Chapter Two - The Journey
"Husband... heart attack... Two hours away... take a deep breath, Cindy." "I can't..."
Logic took over my actions as emotions quivered my thinking. Throwing belongings into my suitcase, I dialed my brother's phone number, praying he would answer his phone. He did, but even big brother's voice could not abate the fear that arose in my throat. He said he would call his wife and see if she were available to drive the 3 hour trip to stay with Mama until he could get there the next day. Of course, and thankfully... she agreed and told me not to worry about Mama: she would get there as fast as she could. God bless her. God bless him.
Telling Mama that I had to go without her and leave her behind, broke her heart: mine, too... but there was no way I could take care of her and be at the hospital also. She cried more than I, but I could not take the time to console her. Nor could I break down: too much to do and too many miles to travel.
The highways between here and there were all too familiar, and the expected speed traps were no where in sight. Truckers moved aside for me as if someone had gone ahead and prepared my pathway, and my gas tank I had filled just the day before. It all seemed like deja vu, only this time I was driving in the opposite direction of the previous emergencies, and this time.... well, this time was different.
I was worried about our son. He would be there at the hospital by himself, shouldering this burden alone; and with his one month old baby, he was already on emotional overload. Asking family friends to sit and wait with Steve was the one thing I as a mother could do. I feared the worse, hoped for the best, but still knew anything could happen, and I didn't want our son to face it alone. He needed someone to lean on... just in case. Gratefully, the friends I called dropped what they were doing and rushed to the hospital. They hurried, then had to wait. But they did. God bless them.
As I entered the city, one of my ministers from church called to tell me he was almost at the hospital and would see me there. I fought back the fear.. and the tears. God bless him, too.
"Oh, God... please don't forsake us. Please watch over Richard, and his medical team. Have mercy on him, Lord. He's such a good man. Please take care of Steve. Please watch over Mama. Thank you God for friends, for family, for medical professionals. Oh, God... please help... please. Help me be strong, once again... Oh, God..."
The folks at the information desk were helpful, but very slow talkers. They didn't realize I was in panic mode. I just wanted them to point and give me simple directions to CCU: I walked away from them as they were still talking. Rounding the corner I saw a volunteer I knew, but I didn't dare slow down because my son was standing waiting for me, and there by his side was his lovely little wife.
With strained voice he said, "Do you want the facts or the chronological order of happenings?" He's an engineer, just like his dad. I replied, "The facts." "He's stable. The cardiac team found nothing else of concern on their second look at Dad's arteries." He proceeded to tell about the heart attack, the one stent, the shocking, the CPR, Code Blue, and his dad's stubbornness. That I already knew about!
"He's stable." pounded in my heart... I could see him. I could hold him. I could kiss him. I could scold him for not telling me or anyone else that he was in trouble. But this last one should wait. My husband was alive, and he was "stable". For this I rejoiced!
I hugged my kids. I hugged my friends who so lovingly supported us and thanked them for being there with Steve, for Steve, and for Richard and me. I wiped off my tears, but they kept rolling. And then I took off for the CCU.
"I don't know which room he's in," but my feet kept walking anyway. As the automatic doors opened, a surge of strength kept me upright, but fear and anger chiseled away at my very core. Without introducing myself, or even speaking to them, the nurses pointed to his room. They had been watching for me... "the missing wife," and they continued watching me as I entered his room.
(to be continued...)
@Copyright 2010, Cindy Lou Hodges All Rights Reserved.
Showing posts with label fear. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fear. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Heart Attack! Didn't I Tell You?
Chapter One - The Phone Call
Note to the reader: I'm asking myself why I'm sharing something so personal and intimate about our family, and I guess there are two reasons. #1. It could be beneficial to you or someone you love: perhaps you can learn from our mistakes. #2. Perhaps I can learn from our mistakes.
Sometimes you get hit hard, right in the gut, and your response is and can only be... a gasp for air.
It wasn't me who had the heart attack, but my husband. At age 62, he seemed the picture of health: one without a family history of heart disease, and a man who loves to golf and play tennis. That's what he did the eve of his heart attack: play tennis. The day before, he played several rounds of golf, and had chest pains afterwards. The pain subsided after a few hours, so the next day, he pretended that nothing was wrong. He played tennis for an hour, and then quit.
