Your mission, Jim, should you decide to accept it...

Three months ago today Mark Searle let go of my hand and went home to be with Jesus. This past Sunday, I went to church with my mom and dad because my mother had a mass said for Mark. It is the church we were married in. I saw the marble steps and the aisle we walked down. I saw the photo of us running out of the church together and laughing. I remembered him so clearly there. It was a mix of happiness and overwhelming sadness. There was a woman sitting behind me with a severely disabled son, about the age of 10 or 11. After mass, my mom introduced me to the little boy's parents and told them that my husband just passed away. The woman told me how sorry she was for my loss. I mentioned that Mark was a paraplegic, and like her, I was a caregiver full time. It is the void of the caring for him that has been the most challenging for me (ok, and everything else too, including going to the grocery store and walking past all his favorite things, and on and on). She leaned in and gave me a hug. She whispered in my ear and said "Do not mourn too long. You are young and full of life. It is ok to mourn, but soon the time will come to live again." I have been mulling over those words again and again over the past couple days. It has been impossible for me to think about 'living again' without Mark. He has been my life for so long. It's weird that being a mom, shopping, paying bills, laundry, housework, appointments, going to bed and getting up, are all different now that Mark isn't here. I'm not sure I even know who Suzanne is without Mark! But maybe that's still living. It's not the same, but it's still living. I am full of life (not skipping full of life), but my heart is beating and I'm breathing so I guess that means God has decided to give me a longer time here. Unbearable, crushing sadness greets me every day, but beautiful precious memories do too. This morning when I couldn't sleep at 3:00 am, I walked to the dining room and opened my bible. I am writing out the book of Psalms these days so that I can fill my head with precious thoughts of God's strength and mercy in my life. I am on Psalm 25. This is part of my message today: Psalm 25:16Turn to me and be gracious to me, for I am lonely and afflicted. 17 Relieve the troubles of my heart and free me from my anguish. AMEN to that! I am going to go live today... (starting by cleaning out the garage! ha ha!)

the CAT's Scan

There are so many memories every single day.  Most of them bring buckets of tears followed by laughter.  I didn’t think it was possible to cry as much as I do and still survive.  Today I was asking Emilie if she thought the cat (our oldest 12 year old) was acting funny.  His name is Little Head.  Do you want to know how he got that name?  Well, I will tell you.  A little orange and white kitten came to our house for Emilie’s birthday one year.  She couldn’t decide on a name so we called him “kitty” for about 3 or 4 months.  One day, Mark said “Your cat is getting fat Emilie.”  And she said “he’s not fat, he just has a little head.”  And so the name stuck.  Today, as I am looking at this old bedraggled cat that has been in fights, an incubator for parasites, a mouser, and the most affectionate and purring indoor/outdoor cat a person could ever ask for, I remembered a story that started the laughing and crying machine up again.

About 6 years ago, I was walking down the hallway and I noticed the cat was having some sort of seizure.  He was violently thrashing his head back and forth and unable to walk.  I screamed for Mark and he said it didn’t look good.  I called the vet who happened to be out of town so we were sent to Cornell Animal Hospital right away.  I put Little Head in the carrier and was absolutely sobbing on the way out the door.  I remember saying these exact words loud enough for Mark to hear “everything I love gets taken away from me.”  Something was going on at the time (now there’s a surprise) that was pretty serious and I had been distraught all day over that news…and then this!

