by Kathy Brasby | Jan 28, 2013 | Personal
I know the last three months of my life have only been unique for me. I’m not the first to lose my father followed shortly by my mother’s stroke.
We’re still walking that ragged path of stroke recovery with my mother. We’ve seen astonishing progress when we look back three months. Looking back a week, not as much.
Perspective matters.
My sister and I, as our mother’s primary support, have not collapsed into a puddle of tears or wafted into dramatic hysteria. It’s not our way but that doesn’t explain much.
Certain things matter to help stand firm in the face of overwhelming fear and stress, such as:
- Flexibility. My plans for my day can change in a moment and there’s no point in hand wringing. Change gears and go on.
- Priorities. Maybe I haven’t cooked as many meals for my family, but I’ve made it a point to eat dinner with them. We make times for laughter and conversation even though I’m with Mom at least three hours a day.
- Faith. Our family believes God has not left us or Mom. We don’t question whether God did this to her. Neither does my mother. She trusts him to care for her now and to take her home one day.
- Good health. Even my mother, felled by the stroke, is in pretty good physical health and so are my sister and I. It’s tougher to maintain a stringent schedule with nagging health issues.
- Optimism. Our family assumes Mom will get better, although we know there’s a chance she may never return to full activity. But we’re looking for the gifts God gave her, such as the ability to talk and use her right hand and leg.
- Friends and family. Not only do many neighbors and friends check up on Mom and prayer for her, but total strangers are weighing in to encourage and support her recovery.
We walk day by day. And we’re doing all right so far.
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by Kathy Brasby | Nov 12, 2012 | Personal
“Sometimes it is the artist’s task to find out how much music you can still make with what you have left.”
Violinist Itzhak Perlman upon finishing a concert after breaking a string.
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by Kathy Brasby | Nov 8, 2012 | Personal
As I have shared recently, my mother suffered a massive stroke in October and is working hard now to rehabilitate herself.
I’m one of her cheerleaders and have focused most of my time and attention on her recovery. But once in a while I surface long enough to recognize that this experience is changing me.
Here are a few ways:
- Our journey through life does not get easier as we age. But, thank God, we have more tools to deal with the difficulties. My mother perseveres in her therapy sessions. Did she have this grit at 21? Certainly the embryo was there but the woman of courage has emerged. Our bodies fade but our integrity and willpower grow. Or they should.
- In crisis, I need to prioritize. What’s important for my family? What’s important to the plan God has shown me? Burn away the fluff and get to the steel.
- Many things that once demanded my time now has little strength over me. I’m learning to recognize value and appreciate intimacy over urgency.
- Teamwork tempers independence. Can I move forward alone? No, and the joy of allowing others to walk beside me invigorates my day. I am not alone in this journey. Not only does God go with me, he sends a team to lift my feet.
I am bruised watching my mother battle this stroke but I am inspired by her power. She presses on when the temptation to quit whispers to her. I am learning to respect her endurance and consider how it is being cultivated me.
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by Kathy Brasby | Nov 5, 2012 | Personal
In the last few months, my family has learned techniques akin to military maneuvers in trying to survive the election campaigning.
Here are some of our responses:
- If we answer our phone, the other party had better talk within two seconds or we’ll disconnect. I hung up on my brother twice one afternoon because he was composing a cute reply instead of just saying hello.
- After we discovered that our answering machine shut down at 20 messages (all of them campaign calls), we wiped the slate clean. When it was bogged down again only two days later, we let it ride. Now callers are simply informed there’s no room for them. It works for us.
- Someone in the family (and I will not identify this person except to say it is not me) takes all the automated digital surveys using different demographics each time. Remember that when you rely on poll numbers.
- We go through our mail standing by the trash can. You could re-side your house with all the glossy political postcards we’ve tossed.
- We voted early, hoping the calls and mailing would stop. That didn’t work out for us but we’re coming together as a family singing “lalalalala” during TV political ads.
- We choose to inform ourselves, reading speeches and position papers, listening to issues important to us and ignoring crazy rhetoric. There are, for example, some issues that breathless ads try to stir emotions about that have nothing to do with the candidate’s responsibilities.
We’ll survive but hope someone notices that an awful lot of campaign dollars were wasted on us.
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by Kathy Brasby | Oct 31, 2012 | Personal
What have I learned so far this week? That’s a very important question for me, because I believe a successful day is one where I have learned at least one new thing.
Here’s a partial list of my week:
- I’ve learned the devastation of a hurricane crashing into a nor’easter. Not first hand but I’ve followed the adventures of those on the East Coast and am impressed, as always, at the courage and resilience of many people. A friend of mine who lives in Sandy’s crash zone wrote on Facebook today that her family was fine. The neighbors’ huge oak tree fell, taking out her fence and power line while splitting her shed. But she was thankful for hot water, a gas grill, and a phone that worked. She asked for prayers for those who really had problems.
- I’ve learned about Tune Up, an app which lets me clean up the songs in my playlists. Too many of my mp3 files have lost the connection between title and cover art. No more. Cleaned up the music nicely.
- I’ve learned new medical terminology due to my mother’s stroke. I’m not very medical, but I now understand the difference between acute and sub-acute therapy. But don’t quiz me on it. I don’t think I’m too sharp yet.
- I’ve learned why Peyton Manning was a good choice for the Denver Broncos. He may be topping John Elway’s legend. We’ve been privileged in Colorado to watch two first-ballot Hall of Fame quarterbacks play for the Broncos.
- I learned that a governor could change the date for Halloween. Chris Christie signed an executive order in New Jersey for that purpose. I understand it. I just didn’t know a governor could do that. Will the goblins take notice?
After every activity we do, my poor children have to ride home with their mother who asks, “So, what did you learn today?” They haven’t lynched me yet so I’ll ask you the same. What have you learned today?
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by Kathy Brasby | Oct 26, 2012 | Personal
Chaos wrapped its stubborn tendrils around my ankles and brought me stumbling to my knees last week.
My mother, vibrant and energetic at 83, crashed to the floor with a stroke and now we wait. We sit beside her hospital bed, counting her breaths, charting every twitch of her toes.
Hopeful. Fearful. Will she survive this attack on her brain and her body? How well can her body heal?
And what have we lost?
Chaos swirls like a dripping fog, drenching us with plans draining away.
But I haven’t asked why. Once I would have shook my fist at heaven demanding to know how this unfairness could descend onto my family.
But no more. The old urge to control my world, to conform all plans to mine, is gone. I am no god. I’m weak. I’d be fickle with fairness, my vision limited by selfishness and ignorance.
So we walk not by my willpower but by faith, knowing that there is One who is not selfish or ignorant. He knows what I cannot discern and he lifts my yoke with his strength.
We walk step by step doing the next thing although we’d love to know where the end of the journey lies and when the path twists.
The tragedy cannot penetrate our hearts or steal our peace because we do not walk alone. There’s the meaning in this cold chaos.
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