L O V E

"If you are not too long, I will wait here for you all my life."

Oscar Wilde

Dear Darling, Happy Valentine's Day.  It has been three years and two months since I have kissed you.  I miss you, Babe.  I dream of you often.  As the years have passed~ Spring, Summer, Autumn and Winter continue to flow as scheduled.  The children are growing, fine young people.  Our home, still safe and comforting.  The river so surreal, a beautiful gift everyday.  Sunrise and sunsets, with birds flying and making sounds.  The fish jumping upon waves of diamonds.  Clouds, kissed by light, whisper and beckon .  

The Stars, though, as beautiful as they are, To me, do not shine as brightly.  However, the Moon, is as mystical and glowing~ as ever before.  Blooming and ever-changing, like a Rose.  

I could go on and on.  Words really can't explain the transformations that occur moment by moment in the daily life.  For You, words do not have to.  You penetrate my heart, existing in all that my senses allow. ~~~Breathing~~~

“There is a time for departure, even when there is no certain place to go.” 

Tennessee William

****Hello, this is Breathing, I just wanted to Thank You for all the support you have given to Pulmonary Fibrosis, as well as me.  My 'counter' indicates 13,208 people have come to my blog, from many different countries.  I hope our family's experience has helped to raise awareness.  I do know this blog has helped me through such a difficult time.  I have shared with you our experience and have never held back, because most of this I typed in 'real-time'.  Now, I have transformed a bit since my husband's passing.  Not too much, but just enough to somehow realize that I have many thoughts that are better realized in my own time.  I will not post as much here, but anything that seems newsworthy to our cause will not be ignored.  Thank You my beautiful friends.  You show support just by coming here and reading this:

The word "pulmonary" means “lung” and the word "fibrosis" means scar tissue – similar to scars that you may have on your skin from an old injury or surgery. So, in its simplest sense, pulmonary fibrosis (PF) means scarring in the lungs. But, pulmonary fibrosis is more serious than just having a scar in your lung. In PF, the scar tissue builds up in the walls of the air sacs of the lungs, and eventually the scar tissue makes it hard for oxygen to get into your blood. Low oxygen levels (and the stiff scar tissue itself) can cause you to feel short of breath, particularly when walking and exercising.

Also, pulmonary fibrosis isn’t just one disease. It is a family of more than 200 different lung diseases that all look very much alike (see “Causes and Symptoms” below). The PF family of lung diseases falls into an even larger group of diseases called the “interstitial lung diseases.” Some interstitial lung diseases don't include scar tissue. When an interstitial lung disease includes scar tissue in the lung, we call it pulmonary fibrosis.

The most common symptoms of PF are cough and shortness of breath. Symptoms may be mild or even absent early in the disease process. As the lungs develop more scar tissue, symptoms worsen. Shortness of breath initially occurs with exercise, but as the disease progresses patients may become breathless while taking part in everyday activities, such as showering, getting dressed, speaking on the phone, or even eating.

Due to a lack of oxygen in the blood, some people with idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis may also have “clubbing” of the fingertips. Clubbing is a thickening of the flesh under the fingernails, causing the nails to curve downward. It is not specific to IPF and occurs in other diseases of the lungs, heart, and liver, and can also be present at birth.

Other common symptoms of pulmonary fibrosis include:

• Chronic dry, hacking cough
• Fatigue and weakness
• Discomfort in the chest
• Loss of appetite
• Unexplained weight loss