He came home with pain, and stayed awake with pain all night until 5:00 a.m. the next morning, Thursday, January 6, 2011. Then he drove himself to the emergency room which is about fifteen minutes away. The medical people easily recognized the symptoms and asked him which family members they should call. He said, "No one.... don't bother them. My wife's out of town." I was. It was true. I was two hours away in Oklahoma with my mother, caring for her, but that was no reason to not call me.
The nurses and doctors pushed further, "Mr. Hodges, you are having a heart attack right now, and you have been having one for some time. We're taking you up to the Cath Lab immediately. We need to call your family and let them know. "Who can we call?" Still, he stubbornly said, "No.... don't bother them."
What on earth was he thinking??? The man was having a heart attack, and he wouldn't let his family know about it!
Communication in our marriage, all thirty-eight years, has always been an issue. I give too much info, or at least I used to, and he gives too little. He has never been much for conversation. Over the course of time, my conversations and sentences have shortened because I can tell when he's on overload and received too much information. You know how we women are, we can tell when we are being "tuned out", and you know how men are: they think we just ramble. So, sometime or somewhere, I just sort of quit trying. I felt that having to pull and prod him just to gather information was a waste of energy. I don't know what he felt... perhaps he felt that I was intrusive. Perhaps he just didn't want me to know more than he offered. Perhaps he felt I already knew what I needed to know... perhaps.
Or perhaps he was trying to protect me. Our last fifteen months dealing with my mother's health issues had stretched us beyond all boundaries of normalcy. We were exhausted mentally, physically and emotionally, plus we were still trying to figure out the next part of her life: ours, too. We had lived away from home and away from each other more in that time period than we had ever done so, and thousands of those hours were spent at hospitals and other medical care facilities with Mama. Perhaps he was still in denial that the heart attack was really happening, and that this time HE was the patient, and I, once again, the caregiver.
I don't know what he was thinking. Our son doesn't know, either. He was just ten minutes away and could have, would have driven his dad to the ER, or would have called 911. Our son is just as bewildered as I about his dad's silence.
The cardiologist found one artery 95% clogged and inserted one stent. The other arteries were only mildly blocked and required no stents, thank goodness. Once stable, my husband was rolled down to his room in CC (Cardiac Care). Soon upon his arrival, his heart rhythms were so out of sync, that the cardiac team had to shock his heart and then perform CPR: otherwise, Code Blue.
That's when his nurse became emphatic, "Mr. Hodges... we have to call someone! Let me call your wife or your son!" My husband, annoyed from being awakened from such "good sleep" as he called it, just wanted to go back to sleep. So, he agreed and gave her permission to call. She did immediately!
About 10:30 that Thursday morning I received a phone call from a very persuasive woman claiming to be a cardiac nurse, and that my husband had just had a heart attack! She continued telling me that they had to do CPR on him, and shock his heart, and that they were at that time taking him back up to the Cath Lab to see if they had missed anything! She said that I needed to be there! As she was hanging up the phone she said that she would then call our son to alert him.
With the sound of her voice reeling in my head, it never occurred to me to doubt the reality of this phone call. Immediately I tried to figure out what I should do first. There I was taking care of my mother who couldn't stay long by herself without assistance, but now I needed to be in Texas caring for my husband, my dearly beloved, hard-headed, hard-to-understand, stubborn husband who had just had a heart attack. I needed to be and wanted to be with him, beside him... whether he made it through this heart attack or... not.
"Why, oh why hadn't I called him the night before?" It had been two days since we had last talked. Now it didn't make any sense at all that we hadn't phoned each other, but earlier I had felt that if he wanted to talk or had something to say, he would have called me. "Why, oh, why hadn't I called him just to check on him? All I had to do was pick up the phone ." "Why's?, "Why not's?", and "What now's?" kept flooding my mind.
I felt like I had been punched in the gut... hard... really, really hard.
(to be continued...)
@Copyright 2010, Cindy Lou Hodges All Rights Reserved.
Note to the reader: I'm asking myself why I'm sharing something so personal and intimate about our family, and I guess there are two reasons. #1. It could be beneficial to you or someone you love: perhaps you can learn from our mistakes. #2. Perhaps I can learn from our mistakes.
