Tag Archives: family

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How Do You Know When You’re Grown Up?

As the mother of five daughters, I have had no greater joy than watching my girls grow up into remarkable women. Sure I miss watching them take their first wobbly steps, struggling to master the pedals on a bicycle, and assembling shadow boxes for a 5th grade history project. But watching them grow up and leaving those childhoods behind has been my greatest joy.

Three weeks ago today, Madeline’s (23 year, old daughter #4) boyfriend Shawn was hit by a car while riding his bicycle. It was a hit-and-run accident and he has no memory of it until he woke up in the ambulance. His hip was badly fractured. He had minor spine fractures, numerous cuts and scrapes and a terrible road rash on his hip and leg that was about two feet long.  After being hospitalized following major surgery he came to our home to recover.

While Shawn was in the hospital, Madeline never left his side. She was able to be there non-stop. Her current state of unemployment turned out to be a huge blessing.

I have a friend who is a stage-four cancer survivor. She spent a lot of time in the hospital receiving treatments and even a got a stem-cell transplant. I remember her saying, “Never leave anyone in the hospital alone. Someone needs to stay with the patient, spending not just the days but especially the nights as an advocate for him or her.” I’ve never forgotten that and have made sure to follow that advice whenever anyone I love has had to stay in the hospital. Madeline learned to carry that torch.

Shawn’s time in the emergency room and as a hospital patient was really hard. Madeline, at his side, had to help him make sense out of the accident and all the tests being performed on him. Missing meals and precious sleep, she helped him deal with incredible pain and assisted him to perform the most menial, everyday tasks. She was as strong as steel during that time.

After he was moved to our house, her determined, unwavering care continued. I have watched her, with utter admiration, as she strategically helped him in and out of bed, adjusted pillows, steadied the walker, handed crutches, changed bandages, dispensed medications—you name it. She did it. Without complaining. It has been hard. Really hard.

What makes this even more admirable is the fact that she has her own health challenges. She was diagnosed with Crohn’s disease when she was fourteen years old. Physical strength and stamina have always been a challenge for her. As her mom, I have tended to not push her beyond what I thought she could handle. I think I’ve short-changed her.

This situation has called out strength, wisdom and selflessness which I have never had the opportunity to see in her before.

She has truly grown up.

Being grown up is not about reaching a certain age and being able to call yourself an adult.

Being grown up is about doing the hard stuff. It’s about finding joy and gratitude in the midst of horrible circumstances. It’s about not feeling “entitled” to your way or your comfort. It’s also about taking initiative, not waiting to be asked. And, not resenting when you are asked to do something. Being grown up is about loving.

Being grown up is not about you.

Question: What else does being grown up look like? 

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No Time for Drama

One thing I’m loving about being with my family this week is the lack of DRAMA.

There has been no walking on egg shells. No whispers behind someone’s back. We’re just there, looking at our feet and being present, loving and appreciating each other. Laughing, crying, hugging (my personal favorite), cooking, eating, cleaning, debating, sparring, eating, expressing, listening, reminiscing, more eating (what is it with the eating?) and most of all seeking to understand. I love it.

It hasn’t always been this way, and thankfully over the years, and through lots of pain, we’ve chipped away at the superfluous and been left with the gems of each other.

I’d say, it’s also been intentional. Believe me, there has been plenty of drama in my family and it still creeps up every now and then. But now it seems that we’re all intent on growing and changing and allowing each other to grow and change. We don’t “freeze-frame” each other any more, binding each other to some less-than-desirable stage of our past.

Yesterday, as my brother Karl was packing up to go back to Denver, he commented that he was now my biggest brother. I’ve lost two of my brothers and someday maybe I’ll write on the loss of my second. There’s some drama there. But I’m not ready to yet.

Karl is the third brother and Loren is the fourth. What a gift it’s been for me to be the little sister in a family of boys. I’ve always had a big brother to protect me and help me fly straight. Seriously, how cool is that? Hopefully, I will always have a big brother in my life because, Lord knows, I need all the help I can get.

Coming together as a family, when experiencing the loss of someone you love dearly, strips away all of the superfluous like nothing else can. God gives us a unique opportunity to zero in on what really matters, what really counts, what really lasts. Family matters. Brothers matter.

There is no place for drama at a time like this. Or … at anytime, for that matter. Just a time to be real and to be loved.