The Pulmonary Fibrosis Foundation is here to help you understand what it means to have pulmonary fibrosis. You can always reach us through our Patient Communication Center at 844.Talk.PFF or by email at pcc@pulmonaryfibrosis.org.

~~~~For my Baby, On Valentine's Day~~~~

"FIELDS OF GOLD"

You'll remember me when the west wind moves
Upon the fields of barley
You'll forget the sun in his jealous sky
As we walk in fields of gold

So she took her love
For to gaze awhile
Upon the fields of barley
In his arms she fell as her hair came down
Among the fields of gold

Will you stay with me, will you be my love
Among the fields of barley
We'll forget the sun in his jealous sky
As we lie in fields of gold

See the west wind move like a lover so
Upon the fields of barley
Feel her body rise when you kiss her mouth
Among the fields of gold
I never made promises lightly
And there have been some that I've broken
But I swear in the days still left
We'll walk in fields of gold
We'll walk in fields of gold

Many years have passed since those summer days
Among the fields of barley
See the children run as the sun goes down
Among the fields of gold
You'll remember me when the west wind moves
Upon the fields of barley
You can tell the sun in his jealous sky
When we walked in fields of gold
When we walked in fields of gold
When we walked in fields of gold

My Forever Mother's Day Gift ~Pam Brewer

I was actually listening to the radio while working today for the first time since you left, Rick. I heard Trace Adkins singing, You're Gonna Miss This....it is so, so true. So, for Mother's Day, I want to just remind everybody that these times of busy~ness with your kids that just seems so hectic...it will very soon pass to never be again. 

The times you are going to events with your children or grandchildren...or, running around to events with your spouse that seem so "busy"....they will be gone forever in the blink of an eye.....looking back, if I had it to do over, I wouldn't be so worried about the next work day and make sure I went to more softball games my daughter was in....or not had "work" on my mind when attending a baseball game one of my boys was in......they literally seem gone over night to me now.....Sitting in the stands as a mother with Rick and watching....going to their plays or to their concerts.....over now.....and Rick not even here to share this feeling now with me. 

My parents, that were the best any one could have ever had..."my" mother....gone now too (and my father)....Please, remember....take..in...these moments!!!! They will be gone and not be able to be re-lived!!! I do have the memories....I cherish the times my Mom and Dad and brothers families and Rick and I and our kids, shared at the "river"...we didn't do anything special....we were together...joking around...visiting...living life..playing games...together......those are what NOBODY can take away from me....and nothing can replace! That, is my forever Mother's Day gift!

~Written By Pam Brewer

**Dear Pam, Thank You for allowing me to post your beautiful words that perfectly express the love that lives in a Mother's heart.  May your day be blessed and Happy Mother's Day to all!  ~Breathing

My Forever Valentine~ Written by Pam Brewer

This is my first Valentines Day without my Rick. He always gave me such meaningful cards...flowers...and always came up with special arrangements or colors of "our" special meaning roses...jewelry, etc. But, the absolute most important thing he has given me ever since I started dating him before we married, was something he probably never knew. You see throughout the years, when I'd travel either for business or family...all the times I went to North Carolina to see my parents, sometimes by myself in the 11 or so years they went there, or was gone all day on appointments, etc.....you see what I mean....I'd think, "oh, I'm lonely or I'm doing these things "alone"....well, I now know, I was never, never alone....he was truly always with me and a part of me....I was, never, alone!

 He gave me the greatest gift any one could ever begin to give another person! The "being together"...a part of another person...If I was anxious to get home during the day, it was because of him. If I saw something trivial that made me smile, I didn't even realize till now, it was because I could share it with him. If we sat all evening and just once in awhile reached over and grabbed each others hands, or smiled at each other, I was so full and enjoyed that because of him.....in all these years...no matter where I literally was on this earth, I never knew what being alone was ....because of him......Now, I "do" know what being alone is.....I can't go there....no words....every single thing now, is "alone"...even if I'm in a big crowd.....every little nuance or joy has changed...

So, if you don't get the box of chocolates, or can't afford to go out to eat at that special restaurant, "if" you have that special person...you have THEE greatest gift of all....you are NOT ALONE!!!! Thank you Rick Brewer for making it so that I knew not one moment, from 1968 till Oct. 21, 2013, of being ..."alone".......I had "you"!!!!! I LOVE YOU, MY FOREVER VALENTINE!!!!

**Thank You, Pam, for sharing your heart with us on this Valentine's Day!  My heart, filled with love, goes out to you.  ~Breathing

First Cut Is The Deepest

