Been Dragging My Feet

For reasons unknown, I have not been able to make myself go to Children's Hospital with Wishing Rock Bags.  I have them packed, I have sorted, I have great new People Magazines, but I have not been able to go.  I plan it and then when it is time to leave, I take to my bed to watch Keeping Up With the Kardashians.  Yes, it is bad.  It can be very very bad.  

I had a million and one reasons for not going.  I was tired, I might have the bubonic plague, there is a terror alert, and I am on the top of the list. They won't let me in. The Seattle Guild Society was right, these silly little bags are meaningless. 
Then I had to go.  I made myself go.  I told someone I was going.  I had to do it.  And I did.
I went.  And I remembered why I do this.  I let someone tell me their story.  I listened to them, told them hospital survival secrets and let them know about Midnight Bacon. 

Something about the act of giving back and listening and just being there is so potent. We don't even have to know each other's names we just know.  We know the deep-seated fear, the questioning of everything that might have caused the issue. The wondering "WHY" no one found it earlier. The realization that no matter what you do or what you let them do to your children, it might not be enough. It might not work.  It does not work sometimes.  It might come back. The treatment might bring more cancer and an endless list of long-term side effects.  Knowing the fear never goes away.  Knowing the future is something other's can focus upon because we have just this moment in time.  

Life is so much more than what we had planned and more about what we can do this moment.  It's okay to watch your friend's lives continue.  Plans being made.  It is part of your stepping off the path.  

When I was in highschool, I read a Ray Bradbury short story about a man that returned to Dinosaur times to hunt.  There was required path, and you were only to kill the appointed Dinosaur.  It had been determined it would die soon and not affect the timeline.  This man stepped off the path and upon return he found a small glistening blue butterfly on his boot.  When the doors opened to return him after the hunt,

everything seemed familiar but were slightly off.  It was not the same.  It is never going to be the same.  No matter how hard we try and no matter how hard we pretend and no matter how hard everyone wants it to be the same, We stepped off the path.  

The only thing we can do is help those behind us.  
So.... I will consider myself cured of the plague, be kind to security and keep at it.  Besides, I'm almost caught up with the Kardashians. 

Rest-in-Peace....... Really

I suppose if someone dies in a war. Or if they lived a life of hardship and stress.  If they are from a country where bombs drop all the time.  Rest-in-Peace would be a great thing to say.  Simple, life-affirming, considerate. 

But... you can hear "the but" coming can't you.  
 BUT  I certainly am not tired.  I don't need to rest, except for nap time some days.  I have way too much to do.  I don't have time to rest.  I don't want peace and quiet.  I want to make a difference in this world. I want to make sure it is a better place than when I entered.  I want to find out stuff and learn stuff and grow stuff and read lots of good books and make up countless recipes and have wine on the deck, and the list is endless.  

I don't want to Rest-in-Peace.  I want to RIP through life knowing it is a precious and limited thing. If I feel like this at 60, I am sure the children we watch die, day after day have other plans.  Seattle lost another one on Sunday.  Ahmie Njie was only 14.  She was full of life and cancer.  They don't go to well very often.  Cancer is atrocious at getting along with its host.   It kills.  In unthinkable, painful, sad and depressing ways.  It takes so much with it when a young one dies.  
Ahmie is another victim.  One that touches each of us.  I didn't understand how it all worked until I was reading a book that talked about a quantum physics concept of "Quantum Entanglements."  There are those that believe particles in far reaches react with each other even when they are far far from each other.  Cancer Moms have the same thing going on with each other.  We connect when we share our stories, and we continue to feel the story as it proceeds.  We react. We respond. We reach out. We recoil. We feel.  The empathy runs deeps and long and reaches across the boundaries of the world.  

Ahmie's Mom chronicled her story and shared the ending with the world.  I don't have the ability to understand or know what Gienna is feeling or thinking right now.  I would not presume to have words or answers or even know the right questions to ask.  I do know there is an ache in my heart.  A need to take many deep breaths.  There is an empty place in the universe.  A void was left by a child that was not ready to rest.  She had too many plans and too many ways she wanted to RIP through life.  

We have become "Entangled".  

She was Surprised and I was Relieved.

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

Mary-Elizabeth Sierra Lanham Named to Dean's List at Gonzaga University

SPOKANE, WA (6/12/2015)—Mary-Elizabeth Sierra Lanham, a resident of Lynnwood, WA has earned placement on the Gonzaga University Dean's List for Spring semester 2015. Students must earn a 3.5 to 3.69 grade-point average to be listed.

