The Supporting Witness

Grace Playing Vet (about 1.5 mths ago)

Today Grace and I went to one of our rescue group's (Tzu Zoo Rescue) vets. There was an elderly Shih Tzu female that our group had picked up on Saturday from a local area shelter. The vet had assessed her and suggested that there was a quality of life issue. I was to assess her since she was our group's dog and decide if she was ready to leave this world or if there was more living for her to do.

Without going through the list of her ailments, she was ready to go. She was asking and there is a moment when you lay hands on a dog and know. This is not taken lightly. Our sweet foster Emmitt could not walk, see much, or hear much when we brought him to our home, but he had a desire to stay and live. This sweet girl, who we called Fern, was ready.

In my spirituality, there is something about keeping one company when they pass. There is something about laying hands, and sending love into another being, and breathing with them as they breathe their last breaths. There is something about a fellow creature dying, letting her know she is loved, and really being with her, even if only for just for a few moments.

So I told Grace what we were doing and why. When it was time to sit with Fern as she passed, Grace sat on my hip and silently, solemnly watched. I laid my hand on Fern and breathed with her. As I felt her last heart beat and last breath, I knew she was out of pain and safe. And the tears began to stream down my face. I smiled and told Grace that Fern was no longer suffering, but that it still made me sad.

Before we had gone to witness Fern's passing, I had grabbed a tissue from the front waiting area. Grace grabbed one from the box too as most everything I do, she tries too. Well, as we walked away from Fern's body that she did not need any more, Grace reached over with her tissue and wiped my tear-wetted cheek. Grace is 18 months old. And this was the kindest gesture she or anyone could have done for me. She smiled, I smiled, and I knew we had done well. It is not Grace's job to make me smile and it is not my job to fix unfixable suffering. Sometimes being a witness and letting another know they are loved is the absolute best we can do.

A prayer for Fern. And a grateful meditation for gestures of love.

Snow Day in Texas

We went to bed with a chance of snow. At 6 this morning, foster Lucky woke me up to go out and I walked down to a quiet world blanketed in a beautiful, thick coat of snow. And it was still snowing. And it hasn't stopped since. We are currently at 8" and it is still going.

After our morning routine, I headed out to my day class. While I enjoyed class, there was something so enchanting about looking out the window and seeing the snow pouring down. I worked hard to focus on our professor. He is my favorite professor and the class is really interesting, but thoughts of ski trips and getting snowed in at Duke kept popping in my mind as the snow kept falling.

Class released and I came home to where I really wanted to be. We sat and watched out the window as the snow fell. Then, when Grace got up from her afternoon nap, we headed out for a snow-filled walk. At the end of our walk, we played in the snow in the front yard. We finally came in and got her changed and warmed up in her little velvet bear outfit.

Making Snow Day Soup

After watching the snow out the window some more, Grace started puttering around the kitchen and telling me in every way she knew how that she wanted to cook something. A new favorite activity of hers is cooking together. So I decided we would make broccoli cheese soup from scratch. It sounded like a good snow day thing to cook. Grace helped me get the ingredients together, grate the cheese, tear off the broccoli florets, and measure and whisk the ingredients. She took a supervisory role for things involving the stove --- she watches from a chair she stands on to reach the counter. The whole time we listened to some blues and watched the snow fall down. We took breaks to dance while the soup simmered and had to take a few tasting breaks as well.

After Grace went to bed, I stepped out for a little walk in the snow. The sky looks bright, almost like day, from the reflective lights on the thick white sky. There is that unique snowy silence. And it just keeps falling. Just beautiful and the word serenity takes over my mind as I walked around taking in my temporarily transformed daily landscape. I have no desire (or very little at least) to live in a snowy place, but this North Texas snow day with my family was a pretty awesome treat.

Finding God at the God Park [A Bit of Fancy]

I had been living in what was then my new city for about 6 months. I was 25, working my first job out of grad school, and everything was going well. I liked where I lived, my work, and the people I had met so far. However, I kept having this niggling sense that something was missing. It was as if there was a hole somewhere in me that needed to be filled. Yeah, I was single, but I figured that would take care of itself in time. No, it was something more. People kept offering the answer over and over in different ways.

Co-worker: "Would you like to come to my church with me on Sunday? It is a fun church and there is a great fellowship."
Billboard: "I'm listening. -God"
Flier in my mailbox: "New to the area? Single? Just looking for friends? Come to Young Singles Wednesday Nights" at our church

However, it was one night on the phone with my best friend, Lynette, that pushed me over. We talked almost every night, but that night the 500+ miles between us felt like forever. We were talking about how good things were, but how I just wasn't feeling as good as I thought I should.

She hesitantly started, "Don't be mad at me, but do you think you are looking for God?" She knew I had been raised in a nonreligious household, and, while I had been to a couple churches with friends, church and religion really held no appeal for me. But she knew me better than anyone and had never brought it up before, so I listened.