I was sitting in the car with a song on the radio.  Rod Stewart's, First Cut Is The Deepest.  The lyrics and guitar just sang into my heart as I drove along the highway.  Empty banks of snow glowed along each side of the road and blue mountains glimmered against the sun.  Passing the big rigs, I adjusted my glasses.  I was in the moment and for sure, it would not be right if anyone noticed tears streaming down my face.  Ahhhhh, I miss my husband so much.  I really can't explain or put into words my feelings, even in that moment.  I missed him doing the driving.  Me, sitting in the passanger side, and always my hand on his leg, or his on mine.  I know he would be wearing his blue jeans.  Tiny, blonde hairs glimmering on his wrist and arms as he handles the steering wheel.  I could almost see him turn to me and smile.  An open mouthed smile, the kind one does when they have no self-consciousness.  He had a very tiny, little over-bite.  Only noticable, when he tilted his head back and smiled this way.  I loved it and always wanted to grab his face and kiss it.  He would be wearing his little round glasses while driving and that, too, drove me crazy.  I was crazy about him.  

As I drive down the road thinking of these things, I am still crazy about him.  I look around.  To the snow banks and rolling hills, as if I could see him or find him there.  But, I can only feel him in my heart and this drives me more crazy.  It feels good though.  To be alone in the car and able to let my feelings out.  I still wish he was sitting next to me.  I listen to the words of the song....

"I would have given you all of my heart

But there's someone who’s torn it apart

And she's taken just all that I had

But if you want I'll try to love again

Baby I'll try to love again but I know

The first cut is the deepest

Baby I know the first cut is the deepest

But when it come to being lucky she's cursed

When it come to loving me she's the worst

I still want you by my side

Just to help me dry the tears that I’ve cried

And I’m sure going to give you a try

And if you want I'll try to love again

Baby I'll try to love again but I know....."

I realized what I already knew.  That love is complicated.  My husband felt the way of this song when he met me.  His heart had been broken by his first, true love.  He was grieving over the end of that relationship when he met me.  He still wanted me by his side, and if I wanted, he would try to love again.  We were together many years and created a life.  He was my one and only.  I was and am still, head over heels for him. Sometimes I wonder if, when he tried to love again, did he?  But, then I see him smiling at me, in his blue-jeans......

~~First Cut Is The Deepest~~  Credits:  Songwriters: GERMAIN, BRAD / KNICKLE, ADAM / TWEEDLE, RYAN / SHIELDS, SCOTT

(cat stevens)

Get Over "It"

Soon it will be coming up on the two-year anniversary that my husband passed away.  Recently, a person told me that I should 'Get Over It' and to move on with my life.  The person also indicated that, we all lose people and I should not allow memories to control my actions.  

As a widow, I have heard that this type of thing happens.  Friends or family indicating their opinions of how long grief should last.  It had not happened to me directly within the last two years and I considered myself lucky.  But now, there it was, somebody said it.  How did I respond to that person?  I didn't respond to them at all.  After all, when I look into the mirror, I see my own eyes everyday and I know myself better than anyone else could.  

How did I feel about what was said?  Well, that part was what surprised me.  I actually felt a twinge of anger throughout the day.  What should "moving on" look like?  Is there a standard of moving on that I am unaware of?  I thought of all the things that I did after my husband's funeral.  
I continued to work full time.  I made improvements to the much ignored house.  I made friends.  I gave my children things to smile about and to continue to work towards.  I strengthened my relationship with my children and let them know that everything will be okay, that I am still here for them.  We went on family trips, to the ocean, to the mountains.  I continued to be creative and did things with my hands that make me happy.  I write and maintain a blog to help raise awareness for Pulmonary Fibrosis.  I realized that I need to care for myself and started to exercise and eat a bit better.  I contemplate what direction my life will go and explore the things that interest me.  I planted a garden.  I read books.  I swam in the river.  I hugged, smiled, and laughed.  Yes, I still keep my loved one's memory alive.  Hmmmm.... not bad for less than two years of losing a spouse, in my opinion.  What was making me angry?  Perhaps the feeling that I needed to defend and itemize my accomplishments toward growth.  Sorry, if it seems like I am not advancing fast enough for you.

I am not one who enjoys feeling anger, I reached out to a friend to see what her standpoint was.  As a matter of fact, she is Annie, my co-host on Breathing's Face Book page.  She, too, lost a loved one to Pulmonary Fibrosis.  She also experienced similar input from a friend, to just Get Over 'It.'  Annie indicated that 'it' is her lovely mother.  'It' is my beloved husband.  'It' was a father, a brother, a son, a friend.  'It' is not an it, It is a person.  A person that we care for and love.  She is right.  

As for not allowing memories to control my actions, that is true if the actions are negative and destructive. What if the actions are of kindness or advocacy?  If we do not allow our memories to shape us or control our actions how is it that we ever learn and grow?  I am glad I am not the person I was at 14.  I am glad I am not the person I was at 24 or 34.  This is because I experienced things that allowed me to reflect, learn and grow.  It is my belief that certain things happen to all of us that cause a struggle or a look within.  This is what life is!  There is a beauty in life because of these experiences.  Love, grief, happiness, mistakes, and success do become part of our memories for a purpose.  So that we can evolve in our thinking.  These are our own personal life's experiences that began from the moment we were born and shape us into the unique beings that we are.  To turn my back on the life's events that shape me would be turning my back on myself.  

   