Gonzaga University is a humanistic, private Catholic University providing a Jesuit education to more than 7,500 students. Situated along the Spokane River near downtown Spokane, Wash., Gonzaga is routinely recognized among the West’s best comprehensive regional universities. Gonzaga offers 75 fields of study, 25 master’s degrees, a doctorate in leadership studies, and a Juris Doctor degree through its School of Law.

Among her circle of friends, this is not such a huge thing.  It is something that kids do on a pretty regular basis.  She has always been a good student and sometimes even amazing.  But it is not easy and it is something she works so hard at doing. 

Every grade, every point, every single test and quiz and report is the result of hours of study and preparation.  Radiation and Methotrexate into her spinal fluid have robbed her of many things we take for granted.  She can't memorize.  She can't keep something in her short term memory if her life depended on it.  All those people that memorize, drop the info on the page and then forget have a skill she no longer possesses.  She has to do an extended solitary process of making sure she understands and learns the material.  

She does not believe she made the Deans list and even argued with the Registrar about the posting.  

I have watched her spend every bit of her energy on being a good student.  Lots of her fun time in life was spent in the hospital and then studying or getting ready to study.  

I think back to the first time I saw the 12 inch lead door closed her into the Radiation Suite.  I knew the damaging radiation was destroying more than elusive cancer cells.  I have come to appreciate how much was destroyed.  I think it is going to be okay.  It just made the hill higher, slicker, rockier, and more difficult.   

It didn't make it impossible. 

Emily is Gone

Another one... Another Loss.  It sometimes seems like a steady stream... She was a strong determined little girl. Her family was with her all the way..... Her family is exhausted and need lots of good energy sent their way.  Sometimes when I post these things people tell me they are sorry for my loss.  It is never about my loss... it is about the world's loss.  We all are less for what has happened here.  

Childhood Cancer is a tough one.  

Another Bright Light is going To Go Out....

I somehow connected to this family a couple of years ago.  Their daughter Emily was inflicted with the same Lymphoma as my friend Trisha.  Unfortunately Emily has relapsed again. This family has been on fire.  They have had every buildings in Chicago lit up with Green and Purple, Emily has been at the Police Headquarters, heck she even had a call from Taylor Swift. Emily is squeezing every single moment of life dry.  As we all cry inside for this impending loss. 

 I hate to feel like I only have sad stories to share.  I don't want to be that person but some it is such a big part of being a Cancer Mom.  Knowing we have to be there even during the losses.   

Say an extra pray for peace and painless days.  Light a candle.  Hug your kid.  Forgive your irritating neighbor. Smile at the homeless guy.  (Still feel free to kick the smokers) 

Sorry I haven't updated in a while. It's hard to come up with words when I feel so empty inside.

Emily has been having some good days. She hates radiation, but she has to go for pain management. She has about another week left. Thank God the pain finally subsided. They put her on Methadone. At first, she was miserable. Not only was she in pain, she was very mean. I don't know if it was the pain, or the getting use to the pain meds. Our Emily came back last weekend. She is only functioning on one lung, her left one. She gets up to brush her teeth and after she has to sit down and have some oxygen. What 12 year old should get tired and winded brushing her teeth? I don't know how we are suppose to do this? Looking at her beautiful eyes, her beautiful smile, her little buck teeth. I just can't imagine a world without all those things. We all hurt so bad!!!! We are watching her deteriorate. How is this fair? When I say science has failed her, it really has. ALL our kids need and deserve much better than this. This makes me absolutely sick. Ed and I have been watching a PBS special that was on a few weeks back. It's hard for us to watch so we are getting through it slowly. The last part we watched they were speaking to the first Leukemia survivor. She was in treatment 50 years ago, they listed her medication and I wanted to scream! Emily was on all the same medications. In 50 years, NOTHING has changed. How is this ok? Things in pediatric research needs to change!!!!

Hospice has been coming, the nurse is very nice. Emily likes her. The other day we had to sit and go through the stages...... Emily is entering them. She is not really eating at all. I am told that I should not force her to eat, because her body doesn't know it's hungry, it's too busy trying to keep her breathing and her heart beating. How am I suppose to not make her eat? I feel like I am trapped in a nightmare and I can't wake up.