"Maybe you are right. I don't know. But where would I even begin? I don't even know where to start or what religion I would be."

Lynette, not letting me get off that easy, said, "Just pick a church and go. If you don't like their god, to to a different one. What do you have to lose?"

She had a point. It could not hurt.

The next morning on my run, I received a sign. Or at least I saw a sign. Stapled to a telephone poll, it read:

Come Find a God at the God Park
This Sunday from 10 am - Noon
Under the title was a map with a star on it (presumably the location of the God Park?) and a telephone number for questions. I entered the number and location in my phone and finished my run.

It seemed very strange, but who was I to buck such an amazing coincidence. I envisioned something similar to the health fair they had at work --- a park with booths for different churches offering their God. And really that was just what I needed. I did not know anything about God outside of academics and literature and, here, just as I was thinking of trying to find God, was an event for me to find my God. Throughout the rest of the week, I toyed back and forth with calling the number to get more information. Ultimately I decided against it for fear that they would keep calling me once they had my number.

I reflected on what I was looking for in the God I would hopefully find at this God park. Me, being the same Shelley Kappler I have always been, decided to make a list:

• Meaning
  
• A sense of togetherness and fellowship
  
• Volunteerism and giving back to the community
  
• Being a part of something bigger
  
• Feeling involved and needed
  

I looked over my list and decided it was a reasonable set of expectations and thought it sounded like what other people find at church.

Sunday morning rolled around. I got dressed in a dress pants and a sweater as recommended by Lynette ("Every church has a different unofficial dress code. Just dress neutrally until you figure it out which one you are going to join.") I drove to the intersection that had been on the flier and parked in a gravel lot. I did not see any booths but did see a lot of people in a fenced area.

As I made my way over toward the fence, a bubbly woman, probably in her 30s, approached me with a smile and her arm reached out. I smiled back and glanced at her name tag which read, "Hi. My Name is Tap," as I extended my hand to shake hers.

I started, "Hi. I'm Shelley Kappler. Thanks for having me out here today. I am excited to look around and see if there is one that is a good fit for me."

"Nice to meet you, Shelley. Patricia Lawson, but everyone calls me Pat. Thank you for coming. We have some great dogs here today, so hopefully you'll find the right one for you."

The record scratched. What?! Dogs?! I looked back at her name tag and it all registered with me. Excellent. Apparently I was at the Dog Park and Pat (or Tap should I say?!) was going to help me find a Dog.

Not wanting to embarrass myself more than I already was, I followed Pat as she invited me to join her in the fenced area. I was simultaneously mad, amused, and just astounded at how I ended up here. Here I was [insert sarcastic tone here], following my sign to find God, so I might as well stick around.

I entered the fenced area and instantly five dogs came running up to greet me. There were other running and chasing each other. Some were hiding under benches looking scared. And then there was a little cluster of dogs marking and remarking the perimeter staking claim to this being their park.

I knelt down to pet the crew that came to greet me. They wagged and licked my face and almost pushed me over telling me hi. I could not help but laugh out loud. Yeah, this was not such a bad place to stumble into. After throwing the ball, petting numerous pups, laughing at some hilarious antics of a 40 lb dog trying to sit in the water bowl, I went back over to Pat.

"So all of these dogs need homes?"

"Yes, all were in trouble in some way or another. Our group saves strays and goes to shelters to save them from euthanization when we can. It is a drop in the bucket --- too many are put down --- but we do what we can. We always need more volunteers and more adoptive homes."

I could not believe it. All of these happy waggly pups were to be put down or worse had Pat and her group not saved them.

Pat continued, "We have a really nice group of volunteers. We are just people who love dogs and wanted to make a difference, to give something back. We save lives together and have developed some great friendships while doing it."

I smiled. Pat caught my far-off look and switched directions, "Anyways, no pressure to volunteer or anything. We are just happy you came out today to look at adopting one of our dogs. Let me know if you have any questions."

She jauntily walked away to rough house with one of the dogs that had gone running past us.

I pulled out my list and looked at it. Shaking my head and laughing to myself, everything on the list was right there in that park with these dedicated people and this wonderful motley crew made up of happy, shaggy, sad, playful, scared, and beautiful dogs.

Two weeks later, I ended up adopting one of the dogs I met at the park. Since then I also volunteer with the same rescue group I met at the park that day.

I found what I was looking for at the park that day. I have found my fellowship and I have defined a bigger purpose for myself. That sense of something missing is no more.

Now, whenever I grab the leash to take Sal, my sweet wonderful dog, to the dog park, as he dances excitedly around me, I jokingly say, "Let's go to the God park."

Post script. It is funny because Pat and I have become great friends and we talk several times a week and work together regularly at adoption events. Interestingly, I have never heard or seen any signs of her dyslexia since. I never told her why I showed up at the park that day. But, then again, I found what I was looking for, however I ended up getting there.

Bringing In The New Year [In Serial Haiku]

It is hard to beat
a New Year's celebration
at 7:50.