I Think About You

                                                         

I Think About You,

About the way your hair felt running through my fingers,

Your Heart, 

 I laid my head on your chest,

I think about You,

Holding your hand,

The Blue of your eyes,

Sound of your Voice,

I think about You,

And talk to You aloud,

All of our Smiles,

Feeling You with me,

Things we still do,

I Think About You.

Never Throw Diamonds

The morning after my first date with my husband, I was on the phone with my sister.  Girl talk. 

"I can't believe I kissed him!  No, it was only one kiss.  Yes, I know he is practically a stranger, I barely know him.  You know I never do that!  I don't know what happened.  He's not even my type, he is like a cowboy or something....  All of a sudden, he just leaned over and we kissed!  It was a good kiss.  I haven't kissed in a year!  ((giggles))  No, I doubt he will call, it was probably a one time thing, hang on for a sec okay?  There is someone at the door......."  

"Sis?  Oh my God!  You will never believe who was at the door!  Someone delivering roses!  Hang on, let me read the card... It's from him, it says 'Thank You for spending time with me, Love, ~R."  "Yes, they are red!! There is one daisy in the center, they are beautiful!  But, the card said 'Love'.  Uh Oh, it was only one date and one kiss and the card says 'Love'.  No, I don't think he is a stalker!  I hope not.  I'll call you back!"

That was the beginning of all the roses.  He wasn't a stalker, but he did stalk me with a dozen roses every single week for a year.  We went out on several dates, sometimes we went on motorcycle rides, and that one time- I will never forget, when we got brave enough to karaoke for the first time.  I brought my purse up to the stage so we could dash out the door when the song was over.  We sang Leather and Lace. 

I was very reserved about us.  Since I had very small children, I made up a rule that he could not meet my children until we had dated for six-months.  I figured that was good time to get to know someone.  By our third-month together, he told me he loved me.  I never said it back.  Around Christmas time, it was our six-month mark in our relationship and I had fallen deeply in love with him.  That was when I had told him this.  We were right beside the Christmas tree and I gave him his gift.  It was a homemade present.  A picture and a frame.  He handed me my box and I shook it and it sounded like jewelry.  I opened the box and it was a lovely pearl necklace and earring set.  My eyes got all watery and I was so happy for this present.  Every girl loves to get jewelry from a man they love.  It's not so much the jewels as it is the thought behind it.  He laughed at me and I couldn't understand why, until he gave me a separate box, very exquisitely wrapped.  I slowly opened it and this time, I saw a diamond necklace and earrings.  This was a very serious present. I treasured the necklace and always wore it.

As the months passed, the roses kept coming.  I kept wearing my necklace.  I found myself unable to imagine this person not being in my life.  I wanted a future with him.  He met the children, and I met his.  We did everything together.  One day, in Spring, he suddenly told me that he was just going to move on.  We didn't even have a fight, he just told me it was over.  I felt so played by him.  This whole time, I was the reserved one.  I kept it slow.  What did I do?  I got very, very, mad.  Even more mad as I watched him getting into his truck.  I grabbed my jewelry box from Christmas.  The one with the diamond necklace and earrings, opened my window and threw the box out toward his leaving truck.  Then, I went to bed and cried into my pillow.  The end?

A few weeks passed, and I have to say, from all the times I thought I was in love with someone, I never dreamt about them every night.  But, I did with him.  Every single night I dreamt of him.  His best friend was my neighbor, and when we talked he said the only thing he could think of is that he got "cold feet".  After all, he was about 10 years older than me and was divorced from a twenty-year marriage.  Maybe, he just did not want to try again at this point in his life... I contemplated this.  If it was not meant to be, then it's not meant to be.  I felt regret for the box I threw out the window.  I still loved him and he still touched my life, I wished I still had something of his.  At the risk of looking like a crazy lady, I went to  all of my neighbor's homes asking if they happened to find a box of diamonds in the road.  No one had found it.  I even ran an add in the paper with a reward.  But nothing.

One day, I stepped outside to check my mail and saw his truck parked at my neighbors house.  How dare he even drive onto my street!  I then saw that he was in his truck and he pulled into my driveway.  He asked me to get in.  I remember it was sprinkling rain.  My heart was loud in my chest and I hoped he couldn't hear it.  He talked to me, he told me his fears.  He told me he was scared.  I watched the rain drops run down the window as he talked.  Then, he told me, "Happy Valentine's Day."  He handed me a box.  I unwrapped it and it was a beautiful rose-wood box.  So pretty.  I cried because the box was beautiful.  He laughed and said the box was not the present and to open it.  I opened the box and there was the earrings and necklace I had thrown into the road.  He explained that they are not the originals.  He had heard what I had done and went back to the jeweler.  They did not carry my necklace and earrings anymore.  He had them recreate an exact duplicate.  Who does that?  My man did. 