We are still trying to enjoy everyday for what it is. We will not cry in front of Emily, unless she is crying. Thank you for all your support, prayers, and love. Ed Beazley

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Cancer Moms

WE are Strong  and we are determined.  We are also very tired.   It was great to spend some time with my peeps.  It is amazing when I look at this picture.  Some have kids that have died. Some are trying to keep their children alive. Some have faced horrible decisions and struggled to return to normal.  We are so so thankful to have met and shared the journey with such powerful people.  

When I look at this picture, I realize there are bits of joy that leak out no matter what.  No matter how bad it has been and how hopeless it seems.  Joy wins.  

Thanking God She had Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia and not __________

Yes, it is one of those days.  The kind of cancer your child has/had does not make a difference.  There is fear and trepidation and panic and deep depression no matter what the diagnosis.  The test is that all of these kids qualify for a Make-A-Wish because of their condition.  They all have life threatening illness.  Those of us in Cancer World have seen even the "best" treatment fail, and fail miserably.   

Time and time again the kids die, relapse, fail to achieve remission, develop a secondary cancer, life long struggles with thyroid, skin issues, GVHD, weird hair stuff, infertility.

We all know the number of kids that  are diagnosed do better now but it is still a heart break with every single child that leaves the corporeal world to join the universe.  Heart breaking when a tumor comes back, when a close chemo buddy dies. 

Despite the loss, the sadness, the failure to cure, the great unknown about the future, we have to continue.  We have to continue to support each other, try to make a difference and hope the postings about death and relapse become less a part of our lives.  

Today we honor those that have died since of May 2014 of Osteo Sarcoma. The boys are gone. Katie, the tall lovely girl in the middle is gone. All gone too soon.  All shared the same cursed disease, all were loved and honored and valued and cherished.  All are missed.  Nicole, the lovely child on the left remains cancer free.  Or as they say in Osteo world.  NED, no evidence of disease.  

This is the best those families can hope for at any given moment.  NED.  But the docs are always on guard about finding the disease again.  Sort of like Dr. Carpenter, he told me I could relax for NOW.  I wanted it to be forever. 

So today, March 27, 2015  we are thankful and grateful for NOW.  Because NOW is all we can count on.  NOW is a good place to be. 

Not all Roads Lead to Klamath Falls

As you drive back and forth from Seattle to Visalia California to see your baby brother you seen a repeated sign:  Klamath Falls.  Next Exit  Klamath Falls. Now Klamath Falls is sort of inconsequential place in the middle of Oregon. I don't know if anyone goes to Klamath Falls.  I know very little about Klamath Falls but after you see the sign enough you begin to  wonder if you should go to Klamath Falls. 

It became sort of a joke.  The kind that develops when you have crossed over a river 36 times in a very short period of time.  Sort of like the License Plate game. When you are on a long drive this is how you make the miles pass with alacrity.  Lots of roads and exits lead to Klamath Falls. But I think in retrospect, it is a place to be avoided.  Sort like ICU or Hospice.  It is a better to avoid it at all cost and hope the Exit passes you by, each and every time.  
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I just spent a few days driving to and from Visalia with my mom. We drove I-5 and then at Sacramento headed down 99.  Down the center of the San Joaquin Valley.  Rows and Rows of unidentified trees and crops and rice paddies whizzed by as we drove 80+ miles an hour. When the fog cleared we could see from the Sierras to Coastal range.  Flat, fertile, under cultivation.  Almost a cosmic adventure.  Miles and miles of straight rows, small dusty farm towns. Disturbing feed lots, fields populated by field hands and their families.  It makes you think.  It makes you wonder. It makes you appreciate what shows up in the stores.   

The vastness of it all.  I of course want to know how the valley was formed.  As you drop out of the end of the Cascade Mountain range and leave mountains and foot hills behind, it makes you wonder.  How did this all come about?  Or at least it makes me wonder.  

I spent the whole trip wondering where the Sacramento River starts?  When did they built the Lake Shasta Dam?  How many people live in Myrtle Creek?  What was Happy Donut before it became so happy?  When did the first settlers realize they could grow Oranges?  Who brought them to the valley.  Why do we dye ripe olives black?  When did Zinfandel Wine become dark read and not a Rose?

My list of questions goes on and on.  But then travel does that for you, even a short jaunt to visit your brother in his wonderful house with an orange tree and never ending closets.   

