Learning Curve - Friends that come and go

Its been a long time since my last post.  I look at the date on that post and I think back that it was the day before I met the most amazing young man.  I'm going to sound like my parents when I say that I look around at the up and coming youth and I worry.  Maybe it is the area that I live in - I live in an under served area of the high desert of Southern California.  I work in one of the 10 poorest areas in the State.  50% of the residents of Barstow are on some type of assistance.  But I really believe that greatness can arise like a Phoenix from the ashes if there is a spark of fire in the belly of those who live an in that area that do not have all of the perks.  There was a time in the last century that the schools in Harlem, NY rivaled those of the white schools because parents believed that you should grab onto every opportunity and not fear hard work; it is something to be proud of.  Now, as the "haves" are glorified on TV and in sports, "thug life" envied in music and culture,  those who are willing to work hard and do the right thing are becoming a  rare thing indeed.  This why when I think of Evan, I will be amazed.

Aren't these pics great?  Evan took them and his Dad, Kerry was kind enough to send them to me.  Yes, I was that impressed.  Evan LOVES Astronomy - as a matter of fact, that is a career choice, thank you very much.  He took these photos from his telescope and a regular digital camera.   When I look at these, I see not only color and shape, something I'm drawn to, but I am seeing the past - perhaps millions of years in the past - and Evan caught that moment in the past that will never bee seen again.
That isn't the only reason why I will remember Evan, it is that he was dedicated to learning music and was learning classical piano.  Music and the "logical" sciences/math go hand in hand together I'm told.  Evan loves his family, and when I met him, he and his Dad were on the way home from seeing his Grandfather.  The pictures of that trip made me want to take it myself.  "The boys" smiling back at me from the desert of the American Southwest.   The more I learned about this extraordinary young man, I had a glimmer of hope for my grandkids future.  This is a young man that is going to do great things and shows the kind of dedication to his future that I haven't seen much.  The more his Dad spoke to me, the more excited I became.
Only, I never met Evan, not in person anyway.  I met him through his Dad.   You see, on their way home, there was an accident.  And it really was just that, although at the time, I don't think I was able to convince his Dad of that.  From what I learned a tire blew out on the highway, and the truck rolled.  Evan was ejected and once help arrived, he was flown from the scene to a different hospital.  Our little facility, while being the last hospital on the way out of the State, doesn't have the equipment to handle major trauma.  Dad had minor injuries and major heartache, worry, and fear.  That is where I join the story.  My job, in my heart, was to be there to listen to the stories and provide company in an strange environment and stress-full situation.  We waited together until Kerry's brother could arrive from the Santa Barbara area to take them both to Loma Linda University Medical Center to see Evan.
During our time together I made some phone calls for him, trying to arrange transportation and to find out what little information I could for him given the federal privacy laws.
At 1039 p.m. on August 14, 2011 I received a phone call from a family member telling me that Evan had passed away. The hospitals that Evan had been at are top-notch and I admire both of them, but the injuries were too great.  Part of my heart wanted the miracle for this family.  I wanted it for me because this was one extra-ordinary young man.  I haven't heard from the family since, but when I listen to the message on my phone, I send them a blessing of healing for their broken hearts.