Sometimes you get hit hard, right in the gut, and your response is and can only be... a gasp for air.
It wasn't me who had the heart attack, but my husband. At age 62, he seemed the picture of health: one without a family history of heart disease, and a man who loves to golf and play tennis. That's what he did the eve of his heart attack: play tennis. The day before, he played several rounds of golf, and had chest pains afterwards. The pain subsided after a few hours, so the next day, he pretended that nothing was wrong. He played tennis for an hour, and then quit.
He came home with pain, and stayed awake with pain all night until 5:00 a.m. the next morning, Thursday, January 6, 2011. Then he drove himself to the emergency room which is about fifteen minutes away. The medical people easily recognized the symptoms and asked him which family members they should call. He said, "No one.... don't bother them. My wife's out of town." I was. It was true. I was two hours away in Oklahoma with my mother, caring for her, but that was no reason to not call me.
The nurses and doctors pushed further, "Mr. Hodges, you are having a heart attack right now, and you have been having one for some time. We're taking you up to the Cath Lab immediately. We need to call your family and let them know. "Who can we call?" Still, he stubbornly said, "No.... don't bother them."
What on earth was he thinking??? The man was having a heart attack, and he wouldn't let his family know about it!
Communication in our marriage, all thirty-eight years, has always been an issue. I give too much info, or at least I used to, and he gives too little. He has never been much for conversation. Over the course of time, my conversations and sentences have shortened because I can tell when he's on overload and received too much information. You know how we women are, we can tell when we are being "tuned out", and you know how men are: they think we just ramble. So, sometime or somewhere, I just sort of quit trying. I felt that having to pull and prod him just to gather information was a waste of energy. I don't know what he felt... perhaps he felt that I was intrusive. Perhaps he just didn't want me to know more than he offered. Perhaps he felt I already knew what I needed to know... perhaps.
Or perhaps he was trying to protect me. Our last fifteen months dealing with my mother's health issues had stretched us beyond all boundaries of normalcy. We were exhausted mentally, physically and emotionally, plus we were still trying to figure out the next part of her life: ours, too. We had lived away from home and away from each other more in that time period than we had ever done so, and thousands of those hours were spent at hospitals and other medical care facilities with Mama. Perhaps he was still in denial that the heart attack was really happening, and that this time HE was the patient, and I, once again, the caregiver.
I don't know what he was thinking. Our son doesn't know, either. He was just ten minutes away and could have, would have driven his dad to the ER, or would have called 911. Our son is just as bewildered as I about his dad's silence.
The cardiologist found one artery 95% clogged and inserted one stent. The other arteries were only mildly blocked and required no stents, thank goodness. Once stable, my husband was rolled down to his room in CC (Cardiac Care). Soon upon his arrival, his heart rhythms were so out of sync, that the cardiac team had to shock his heart and then perform CPR: otherwise, Code Blue.
That's when his nurse became emphatic, "Mr. Hodges... we have to call someone! Let me call your wife or your son!" My husband, annoyed from being awakened from such "good sleep" as he called it, just wanted to go back to sleep. So, he agreed and gave her permission to call. She did immediately!
About 10:30 that Thursday morning I received a phone call from a very persuasive woman claiming to be a cardiac nurse, and that my husband had just had a heart attack! She continued telling me that they had to do CPR on him, and shock his heart, and that they were at that time taking him back up to the Cath Lab to see if they had missed anything! She said that I needed to be there! As she was hanging up the phone she said that she would then call our son to alert him.
With the sound of her voice reeling in my head, it never occurred to me to doubt the reality of this phone call. Immediately I tried to figure out what I should do first. There I was taking care of my mother who couldn't stay long by herself without assistance, but now I needed to be in Texas caring for my husband, my dearly beloved, hard-headed, hard-to-understand, stubborn husband who had just had a heart attack. I needed to be and wanted to be with him, beside him... whether he made it through this heart attack or... not.
"Why, oh why hadn't I called him the night before?" It had been two days since we had last talked. Now it didn't make any sense at all that we hadn't phoned each other, but earlier I had felt that if he wanted to talk or had something to say, he would have called me. "Why, oh, why hadn't I called him just to check on him? All I had to do was pick up the phone ." "Why's?, "Why not's?", and "What now's?" kept flooding my mind.