My time away also kept me away from many things that have filled my life these past few years.  Three years and 5 months.  It was a bit of time not to dwell on the stuff that makes "Klamath Falls" an unwanted destination.  

I realized you can run but you cannot escape. Just like when you first enter Cancer World and watch your life go away, you realize things don't stop on command or when you are not watching.  A child was buried, several were mourned. More were struggling. Some were given hope, some were given guarded hope, some were just waiting to find some hope.  


Hope is a good thing. It helps us move forward.  It often even answers some of my questions.

Diagnosis Hope vs Treatment Reality

Someone mentioned to me that their grandchild had been diagnosed with osteo sacoma.  They were obviously upset and the depth of their confusion and pain and fear were very apparent.  It is a very scary thing. Hearing those words sticks with you for the rest of your life.  It is a "Where were you when Kennedy was Shot" question.  (Yes, I am that old.)  The child will be in treatment for 9 months.  The family has arranged to be home for a year because they are teachers and their fellow teachers have given them sick time from a pool.  There is a sister. 

The grandmother is trying to figure out what to do. How could this happen?  Does it matter if the child is 8? This is so rare how can they cure it? Do the doctors know what they are doing?

As I sit here this morning watching the birds gather sustenance from the bird feeder buffet, I just sigh.  Katie Elliot will be buried in a week.  I met her family when they were starting treatment.  Three years later, treatment is over.  She too had Osteo.  She did not make it out alive. 

When you first hear those words, the thing that gives you comfort is the "plan" or the "road map".  There it is, the PLAN.  Yes this is a lousy diagnosis but we have a PLAN.  Something to look at, something to put on a calendar. An end point is sitting there for all to see.  You can plan your live around the PLAN.

I still have some of the calendars and all the Road Maps.  I look a them when I am sorting through things.  I still look and wonder at the amount of hope and optimism contained on those pages.  The PLAN.  

What you soon realize is that the PLAN is kind of a guide.  You know where you want to go and you head West.  Sort of like being on the top of the Continental Divide and heading to the ocean.  There are million ways to get there and the ocean is a vast. But with enough effort and enough perseverance and some luck, you do arrive.

 The journey is not easy. The path is not straight. There are losses of untold magnitude.  Some are secret losses you don't discover for many many years.  It is a journey some have to make more than once.  But it is doable. 

As the family begins on their journey, my first words of advice would be to hang on to all the hope they can.  They will need it as they make their journey and have to face the reality of the bumps on they way.  Second bit, be ready for a wild ride.  Third, remember you are not alone. 

The Downside of Too Much Information in Cancer World

As everyone can agree.  I am on the computer and writing way too much.  I embraced this blog as a way to put the information about ME out there in 2004.  It all started before diagnosis.  I became very aware that she could listen to me talking on the phone.  I could not stand to tell the story time and time again.   

Remember when we talked on the phone?  

Well in the past ten years many bloggers have joined me.  Lots of parents and patients added their stories to the web.  Then came Caring Bridge.  A blog site dedicated to patients and their families.  Then Facebook exploded and support groups showed up.  

In my case the group is Momcology.  Secret handshake, passwords, have to prove you are one of us, initiation and vocabulary test before you can join.  You know the sort of site.  (Never pass up a chance to support this effort.)

With every good thing, there is a downside.  This explosion of sites and access and ways to interact has intensified the knowledge of how bad Childhood Cancer really is a lot of the time.  We know on some level it the worst of all worlds but HIIPA has made it harder to find out what happened to someone you spent weeks with in the hospital.  If you were in such a state you failed to get a good contact number, people just disappear.  It leaves you in a place where you let yourself believe they survived. 

It is no longer possible to be that naive.  More and more the relapses, life ending infections and complications, the impending deaths of precious lives is part of every day. Parents  put their desperate pleas to the universe in a post along with a small picture of their most valued and irreplaceable child. 

Another pin prick, more blood drips, more sadness pools at  our feet.  I am not suggesting they should not share.  I know the need to say the words and let the power of those fears dissipate if only for a bit.  A chance to reach out and find others in the same dense fog. This is a dark, dank lonely and sad place.  Cancer World is a place of despair and frustration and fear. We are here and we are here together,  our group, our tribe, our fellow travelers. We understand what they are feeling.  We know the steps they take. We know that bottomless fear and despair of lack of solutions.  We know we are dumping poison and radiating our children to as close death as possible in hope of bringing them back.  Hoping they can get back to "NORMAL".  

