Life requires lots of bubble wrap

This past year has been such an emotional roller coaster of fear, hope, despair, prayer, love, and a miracle.

Tuesday, my husband hurt enough he wanted me to get him into the doctor. Took him for an appointment with the PA, who sent him to have a CAT scan. Everything we were told made us know nothing was going to be good, and it wasn't. When we walked in the door, the phone started ringing. The doctor called us himself and told me to get Robert to the ER right then. He had a hernia with a section of the bowel protruding.

Robert's health is not good. He has three or four blockages in his heart and a very weak heart. He wouldn't survive surgery to correct the problems, due to his congestive heart failure. We knew that any surgery would be very risky.

Sure enough, the ER doctor told us a surgeon would be called in, but the outcome could be very fatal -- with or without surgery.

To cut a long, fearful story short, they scheduled him for surgery Thursday morning. He suffered greatly from Tuesday to Thursday. Our sons flew or drove to get here. Two of our granddaughters and a great-grandson stayed close, visiting for long hours.

Thursday before the operation, the surgeon and the anesthesiologist spoke with Robert and family members. They stressed the fact that Robert had only a slim chance of survival. However, not having surgery was as dangerous if not more so.

We discussed the pros and cons, but Robert had to make the final choice. He told us he wanted to still live, but not in that much pain and not able to do anything. He said, if he died, he was ready. He would either see us after surgery or whenever we left this life.

Due to some wise decisions on the part of the two doctors, he didn't have to have general anesthesia, causing less stress on his back. The surgeon came to the waiting room, grinning ear to ear. "It worked."

Robert spent almost two days in ICU because of arrhythmia, but they moved him back to a regular room last night.

He's weak, tires easily, but he's doing remarkably well considering.

We saw a miracle this week.

Thank God.

Our youngest told his dad, "That's seven. You only have two left."

Schedule changed

I was going to blog about the new 4RV Publishing catalog, but as so often happens in life, my plans were changed -- do to a death in the family.

Why do we humans think we can plan our destinies? I had the week all mapped out the way I thought it should go. Then, a phone call changes everything and makes my thoughts so unimportant.

My youngest child's wife's parents and my husband and I are close friends. In fact, we became one combined family when my son married their daughter. Their son passed away this morning, but the losers are those left with empty spots in their lives and hearts: parents, sister, nephews, brother-in-law, friends, and other family members.

The lesson is life is short and can end without warning. We don't know when we'll say goodbye or if we'll have the opportunity to do so. The last time I saw Jerrald, a little over a week ago, he seemed happy and relaxed. He visited and joked -- left a wonderful picture to remember. He now is free of the wheel chair and limitations of a body that no longer worked. Yes, he's in a better place without pain and discomfort.

Goodbye, Jerrald. Dance all over heaven.

Life goes on

Yes, life goes on, some times even when we don't know why or how. Brain cells don't always help, just a thick layer of bubble wrap.

A dear friend of mine fought cancer for nearly three years, and I do mean fought. She wasn't the first, just the latest, who left friends and family behind. As I attended her memorial service Tuesday night, I remembered the last time I visited with her.

Judy had gone to stay with her daughter in south Texas. She was unable to care for herself, and of Judy's four children, Jonna was the one who was able to be with her.

I called about a month ago, and Jonna held the phone to Judy's ear. Some moans and struggling sounds were all I could hear because my friend couldn't talk. However I told her I loved her and I said my goodbye's, telling her I'd see her again some day. Jonna told me that Judy smiled and understood me and that she tried to talk so badly. I cried that day for my friend, knowing I'd never be able to talk to her again or see her again, at least on this earth.

Judy held on for three weeks, unable to eat, most of the time in a comma. Her daughter and son-in-law went to bed each night expecting to see her gone when they awoke each morning. The morning before Judy died, Jonna went to her room and, as always, asked, "How are you, Mom."

Judy smiled and answered, "I'm fine." Her first words in such a long time. For the rest of the day, she was without pain. In the wee hours of the next day, she no longer felt pain of any kind.

At the memorial, I held Judy's youngest two daughters as they cried. Justina, the next to the youngest, introduced me as her second mother. Tonnie, the wife of Judy's only son, gave me a beautiful embroidred hanky, created by her to give to the special people in Judy's life.

I sit here crying again, but even though I'll miss her, I know she's fine now. Life goes on for her family and friends, just missing an important component. But Judy's smile and laugh will be with us forever.

Judy was my friend and always will be. I'll be fine, too, just don't want to lose any more friends. True friends are few and far between.