I am lucky in my job, that I do get to see the best and the worst of people and situations.  Such was a man by the name of John Thomas.  When I first met him he was living at the only homeless shelter we have.  He was hoping to get a job there which he did.. and by the way, was THRILLED to be off of the streets.  No job was beneath him.  John's problem was that years of smoking caught up with him.  NO preaching here, just the truth and for the last 5 years I watched him go from inhalers, to getting him affordable medications for a "breathing machine" (Thank you Wal-Mart $4 program!), to needing a special machine at night to force air into his lungs and then 24/7 oxygen and a wheelchair.  I watched his face bloat from the steroid use.  But in all of that time I butted heads with him a few times, but never because he felt sorry for himself.  And we were always honest with each other, which made it easier to speak with him the sicker he became; he knew he was dying, but he wanted to fight it even it that meant that he was going to NOT play by the rules.
COPD "attack" and for a few hours he couldn't speak more than 2 words without struggling.  But that was OK, I was furious with him.  So much so, that when the Doctor asked me to speak with him, I refused.  But I did after calming myself down.  You see, not playing the rules meant that this patient was endangering an outpatient program he was in as well as coming in and out of the hospital so frequently I was wondering why we ever would discharge him.  But this is were open and honest discussion as well as a good helping of trust comes into play because the first thing I did was to tell him how angry I was and he still agreed to speak with me.  My next words were "John, you are dying."  There was a long space of silence between us before he told me that he was scared of dying...not death.  It is the struggle to breathe that had him imagining what it would be like to die without medical help.
We had a long and (for me) anger free discussion after that.  John agreed to go on hospice and give them a chance to work their magic and really help him and his wife through what was left of his life.  At the end, we hugged, and he road his scooter out of the ER.
I didn't see him after that.  I left on leave for my own surgery, something he wished me luck on.  I asked him to check in with me after the first of the year.  He didn't get the chance as John passed away, quietly and in his sleep on December 17th.  It was what he wanted.  For me, there is a tear-filled smile when I think of him.
Welcome to a new year.  During this year, I hope you will make the most of your time with friends, family, and strangers.  It is these encounters that leave marks on your heart and soul.  They change who you are and how you move through this life.  I am a better person for knowing both of these people, and I have learned so much about the depth of our ability to endure, survive, and thrive.  Truvy, the wise-cracking hair stylist in the movie "Steel Magnolias" said that "Laughter through tears is my favorite emotion".  Indeed, it is those times when we grow bigger and stronger as individuals while closing the gap between friends and strangers.
So to Evan, Kerry, John,  James, Loretta, Linda Ruth, and the others that I have known, loved, and lost...thank you for being great teachers.  
To you who have made it through the end of this rather long story, may you have laughter through tears with a heart full of precious memories and valuable lessons learned along the way.