I felt like I had been punched in the gut... hard... really, really hard.
(to be continued...)
@Copyright 2010, Cindy Lou Hodges All Rights Reserved.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
And She Was Born, Chapter 2
Chapter Two - "The 2nd Floor"
Unbeknown to me, my daughter-in-law had been in labor all day, but went to work anyway, not knowing that it was "the real thing"! My son played an hour-long game of volleyball that evening, while "Mommie" stayed home and packed her suitcase between contractions. By 9:00 p.m. they decided that maybe they should go to the hospital, "this just might be serious". Do ya, think???
Hence, the text message sent to me, "We at hospital. She may be early...!"
I think I was kind of noisy: "Errr---Screech! Slam! High-heeled clomp-clomps!" I ran to the ER desk, and some gracious woman led me through the hall ways to the elevator that would take me to the maternity wing. I was on the ride of my life, and as the elevator doors closed I said goodbye to my life as it had been, and with their opening I said hello to my greatest adventure ever. The profound words of a budding new grandmother then blurted out from me as I viewed the 2nd floor, "sheez... now, uh, which way did she say to go???"
When I found my brave kids, it was quite obvious to me that they weren't kids anymore, and that I was no longer a young adult. We were all stepping up to a new level and a higher status in our adult lives, and this new little life coming to join us would challenge us all to rise to the calling. I saw my son hovering over his lovely wife, tenderly talking to her, and calmly reading the numbers on the monitor. I saw my daughter-in-law quietly endure the contractions, then mildly say, "that was a big one." I heard the nurse announce, "this baby is coming tonight, probably before midnight!" And off they rolled them to the birthing room.
At that point the situation escalated so rapidly that my head still spins. I stepped out of the birthing room while the epidural was given and waited in the waiting area. I understand that within minutes the epidural took effect and eased Mommie's pain, but our baby girl's heartbeat dropped rapidly. I waited and waited for what seemed eternities far too long. Then I received an alarming text, "Heartbeat low. csection. rite now." "Her parents around somewhere. please try find."
(to be continued...)
@Copyright 2010, Cindy Lou Hodges All Rights Reserved.
Unbeknown to me, my daughter-in-law had been in labor all day, but went to work anyway, not knowing that it was "the real thing"! My son played an hour-long game of volleyball that evening, while "Mommie" stayed home and packed her suitcase between contractions. By 9:00 p.m. they decided that maybe they should go to the hospital, "this just might be serious". Do ya, think???
Hence, the text message sent to me, "We at hospital. She may be early...!"
I think I was kind of noisy: "Errr---Screech! Slam! High-heeled clomp-clomps!" I ran to the ER desk, and some gracious woman led me through the hall ways to the elevator that would take me to the maternity wing. I was on the ride of my life, and as the elevator doors closed I said goodbye to my life as it had been, and with their opening I said hello to my greatest adventure ever. The profound words of a budding new grandmother then blurted out from me as I viewed the 2nd floor, "sheez... now, uh, which way did she say to go???"
When I found my brave kids, it was quite obvious to me that they weren't kids anymore, and that I was no longer a young adult. We were all stepping up to a new level and a higher status in our adult lives, and this new little life coming to join us would challenge us all to rise to the calling. I saw my son hovering over his lovely wife, tenderly talking to her, and calmly reading the numbers on the monitor. I saw my daughter-in-law quietly endure the contractions, then mildly say, "that was a big one." I heard the nurse announce, "this baby is coming tonight, probably before midnight!" And off they rolled them to the birthing room.
At that point the situation escalated so rapidly that my head still spins. I stepped out of the birthing room while the epidural was given and waited in the waiting area. I understand that within minutes the epidural took effect and eased Mommie's pain, but our baby girl's heartbeat dropped rapidly. I waited and waited for what seemed eternities far too long. Then I received an alarming text, "Heartbeat low. csection. rite now." "Her parents around somewhere. please try find."
(to be continued...)
@Copyright 2010, Cindy Lou Hodges All Rights Reserved.
Saturday, November 6, 2010
The Daydream
I was so involved with my daydream that I missed my mouth with my coffee cup. Surprising? Not at all.
