that. Then the next year, we had an infant—this posed some problems. The next year, that infant was a toddler—more issues! Then my health started to go awry. Then my son’s health began to challenge us. That’s been a pattern for the past several years, really. Some how though, through all of this, my daughter, and then my son, learned to read, write, spell, study the Bible, history, science, grammar, vocabulary, robotics, art, and math (these are not listed in order of importance).
There’s a well used verse in Christian circles: Proverbs 22:6 Start children off on the way they should go, and even when they are old they will not turn from it.
These past nine years have held some important lessons for us all. I think all our food allergies and health challenges have brought the idea of God’s providence clearly into view for my children. They are learning from a young age that God is directly involved in all aspects of our lives–and we can and do rely heavily on Him for our day to day strength. God’s word is active and alive in our lives, not just stories printed in a book. Most importantly, prayer isn’t something to do when you are caught in a jam, but an ongoing conversation with our heavenly Father.
SO, what’s this year going to look like? Is it going to be normal? After 9 years of doing this, I think the answer is unequivocally ‘no.’ However, this year, as I learn to put my health in the Lord’s hands, I’m turning over every other aspect in my life to Him as well. What are my expectations of our school year going to be? We’ll be putting one foot in front of the other as we all keep our eyes on Him.
It’s times like now that I’m glad I write. I can put my memories, my feelings on paper, and that gives me a bit of relief. And today, I need that relief–we had to euthanize our kitty. He’d suffered from illness for most of his life, and lived quite a long time for a kitty with feline Leukemia, although he went downhill quite fast this past weekend. He was 4 1/2 years of age.
across our path. We were dismayed that no one claimed the little guy. After two weeks of advertising, we realized he’d been dumped and decided to keep him. He immediately ingratiated himself to our family through cuddles, goofiness and fun.
Jack hated things out of place, letting us know how unhappy it made him to have a sock left laying around. He had a great fear of slippers (even doll slippers). My kids would position slippers around the house to keep him from places he shouldn’t be, away from toys they didn’t want him getting hold of. He had a passion for pipe cleaners (the kids use them for art projects), and could some how sniff them out no matter how well we hid them. He loved drinking from the faucet of the tub. He would chase plastic Easter eggs around the house (only the green ones). He scampered about after tiny Lego blocks up and down the wood floors at 2AM (groan!). He enjoyed hiding under things and racing out to grab our toes. His favorite perch was on top of the entertainment center—I think he was keeping an eye on his pride (I fancy he believed himself to be a tiger). Wherever there was activity, there was Jack—sitting on our school books, climbing into grocery bags, sleeping in game box lids.
It’s hard to say what I’ll miss the most. Jack would often sit on a small chair in the kitchen and watch me cook. I got in the habit of telling him what I was doing. He seemed so curious and interested—much like the kids when they were younger. I’m sure if he had thumbs, he would have been quite the chef. After watching me for a bit, he would flop down and press his feet to ours, a sign of submission and love. And then, every night, at about ten, he’d climb onto my lap and purr himself into a pre-bedtime nap. He was my therapy cat. A constant companion. My cozy friend. I’m so glad God chose him for us, and I feel so privileged to have had him in my life. I’ll miss him so.