Learning Curve

While this is a gruesome little picture, it does have a LOT to do with this learning curve.  In case you have never read my learning curves, it is a situation or realization - sometimes both, that causes me to think and re-think my views on life.  And even at my age (51) I learn and grow from the experience.
In my professional life I am a Nurse/Case Manager in an Emergency Room at a small "rural" hospital.  In my personal life I love to create my vision of art which includes digital and traditional scrapbooking, painting, art journaling, collage, quilting, spinning my own yarns, and when I win the lotto I will get another loom and begin weaving again.  I am a visual person who loves to work with my hands.
I received a call telling me that I needed to come to the ER immediately because we had a 13 year old who was intubated.  On my way I imagined all of the possible things I would need to do for the family and for the ER staff.  Would we need to transfer her?  Is she so sick that we would have to fly her by helicopter?  How is the family holding up?  My mind was working quickly based on my experience in these situations.  But what I found when I got there was much different.
I saw the ambulance crew who told me that they were responsible for calling me down.  They had brought in an older woman who was very sick.  She had known she was sick for a couple of weeks but would not allow her granddaughter/caretaker to make her a Doctors appointment or come to the ER.  Because in the patients opinion, she didn't want to die in the hospital.  The granddaughter called 911 after her grandmothers' behavior became strange and she couldn't say "No!"
The grandmother was intubated and on a ventilator.  The granddaughter/caretaker was 13, scared, and alone.  I spent the next few hours with her, becoming an interpreter of sorts between the medical-ese of the ER and making sure she understood what was going on.
She told me that it was her choice to live with grandma, the rest of the family lived 70 or more miles away.  She told me that this was the only mother shes' ever really known.  "Chloe"(not her real name) had called her mother to come to the hospital, but mom had "missed the bus" and was still at home.  When I spoke with mom over the phone, she had no urgency to come to the hospital to be with her daughter.  Then the admitting Dr. and I explained the gravity of the situation.  We let "Chloe" have a moment with her mom and walked away for privacy.  I came back a few minutes later to find Chloe with her phone to her chest and I could hear the muffled screams and wailing coming from the phone.  I looked at her and said "Mom?" Chloe nodded her head and I asked for the phone.  And then I launched.
I told Chloes' mother that she needed to pull herself together, that Chloe hadn't shed one tear and has had to brave the ER and all that we have had to do for the patient with courage and clarity; I expected her to do the same.  I also said that Chloe needed to have family with her in the hospital and unless mom could pull herself together Chloe had no one to be there for her.  I told her that she needed to pull herself together so she can arrange a ride to the hospital to see the patient and perhaps say good-bye.  And then I hung up the phone.
I did apologize to Chloe for hanging up on her mother, but that after seeing how Chloe was handling the situation, I had no time for her mothers dramatics; I expected her mother to be just as brave.
While I was talking with Chloe, I watched her flip through the pictures on her phone.  I was expecting the "boy-I-like" pictures, or "hanging-out-with-my best-friends" stuff, but instead she had Japanese anime.  I will admit, I am a bit of an anime nerd, so I recognized some of the images.  The first one I recognized was "Black Butler" (that's the picture above) and her face lit up.  We now had something in common.  I learned that Chloe was teaching herself to draw anime, and that she loved watching it when she could.  I found a piece of paper and pen and I asked her to draw for me.
 I then came up with an idea and excused myself.
When I came back, I had my "Art bag".  It contains the basics for art journaling and drawing and I take with with me almost everywhere.   As it was nearing the end of my shift, I didn't want to leave her without something to do until other family arrived.  So I left some artist papers, pencil, white eraser, a Micron pen for outlining and some ATC (artist trading card) blanks.  I explained what they were and challenged her to make me an ATC for trading requesting one of her anime characters, and that I would trade her when I came back in the morning.  She seemed unsure, but agreed.  I hoped my plan to help her to mind focus on something enjoyable instead of the reality of a situation she could not change while she waited for family members who wouldn't be with her anytime soon.

There was no sign of the hoped for ATC.  The staff didn't know anything and Chloe didn't speak with them as she did with me.  An hour or so later I was standing next to a computer stand that the staff uses.  It had been near Chloe and I the night before.  On the stand was everything I had given her the night before with a short note to anyone who found it to make sure I got it back.  I began to tear up.  I had really wanted her to keep everything and hoped to swap ATC's with her.
In this world, most of us are lost.  We have families but no real bonds.  We all want the Norman Rockwell families, but only if it doesn't interfere with our lives too much.  But this 13 year old girl took on a responsibility with love and I don't see much in my job.  I learned that art can bring us together.  Creativity is able to make a quiet place in our souls in the midst of chaos.
I think of all of the things that happened to bring Chloe and I together.  Love of anime and art broke down her stoic defenses, allowing us to talk more openly and with trust.
I think about her, hoping she's happy, hoping to get a piece of mail at work with an anime drawing and a note.  I hope she didn't feel alone and knows that I had her best interest at heart.
I think she's going to be a fantastic artist someday.
Grandma would be proud.

Learning Curve

Two things happened to me this week.
1) I turn 51 today.
2) I had to testify at a murder trial.