Some parents are sad, some are angry, some curse God, some plan the destruction of the National Institute of Health. Some raise money by shaving off their hair, some walk, some run, some have auctions and events.  You absolutly have to do something. This kind of fear and despair has to vent out of the pressure cooker that is Childhood Cancer.  I took on Chef Walter at Seattle Children's Hospital for failing to have anything to feed my daughter during her long stay.  (Check out 
www.facebook.com/BetterFoodPleaseAtSeattleChildrensHospital)  

This week I have learned of three relapses and four deaths.  I have read the agony and cries of mothers who are living with the loss of their children as time keeps marching forgetting them. I have learned of families being sent home because there is nothing left to do.  I have discovered, with more frequency, the term "Comfort Chemo". 

So... Where does all this leave me.  I can't fix it. I couldn't even shame Seattle Children's into serving something more than unwashed iceberg lettuce, frozen toasted cheese sandwiches and hot dogs.  

(Photo Stolen from Liz Selleck)

But I guess I can take a lesson from our children.

Don't stop. 
Don't give up. 

 Even when they say there is nothing left to do but Comfort Chemo.  

Journey Reality

so.... We are creeping up on the 3rd birthday of Pearl Anne.  She has been stepping up and working hard to be a grown-up immune system.  She did need some help and some re-vaccination had to be done.  Some times when you are two, you are so busy with life and saying "NO" that you forget to produce titters when you are given a little bit of a bad virus and are supposed to get to work. 

Anyway last week was a crazy, stressful and very tiring.  I, for one, am out of shape in the going to a million appointments at several hospital institutions in short order.  But we did it.  We have been excused from next year's appointment and are not expected back for the week-long trudge until 2017.  A very good thing.

So I managed to get myself pretty worked up and freaked out over the course of the week.  Mary-E looks great but then she did the first time Leukemia creeped into our lives.  She was in perfect health when I sent her off to college when she relapsed.  I know that with every blood draw, every bruise, every hair that falls, it could be a sign and not a good sign.  

Well this time what you see is what you get.  Thankfully.  

I asked Paul Carpenter (our favorite Aussie Bone Marrow Doctor) when I could stop worrying.  He asked Mary-E what she wanted to hear.  I said I wanted to hear the truth.  His reply to me was  "She is fine for now.  You will always have a reason to worry." 

That was not the answer I wanted.  I wanted him to say we were done. They had fixed her and we were released.  Instead, we have just been transferred from Pediatric Bone Marrow Transplant Service to the Adult. She will be closely followed for the rest of her life.  They are watching and waiting for something to appear, the next thing to be handled.  This journey is just going at different speed. It is not over. 

I, like a million families of children struck by cancer, want it to be over.....  Really Really Really OVER.  It is never over.  It is never ever really over. We don't get to go back to the time before cancer. I know this but there are moments I want to believe it is not the case.  

I think it is sort of like giving birth.  The pain of the actual birth recedes with time and more children are born.  So.... you ask. 24 months until the next big appointment. There will be some small check-ins.  She is essentially done.  But in reality she is not done.  She is done for NOW.  I wanted her to be done done.  I wanted to put away that knot in my stomach. I wanted to not wake at 3 a.m. in the morning with a start.  A deep chill of a horrifying dream. Over, I want it to be over.  

I am working on gathering the strength to go forward and constantly prepare for battle.  Even it is just by taking a few deep breaths.  I need to re-charge somehow.  One step, One moment. One thing at a time. 

Best use of my energy.  Putting away Christmas...... with a label maker as part of the process.  

Year Three Evaluation....

There is a secret Facebook Group known as Momcology.  Lots of sub-pages for the different kinds of Childhood Cancer, age groups, locations etc.  Lots and lots of Mom's.  It is a wonderful support group where things are said that are not said in public.  

We are often so caught up in our own room of Cancer World we don't know much about other rooms.  Sarcoma Rooms,Lymphomas, Wilms, AML, ALL, Brain Tumors.... the list is pretty long.   We all learn from each other.  We learn about the way kids are diagnosed, the treatment and the follow-ups.  We learn that some kids have to have a prosthesis eye and they out grow it. We learn Brain Tumor's are bad.  We learn where cancers spread. We learn more than we ever wanted to know. 