If you read my blog, many of our personal stories sound as though our Love was perfect.  I really wanted to write this to let you know that our love was not always perfect.  We had a lot of passion and with that comes ups and downs.  We grew together.  I always wondered who ended up with my original set.  It was a good lesson for me to learn as there were many times in our marriage that he upset me.  But, I never, ever, threw something from his heart away. No, our love was not perfect, but I can say, it was real. 

xoxo

Sheba the Christmas Shepherd

I used to clean my neighbors home.  I was new to the area and wanted something to do outside of my own home.  My neighbor, a beautiful woman, worked very hard at her job and had little time for cleaning.  She had a cleaning lady although one day was talking about the areas she wished could be improved.  I offered to clean her home.  I really liked it, as I would walk over in my slippers, unlock her door, put on my IPOD to some rock-n-roll and just clean.  To me, it was like I was getting paid for a fun workout!

One day, in the winter, I was jamming away, dancing around and cleaning when it was time to clean the exterior of her sliding glass doors.  I went outside.  It was a cold, cold day, but sunny.  I wondered if the Windex would freeze right when it was sprayed on the window.  I had taken off my IPOD and I heard a sad wailing.  I could tell it was an animal and it sounded hurt.  The sound seemed to come from the river. 

Each winter, when the temperatures drop, the top of the river freezes over.  The water still flows beneath the river, although the top forms an icy crust.  I walked across her back yard and stared.  Sure enough there was an animal walking and crying in the center of the river.  I went down to the dock and started making kissing sounds, calling to the animal.  The animal started walking toward the dock.  Once the animal was about 30 feet from the dock, I could tell it was some sort of dog.  But, it looked strange.  In the distance I could see it's face did not look normal, and it must have been just a pup.  I kept calling and calling but the animal seemed frightened and stayed on the ice.  I went inside and called animal control. 

A few minutes later a Sheriff arrived, as in our small town, animal control is the Sheriff.  He came in and walked out onto the porch with me.  I explained the situation and we caught sight of the pup whimpering and wailing walking along the center of the river.  It was a scary situation, because the ice was not solid and there were little melting puddles within the ice that was very thin.  The animal could have fallen through and I was beside myself.  The Sheriff indicated that there was nothing that could be done, as the dog started running up the center of the river and it was too dangerous.  No human would consider doing such a foolish thing, going out onto the ice, they would surely fall through.  I thanked the Sheriff as he left and continued to clean, the whole time listening for the poor pup.

At the end of my shift, I poked my head out of her sliding glass door, to hear another neighbor calling to it.  I walked down to the dock again, this time to see a neighbor downstream, kneeling at his dock holding out a hot-dog.  The pup was back and crying on the ice, walking slowly in but  stopping about 20 feet away from the dock.  Then it started running up towards my direction and ran past me on the ice.  This time, I had a chance to see it closer and realized it was a German Shepherd puppy.  It's eyes where white, because it was blind.  A blind dog, stranded on the ice.  My heart just tugged, but still there seemed nothing we could do.  I went back to my house.

For two days all of us who lived on the river, listened to the poor baby crying on the ice.  We all talked on the phone, we all left food out on the docks, we all called to it.  It seemed like a helpless situation, and it caused us much anxiety to hear the wailing in the middle of the night, knowing this pup was on its second day there, with no food and bone chilling temperatures.

My hubby had been on the road for work.  But, he spent time on the phone with me as I told him about this dog and how heartbreaking the cries in the night were.  On Christmas Eve, my husband was due back home.  Once he arrived, he asked have I heard any news on the dog?  I shook my head 'no' as the last time I heard it, was the night before.  I was sure the dog had perished.  Just as I said this, we both heard a wail.  I jumped up and said that is the dog!  Next thing I know, my hubby was out the back door.  I ran to the porch after him.  Yelling for him not to do anything crazy and to be careful.  He disappeared through the archway which lead to the river.  I stayed on the porch completely frightened for him.  Time began to pass and I heard nothing.  Not my hubby or the dog was making a sound.  When suddenly, in the darkness of the sunset, my husband's silhouette appeared beneath the archway, with a bundle in his arms.  My heart leapt!  He carried into the house the dog who now had now been on the ice for three days. 

The dog, we called her Sheba, was a puppy of 6 months.  She was completely blind.  Around her neck was a nylon cord that had been broken or chewed.  Her nose was hot and she was barely hanging onto life.  We fed her milk and water through a dropper.  We kept her warm.  We took care of her until a vet was willing to see her a couple days later.  They put her on an IV and was not sure if she would make it.  She had an infection from the cold temperatures.  But, Sheba pulled through within the week.  We knew we couldn't keep her there on the river, so we were going to take her to an animal sanctuary in another state.  Before we had the chance, the vet found a wonderful home for her up in the hills.  A home where they raised German Shepherds, with acres for them to run, all fenced off.  It was like a dream.  On every Christmas Eve, I think about Sheba, and of course my hero, my hubby.

