Two years ago I was set off on an emotional odyssey when my children left on their military careers. You see for every person fighting for our freedom there is a family supporting them, hopefully not walking away from them.

From the act of taking them to MEPS with the small duffle of supplies I packed for them from a list given to us at the recruiting station. This list is the one that may very well be the last one you help them pack, be it because they never move back home or because they never make it back alive- God forbid.

Yes, my children wrote that blank check made payable to "United States of America" for an amount "up to and including their life" I was there when they signed it and I have never lost sight of what that means. As a mother that is fiercely protective of her children- this was the most unnatural thing for me to bless.

But how could I do anything but stand by these children, who would shortly transform into soldiers? It was their future, their dreams, their love of country that was driving them.

I read their letters from basic training as they were being conditioned to all aspects of combat. There was the will to succeed in those letters written with such exhaustion. I could tell in the words they used that they pushed themselves to write, that they sacrificed minutes of sleep to make sure I heard from them. I knew, in those small details that my work had not been in vain- they where finding the last drop of strength left to give to their family, what more would I ever be able to ask of them?

Then the grueling studying they were put through to learn their jobs at AIT. They couldn't just take a day off from classes they had to pass or fail and fail was not an option. My kids learned that lesson there - of 100% commitment. Their life and that of the person next to them depended on it.

My son is now an air traffic controller at a tower here stateside for the time being and my daughter is part of the 82nd Airborne Unit.

Today I remember all those that served before them especially the ones that touched their life in positive example of selfless service of their country.

And I honor my children, 24 and 22 two amazing people that endured so much in their short lives and found a way to turn those experiences into strength of character and loyalty. I deeply appreciate the sacrifices that they have made in their lives to keep our country free. 

Sweetie and the 'other' side of rescue

Those of us who love animals and advocate for all of the unwanted and discarded ones sometimes get to see the companion animal who's found reprieve from death and is awarded a happy ending with love and care from a family to call their own. That is what makes the heartbreak for the ones lost bearable.

But the other side...the side of the human who takes the sad weary animal into their lives there is a story there too. 

I adopted Sweetie the day after taking my foster Clementine to Oklahoma...I found her on Petfinders from a group in rural Arkansas. Izard County Rescue Effort (ICARE). She had been brought to her foster mom by the sherrif who'd found a litter of puppies abandoned in a yard after a snow storm...she was 4 weeks old and her siblings had not fared as well, they were found... frozen.  She was the lone survivor.

Her foster mom Delories, a hard working woman had many animals to care for of her own on her farm. Yet she made time to participate in the volunteer group that rescues unwanted pets locally. She still takes in fosters, sometimes 6 or 8 at a time its hard work to do after a long day on the farm.

I met Delories half way from Layfayette to Kansas City and did the exchange in the parking lot of a store. It was a tear filled goodbye, Sweetie was 5 months old and had lived her whole life with Delories. But even through tears she was so pleased to meet my daughter and I...she said she knew Sweetie was going to be very, very happy.

Its been more than 9 years as I write this...and Sweetie is a very happy girl....and so am I.

I still occasionally write Delories and send pictures to update her but mostly to thank her again...and again not because she saved a puppy...because that choice was easy.  But I sing a quiet and heartfelt song of appreciation to her, for caring enough to be inconvenienced, for caring enough to take another one in when there was no room, for caring enough to stretch her last dollar, for caring enough to change my life

You see Sweetie has been a very important part of my history...she is the memory of my youngest learning to walk, the memory of my stroke and cancer- and how she was my very own therapy dog, the memory of snow and soccer games and running at the lake.... and of course the memory of countless nights of holding that big fat speckled dog and feeling a calm that has been her gift to me always,

Sweetie exists because someone cared...

Thank You Delories

To all of my friends who work so hard at saving homeless pets your legacy in kindness doesn't end with the animal in need, the people whose lives are touched by your handiwork are eternally grateful that you cared

21

When Tana and I were first together, it was 24 x 7. He went with me to class at KU, I stacked my full time schedule on Tuesdays and Thursdays so that I could work full time the rest of the week. He was right there with me when I was throwing up in the trash bin next to the service bar at the Ritz Carlton on the Plaza, 

I worked many double shifts during this time in my life. 'Tana" was a term of endearment for him, my constant companion. I was never alone - for the first time in my life, come good or bad- there he was. I fell hard, I knew my life had changed now that I had felt this type of inconceivable "I will die for you" type of love and devotion. I was in a complicated and often contemptuous relationship with my husband and far from my only parent but I had my Tana! For the good part of a year it was like that, him and I against all challenges.

Then on March 24, 1993 he was born- the child I had planned on naming Montana "Tana" would now be Joseph Patrick, all 9 lbs arrived after a day and a half in labor. It was as if he wasn't ready to be born- he was in fact already a week late. I expected him to be born on St Patricks day but he chose his own day instead.

Today he celebrated 21 years on earth. But I have held his friendship in my soul for 9 months longer. I am the luckiest of all!

Congratulations! My Tana, my bubbie, my son, Joe Pat

You are loved beyond measure... remember- life's a trip- I hope you always enjoy the ride and never forget your way home.

Mum

my dads 84th birthday...

It was my fathers birthday on Friday. He would have been 84 years old.  I can imagine him, with whiter hair and a fully white mustache ` he would have been a handsome man even at 84.  But I don't think he would have been happy to live this long.  I wasn't ready to face that until last week when I was at my daughters visiting.  She invited all of her friends over for 'mamas' food.  I prepared a mexican feast just like my kids like- this is a pretty involved affair. Thats 7 separate items to prepare.

It was 4 simple words

I was hurrying to get the food timed and out on cue, something I always prided myself with being able to do with a Martha Stuart  ease. But that was before the injury from the chiropractor, before the stroke.  Its so much more challenging now. I nearly burned something, then nearly spilt all of the salsa out of the blender because the bottom came loose and Sophie said. don't worry mom "you still got it." Those words bounced around with a loudness of a bullet in a barrel as I finished up. Truly I was holding back the tears because my mind went back to my dads last piece of furniture he made me. Well, the bed I am sitting in right now.  It is in the background of many pictures here on my facebook.  By the time he was completing it his diabetes had made his eyesight a bit worse and the varnishing was more troublesome than it had ever been before. I remember the sadness it brought him when we discovered a couple of small drips on the back of the bed -really small drips. But he was a perfectionist and his work showed it. I could tell it bothered him even though to me it was just another little bit of him that I would always have. Standing there in Sophies kitchen I felt just like my dad. Knowing that I could do this so well at one time and now while I could do still do it, I could no longer shine at it. 

my dads legacy.

So the final years of my dads life were not the greatest for him professionally, a craftsman never really retires - he only starts working from home. But with his eyesight failing his desire to build seemed to decline. Now, I finally understand. He didn't stop building because he lost interest- he stopped because he lost his confidence that he could do it to HIS standards! For that I am so very sad. Being in that situation myself I see why he was so lost. It seems that on my dads birthday he sent to me another life lesson transcending the space between us.  I managed to connect my circumstance to the pain he could not articulate.  

Now I understand that I cannot hold myself to the standard of my peak performance, I may never get to that level with cooking again- and thats OK! I can teach Sophie, or Jack or Joe. I can learn something completely different and master it to the highest level or I can adapt my expectations!