The imagery was spectacular, and the band was in the grove, uh groove. There I stood with the microphone, not one ounce of fear piercing through my body. All eyes were glued to this magical moment: all ears tuned to the soft nuances that would soon flow from my soul. No one knew this was the moment I had longed for. No one knew the expense of this adventure. No one knew. No one cared. No one, but I.
Spotlight intact. Curtain up. Applause filled the air with the echo of triumph. Taking in one last breath, I opened my mouth to sing, and right there, in the middle of my daydream... was the sound of fire alarms and clanging bells! Uh... no: it was the telephone. The audacious, stupid phone was screeching right in the middle of my once in a lifetime "moment".
So, there went the coffee all down my shirt. There went the daydream: there went the diva. I felt like Ralphie, the little kid in the movie, The Christmas Story. Spectacular were his daydreams that spinned with unbridled enthusiasm! They out shined the grandest of schemes, and in this world of doubt, they kept his fragile, creative spirit alive. No one knew about his secret scenarios. No one knew about them at all, and no one cared. Or, so he thought.
I guess, inside all of us dwells either a diva or a Ralphie, and somewhere along the way we picked up the notion that the child in us should grow up and throw aside our childish ways replacing them with grown-up thoughts and grown-up behavior. (Oh, that's in the Bible. Isn't it? It's in I Corinthians 13:11.) That's what is required of us as responsible adults, but I can see a meltdown coming if the child within is forgotten and never released to play, to create, or to daydream.
I don't know about you, but I am planning on longevity here in my life. My long awaited first grandchild will soon be born, and I want to be around to see her coo & giggle, to see her take her first tiny steps, and to see her twist and turn as she masters her first pair of high heel shoes. I would love to be around for her wedding day as she lovingly takes those solemn steps of marriage. And when I arrive at those later stages of my life, I don't want to be a dried-up, old prude who doesn't know how to laugh, or sing, play, or daydream. I want to be young at heart, and laugh at the days ahead... the days present.
That sounds like quite a challenge, because aging can be terribly cruel. Injuries and insults assault us, and time marches on without our permission. As my Aunt Polly used to say, and now my mother says, "Aging ain't for sissies!" Yes, I have to agree, it isn't. Neither is daydreaming. It takes a lot of courage for grown-ups to dream like a child, and even more courage, I think, to admit that we do.
They say that confession is good for the soul, so here you have it: I confess. I daydreamed, and it didn't cost me anything other than the time to wash my coffee-stained blouse. That was just a few, well spent minutes, and I think that little snippet of time added new wonderment to my child-like faith.
What about you? Have you daydreamed lately? It isn't painful, and the child in you just might thank you for the freedom. Dance, sing, build bridges, climb mountain cliffs, paint like Rembrandt, design fashions, write a best-seller novel, discover a cure for cancer, find a forgotten city, go to the zoo, go watch a baseball game, or imagine your flower beds a botanical wonder. Be creative... there are no limitations when we daydream, and without our permission, no one can take our dreams away from us.
Because they are precious, we must protect our dreams, and we are instructed to guard them continually. They can be a gift or a burden, so we are to use them wisely. We should even pray about them, asking God what they should be and asking God to direct our thoughts and take them where He wants us to be. Can't say that I remembered to do that before my "diva dream", but I should have. For I have found that heavenly daydreams are the sweetest of all and the longest lasting.
Take heart, my friends. There is hope for all of us! With my grown up knowledge and my child-like faith, I face the future; and you can face it with me. We may be fortunate enough to daydream a brighter future, and we may even be fortunate enough to find ourselves basking in the spotlight as we stand in front of cheering crowds. Or, we may find ourselves flat on our backs facing the frightening sounds of emergency sirens. No one can accurately predict what awaits us, but I do know that we don't have to face those times alone. There is Someone who cares.... Someone who knows. And, I would like to know Him better.
Think I'll grab my Bible, turn off the telephone, and ask God to fill me with His love and even more child-like faith. It can happen, you know... and that doesn't have to be a daydream!
Blessings to you as you rediscover the child within you. Guard it. Protect it. Nurture it. And, then, give it a friend by the name of Jesus.
Sincerely,
Cindy Lou
"For as he thinketh in his heart, so is he..."