While most of us will see our 51st birthdays, most of us will not have to testify at a murder trial.  I was fortunate to have a District Attorney who helped to calm me and assure me that I would be a fine witness for him.  But when the time came and I had to see the first photograph of the 7 week old baby boy up on the projection screen, I teared up.  I couldn't help it.  I did my best to answer questions simply and accurately, all with the thought in my head that at this time, I was being an advocate for my patient.  Only now I was advocating that the person who allegedly did the damage to him that caused his death, be put away.  And his alleged  abuser/murder?  His father, hence forth be be called "sperm donor".
I was charged with making sure that this little guy was safe while in my facility.  His CT showed multiple fractures both old and new, including suspicious posterior fractures.  Those happened, as it was explained to staff, as the infant rolled himself off of a bed onto the floor.  A 7 week old infant....rolled himself off of the bed.  Strike 2.  Posterior fractures and impossible explanations are two warning signs that something isn't right.  So is the brain bleed that the infant had.  And that the sperm donor said later that he became frustrated because the infant was crying and he "may" have gotten "a little rough".  "I did what I did and then he stopped crying" was what the sperm donor said.  After the child became quiet, he waited 7 hours before bringing him to the hospital.  I helped to document the numerous bruises as well as helped Law Enforcement take the photographs that were initially refused by one or both of the parents.  I kissed the little one goodbye as he left our facility (Mom was getting grilled by Child Protective Services...the sperm donor went to go get gas for the car, he was gone for at least an hour leaving Mom to the wolves.) to a larger children's hospital where he later died.  There isn't a month that goes by that I don't think about this little one.  During a break, I was in the hallway playing on my iPod touch, Grandma came up to me saying that I was the nurse who talked to her and helped to calm her down that night.  With that I got a hug and a thank you as well as tears in my eyes.

My birthday?  Well, I've been having problems coming to grips with my mortality.  This is just another reminder, along with the wrinkles, sagging skin, post menopausal state, and a slight weight gain, that I am a little closer to the next stage of my life.  Death.   There are so many things that I still want to do, don't get me wrong here.  I'm not giving up per se.  But me, just like millions of other folks out there are having a difficult time financially, including the possibility of losing our home, bills that we want to pay like the responsible people we are but are finding it hard because of a decline in business.  I worry about keeping my job, completing my education and having the money to complete it.  My daughter and grandkids are depending on us for a place to live, she is not able to provide for a place on her own.  I really thought that I would have a real home to live in for the rest of my life when I came back here.  I have lost 2 homes to foreclosure - 1) during my first marriage when be bought our home at the height of the housing market before it burst causing us to be upside down and 2) when my Dad died and instead of him keeping his home paid off, he took out a reverse mortgage that I couldn't pay back.  My car broke down (again) and after $800.00 we don't really have, I can get back and forth to work.

So, at the end of all of this what do I want for my birthday?  I want to have my personal bills paid off...that would take a winning lottery ticket.  Heck!  I don't even want the big money, just $15,000 would do! With that, I could pay my bills off and funnel more money to our home so we could keep it. And for my second and more important wish - justice for my little patient.   To know that the sperm donor will not be out in society creating more babies, to abandon and abuse.  Yes, I know that his conviction means he will be in danger.  I worked for a time in a prison, I get it.   Its true what they say, that there is a moral code that says that child abusers/molesters/killers are not tolerated.  But at least he will be able to fight back, where this little one couldn't fight off being choked out and punched. (Yes, really...PUNCHED and CHOKED)

So, thats what I would like.  Maybe with presents like that my depression will lift and I"ll be able to live a little before I die.