Photo 1 via

The Red Tree

Every year, on the day after Thanksgiving, my hubby would climb into the rafters to pull down all our boxes of Christmas decorations.  This year it was two days after Thanksgiving that I climbed into the attic to fetch the boxes. 

"Not bad."  I thought to myself, somewhat proud that it was only a day off from what was our annual tradition.

One by one, I pulled down the boxes which were labelled with permanent marker in my husbands handwriting, "Christmas". 

Once all the boxes were brought down, I realized that I didn't need the smaller white tree that I had set up in our bedroom the previous year.  I had the tree in our room, so that my husband could experience Christmas from the bed.  The thought of having the tree in the room reminded me of all the nights, that we said 'goodnight' to each other and I would roll over and stare at the lights of the tree with silent tears rolling down my face. 

I mentioned to my youngest that maybe they could put the small tree elsewhere in the house, and he said, "No, Mom, that tree goes in your room."

"Honey, we just did that last year but it's not tradition or anything."  I replied.

"Yes, it is Mom", He argued, "It's our new tradition." 

"Okay, sounds good.  We will put the little tree in my room." 

Looking through more of the boxes, "Oh, look!  Your Choo-Choo train!"  I exclaimed.

This was the train that we set up around the main tree ever since my little-one was 4 years old.  Every year the sound of "All aboard!" and the train's whistle filled the house. 

"Oh, I don't think we need to set that up this year, Mom."  My child says.

"Are you sure, Honey?

"Yeah, let's just keep it simple."  He replied. 

"Alrighty." 

Then, I open the big box.  The one with the big, white tree that goes in our main room.  I am so excited.  I love how the tree glows, so bright and pretty.  I begin to pull the tree out of the box when I see that large portions of it had become discolored and yellow.  All these years, we have stored the tree in the same manner, and it has always remained pristine.  Why now?  I wonder to myself. 

I tell myself that it has a sweet, aged appearance, it's like an antique effect.  I proceed to set up the tree.  As I arrange each branch negative thoughts begin in my head.... 

"Why bother?  You know you feel sad.  Nothing will ever be the same without him here, not even the tree.  The glorious tree.  It's all gone now.  Who even cares?"

My thoughts run away with me as I put each ornament on the tree.   

"Do it for the kids.  But, where are they now?  Oh, yeah, playing video games, while Mom decorates the tree all by herself.  Well, you better get used to it, after they leave you will really be alone probably too achy to get up into the rafters at all!  Then what are you gonna do?  Your a real piece of work thinking like this.  Isn't this suppose to be about the wonderful gift of Christmas?  So much for that!"

"Whoa, Mom!  The tree looks great!"  says my oldest, coming up the stairs.

"Yeah, great, if you like 'the dog-peed-on-it look'."  I said flatly.

Finally, I plugged it in and all the lights twinkled and it glowed again.  The next morning, I walked by the tree.  Only noticing the yellow stains.  This doesn't look antique at all.  It looks horrible.  Maybe I should just go buy another tree.  But, I don't want to.  This was 'our' tree.  Here come those thoughts again....

"The tree doesn't look bad with its lights on.  Whenever visitors come, just turn on the lights.  You should be happy, you should be grateful.  Stop being so superficial.  It's just a white tree with enormous yellow stains.  But, I don't like it.  What are you going to do, be bothered by it all season?  Do something if you don't like it.  I miss my hubby."

Then it came to me.  One-by-one I took each decoration off of the tree.  I ran down into the garage, my feet cold on the bare floor, searching through my husband's shelves of this and that.  Until I found it!  A can of red spray paint.  Shaking the can and hearing the ball bearing rattle against the edges,

I thought, "Oh yeah!  I'm gonna do it.'

I placed the tree, in all of its yellow and white glory onto the balcony, still shaking the can of spray paint, more thoughts ran through my head...

"If he was here, he would not like this at all.  Maybe you should test the wind direction. You're probably going to get paint on the deck." 

I began to spray and immediately the tree started to look better to me.  I kept going, like a frantic artist on a masterpiece, like a street graffiti artist tagging in the subway.  It felt good, really good.  I could almost feel my hubby saying, "You go girl!  Do what you gotta do!"

Not sure how many people can say they spray painted the Christmas tree.  In the end, not one drop got on the deck.  I walk by the tree now and think it looks "different" which is fine with me.  Maybe next year I will get a new tree, or just buy a can of gold spray paint...  Good, bad, or ugly, I realize that I was marking the moment of new traditions yet to come.

xoxo

On This Day, Last Year: Details from 11-03-2011

With my husband in the end stages of Pulmonary Fibrosis, I tend to write about the emotional side of things and often gloss over the physical parts of dealing with this illness.  Many people who suffer from this disease have different courses of treatments to try and experience a wide range of issues.

For my husband, he was diagnosed just a little over a year ago and during this time last year, he was able to rake the leaves on the lawn and was still embarrassed about using his oxygen in stores or public places.  He was on 2 liters of oxygen back then. 

At that time, he was the first one up in the morning to bring me my coffee and throughout the day created his own schedule of getting cleaned up for the day as well as helping out with dishes or watering plants on the balcony.