--Proverbs 23:7 King James Version, Holy Bible
"I tell you the truth, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it."
--Luke 18:17, New International Version, Holy Bible
"...there is a friend who sticks closer than a brother."
--Proverbs 18:24, New International Version, Holy Bible
@Copyright 2010, Cindy Lou Hodges
All Rights Reserved
The imagery was spectacular, and the band was in the grove, uh groove. There I stood with the microphone, not one ounce of fear piercing through my body. All eyes were glued to this magical moment: all ears tuned to the soft nuances that would soon flow from my soul. No one knew this was the moment I had longed for. No one knew the expense of this adventure. No one knew. No one cared. No one, but I.
Spotlight intact. Curtain up. Applause filled the air with the echo of triumph. Taking in one last breath, I opened my mouth to sing, and right there, in the middle of my daydream... was the sound of fire alarms and clanging bells! Uh... no: it was the telephone. The audacious, stupid phone was screeching right in the middle of my once in a lifetime "moment".
So, there went the coffee all down my shirt. There went the daydream: there went the diva. I felt like Ralphie, the little kid in the movie, The Christmas Story. Spectacular were his daydreams that spinned with unbridled enthusiasm! They out shined the grandest of schemes, and in this world of doubt, they kept his fragile, creative spirit alive. No one knew about his secret scenarios. No one knew about them at all, and no one cared. Or, so he thought.
I guess, inside all of us dwells either a diva or a Ralphie, and somewhere along the way we picked up the notion that the child in us should grow up and throw aside our childish ways replacing them with grown-up thoughts and grown-up behavior. (Oh, that's in the Bible. Isn't it? It's in I Corinthians 13:11.) That's what is required of us as responsible adults, but I can see a meltdown coming if the child within is forgotten and never released to play, to create, or to daydream.
I don't know about you, but I am planning on longevity here in my life. My long awaited first grandchild will soon be born, and I want to be around to see her coo & giggle, to see her take her first tiny steps, and to see her twist and turn as she masters her first pair of high heel shoes. I would love to be around for her wedding day as she lovingly takes those solemn steps of marriage. And when I arrive at those later stages of my life, I don't want to be a dried-up, old prude who doesn't know how to laugh, or sing, play, or daydream. I want to be young at heart, and laugh at the days ahead... the days present.
That sounds like quite a challenge, because aging can be terribly cruel. Injuries and insults assault us, and time marches on without our permission. As my Aunt Polly used to say, and now my mother says, "Aging ain't for sissies!" Yes, I have to agree, it isn't. Neither is daydreaming. It takes a lot of courage for grown-ups to dream like a child, and even more courage, I think, to admit that we do.
They say that confession is good for the soul, so here you have it: I confess. I daydreamed, and it didn't cost me anything other than the time to wash my coffee-stained blouse. That was just a few, well spent minutes, and I think that little snippet of time added new wonderment to my child-like faith.
What about you? Have you daydreamed lately? It isn't painful, and the child in you just might thank you for the freedom. Dance, sing, build bridges, climb mountain cliffs, paint like Rembrandt, design fashions, write a best-seller novel, discover a cure for cancer, find a forgotten city, go to the zoo, go watch a baseball game, or imagine your flower beds a botanical wonder. Be creative... there are no limitations when we daydream, and without our permission, no one can take our dreams away from us.
Because they are precious, we must protect our dreams, and we are instructed to guard them continually. They can be a gift or a burden, so we are to use them wisely. We should even pray about them, asking God what they should be and asking God to direct our thoughts and take them where He wants us to be. Can't say that I remembered to do that before my "diva dream", but I should have. For I have found that heavenly daydreams are the sweetest of all and the longest lasting.
Take heart, my friends. There is hope for all of us! With my grown up knowledge and my child-like faith, I face the future; and you can face it with me. We may be fortunate enough to daydream a brighter future, and we may even be fortunate enough to find ourselves basking in the spotlight as we stand in front of cheering crowds. Or, we may find ourselves flat on our backs facing the frightening sounds of emergency sirens. No one can accurately predict what awaits us, but I do know that we don't have to face those times alone. There is Someone who cares.... Someone who knows. And, I would like to know Him better.
Think I'll grab my Bible, turn off the telephone, and ask God to fill me with His love and even more child-like faith. It can happen, you know... and that doesn't have to be a daydream!