But most of all it is a place for the quiet despair and agony of the moms. Moms with traumatized children, dying children, relapsing children. Children with huge struggles from treatment and the lingering after affects.  Teenagers, tiny babies and young adults.  We watch and learn and do what we can to support each other. 

One thing I have gleaned from months and now years of spending time on Momcology is that everyone has "follow-up" appointments. Most Moms deal with something called Scanziety.  It is a little known disorder not yet recognized by the medical community but it is real and lives in the hearts of these strongest of strong women.   They have to face sending their children through MRI, PET and CT scanners at varying intervals. The doctors are looking for signs of wayward cancer.  As the day approaches, the intensity of the Scanziety increases. The tension and fear and feelings of total despair is ever present.  
I don't want to belittle this fear but this week, I am wishing Meb had such a simple follow-up.  A scan, a result, a conference and then a new plan or a sigh of relief and a new date for the next scan.  

Oh, No Not for us. 

 It is a week long process of multiple tests and exams and evaluations.  A week of it.  Blood draws, close physical evaluations, Pulmonary Function tests, two separate eye exams, Dermatology, Hematology, 
gynecology,  two dental exams, PT, and then Vaccinations.  All through the process everyone is on high alert and holding their breath.  What will the test say? When will it all come back? Can they see anything?  Is something hiding out?

It is the same sort of follow-up anxiety but packaged in another way.

 I have come to believe that we will have bad news.  I am just conditioned for that process.  Today Dr. Balter (first of two eye doctors) came out of the exam room and came in my direction.  My heart stopped.  Dead.  I asked him what was wrong and he laughed.  and then said "I totally understand why you would react with so much anxiety. I was the one that started this process.  But she looks great." (He was the doctor that first discovered something was wrong with her in 2004.)

I know she looks great. I know she feels great.  I know she is almost 3 years out of transplant. She is back in school. She is off 99% of her meds. She may not have to go back for this evaluatoin again for 3 years. But  I also know how close leukemia and secondary cancer's hover.  I can say it all the time that things are fine but I also know that when ever we put her under this many thousand's of dollars of tests, something might rear its scary head.   

It happened before.  

So here I sit.  Day 1 of 5 and wonder and wait and try not to work myself into too much of a tizzy.  But as I fail to keep calm, I am not the only one. I am not the only Mom wondering and wanting to know if everything will be okay.  

Day Two Tomorrow:  Derm, Ophthalmology. 

I can do this. We all can do this.  We can survive a simple "Follow-up". 

Words are inadequate

I have had company.  Old old friends from Dietrich Teaching days.  Or as I am now fond of saying.... "latter days of the last century."  Paul was complaining that he forgets some words, they are stuck in the recesses of his mind and won't present themselves when commanded.  I can completely relate. The words dribble out and slowly make themselves known. Words often fail us.  

I have had a rash of word failure/ inadequacy recently. I will read somethings, hear something, ask something and be told something and then be unable to find the words.

After several decades, I have come to realize our language does not have adequate words to comfort those in sorrow, grief, despair.  The time we need words the most.  We are like desert dwellers at the North Pole.  We don't have the vocabulary for snow.  

tlapa           powder snow
tlacringit      snow that is crusted on the surface 
kayi            drifting snow
tlapat          still snow
klin            remembered snow
naklin          forgotten snow
tlamo           snow that falls in large wet flakes 
tlatim          snow that falls in small flakes 
tlaslo          snow that falls slowly
tlapinti        snow that falls quickly
kripya          snow that has melted and refrozen
tliyel          snow that has been marked by wolves 
tliyelin        snow that has been marked by Eskimos 
blotla          blowing snow
pactla          snow that has been packed down 
hiryla          snow in beards
wa-ter          melted snow
tlayinq         snow mixed with mud
quinaya         snow mixed with Husky shit
quinyaya        snow mixed with the shit of a lead dog
slimtla         snow that is crusted on top but soft underneath
kriplyana       snow that looks blue in the early morning 
puntla          a mouthful of snow because you fibbed
allatla         baked snow
fritla          fried snow
gristla         deep fried snow
MacTla          snow burgers

So.... when a child is sick or dies or is dying or is suffering what do we say...

"You are in our prayers"

"We know how your feel"

"Everything happens for a reason"

"We are holding you in our thoughts"

"How can we help?"

"What do you need?"

Grief is such a basic part of life. How can we

 not have more words?  