Dancing jaybird girl
it's time to put on jamis.
She revels in love.

Bounce Around the Room
plays as she spins in circles,
giggling and squealing.

I am spinning too
dancing, basking in music
and radiant joy.

My husband/Her dad
smiles, joins in celebrating
the Moment. Year. Now.

Letters, Garlic, and Other Ways of Holding On

My Grammy and I never lived in the same city. In fact, we never lived in the same state. But, as an adult, she was a daily part of my life. I thought through her, called her when I had a good gardening day, and more than anything else that brought us closer, we wrote letters to each other. I quite often composed letters to her in my head. I composed many more letters in my head than I actually sent, but I managed to get many of them down on paper and in the mail. It was part because I wanted to share things I thought she would find interesting in my life and part because I knew I would get one of her beautiful letters back in return. Grammy wrote beautiful, funny, thoughtful letters that made you feel like you were sitting next to her talking to her. Her letters were conversational and she could artfully convey uniquely verbal tones in her written words. Her letters and the process of writing letters to her kept us close.

My Grammy passed away a year and a half ago. Mourning and missing do not magically end somewhere in linear time, but how I mourn and miss her changes and morphs. And, with time, how I miss her has become more integrated into part of my being. I still compose letters to Grammy constantly.

"Dear Grammy. I hope you are doing well. We are good here. Grace is learning how to feed herself with a spoon. It is definitely a work in progress as more of the food ends up on her chest than in her mouth, but we all have to start somewhere, right?..."

I would continue to update her on Grace, the dogs, Jeff and I, and let her know how our weather is and what is going on in my garden. I compose these letters to her all the time. But sometimes I just really would love to be able to sit down and write a letter and sent it. That is when the tears start. There is no one to send it to.

Rather than cry though, I just compose a new letter, the response letter I know she would write, and the closeness returns. I hear her response in her return letter in my head,

"Dear Liesl, I am glad to hear that you, Jeff, Grace, and the dogs are doing well. We have had some frost here, but the roads have not been too icey. The dogs don't like to go out in it and I can't blame them" and on.

I read our old [real] letters often and keep the voices fresh in my head so I can keep our dialogue going. It just helps. Maybe someday I won't rely one my letter composition so heavily, but it works and keeps memories alive.

Another way I am holding on (perhaps I should call it mourning, but I am more comfortable with my chosen phrase of holding on) is I have successfully transplanted her garlic plants to our yard. I have what may end up being a commercial-scale garlic crop in the works. After Grammy passed away and before her house was sold, I asked my mom to bring me some of Grammy's garlic bulbs, day lilies, and iris (all hallmarks of Grammy's yard). I tried not to get my heart too set on their growing, but secretly had placed a lot of hope that they would take in our yard. North Texas and Central Arkansas climates are not all that different and our yard has very rich soil, so I thought our chances were good. I over-planted figuring not all of it would make it. Well, I have garlic growing everywhere. And the iris and day lilies have taken someplaces as well. Sometimes I just walk out and run my fingers through the sprouting garlics stalks and have the start of the phone call in my head, "Hi Grammy. It's Liesl. How are you? Oh, I am out playing in the dirt..."

I miss her. I did not see her daily. I did not see her weekly, but there was a closeness that transcended distance. That closeness now aches within me, but I am holding on to her the best I can. The funny part is when I am least conscious of trying to hold on, that is when the words start and flow so easily, "Dear Grammy..."

The Mystery of the Table Trespasser

Busted

So this morning Grace was sitting at her high chair eating breakfast. I was sitting at the table next to her enjoying the sunshine coming into our dining room when I noticed paw prints on our glass table. Strangely, my first thought was, "Oh no, an animal has gotten into our house." Two seconds later I laughed at myself and realized the more simple and probably accurate explanation is that one of our FOUR animals that live in this house decided to take a walk on the table.

Detective Liesl and Grace were on the case. Oskar can't jump and neither can Foster Sam. Fidel is too worried about being a good boy to do such a thing. That left one suspect: Emma FuzzFace. Sure enough, the paw prints corroborated my suspicion. While a little grossed out by her having walked on our table, I found it more funny than anything.

Later that day, I caught Em in the act. I walked into the dining room only to come almost eye level with Ms. FuzzFace standing squarely on Grace's high chair tray. A more serious type might have shouted or disciplined her instantly. The thought occurred to me, but I couldn't help but laugh. By the time the laughter rolled out of my mouth, Grace had already beat me to it, giggling herself. Emma just looked at us. After gathering myself, I politely asked her to get down and she did.

Emma walking on our table or G's high chair is not my favorite behavior, but sometimes it is just not worth passing up a good laugh for the sake of getting upset.

Basking in the Comfort of My Mortal State

I was driving to school today listening to the Joshua Tree and just basking in my happy thoughts. Then I realized that if my head were a fishbowl, upon looking in at that moment the random observer would probably scratch their head and say, "Happy thoughts? Really? Hmm." Yes, I was thinking how glad I was that I am aware I have a limited time in this life. And I am happy that I am living my life accordingly.