Blessings to you as you rediscover the child within you. Guard it. Protect it. Nurture it. And, then, give it a friend by the name of Jesus.
Sincerely,
Cindy Lou
"For as he thinketh in his heart, so is he..."
--Proverbs 23:7 King James Version, Holy Bible
"I tell you the truth, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it."
--Luke 18:17, New International Version, Holy Bible
"...there is a friend who sticks closer than a brother."
--Proverbs 18:24, New International Version, Holy Bible
@Copyright 2010, Cindy Lou Hodges
All Rights Reserved
Friday, October 15, 2010
I Am a Tree
"I am a tree.
My roots grow deep.
I'm planted by The River... The River of Life.
Hosanna's in the wind.
Hosanna's in the rain.
Hosanna's in the air I breathe.
My life He does sustain."
--Cindy Lou Hodges
For months this song was my mantra: not a happy tune, but a mournful confirmation that I could weather the storm that raged around me. I sang it to myself while she lay in the hospital flat on her back. I murmured it as she vacillated from one surgery to the next, from critical condition to serious condition, then agonizingly back to critical. I remembered it as she lingered near death from staff infections, and it was one of the songs I sang as I crossed the state line commuting back & forth from my home to her multiple care facilities. It was on my lips as my own personal lullaby at three o'clock in the mornings, and at times it boomed out of me as a defense against the enemy of hopelessness. As she was fighting for life: I was fighting for hope... enough for both of us.
That seems like just yesterday, and that yesterday seemed like an eternity. Only God knows how distraught we all were, and how close we were to quitting. On the inside I struggled for sanity, while on the outside I struggled for courage. Taking each step required stepping out in faith and numerous reminders to myself that I could do it... one step at a time.
Whenever setbacks & disappointments knocked the wind out of me, the vision of a mighty tree came to mind, and I imagined my feet sinking deeper and deeper into the solid ground. I imagined my care giving as an oasis such as the top of a tree is sanctuary for living creatures. When I felt the world dumping on me, as certain animals seek out trees to mark their territory, I realized that that was just part of being alive... part of being a tree. It would not destroy me, and it might even make me stronger. Time & time again, I would once more try to rise to the task awaiting me. One more time to encourage myself. One more time to believe... "I am a tree... my roots go deep. I'm planted by The River".
Only God knows how... but, here we are, one year after the fall & initial broken hip. We are home at her house... together, and life is different now. It is sweeter, and it is easier than it has been. The infections are suppressed. The surgeries are over. The hospital bed no longer cradles her immobile, tortured body, and the parade of caregivers has calmed down to a slow, steady pace of two a week. Sleep has returned once again, and this "welcomed back" friend allows me to sleep through the earlier known three o'clock awakenings. I even dream again, and instead of fear and darkness, my dreams take me to happy places.
Yes, life is more precious to me now. Today I saw bluebirds out the kitchen window, and I called Mama to come look. She struggled to get out of her wheelchair so that she could see the birds flying from the oak tree to the blue bird houses. Those beautiful blue feathered friends were scouting out the perfect place for their autumn nests: the perfect place to lay their tiny blue eggs. That made her smile. Made us both smile.
Then later, as I finished showering, I heard talking coming from somewhere in the house. I couldn't distinguish who or what it was, so I opened the bathroom door to better hear. "Who was she talking to? Was she watching TV?" Then I heard... it was singing: one of the lovliest sounds I have ever heard. With a voice as clear as a songbird, and with the steadiness of a flowing river, my Mama, Ms. Dimple was singing once again. It wasn't a song of mourning. It wasn't a cry for help. It was a simple song of joy, unintended for my ears to hear. But, I did, and I'm so glad. I'm not sure who enjoyed it more: her, God, or me. But, it was one of those heavenly moments when all nature is in perfect harmony, and everything in the world seems all right. It was music to my ears... sweet, wonderful music!
Like I said... life is sweeter now... for her, for me... for all of us!
"I am a tree... my roots grow deep."
God is my strength.
Of that, I am sure.