Question:
How much drama do you have in your family? What can you do it send it packing?

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Col. Philip W. Bruce Crosses the Finish Line

I woke up this morning to a text left to me by my sister-in-law, Patty Bruce, Phil’s devoted wife of about 44 years. It said:

“We wanted to share with you – Phil went to be with the Lord tonight at 10:40. We are missing him, but rejoicing in his being in the most excellent place. Love , pctkjb&d”

I have 4 older brothers, Phil is the oldest. I’m his baby sister. He’s been battling a mysterious neurological disease for the last five years and last night, his battle was over. I will miss him tremendously. His daughter, Karen began keeping a journal during his last weeks. After I read her entry from this morning, I knew I wanted to post it here. It is just beautiful. I pray that it will be an enouragement to you. (Please make sure you read the last *)

From Phil’s Journey, September 12, 2010, by Karen Rice:

i thought i would be able to sleep tonight without coming here to wrap up my day. but, apparently this has become an elemental part of my daily routine. apparently i will need some time to pass before i can share with you details that are close to my heart, but it seems best to state a few things simply to you, my dear family and friends.

* tonight, at 10:40 pm, our dad slipped away from us. each of us there — mom, cheryl, jonathan, bethany, tim and me, [daniel is on his way] along with our nurse laura — experienced his passing in our own unique way. perhaps tomorrow I can discover moments each wishes to share. but for me, i must say, i experienced his death as gentle, generous, dignified and, yes, with a bit of dad’s signature twinkle!

* gentle, because it wasn’t sudden or traumatic in any way. his final breaths came intermittently, with long pauses in between, for about 30 minutes. we had time to adjust. there were no gasps or ragged, wheezing labored efforts, no heaving chest; it was…well…different than any other type of breathing mishaps he’s had. It felt purposeful. and not scary to me, or him, in the least.

* generous, because all of us were able to be in the room together. while this may not have been by dad’s specific choosing, i do feel inclined to think it was by design. why not just by chance? well, today contained the only 12 hour window of time since his icu “brain death” days in july, when mom and all of us kids (minus the military one) have been in the same room with him. without going crazy on the math, i’d say there were about 119 other 12-hour windows that could have been given to our family for his passing. some of which, were only mom or me. or dad, all alone. how strange and wonderful, i had projected, to have us all together in the same room wishing him well as he enters eternity.

* dignity. dad, all this time, and despite intensive levels of cognitive decline and emotional strain, has always had a presence about him that others beyond our family have noted. could be a lot of different descriptors that they would use to explain their take on him….but i delight in it when they try to put in into words. because no matter what words they say (fascinating, intelligent, cute, precious, adorable, mysterious, inspiring), i always see an overlay of dignity; like his father, he was always appropriate in every setting. and even though his ability to interpret his environment became diminished over the past few weeks and months, his sense of dignity remained. i can’t describe the dignity within his death tonight; perhaps tomorrow i can get some sibling support on this one and get back to you.

* with a bit of dad’s signature twinkle. at the end, when his breaths became intermittent, we didn’t know when (or if) they would resume. and as they continued to return, they gradually began to morph into breathing i’d never seen before once or twice, i could have handled it and stashed iaway in a distant memory bank. but as they continued i began to get a bit disoriented: what is happening here?  cheryl’s imagery provided an immedate visual for me to hold on to. and then, all of a sudden, i saw the sparkle in it all. his breathing made it appear;he was running.; running, my laser-beam-heaven-focused sister recommended, straight to the gates of heaven.  as soon as she said it, i could see it. the eager over-exertion that forces one to slow down just for a few moments to catch one’s breath.  but not for long, as something really worth the effort is right before your eyes… a big white sash that you’re straining to break, so you can know the race is won. run dad! we promise we’re not that far behihd.

it wasn’t hard to imagine the twinkle in his eyes & we’ve seen it, against all odds, all the way to the end; surely it was there tonight.

so, so much yet to accomplish in the celebration of dad’s life and the putting of his body to rest. I want to officially thank each of you for your ogoing support of me and my siblings as we have shared dad’s journey with you.  i feel we have a few days yes and perhaps weeks and beyond to process what we’ve expereriened so far.  I welcome you to sign off, and return to your normal routines.  or, if you’d just assume stay and participate with us in our process of embracing our dad’s passing, we welcome you to stay on.