I am grateful on a daily basis that I am aware of my mortality. I use it as fuel to make sure I am really seeing the world around me and am not getting caught up in routine without being present. Of course there are those tired days or the busy days when I am a bit fuzzier in my quest to really see, hear, taste, and feel what is happening. But even then, I think to myself that I need to focus and choose to slow down or make a change so I can be more present. It is definitely a process and will never be an endpoint, but I am doing the work.

It is hard for me to picture my life without the pleasant pressure of my mortality weighing on me. It has been impressed upon me through many events and realizations in my life, but it started from when I was a tiny girl. My dad, a fighter pilot, would come to say goodbye while I was still sleeping in the morning. He would often whisper, "If anything ever happens to me, if an engine ever goes out, know I love you and will be thinking about you." It is one of many sweet and fond memories of my childhood, but is one of the memories I hold most dear because it really helped shape me. I knew if that could happen to my dad on any day, that could happen to me too.

The realization of my mortality is a motivator for so much of how I interact with the world around me. In an existence where I did not feel the pressure of limited time, I wonder if I would simply sit rotting in front of the TV or if I would just sleep. Would I be less directive in my life? Would I be more agreeable to whatever? Would I be meaner? I don't know and don't care to know. I take a great comfort and am thankful for the pressure of time that I feel. It helps me live my life better. It helps me live richer. And it enables me to remember to engage, to choose, and to be present. Even while driving up the Tollway on a regular Wednesday, just headed to class.

The Unapproachable Ache [A Poem]

I wrote a poem. Words were floating in my head yesterday morning as I was pouring my coffee. Throughout the day I slowly jotted down the words and phrases and refined them into this poem.

The Unapproachable Ache
I became who you wanted me to be:
Who I am.
You didn't complete me,
But with you I became whole.
There is no hardest part
Of being without you.
Hard and easy have ceased to exist;
I just am and you are no longer.

Back to Fostering

Jeff and I decided to start fostering again. We had fostered for Wee Rescue when we lived in Austin which proved to be one of the most rewarding experiences I have had. Since Mushman's passing, we figured we have room and resources to help a little dog until they find a forever home. Also, another current theme for me is finding community. I wanted to find a group of people who shared a similar passion for rescue dogs. I wanted a group of people who understand the joy and richness sharing life with furfriends can bring. After losing Mushy, I wanted a group of people who have had similar experiences. And I wanted to start helping save dogs in a tangible, hands-on way again as opposed to just donating money.

We shopped around for groups and decided to go with Tzu Zoo Rescue after much consideration. It was important to us that we go with a group that did not exclude senior dogs. It was also important that they are well organized and experienced in adopting out dogs. So many nonprofits are founded on great intentions, but fall short when it comes to execution. Tzu Zoo has some real work horses who know what it takes to keep a group like this moving. Our final test was that we went to a meet and greet to get a feel for the group. After a fun morning hanging with pups and talking to some great, dedicated people, we got back in our car smiling, happy that we had found our group.

We are now fostering Henry. He is sweet older (about 9?) Shih Tzu whose elderly owner passed away. He is a little rattled by all of the change, but, as always amazes me with our furfriends, he keeps on keeping on. Anyone facing an existential crisis (or even if you are not, but want to learn about how to live in times of challenge) just needs to hang out with a dog who has suffered adversity. They suffer and experience the fears and discomfort that come with uncertainty, but they just keep going and adapt as necessary. I have seen it repeatedly and it is especially evident with foster/rescue dogs. Truly incredible and worth learning from.

Henry is getting comfortable in our home and has adjusted to our schedule and routine. His eagerness to please is touching and almost makes me sad. He is housetrained and gets along with Fidel and Em for the most part (Emma, the woolly bully, has asserted her dominance a few times). He likes hanging out with the family and loves to cuddle and have his chin rubbed. He enjoys walking and is just overall a happy, sweet little guy. I have a feeling we might have Henry for a bit since generally people don't know about the benefits of adopting an older dog. In the meantime, we are enjoying having him in our home and he is welcome to stay here as long as he needs to.

It feels good to be back in dog rescue. And it is a pleasure having Henry stay with us. I am happy we have found such a great group to be a part of. I guess it just comes down to I am really glad to say, "We're back!"

Our Mushman

Mushman passed away this afternoon. It has been a really hard couple of weeks. He was ready to go and his body was tired. Unfortunately, sometimes the best way to love someone is to help them pass. We have always done most everything he wanted or needed and this was our final act in supporting him.

He left us peacefully and was surrounded by people that loved him. We had a wonderful morning as a family with coffee and the paper in bed, sitting with him and petting him as he rested comfortably. We then went to the vet's office. Dr. Farr chose to come in on her day off to administer the medicine (she has been treating Mushman the last couple of weeks). Dr. Effie, who has been on maternity leave, came into the office say goodbye as well. Jenae, Dr. Effie's assistant and a special friend to our family, sat with us as he passed.