Cindy Lou
"Blessed is the man that walketh not in the counsel of the ungodly, nor standeth in the way of sinners, nor sitteth in the seat of the scornful. But his delight is in the law of the Lord; and in his law doth he meditate day and night. And he shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water, that bringeth forth his fruit in his season; his leaf also shall not wither; and whatsoever he doeth shall prosper." ---Psalm 1:1-3 Holy Bible, King James Version
@Copyright 2010, Cindy Lou Hodges
All Rights Reserved
My roots grow deep.
I'm planted by The River... The River of Life.
Hosanna's in the wind.
Hosanna's in the rain.
Hosanna's in the air I breathe.
My life He does sustain."
--Cindy Lou Hodges
For months this song was my mantra: not a happy tune, but a mournful confirmation that I could weather the storm that raged around me. I sang it to myself while she lay in the hospital flat on her back. I murmured it as she vacillated from one surgery to the next, from critical condition to serious condition, then agonizingly back to critical. I remembered it as she lingered near death from staff infections, and it was one of the songs I sang as I crossed the state line commuting back & forth from my home to her multiple care facilities. It was on my lips as my own personal lullaby at three o'clock in the mornings, and at times it boomed out of me as a defense against the enemy of hopelessness. As she was fighting for life: I was fighting for hope... enough for both of us.
That seems like just yesterday, and that yesterday seemed like an eternity. Only God knows how distraught we all were, and how close we were to quitting. On the inside I struggled for sanity, while on the outside I struggled for courage. Taking each step required stepping out in faith and numerous reminders to myself that I could do it... one step at a time.
Whenever setbacks & disappointments knocked the wind out of me, the vision of a mighty tree came to mind, and I imagined my feet sinking deeper and deeper into the solid ground. I imagined my care giving as an oasis such as the top of a tree is sanctuary for living creatures. When I felt the world dumping on me, as certain animals seek out trees to mark their territory, I realized that that was just part of being alive... part of being a tree. It would not destroy me, and it might even make me stronger. Time & time again, I would once more try to rise to the task awaiting me. One more time to encourage myself. One more time to believe... "I am a tree... my roots go deep. I'm planted by The River".
Only God knows how... but, here we are, one year after the fall & initial broken hip. We are home at her house... together, and life is different now. It is sweeter, and it is easier than it has been. The infections are suppressed. The surgeries are over. The hospital bed no longer cradles her immobile, tortured body, and the parade of caregivers has calmed down to a slow, steady pace of two a week. Sleep has returned once again, and this "welcomed back" friend allows me to sleep through the earlier known three o'clock awakenings. I even dream again, and instead of fear and darkness, my dreams take me to happy places.
Yes, life is more precious to me now. Today I saw bluebirds out the kitchen window, and I called Mama to come look. She struggled to get out of her wheelchair so that she could see the birds flying from the oak tree to the blue bird houses. Those beautiful blue feathered friends were scouting out the perfect place for their autumn nests: the perfect place to lay their tiny blue eggs. That made her smile. Made us both smile.
Then later, as I finished showering, I heard talking coming from somewhere in the house. I couldn't distinguish who or what it was, so I opened the bathroom door to better hear. "Who was she talking to? Was she watching TV?" Then I heard... it was singing: one of the lovliest sounds I have ever heard. With a voice as clear as a songbird, and with the steadiness of a flowing river, my Mama, Ms. Dimple was singing once again. It wasn't a song of mourning. It wasn't a cry for help. It was a simple song of joy, unintended for my ears to hear. But, I did, and I'm so glad. I'm not sure who enjoyed it more: her, God, or me. But, it was one of those heavenly moments when all nature is in perfect harmony, and everything in the world seems all right. It was music to my ears... sweet, wonderful music!
Like I said... life is sweeter now... for her, for me... for all of us!
"I am a tree... my roots grow deep."
God is my strength.
Of that, I am sure.
Cindy Lou
"Blessed is the man that walketh not in the counsel of the ungodly, nor standeth in the way of sinners, nor sitteth in the seat of the scornful. But his delight is in the law of the Lord; and in his law doth he meditate day and night. And he shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water, that bringeth forth his fruit in his season; his leaf also shall not wither; and whatsoever he doeth shall prosper." ---Psalm 1:1-3 Holy Bible, King James Version
@Copyright 2010, Cindy Lou Hodges
All Rights Reserved
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