Learning Curve

Once again I am going to indulge in a bit of, what I believe to be, well deserved whining.  Although I have a difficult time believing that I am the only one in my situation.
I am now a woman of "a certain age".  What do I mean? I have achieved menopause.  That year without a cycle.  Yep, I am an "old woman", a "crone",  "dried up old biddy" or maybe a "cougar"?  I like that last one.  It at least give the impression of being desirable in the age of  young, nubile, overtly thin and beautiful women.  Yes, all those things and vapid...OK, that's my  fantasy or at least stereotype.
But in my mind the last big event in my life will be my death.  I'm having a bit of a struggle with that one, and it has, on several occasions brought me to a (pardon the expression) "dead stop" almost to the point of panic attack.  I have watched people die.   Both calmly with friends and family at bedside, and violently, CODE BLUE style; CPR in progress, intubation, drugs pumped into veins, organized chaos all around.   I prefer the first option, but that is not my problem.  It is the crisis of faith that brings my spirit, if indeed I have a soul, to another plane of existence.  And what happens to the family and friends that I have here, now?  Does that all dissolve into a mildly meaningful lesson to be passed on in the vast eternity?  Do I fade into nothing-ness, with all that I have been just for nothing other than part of the evolution of this planet?  See my dilemma?  I am struggling with it just as humanity before me.  And I'll have to come to my own conclusions before its all said and done.  Which brings me to my next point.
I fully understand that the financial crisis extends world wide.  The loss of homes and jobs is nothing new to the United States or anywhere else for that matter.  I'm tired of the constant threat of losing mine, again.  I think about my job, and for what I do and at my level of liscensure, I make a very good wage.  I cannot complain.  But I can worry.  And I do.  I worry about the 3 student loans that I have and paying them off.  One of them is for my current schooling and I can't finance the testing fees that are between $150.00 and $350.00 per test.  I can't afford to go on and I can't afford to quit.  I need to move up in my licensure to be assured of my job in the future.  And to be able to take care of my family.  I worry about losing my job and not being able to get another one no matter how good I am at what I do.  Sometimes I get on a "I don't get out of the house and I don't do anything fun anymore" kick and I do things like buy online...yes, I bought some make up and some e-books from Sony.  And then I feel guilty for wasting the money. (sighs deeply)
Sometimes I feel I have taken too much on, and wonder if, in the long run, it is all worth it.  I wonder if I will actually succeed at conquering my stated goals in this life or am I just spinning my wheels?   I feel overwhelmed, under loved,  and overdrawn.  2 out of the 3 aren't true, but it just feels that way.   When my Grandson crawls on my lap and wants to check on his "NeoPet" with me, I know I"m loved.  Or when my Granddaughter wants to crawl in bed with me and cuddle, I know I'm needed by her to feel safe.  I feel her love and I know that for her, my life as purpose.
I honestly have so much to be grateful for.  I am just feeling the weight of all responsibility of my family.  I want to keep my home, keep my husband loved and without worry-I want him to feel as though he has a real partner in this lifetime.  It is something I take very seriously.  I want my kids and Grand kids to be healthy, happy, and fulfilled.  I want their dreams, hopes, hard work, and effort to pay off in spades.  And I want them to know how much I love  them, now and forever.  I want to complete school,  I have a Microbiology final tomorrow that I am sweating.  But I can only do what I can do.   I want to fix the problems with my back, but surgery will have to wait until after the bills are paid of for good.  Until then, I will live with the ever increase pain level and decreasing activity level the best that I can.
And here is where it comes back into a big circle.  I am menopausal.  Am getting old(er) I feel that I don't have time left to mess around and I wonder if I am wasting my time and energy on things that in the long run won't make any difference.
So there you have it.
My whine.
I still refuse to believe that I am the only one on the planet that feels this way.
At least some of the time.