After arriving by myself at Cornell and sitting through the long process of waiting to find out what was wrong with our cat, the doctor and tech came in and said that they needed to perform a CAT scan (really!! They actually said that!) on my cat to find out if he had a brain tumor or a parasitic infection.  I asked how much it would be and they said $2500.  I told them that I couldn’t afford $2500 for my cat and that I would have to talk to my husband.  They picked up a phone in the little tiny room and suggested that I call him right now!  So, awkwardly, while the two of them stood in the room and listened, I told Mark what they said.  He was quiet for a very, very long time on the other end of the phone and he finally said “ok.”  I hung up in shock and told the Veterinarian that if they could just keep the cat overnight for observation, I would call in the morning and let them know our decision.  They agreed to try some sort of antibiotic regiment that might also work and then gave me a phone number to call through the night.  I walked out to the car with the empty pet carrier and went straight for the cell phone.  I picked it up and dialed Mark’s number and when he said “hello there,” I started to blurt out at the top of my lungs “ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR EVER LOVING MIND TO AGREE TO SPEND $2500 ON A CAT??”  And then I proceeded to ask where we were supposed to get that kind of money and that the cat is just staying overnight without the scan and on and on and on…blah, blah, blah.  Finally, after all of my spewing, Mark calmly said “when you left the house, you said everything you love gets taken away, and I didn’t want to put a price on saving something you love.”  He said “what was the right answer in this situation?”

All of a sudden, I realized that Mark didn’t want to spend the money either, but he loved me enough to sacrifice every dime he had to make me happy.   The cat actually recovered without the scan and has some neurological symptoms, but hey, he lives here and we can handle that.  What I learned that day was you can’t put a price on love, but you can put a price on a vet bill!  I miss you tremendously Mark Searle… 

Drop everything, the goldfish is sick!

When Andrea was about 4 years old, she had a goldfish that she named "Berty-bert" after Sesame Street's, Bert.  I have no idea why she loved that goldfish as much as she did, but with a little lisp in her words, she would talk and talk and talk to that little fishy every day.  Life for all of us comes to an end, and that includes goldfish.  One day, Andrea skipped on over to the fish bowl to feed Bert and she said "something is wrong with Berty Bert because he is swimming upside down."  Uh huh, he sure was.  The fish was in trouble and I knew his life was at its end.  I tried carefully to explain that her fish was sick and there was nothing we could do to help him.  She screamed and cried and begged me to take it to the doctor.  Well, of course I didn't and within 30 minutes, Bert went to the giant fish-tank in the sky.  Andrea was inconsolable.  I explained that fish don't live long and we enjoyed him while we could, and it would be ok.  Nope, it didn't work.  Nothing helped.  So, I called Mark Searle to the rescue.  He was at work and I asked if he could please talk to her on the phone.  She cried as he listened to her broken heart over precious Berty Bert.  I heard her say "ok, daddy, thank you."  And she hung up.  She looked at me and said "daddy is coming over right now!"  "What??  Dad is coming here after work you mean?  Right?"  And she said "no, he is coming right now."  The man must have driven 90 mph to get there because within 15 minutes he was pulling in the driveway.  He walked in the door and scooped up his tiny little girl in his big ol' arms and snuggled up with her in the rocking chair.  He held her and rocked her and rubbed her back as she snotted and wept uncontrollably on his dress shirt and tie.  He promised her the moon if she would stop crying.  Eventually she calmed down and wrapped her little arms around his neck and kissed his face.  I must have said 5 times "Are you crazy to leave work for a goldfish? Really, Mark.  She would have been fine."
And he said "I know she would have been fine, but she needed a hug and she is more fine now."
He gave both of his girls a kiss and out the door he went back to work with tear-soaked clothing and a daughter and wife that learned to love him even more that day.
This week, after losing my friend D Carole Stanley, I want to call Mark at work and tell him how sad I am.  I need to tell him that something really sad happened.  I want to tell him that my husband who was my best friend and my girlfriend aren't here anymore and my heart is broken.  I want him to come home and scoop me up and hold me until I feel better and cry on his broad shoulders.  But instead, I stand on the promise of eternal life.  I stand on the love that we shared.  I stand on the lessons learned from a man, a girl, and a goldfish... that it is never, ever, not-ever ridiculous to drop everything and tell someone you love them.  Ok, now I'm crying again...

Sending God some help!