Mushy was so loved by so many. Here's to Irving Mushman Mayerson.

Feeling Good Is Good Enough

This is a picture of Mushman and me from last fall. When I was uberpregnant (it turns out pregnancy is not a Boolean), he loved to be carried so that he could rest on top of my shelf belly — you can't see the belly in this picture, but that is what he is doing. I always have and always will enjoy my time and memories with my sweet, distinguished, ever-so-handsome Irving Mushman Mayerson, Esq.

Being a Good Mother

"Being a good mother is _______." This a phrase that has gone through my head when I observe a certain type of strength exhibited by mothers for the sake of their children or family. I have been applying this phrase to situations for years.

The last 48 hours the phrase has been: Being a good mother is smiling, singing, and upholding our daily tasks when I really want to lay down with my knees held to my chest and scream and sob out what feels to be a neverending reservoir of tears and pain. But I just smile and dance and the tears silently stream down my face. Gracie and the furkids pick up on my sadness, but I do not let the frantic panic resulting from the the impending ache slip through.

I am losing my dog; he is my friend, a primary pillar of my support system, one of my inspirations of strength, and my furkid. He is actively dying and there is little I can do to stop it. My role has shifted from fixing it to simply providing support, love, and comfort. I feel that terrible pain inside that I had forgotten could exist.

I had somehow fallen into the innocence of believing our little Mayerson pack of six could exist as we are indefinitely: Blissful mornings laying together in bed enjoying each others' company. Long walks with our entire crew, modifying how we walk as the needs of our pack changes. Driving along not really caring about our destination because our pack is all together in the car at that moment. The joy felt on all sides when one part of our pack walks through the door and is reunited with the other members our pack.

I don't feel like I am going to be ok if one of us is no longer here. And on an individual level, I don't feel as though I am going to be ok without him here. But my plea is that he will be able to stay peaceful and will not hurt. He does everything with a level of dignity I have rarely witnessed in any creature. I hope we continue to support him and allow him to keep his dignity as he faces this transition out of his being.

Being a good mother is acting like you are going to be ok even though you are not sure you will. Being a good dog mother is putting your personal pain aside and smiling and petting and letting him know you are going to be ok without him so he can go in peace. Being a good mother is figuring out how to be ok when it feels like it might never be ok again.

Everyone Needs a Furry Dogmother

When I found out I was pregnant and even before, it seemed there was much concern outside of our family with the fact that we had three dogs and might have a child. Upon finding out I was pregnant, some were even bold enough to ask, "What are you going to do with the dogs?" A truly ridiculous question as the dogs are as much a member of this family (this pack if you will) as I am.

As I read up on everything I could during pregnancy, I researched theories about introducing dogs and new babies. Some of the theories definitely did not fit our philosophy or our family at all --- the idea of a new baby presenting an opportune time to break your dog. I finally settled on a book that respected dogs as a member of the family. While we ended up using some of the suggestions from the book, we ended up doing what we generally do with our crew: listening to who they are, what they need, and what works for all of us. I must say, I could not be happier with how they have behaved in relation to Gracie integrating into our family.

I feel very fortunate as in addition to doting parents, Grace is carefully nannied by our sweet poodle/spaniel mix Emma. Emma has always had a mothering personality. At the Brentwood house where we had a huge backyard that could rival some small parks, Emma would find little hurt animals and would often "adopt" them or bring me to them so I could help. Well, Grace is her new adopted kiddo.

I often wake in the middle of the night to find Emma not in bed with us, but sleeping on the landing or by Grace's crib. When Grace starts to wake, before even the first start of a cry, Emma starts trying to wake me up. She stands by my bedside jingling and breathing heavily --- doing all of her little tricks to get me moving. Emma is up and with us for every middle of the night feeding and every early morning, even though the rest of the house is sound asleep.

If Grace and I are hanging out playing on our bed, Emma who at times chooses to resemble a bull in a china shop, gingerly jumps on the bed and lies down a foot away between us and the door. That way she can protect us from any harm that might come in.

While maintaining a respectful distance, Emma looks in the swing at Grace and I have caught her carefully balancing on her hind legs to look through the crib slats at Grace. She loves this little baby girl and is now wired to assist her and protect her.

From watching Em with other kids, Emma is that dog you can accidentally pull a tail or ear and she will just lick you in return. When Grace is a little older and bigger, Emma is going to love playing with her, running and cuddling. In the meantime, Emma is totally in her element helping watch over Grace in the ways she can. So what are we going to do with those dogs now that we have a little girl? We'll just rest that much easier knowing that there are additional eyes watching over her and more hearts loving her.