As time progressed and we received more assistance from in-home care, he no longer prepared his breakfast or lunch as to reserve his energy.  He also took physical therapy and learned exercises in order to retain his lung function.

Slowly, the level of oxygen he needed increased.  He would sleep on 4 liters and go up to five, while awake. 

Then, about a month ago his SAT's seemed a bit lower and we had to go to 8 liters during the day and 6 at night.  Pretty soon, anything that had to do with movement took great effort from him.  Such as washing his own hair.  So, I pitched in to help him with this. 

About two weeks ago, he needed a bit of assistance getting to the bathroom.  Someone to hold his arm as he walked there. 

As of last week, at 100 pounds, my husband was carried to the bathroom for his last "real" bath and since then, he cannot leave the bed. 

What is it like to be in end stage Pulmonary Fibrosis? 

At this time, he is on 12 liters of oxygen at rest.  Things like sitting up or moving his arms cause his SAT's to drop down into the 50's.  It takes additional oxygen through the mouth to get them to slowly climb back up.  He no longer craves big, juicy steaks and now sticks with small portions of nourishment that are bland and easy to digest.  Eating also causes his oxygen to drop.  Water or Pedialite must be dropped into his mouth with a straw as sometimes, he cannot hold the cup.  He is given Morphine, orally, to help with the oxygen craving.  This helps him to sleep and forget that he has to work so hard to breath.  This will become our primary course of action to assist him as he progresses even further.  

We have a schedule.  Periods in-between his personal care and rest, when he enjoys spending time with family.  He is all there, mentally.  He responds well and knows exactly what is going on although he does forget which day of the week it is.  When I squeeze his hand three times for... I Love You.... He always squeezes back three times.  Even when he is asleep. 

Every morning when he awakes he is always thankful for another day, which amazes me...his desire to live.  

For us, that is what it is like to be in end-stage Pulmonary Fibrosis.  

xoxo 

Mr. Meticulous

In the years I have been with my husband, one thing became very obvious.  He was a meticulous man.  From his bathroom shelves, to his closet, everything had its place.  He wanted things done right.  He long told the children that it would always save them time to do things right -the first time- and if not, they would end up having to do the job all over again. 

I always liked this idea, at least the part that pertained to the kids.  But, me myself, am not always so meticulous.  My home may seem clean, as long as you don't open any closets or look in any drawers!  Many times, this theory of being meticulous was something that I had to work towards and as I did, I realized that it is just a matter of slowing down.  I noticed that my husband took enjoyment from what most would perceive as small taks.  Not being in such a rush to get a task over with, and to give the task full attention. 

Still, because of my husband's skill of being meticulous, there were just some things he was better at.  I remember one time, I wanted a small button sewn onto a silk robe, so the robe would stay closed.  I decided to hurriedly sew on the button.  When I did, it looked as if the button had been tied onto the pretty robe in a messy knot.  The button hung there loosely and within a few minutes, had already fallen off.

"I can't do this."  I told my husband while handing him the robe. 

"No problem."  He said, taking the garment.

He then sewed the button on for me.  It looked and fit perfect.  From then on, he became the Official Button Sewer and Hemmer in the family.  Same goes for any present wrapping.  My presents look as though I wrapped them with my eyes closed, while standing on one foot.  His, on the other hand, looked as though they came, pre-wrapped from Macy's.  So, on every birthday or Christmas, it became his job to do all the present wrapping.  He was the Official Present Wrapper.  The only thing my hubby asked for, in return, was big kisses!  Easy!

Halloween became his task as well.  During his off hours from work, he spent weeks in advance working on the children's costumes.  He made some fantastic outfits for the children.  He created cowboy outfits, biker outfits, head-on-a-platter outfits.  All, very meticulously thought out, down to the smallest detail.  My hubby became so involved in this part of his duties, that in advance he would arrange for time away from work, so that he could go to the children's school and help them complete their costume for the school's Halloween parade.  The only thing my hubby asked for in return, was a picture of him with our kids.  And, of course,  a kiss from me.

My hubby always took the children trick-or-treating.  He would load them into the back of our 4-Runner, and put the back-hatch down.  He would drive a few blocks and let the children jump out and run to the houses.  Then, back into the truck they jumped, onward to the next few houses.  They stayed out there doing this for hours.  At the end of the night, all would have runny noses and red cheeks from the cold and wind.  When they arrived home, they would find the house glowing with candles and lights, the smell of chili and cinnamon rolls.  They would dump their pillow cases, filled with candy, onto the kitchen floor.  Where my hubby would sort through and inspect each one for them.  The only thing my hubby asked for in return, was two pieces of candy from each child, and a kiss from me.