So while I was driving for over 11 hours today to PA for a Dr. Appt, Emilie was zonked out with all the meds she took so she wouldn't get motion sickness, I had lots of time to think.  Memories flooded my mind of vacations and laughing and holding hands and cousins that made me laugh and getting carsick with my dad driving and the many road trips Mark and I took together.  I began to think about how much of Emilie's life has been spent feeling lousy.  She hasn't been able to drive in 3 years, she doesn't read anymore and can barely watch TV for more than 30 minutes at a time.  She doesn't walk anywhere or ride her bike or go on trips.  Since Mark has been gone, I hear Emilie more and more getting up in the night than I ever did.  I think it's because my mind and ears were listening for Mark and hearing his TV most of the night and I missed the agony my daughter was going through night after night, day after day.  Now, it's more clear.  I see it and I don't like it.  So as I was driving today, I thought, well, Emilie Searle, you now have Mark Searle and D Carole Stanley in heaven to get this healing thing done!!  Finally!!!  and then, as if I drove into a giant hurricane force wind, I heard and felt the impact of my thought process.   It was as though I was saying "ok, finally, there is someone in heaven that can do something about Emilie's illness!"  WHAT??  Do I think that God needs reinforcements to accomplish this task?  Do I think that by our dear friend and her dad being in the presence of God, that somehow, someway, God will be nudged to do the "right thing?"  Do I think that God is weak and needed help? 

I guess I did... but if I can allow myself a glimpse into what heaven must be like, without illness, sorrow, jealousy, evil, worry, pain... I can see a different plan.  A plan that God sees and knows.

About a week ago, I sat at my friend Carole's bedside as she was becoming more and more weak.  She would close her eyes and rest and then open them and say "I know where I'm going and I'm not afraid."  Then she would look out through the glass doors of the ICU and point at the nurses and the doctors standing outside her room and shout "Do you know Jesus?  Because you should know Jesus!  Go get my doctor, I need to tell Him I'm praying for Him to know Jesus!"  ha ha ha... I love that about her. 

Carole suffered unlike anyone I have ever known to suffer.  Day after day after day she struggled to breathe and never once did I hear a word of complaint.  And now that I think about it, Emilie never complains either.  Not one of her friends would ever know what she goes through if her mom didn't mention it.  I wonder if people who trust God and His plan, no matter what, are the ones that keep their eyes on Him and not on their circumstance.  I wonder if they realize that God doesn't need help to accomplish His plan and that's how they keep their joy.  It's not in the circumstance, it's God Himself.

Happy Mudder's Day

I am taking time out today to remember a particular Mother’s day.  It was probably 1990 because we were still living in our house in Saratoga.  Andrea was only 6 years old and Michael was 4 and Em was an infant.  Mark and the children were up, dressed and getting ready for their day of surprises for mom.  Andrea announced in a loud voice that she should make me breakfast in bed because someone in school said that is what their family does.  So Mark went along with it and I reluctantly went back in bed with my clothes on and pulled the covers over myself.  I waited and waited and waited while I heard all sorts of clunking around in the kitchen.  Finally, Mark came down the hall grinning from ear to ear and said “she wants me to get in bed too.”  Mark climbed into bed next to me and leaned on one elbow in my direction.  He said “you are in for a treat,” but the tone of his voice was scaring me.  Andrea came down the hallway with a small shallow box that had my surprise breakfast-in-bed.  Michael and Andrea hopped up on the bed with the anticipation of watching me eat every single bite.  I still remember Mark leaning ever so slightly in my direction with a grin on his face.  The tray had a ‘lovely’ display of peanut butter and jelly toasted sandwich and a drink of milk.  It had a note that said Happy Mother’s Day in Andrea’s backwards letters.  I remember Michael’s nose was running because he kept rubbing it with his hands and then touching my face saying “Happy Mudder’s day mom”.  I picked up the dark brown (burnt) toasted sandwich and it weighed about ½ pound.  There was at least an inch of peanut butter on one slice of bread and a half jar of grape jelly on the other side.  The sandwich was a good inch thick with filling oozing out.  I picked it up and said “this looks wonderful.  Thank you.”  Andrea was beaming with pride.  Mark said “go ahead, eat it!” (chuckling and chuckling).  I took one bite and it was really awful.  I’m sorry Andrea if you are reading this, but it was so thick and burnt and gooey.  I tried not to show my facial expression so as I chewed, I looked in Mark’s direction.  Then I had a great idea.  I said “Andrea and Michael, can you go get me a napkin and a knife so I can share with daddy?”  And off they ran to get me those things.  I quickly tore a huge chunk off the sandwich and tried to give it to Mark.  He refused and said “no way, I saw how she made that!” laughing as I responded something about Father’s day coming up.