Learning Curve

Its no secret what I do for a living, its on the front of this page.  And I love what I do.  Nurse first, Case Manager second.  ER the best.  That I get to do all three, despite the pressure of each of these, is a bit of heaven for me.  But it also has a price.  One that at the moment, I am paying and thinking twice about it.
Recently I was involved in the transfer of a patient to another hospital.  Due to his illness it was a very time sensitive situation.  Within 2 hours of getting the call that this needed to happen, I had it all arranged.  The legalities of transferring a patient from our facility was met (open bed at the right level of care, and an accepting physician able to take care of him), the consents were signed, the helicopter was being called for.  And then I got a phone call asking me to tell the family about their insurance.  In this economy, I had a hard time justifying not telling them.  It wasn't that the hospital was turning them down, they just wanted them notified.  So I did.  For better or worse, I did.  The family then chose to go back home instead of using the hospital that I had arranged for.  Now I want to say here and now, they had been in touch with their home hospital, and that the wife and daughter were both nurses.  We made sure they understood that this delay could endanger the patients life.  And they accepted and signed the waiver.  I then arranged another transfer to the neighboring state and the patient lifted off within the hour.
And then it happened.  I was told by another nurse and someone that I admire that if anything happened to the patient during transport, the responsibility rested directly on my shoulders.  I never should have told the family about what the hospital said to me.  I was devastated.  And to an extent, I still am.  I have been having nightmares, anxiety, tears and fears about work since the incident.  I am making it into work, but my style of dealing with people and my interactions with my co-workers have changed.  I am quiet instead of outgoing, hesitant instead of walking point, I let others tell me what to do instead of taking charge.  In short, I don't know if I can really do my job well anymore.
As of last report, the patient had to be transferred to another hospital for open heart surgery.  Not something that I could have foreseen.  But I play the "what if" game with myself.  Would his outcome had been any different if I had kept my mouth shut?  And what would have happened when the hospital asked for their deposit and let the family know that I was told and didn't pass the message along, would I have been blamed for that too?
 Since the intense discussion of healthcare reform here in the United States, I have been one who has advocated for personal responsibility in one's own healthcare.  Don't live an unhealthy lifestyle and expect Doctors and Hospitals to fix you up so that you could go out to do it again.  As nurses we can only do so much.  As soon as a patient or family member tells me "No" about a plan or refuses to take their medication because they won't afford it (think Wal-Mart $4.00 prescription program, we use that A LOT to help our patients stay healthy, so please don't blast me about the impossibly high drug costs...I know that already.) but can afford artificial nails, cigarettes, alcohol, or drugs, there is nothing I can do anymore.
I have no answers.  But I have plenty of questions, concerns, worries, and fears. Time and possibly a lawsuit, will tell me if I did the best I could.

Learning Curve

I have seen this pic around the web, and personally if it wasn't for the Swine flu ( now known as H1N1 virus) one of those too cute pics.  (Please note: No swine or children were injured in the taking of this photo)

There has been so much half information, speculation, and panic about the flu.  I am more angry at the half information that was being put out my the major news media than I am about anything else.

That do I mean?  At the beginning of the outbreak, all we heard is the number of dead, with the toll rising with every passing hour.  It was almost an "Andromeda Strain" scenario.  The news outlets were producing maps of the world wide outbreak, announcing the numbers of the dead, showing folks with facial masks, bringing on authorities who said that the pandemic is going to happen and we have no way to stop it.  I actually had a clerk in the hospital where I work tell me that if she caught the virus she was going to die.  Thats what the news media told her anyway.  Hospitals were setting up outdoor triage areas to handle the increase the number of patients who were coming in with a runny nose and cough.  

And then media says....Oops.  Seems that the number of COMFIRMED cases of the H1N1 virus was much smaller than originally stated.  Oh, yeah, the cases that had been reported at the beginning of the outbreak....had all recovered.  Please note the word had, it's past tense.  And then I was hearing reports that the emergency rooms were being overwhemed with the same snotty nosed folks who were afraid of dying from this mysterious virus that was causing a pandemic.  We even had a woman come to the ER saying she heard on the news that if anyone thought they had the H1N1 virus, that they could be treated in the ER for free.  In LA and Orange Counties, Tamaflu was out of stock.  Lots of folks getting the prescription "just in case".

What I haven't heard was any responsibility being taken for only half of the story being given out.   Most people don't read newspapers now, all of their news information coming from the 30 second blurbs on the radio and TV.  The internet is also a big source of information as well, but as I surfed for more on the flu outbreak, I couldn't find anything that said what to look out for and how to avoid getting sick.  Until now.

My husband came down with flu like symptoms 10 days after returning from Mexico.  He was there during the initial reported outbreak, but he wasn't in the Mexico City area.  I knew that the incubation period for this flu was about 48 hours, so I was not thinking "flu".  After 3 days of 103 fevers, I took him to my hospital for treatment.  The N95 mask was given to me when I mentioned Mexico, and told "it was for the staff's protection".  

