My Father's Death

Don't know where to start or what to say as usual. There are some emotions I can't express here because as much as I would love to they are too personal even for this. But I must say that I am blessed that God gave my a best girlfriend or two in whom I can turn to and express anything and everything my heart desires and know I will never ever be judged. I did not cry at my dad's funeral. I have a different way of grieving. I do the busy thing. I have to keep busy and focus on something, anything else. I am a Martha. (Remember Martha and Mary from the gospels.) I have to do. I have to pick up the phone and inform people. I can't sit down. I need busy work just don't put me in the kitchen! So that is what I did. Then at night when all is quiet I can then allow myself to think and let loose in the privacy of my room, with no other people around.

My father was two weeks short of 95. He died in his sleep. He went to bed and never woke up. That is the best way to go.

The wake and funeral were perfect just the way he would have wanted it. God went before us and helped me prepare everything. The funeral home was great. You know they can read your mind. They know what you need before you do :). I know that that they are supposed to do that but it still amazed me. I mean down to the smallest detail like Thank you notes. I was thinking oh I need to buy thank you notes and there in the packet they left me were a bunch of thank you notes. Too bad they don't write them for you lol. My daughter did a great job writing the obituary and my son's Eulogy was absolutely incredible. I was blessed to have all my children here and my daughter in laws for wonderful support. As I said. God went before us in every way.

So now its over and the real work begins. I ask my Lord to go before me once again to help us move my mother in here with us and to sort through everything. Sorting through everything is not so easy. But as the the Lord says with God we can do anything.

Skiing a love-hate relationship

There was a time when I loved to ski. There was no hate except getting up at 6 am so my husband could be on the slopes for breakfast by 8. We would have a front row parking space. If we were in the second row we were running late. We would be on the first lift ride up with the kids in tow. We would ski till the lifts closed with a lunch break somewhere inbetween. I very much enjoyed being out there in the fresh air, zooming down the mountain side and trying to keep up with the rest of the family. That was our Sunday, almost every Sunday for many many winters.

One winter, I got hit by a snowboarder, tore ligaments in my shoulder and couldn't ski for awhile. The only thing that did was make me paranoid of snowboarders, went back to skiing and nothing else fazed me for many years to come.

But somehow, time passed and I got older. We no longer ski every Sunday. In fact, except to spend an hour at the gym in the morning we hang around the house all day Sunday. You might say we have become old boring people. We relax and do our own thing. But once a year we spend a week at Snowbird ski resort. That is where I am right now. Even that started out as a total blast. We have ski in and ski out capabilities. All we do all day is eat, sleep and ski everyday for a week. Heavenly right? But one day I realized I wasn't 30, 35, 40 or even 45 anymore. Energy became more difficult to come by. One day I was skiing happily down a slope I had skied down hundreds of time and I fell. I didn't just fall I tumbled it my head on the ground hard my ski came off half way up the mountain and I fractured my leg. Actually, Thank God I got off the hook very easily. It could have been much worse had I not been wearing a helmet. We had only started wearing those the year before. But fracturing my leg made me think a lot about life. I don't worry much about death because if it happens I am gone, I'm with God and all is well. What I have come to fear most is pain and suffering and all the things I can't do if I am hurting. So, the love started to dwindle a little and the hate started to appear. Now I am not at all saying I hate to ski. I still love everything I have always loved about it. I can't ski as long as I used. But now I fear falling. I fear skiing on icy terrain. I fear getting hurt. In comes the hate. Now the question is will I eventually give into the fear and hate and stop skiing altogether or will I come to terms with the fear. I am still trying to figure this out.

In the meantime, when I am out there I relay totally on God's protection.