I kept the small portion of the sandwich on the plate and put more than ¾ of it under the pillow on Mark’s side of the bed.  When the kids came back with the napkin and knife, I regretfully told them that there was just a small piece left to share with daddy.  I cut the small piece in half and shared with Mark.  Then he opened his mouth and said “Punkeroo, do you know what mommy did with the rest of the sandwich?”  And I hit him… he didn’t give her any more information, he just laughed and laughed.  I wonder how many times we say something we don’t really mean because we don’t want to hurt someone’s feelings.  Is that still considered a lie?  I read somewhere that the average person lies about 20 times a day!!  Whoa!  They say it’s half truths, compliments they don’t mean, and exaggerations about things.  Interesting… 

One is silver and the other gold...

Make new friends, but keep the old... one is silver and the other gold... Yesterday I spent hours sitting with my precious friend D Carole Stanley at her bedside in the hospital. I sang to her and held her hand and prayed for her. I watched her sleep peacefully, seemingly unaware of my presence in the room, but I was comforted by being there. I talked to the nurses and the aides and the cleaning man about Carole and how we met and how hard she laughs over absolutely anything. I told them about how much she loves Jesus and that when my husband was ill in the hospital, she insisted her son bring her, wheelchair, oxygen and all, to comfort me during my difficult time. Everyone said "what a great friend." And they only heard a smidge of Carole's gift of friendship. 
Then I left and went to visit my parents. I took my mother to see her very best friend who is now in a nursing home with dementia. We were told "Joan" wouldn't recognize any of us. My mother recognized her from a roomful of residents immediately. Joan was in a chair watching a movie and restless. I walked in first and my mom cautiously stood about 30 feet away and watched. I brought lilacs and called her by name. It took several times to call out to her before she realized someone was asking for her.
She stood up from the chair where she was agitated and calmed when she saw me. She smelled the flowers and reached out and touched them. Then she said "you are very kind to come to my house." I said "Joanie, do you remember me?" And she mumbled something about sorting things out and putting them in the closet, so I realized she really was much more confused than we expected. I held her hands and looked in her eyes and said "do you want to see who came with me?" and she nodded her head. I pointed way down the hallway at my mother and my tiny little mom waved at her friend. I wish I had a video camera because what I saw next was possibly the most touching moment I have witnessed in a long time. Joanie looked in my mom's direction, and with complete recognition on her face, she spread her arms wide and the two of these little 85 year old women skipped into each other's arms. Joan put her arms around my mother's neck and rested her head on my mom's shoulder and sobbed. She said "you came, you came to see me, finally, you came." And through tears, my mom held Joan and let her cry. Then my sweet momma put her hands on either side of Joan's face, caressed her cheek and said "I am here now and I will always be here for you." And they took hands these two little 4'10" women and walked arm in arm up and down the hallway together chatting as if nothing ever changed. Bent over with their elderly bodies, I watched friends holding hands, chatting, loving each other and being there until forever comes. Both silver...realizing gold!

When I grow up...