Now that the turmoil is dying down, I would like to think that we will have greater public education about the flu, swine or otherwise.  I would like to think that we won't be suckered in for what we hear in the media and will dig a little deeper to find "the rest of the story" as the late Paul Harvey said.

Until then, I'll call scares like this job security.

Learning Curve

Last night I sat at the beside of a woman while she died.

I sat there to give comfort to her husband during the process.  I sat there so he wouldn't be alone while his life faded with hers. 

As I sat there I saw the power of commitment, of love.  I saw what as so common place for our parents and so scarce for us and our children.  

This man who stayed with his wife for 38 years was illiterate.  While she took care of those things that required reading, writing, and numbers; he took care of her physically.  She was very ill, requiring a caretaker, a role that he accepted with devotion.  He now will face a life alone, with no family and scared at his age how he will be able to survive without her loving help.   I sat and cried with him while we watched the heart monitor blip slower and slower until the line was flat.  We measured our breaths with hers.  And at times, it felt as though I was holding my breath as hers became shallow.  The quiet dignity of the room was only broken by the occasional heavy sigh or the sound of a Kleenex being pulled out of the box.  As I put my hand on his shoulder, he held her hand for that last time, and then let her go.

In this world of entitlement, this man never asked for a thing.  As I spoke with him he told me that he worked all of his life by the "strength of his back", never asking for help.  He earned what he had and if he couldn't afford it, he didn't need it.  And even at this time, he didn't ask me for a thing, although he confided in me that he didn't know how he was going to bury her, but he would try to find a way.

The care and commitment of our generation to our family members has diminished over time.  Our commitment to those we marry lasts as long as we are having fun, or getting our way.  For better, for worse, richer or poorer, does not apply anymore.  Till death us do part is now translated to mean "Until I get bored."

He did not ask me to get the county to pay for his wife's cremation.  Although I have had families come to me asking for that service saying they have no money while wearing diamond rings and carrying designer purses.  Folks demanding that I find money to pay for their asthma medication all the while knowing that their shortness of breath was proceeded by the use of methamphetamine and cigarettes.

A new poll has come out to say that with the new president in office, more people are feeling optimistic about their future.  I truly hope that this new optimism extends to our families and community.  I hope that we, individually, and as a society, stop looking at ourselves as entitled to goods and services; never thinking about what we need to give back.  I hope that we can transform and remember that the greatest gift in life is not what we are given, but what we give back to others.

Learning Curve

There are times for me that I have to look for the beauty amongst the bleak.  This is one of those times.  It has nothing to do with any political landscape.  It is the landscape of my own heart and soul.

It has been said, and I have even uttered the words that the older I got, the more intelligent my parents became.  And now as a mother and grandmother, I understand the hope and pain that our parents quietly (and sometimes not so quietly in my case) endured.  We work hard to raise our children with the tools to go out and live honest, productive, and loving lives.  Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't.  Then we have to sit and watch their lives unfold from the sidelines. 

It is in times like these however, that we find out what kind of relationship we have with our family members.  Will they talk with us about their decisions?  Do they trust us enough to do that?  Can we allow them to make their decisions without getting in their way?  Can we love them through our own pain?  And if it doesn't work out for them, do we have the strength to NOT say "I told you so."?  Will the worry ever go away?  I don't know the answer to that last question. 

I find it another paradox in my life that while at my age I am looking forward to having my life back; to have a sense of freedom that those with family at home to take care of do not have.  On the other hand  I find that I long to have my family close.  I want to be able to tuck my grandbabies in at night and talk with my children.  

So for now, I will look for those small, bright colored desert flowers surrounded by thorns.  I will learn to enjoy the beauty, the color, and the courage it takes for them to appear in such harsh conditions.