Tickle Monster Prey

Grace and I were hanging out this morning playing as we do most mornings after I have gotten ready for the day. With our bed made, I give her tummy time on the comforter and on the Boppy. I help her practice sitting up, standing and inch-worming around. We make faces at each other and and "talk" and read. It is one of my favorite times of day. She is in a state of quiet alert generally at that time day which makes it fun for both of us. She listens and reacts and it is just a joy to get to be with her.

Well, this morning Gracie was sitting up leaning in her Boppy. I had removed her pajama onesie as her bath was next on our agenda after playtime. We were "talking" to each other and making faces. I started lightly tickling her bare tummy and in a silly cooing voice would say “tickle tickle tickle.” She smiled and started rapidly kicking and waving her arms. I stopped tickling and she was still. I tickled again and she reacted the same way. I tried it several times modifying it with just the verbal and just the tickle. She responded to the tickle. It seems she cannot really laugh yet, but was laughing with her smiles and movements. Six weeks old and already doomed to be tickle monster prey. Here's to a childhood filled with laughter for this sweet little girl!

These are such amazing days full of discoveries and privileges as we grow with our Grace.

Fancy Meeting You Here

I woke up at 1:00 and rolled over to look at the monitor. Our little girl was perfectly asleep in her nursery. Even though we planned on keeping her in our room sleeping bedside near us for the first several months, Grace showed us that she needs her space too. Sleeping next to me, she smells my milk and does not sleep restfully unless she is physically on my body. As much as I would love to have her resting in my arms, on my chest, or wrapped around my belly where she was all the time just a little over a week ago, it is not safe for me to sleep with her on me. So we moved her into the nursery and found that she sleeps much more peacefully and restfully when she is outside of “smelling range.”

But I miss her when I put her down in her nursery. I get to my bed in the room next door — we really are just a few feet away from each other — and have to fight myself not to go back and watch her sleep. I should not go back in the nursery though as my oh-so-delicious Eau de Lait fragrance will probably make her wake up. So I go to sleep watching her on the video monitor, loving her and missing her.

Anyways, I woke up at 1:00 with Fidel at my back and Mushman at my feet. I quietly put on my glasses and watched the monitor. She was lying there still and peaceful and beautiful. I just watched and thought rationally how glad I was she was sleeping so soundly. I selfishly wanted so badly to go in and hold her, but worked on resisting the urge. I finally negotiated with myself. “OK, I won’t hold her or wake her, but it wouldn’t hurt if I ran in and just looked at her. And if she happened to wake because of my smell, then I would hold her.” I went back and forth and finally, slipped out of bed, trying not to wake Jeff, and walked down the hall to the nursery.

I slid my head around the nursery door and was surprised to find Jeff sitting in the rocking chair reading next to our sleeping angel’s crib. I smiled and said “Hi. Is she ok?” He smiled and said, “She is fine and sleeping. I just missed her.” I went and got my book and we sat together on the floor next to our little girl’s crib reading, feeling perfectly complete.

Reflections on a Life Lived Well

I received the call on Saturday morning before we had descended into Palo Duro Canyon for the day. I appreciated my mom's directness on the phone. "Grammy died this morning. She was peaceful."

I felt that sinking feeling as my brain went in all different directions. "Is mom ok? Jack? Everyone else? What about her dogs? Am I ok?" No tears or choking yet. Then the thought came, "She won't get to meet Gracie. She was so excited about her." Choking, uncontrolled wail approaches, escapes, and is pushed back in. I let it out fully in Jeff's arms once I get off the phone.

After some discussion, we decided to go ahead and stay out in the panhandle of Texas for the weekend as originally planned. My body in the outdoors is a more comfortable place of worship than any I know. For me it seemed there was no better way to process and reflect upon such this important life event than using my body while hiking through the beautiful wilderness Palo Duro had to offer.

Packed with water and my hiking stick, we took off through the vast, dry, red canyon. My Gracie belly makes me take things a bit slower than I am used to. I step more carefully and am careful not to push myself too hard. I found that my frequent pauses provided a great opportunity to take in the scenery. When we got to a nice patch of shade a decent distance into the trail, I decided to take some time for myself. Jeff went on hiking leaving me with my thoughts and the quiet music of the canyon.

She is gone. I am sad for me and the rest of us who are left without her, but I am happy for her. Grammy was able to spend her last month at home with her dogs. She had every bit of intellect and wit intact and she called the shots until the end. Her heart and lungs and body were tired. I am glad that she was able to pass without having her independence slowly unraveled by a long disease or affliction. Rather than focus on her death, I prefer to look at it as an acceptable, peaceful end to a life lived well. Here is the eulogy I wrote reflecting on her impressive life.

For those of you who don't know me, I am Ethel's granddaughter, Liesl. Thank you for coming today and for the on-going support, love, and friendship you have provided to my grandmother and our family.