May 6, 2013 
I took my parents to my Aunt's funeral today in Syracuse... my mom sang her own words to the songs (even when there wasn't any music playing) and shouted hello to the funeral guy that she was sure was my brother Bob. Halfway through she looked at me and said "is this over yet?" in her loudest voice. Honestly, it just makes me love her even more! My dad decided he didn't want to go to the cemetery or stay for the luncheon (even though it was his sister that passed away) and so we went to lunch somewhere else and then went to buy pansies for Mother's day... The older they get, the more I think I want to be like them... I often want to sing my own tunes, shout "is it over yet" and recognize people I love in others, skip things like cemetery visits and buy pansies instead... Yup... I'm gonna be more like my mom and dad (who left a $20 tip for a $35 lunch)!
(My father is one of 11 children and he has one sister left.  I wonder how that feels to be left without your parents and siblings?  My mother has lost her brothers and sisters and parents too.  I am learning to treasure those things that I have always just thought would be there, like my mom and dad and family.  Only God is permanent.  All other things leave this earth.  Only God is forever.)
The priest told a story today that was interesting.  A man died after living his entire life idolizing his possessions, career and money.  He was sent to hell and for the rest of eternity, he was separated from all the things that he coveted.  He had no TV, no comfortable chair, no fancy china or nice house, no car or window to look out of.  He was sentenced to eternity in a room all alone without anything or anyone.  Once a year, a $100 bill was lowered from the ceiling and held in front of his face and he was reminded about how much he idolized money before God.  It was quite a visual and I hope I never forget that God is first above all else.

Wake up, wake up sleepy head!

Fast forward to the year 1980.  Mark and I had been living for a few months in the apartment complex in Liverpool, NY.  We knew a couple people in our building by this time, but not really "friendly" with any of them.  Once in awhile, they would be using the washing machine or the dryer and we would chat for a few minutes.  Our apartment was one of six in the building.  We were on the top floor of the brick building.  One night, my fabulous friend Jean came up from Oswego and Jean and I went out to Tom's Clam Cove nearby and had incredible dinner and a couple whiskey sours.  I probably can count on one hand the number of drinks I have had in the past 20 years, but back when I was a younger version of myself, a good strawberry daiquiri or a whiskey sour was so good!

It was dark and after 10:00 pm when Jean drove me back to the apartment before she headed home.  We visited in the car for a few minutes before I started to get out, and then realized that I didn't have my keys to the apartment with me.  Jean shut off her car and came in with me to be sure I got in the door safely.  The first thing we did was walk in the secure doorway of the building and push the buzzer for our apartment.  Mark's car was outside so we knew he was home, but he didn't answer the buzzer right away.  We pressed it again.  And again.  And again.  We were laughing quite hard at this point because we somehow thought this was very funny.

Finally, this girl Debbie in the apartment below ours opened her door.  Her hair was disheveled and she had slippers and a bathrobe on.  She peeked out the doorway and said "do you need help?"  And Jean and I both said "yes" at the same time.  I asked if I could use her phone because unbeknownst to us at the time, there would be such a thing as cell phones one day.  Debbie allowed us to come into her apartment and I dialed our number.  The phone was right next to the bed in our apartment and there was also a phone in the kitchen.  As we stood in Debbie's kitchen, we could hear our phone ringing above us.  I thought that it was very loud and wondered what else Debbie could hear from her living quarters! After calling our apartment 5 times in a row and having nobody answer, we decided to ring the doorbell buzzer AND call him on the phone at the same time.  So Jean pushed the buzzer, Debbie held the phone and waited for an answer, and I went upstairs to the apartment door and knocked and shouted Mark's name.  There was no response.  We could hear Mark snoring from Debbie's bedroom and I again wondered about the soundproofing in that poor girl's space.

In my whiskey sour stupor, I had a brilliant idea.  I wondered if I could stand on Debbie's bed (this person I barely know) and hit her ceiling with a broom handle so it would sound like knocking on the door of the bedroom upstairs.
Debbie actually thought that was an ok idea, so she handed me a broom.  Debbie held the phone and it rang and rang, Jean pushed the buzzer and I hit the ceiling again and again and again with the broom handle, all while shouting Mark's name.  Debbie asked me to stop when the plaster from the ceiling came off in big chunks and landed on her bed (that she was obviously using when we woke her up!)

Finally, Mark picked up the phone and groggily said "hello."  Debbie said, "your wife is locked out, please unlock the door."  And you could hear Mark get up, walk across the floor and the deadbolt being released.  I ran upstairs to be sure he didn't close the door and lock me out again.  The door to the apartment was left wide open, he was nowhere to be seen, but he was already snoring and back in bed.
Jean and I laughed about that for years and years.  Mark didn't remember any of it.  Debbie never really spoke to me again!  ha ha ha!