I want something more. I want to have a 

lexicon of words as descriptive as "hamburger snow".  I want sounds that can come forth 

from my being with language of words that 

can explain the sinking empty feeling a mom has when she realizes she will never ever hug her child again.  That her child will never be 

to dance at a recital or sit on Santa's lap or 

step into warm ocean water again.  A child will never go on a date or a ride a bike.  

What words do we use for a parent that

knows the end is short.  The words they are

 "End of life care", "Hospice".  

It has been a couple of weeks where I need a dictionary the size of the Oxford English 

Dictionary full of words of comfort. I am very 

frustrated, and just plain sad that I don't have the words or acts or deed. 

 I have also come to realize that if there were words or deeds I would have figured them 

out. I don't think there is a secret society that works on this. I don't believe there is a special pass word or some clandestine group

meeting and taking away the words.  We are

so limited in our acknowledgement of the

 need for a detailed list or words and phrases that they don't exist.  

Instead of 101 Uses For A Dead Cat  I want 

101 Practical and comforting thing to do for

 someone in need. 

Hummmm who knows how to self publish on Amazon. 

Life Changing Moments

I spent some time in the Central Valley.  A place we all know of, but few visit.  It is where our food comes from. Lots of our food.  Every square inch of the valley is producing lots and lots of food.  Who knew grapes were left on the vine to dry and become raisins?  They cut the canes and let them sit for a while and shrivel.  Love seeing "3 avocados for $1.25".  Oranges on the trees, yards with fruit trees, all orange and yummy this time of year.  Need some lemons, walk around the block and help a tree be unburdened a bit.

The Valley is flat and stretches for miles.  It is dusty and windy but a bit of rain fell.  When the wind shifts there is the odor of cows being raised too close together.  It is a lot like much of rural/agricultural America.  Lots of little towns, some, like Visalia have a real down town.  Walmart is there but kept on the edges.  It is California in some ways: In-n-Out Burger, Orange Trees, crazy drivers.  It is also sort of Southern Idaho: Big Pick-ups, large fields needing to be harvested, great Mexican Restaurants, the babble of Spanish.  

Look west and the Coastal Range is in view. Then, 50 miles East, the beginning of the Sierra Mountains.  They spring up from the Valley floor.  A bit of foothill action but when you start to climb, you climb fast.  Up, Up, 1000 feet, 2000, 3000, 5ooo.....Weird trees cover the sides of  the mountains. Some deciduous trees, mostly big pines and scrub of some sort. 

 Then there are the rocks, big rocks.  The kind that could down a Seattle ferry if it dropped on it.  Big.  Did I mention big.  Huge, massive

• colossalstar
• enormousstar
• extensivestar
• gargantuanstar
• giantstar
• giganticstar
• greatstar
• humongousstar

• immensestar
• magnificentstar
• mammothstar
• massivestar
• monstrousstar
• monumentalstar
• toweringstar
• tremendousstar

• vaststar
• behemothicstar
• bulkystar
• cyclopeanstar
• elephantinestar
• grossstar
• immeasurablestar
• jumbostar

• leviathanstar
• lustystar
• mightystar
• mondostar
• monsterstar
• mountainousstar
• outsizestar
• oversizestar

• planetarystar
• prodigiousstar
• stupendousstar
• titanicstar
• wallopingstar
• 
  
• whoppingstar

 rocks..... get my drift.  So You climb, you drive along and then you enter the valley through a very long, dug by hand tunnel.  This is what you see

It is simply magical. I don't know what to even say.  I have seen the pictures.  I simply was not prepared.  I got out of the car and I just sat there with a dropped jaw.  I was sort of like the first time I saw the Grand Canyon, the Leaning Tower, Devil's Tower, the Pacific Ocean, a whale, a hummingbird in the snow.  

We all talk about God and Creation and the Big Bang and the Universe. We are amazed how fast an e-mail can travel or simply the wonder of electricity.  But this. This place is a reminder that good and beautiful things take a long time.  They can not be rushed or pushed or even nudged along. 

This special place was made with the gift of time. First the mountains pushed way way up, the water brought them down and a valley was born.  The world turned cold, the glaciers filled the valley and then moved the rocks with them.  Left them as the glacier moved and worked and pushed into the central valley.    

I have no words, just a reminder that important things take time. A lesson I need to learn as we approach year three of the transplant.