We each had our own dynamic relationship with Ethel, or, as she was known to some of us, Grammy. She was an excellent grandmother, devoted mother, loyal friend, loving wife, and amazing individual in her own rite. She was one of the most intelligent and quick witted people I have ever and will ever meet. Her fierce independence in thoughts, values, and actions provided an example that I both admire and hope to emulate. We are all richer for having known and learned from Grammy. In searching for a way to summarize her excellent attributes and how she touched our lives, I think it comes down to hers was a life lived well.

Grammy had an unparalleled sense of responsibility and loyalty that extended to every facet of her life: a loving, supportive daughter, mother, wife, friend, and citizen. There was never a question of resources or convenience --- if someone needed help or assistance, she was there and ready.

Grammy never sought recognition, judged, or complained when taking care of others. It was just what she did and who she was. Any mention recognizing this loyalty, "Wow, Grammy, it is really impressive that you did that," was met with a disapproving look and a statement of, "That is what I could do to help."

When my mother was going through her cancer treatments, without a question Grammy made the drive down to San Antonio. She was there helping my mom every step of the way and stayed as long as my mom needed her.

As my grandfather struggled through the debilitating effects of Parkinson’s disease, no matter how hard things seemed from the outside, Grammy was there by his side, loving him, showing him tough compassion when necessary, and providing the exact care he needed. No matter how his health declined, she always treated him as a peer and as her love, tenderly stroking the side of his face even when he could not see or communicate very well.

Grammy’s sense of responsibility extended beyond her family and friends to her community and country. During the war while attending college she helped serve food to people working in her town’s ammunition plant. Wherever she lived, she left her mark. And when Brother John and Grammy finally settled here in Quitman, it was a constant bustle of activities helping the community, whether it was delivering meals to the homebound, helping neighbors round up escaped cattle, or assisting someone who had fallen on hard times.

The beautiful and amazing thing about Grammy’s sense of responsibility and care giving is she had this uncanny ability to provide the support you needed without coddling or showing pity. Maybe it was a faith that things would be ok or just the recognition that often pity is a most detrimental emotion to someone in need, I don’t know. But her ability to provide care while simultaneously providing a sense of strength never ceased to amaze me.

In all of Grammy’s giving her time and efforts to her family and others, she never lost her sense of self or her fiercely independent spirit. While she was always up for a spirited discussion and could appreciate all sides of a debate, as many of us have witnessed, it was extremely ill advised for anyone to tell her how to live or think. You would lose that argument. She thought for herself and always exhibited independence, even when the time and her gender prescribed that she should not. She had a great story about how as a child she struggled with her mom because she wanted a short boys’ bob haircut. While not really appropriate for a little girl at the time, she finally persuaded her mom and won. According to her, the haircut ended up being not all that great, but it was an early example of a lifetime of Grammy forging her own path.

And even on my last visit here about a month ago, Grammy was trying to pass that spirit of independence to me. I had come to visit her during supper at Southridge after a day of driving. Being pregnant and tired out from the drive, I had chosen comfort over fashion and apologized to Grammy for showing up in such casual attire during supper. Grammy looked at me and told me that she had spent 80 some years fine tuning the perfect comfortable outfit and, if I was lucky, maybe I would be able to discover the same for myself. Always making me smile and making me feel ok with who I am, Grammy could make me laugh while delivering a very serious message: be who you want to be.

In addition to being independent, Grammy was extremely intelligent, both bookishly and in practical matters. She was valedictorian of her high school class and went on to attend college. She excelled at anything she put her mind to. In discussing politics, society, or history with her, she always had a depth of knowledge supporting her statements. She continued her education every day throughout her life, reading, thinking through situations, and never missing a thing. While I was in college, she would write me letters that often included financial advice. She never presented it in a preachy way that would be poorly received by a college student, but rather with a tone of “by the way, in case you are interested, saving this way or planning that way is sometimes a good idea.” She worked to share her knowledge with her family, but never forced it.

In addition to always growing her personal education, she valued and promoted the formal education of her kids and grandkids. All of her kids and grandkids attended college and Grammy’s support helped ensure college was an option for all of us. There was never any question that education, formal and informal, was a priority.

Grammy’s sharp intellect was complemented by her clever wit. The best seat in the room at any function was the one next to Grammy. Grammy was really funny. She was filled with funny stories, anecdotes, and her famous hilarious one-liners that we still regularly quote in my household. She read between the lines of social situations and called them dead on. She was never cruel, just funny. In addition to so many things we loved about Grammy, Jeff and I are going to miss her stories and commentary at our family functions.

We can laugh and appreciate Grammy for who she was and what she has taught us, but it is impossible not to be sad at her leaving us. Personally I take comfort though when I look at her children and see her strong influence in each of them. First of all, you don’t have to spend much time with her kids to see they all definitely followed her example of being independent and becoming their own people. She encouraged them to become what they wanted and helped provide them with the tools and opportunities to get there.