A couple weeks ago, our youngest child and I were walking through the store, looking at all the Halloween costumes.  I asked him what he wanted to be and he shrugged.  I shrugged, too.  We were both clueless as to where to begin.  It's three days before Halloween and we still do not know yet.  For now we are just going to wing it.  They sure do miss him, and I miss those kisses.

Our Story-Chapter 2 (continued)

"Are you sure?"  I ask.

"Yes."  He said, "We might as well get it done." 

Hands shaking.

 "I'm scared.  I can't believe I'm doing this."

"You just got to get in there."  He assures me.

I dip the razor into the coffee cup filled with water, still hesitant, I ask him if I should trim it with scissors first.  He shakes his head  'No'. 

He curls his top lip tightly down and tilts his chin up towards me.

And I say, "Okay, here goes...."

I press the blade of the razor to the top his mustache and make small motions downward. 

"You can press harder if you want."

"Well, I don't want to cut you." 

My eyes shade over in a misty way, the way they do when tears are about to come.  He then changes his lips into an exaggerated kiss pout.  It looks funny with all the soap.  I lean forward and plant a big one on him, soap and all. 

He, then goes back into the shaving position.  I take a deep breath and firmly press the razor against his mustache and draw downward.  Making small motions and taking more of his mustache off.  Dipping the razor back into the coffee cup, I walk to the bathroom for a change of water.  Pouring the cup into the sink, I watch the remains of carmel-colored hair slip down the drain. 

"Oh, C'mon, you know you have been wanting this for a long time."  He teases.

His mustache had long been a source of teasing between us and there were moments that I really, really, did want to shave that thing off.  He had his mustache when I met him and it was nice and trim and grew down the sides of his mouth and stopped at his chin.  A few years into our marriage, apparently he decided (without me) that he wanted a full Sam Elliot type mustache.  The kind that grew all in one length and would cover his entire front lip. 

I would make jokes, like-  When it gets long enough are you gonna braid it?  I would complain that in order to go in for a kiss I had to go 'under and up' just to find his lips.  When he drank his chocolate milk the whole front of his mustache would become soaked and separate into two dripping points and I would say, "Ummmmm, you have a little something on your lip."  There were times I suggested he get some wax and twist his mustache upward.  It went on and on. 

Every year, on my birthday, he would walk out of the bathroom cleanly shaven and the sight would nearly cause me to faint from shock!  It was kind of like his birthday present to me.  I actually loved when he did that because he had the faintest scar on the right corner of his upper lip.  I found it so sexy.  The rest of the time, the mustache was there to stay.

As I leaned across him, removing more, I knew he was right.  The mustache was getting in the way now.  Especially since he had to wear a cannula for his Oxygen. 

We both knew we would never see him again with that mustache and we also knew that from here on -I would be the one to shave him. 

"Well, Honey, I never really meant all that and now I wish we could keep it." 

While making the last stroke, 

revealing that little scar I liked so much.

photo1

photo2

Our Story- Connection in the Stars Chpt 2

One day I was simultaneously talking to my mom while streaking bleach through my hair, giving myself highlights.  She was on a speaker phone and was asking if I had read that book about Astrological love signs my sister had given me to read. I giggled and told her that I had and it said the sign that would be most compatible with me, a Scorpio, was a Cancer.  It was all tongue and cheek as I really wasn't looking for anyone.  But my mom, being a mom, of course pressed.  Knowing her daughter was still a young lady coming out of her first marriage with much to still offer, she asked me what qualities I was looking for in a mate?  This was an interesting question, because in my first marriage, I really hadn't considered that.  So, in light-hearted fashion, I began rattling out a list of my dream guy.

"Of course, he should be kind and good with children.  Patient with me.  I would like to meet someone that was good with his hands.  That liked to fix things around the house.  He should be good with tools so that we could work on weekend projects together.  He would have a rugged exterior, and rough hands, yet, was a big teddy bear inside"  I gleefully told her, happy to have nailed down the qualities of a person I would like to spend time with.

"Do you think that is too much to ask for, Mom?"  I asked. 

She laughed and said, "No, not at all honey".

Later, after my shower, towel wrapped around my head, I poured myself a cup of coffee and looked out of the back window to check on the kids.  Some of the neighborhood children, along with my oldest were playing as sword fighters with sticks in the backyard.  My little one, was on my hip.  I walked with him into the living room and stooped down to play some music on the stereo.  On of my favorite things to do at home on Sunday's was dance with my baby.  We swirled and danced, until out of my front window, something caught my eye.  I put Scott down and peeped outside.

"Oh, it's just that guy from the birthday party a few weeks ago" I thought to myself.  (see the story -The Invisible Man)

I couldn't remember his name, but noticed he was in front of my neighbors house, polishing his truck.  He seemed to be in his own little world, focusing on every tiny detail of the baby-blue 1988 Toyota 4-Runner.  I thought, he must take really good care of that old truck as it still looked brand new. 

I picked up my baby and to his great delight, we swirled around and danced to the music once more.