[Facing the kids] While I cannot pretend to know the intricacies of what you learned and have become because of Grammy, I clearly see her in each of you. As I think of you mom, Sue, Jane, Uncle Jack, I see her lessons and example. While she never told you who to be, somewhere along the line you incorporated her into your being. I see intelligent, self-sufficient people, that know when and how to step up even when things are pretty rough.

Aunt Susie, I see a woman with an unwavering independence and unquestioning can-do attitude who has forged her own extremely successful career in what was a traditionally male-dominated field. Never stopping to complain that “this is hard,” you just pushed forward and worked harder and forged your own path.

Mom, I see a woman who is a caregiver first and foremost, sacrificing her own comforts and convenience to take care of the people around her: friends, family, neighbors, and perhaps even a certain daughter. I see that your mom has taught you to hold your head high and find room for laughter even in the face of really difficult situations. I see her same strength in you even though I know you sometimes don’t recognize it is there.

Jane, I see so much of her in you that I am afraid I may be selfishly bugging you with calls more in upcoming months as I miss Grammy and I feel her so strongly in you. You are a devoted mother and wife always supporting and loving your family in a way that is apparent from both across the room and up close. You share many of Grammy’s same interests including a love of dogs. And you share her ability to connect, you always have something sharp, interesting and insightful to share, and people want to be around you.

And Jack, you share many of Grammy’s qualities, but the one that I am most in awe of is your ability to always know exactly how to help without taking away a person’s sense of strength. It is just what you do and who you are. And while you can occasionally accept a “Thank you” for your help, you have pretty much mastered Grammy’s same disapproving look if too much recognition is placed on your service. Whether it me who needs you to sit with me and hold me up as we wait for a loved one to come out of surgery or a student and friend who just needs a little help getting their feet under them, you are right there, never judging or complaining and actually somehow making us believe more in ourselves.

[Facing everyone] As I look at the lives Grammy has influenced and help shape, I hope we can help transfer her lessons to future generations. She was so excited about my being pregnant, touching my belly and talking about how scary and exciting motherhood can be. Our daughter will be her own person, but if I manage to enable her to be half the woman Grammy was, she will be a pretty amazing girl. It’s at least something to shoot for.

I wanted to share another thought that has provided me with great comfort in what has been a sad goodbye. When I was up here last month, Grammy and I went out one afternoon after lunch because she said she just wanted to go for a car ride. We drove around for a couple or three hours, me getting us lost on the country roads and her helping find our way back. I would ask regularly if she wanted to head back into town, and she would say, “Let’s just keep going.” While we were driving she enjoyed the scenery and told stories both from the past and from what we were seeing out the window. A lot of great conversation that afternoon, but in these last few days, I have clung to one comment in particular in which you might find comfort too. I had asked about the decision to move up here and resettling her life on the farm. She said, “There were cold, hard mornings when we were out with the cattle that made us grumble and question our decision. But really, looking back, I would not have changed a single thing about moving up here and being up here. These were some of the best years of my life.”

As we go forward beyond today and continue to carry on Grammy’s example and values through ourselves, the people we teach and meet, and the generations to come, I would like to share with you some advice she gave several years back. As a part of an interview with Grammy about 10 years ago, when asked, “What advice would you give to our family’s future generations?” she replied, “Do the best with what you’ve got.” While it is easy to give advice, Grammy actually lived hers. Out of all life presented to her: good, bad, hardships, and fortune, we can all appreciate that hers was a life she embraced with her head held up and spirit strong. Grammy, yours was a life lived well. Thank you for every moment of it you shared with us.

The Texas Summer Storm Time Portal

Yesterday evening Jeff and I made a trip up to the northern edge of Frisco to purchase some Rudy's (hands down the best barbecue ever) brisket and sauce as a 30th birthday gift for a friend in Chicago. We generally subscribe to a meat-free diet, but I can still appreciate the smells, deliciousness, and atmosphere of Rudy's.

We sat out on the porch of Rudy's for a while after getting our goods. The porch faces north and looks onto undeveloped plains of north Texas and a field of sun flowers. You can see for miles and miles. To the west it was a sunny, beautiful typical Texas summer evening and to the north and east there was a tremendous lightening and thunder storm. The air on the porch was still, dry, and pleasantly warm, but you could smell approaching the rain. Texas summer rain is one of my favorite smells in the world.

We sat and visited and enjoyed each others company while watching and listening to the show. I enjoyed the storm for itself in the present moment, but I found myself simultaneously existing in many moments at once. Yes, I had fallen into the Texas summer storm time portal.

I was four years old and running with mom and dad from the neighborhood pool to the car with big thick plops of rain coming down on us, but sunny skies still visible in the distance. I could feel the hot pavement on my bare feet and smell the dust and rain combining to make a sweet, dirty fragrance. A little slower than the rest of the pack, dad sweeps me up with his spare arm --- the other one is carrying a small cooler and bag --- and tosses me over his shoulder. I squeal with delight, enjoying the thunder, lightening, and safety of my family.

I was ten years old and hiding out with my cabinmates at summer camp near Utopia, Texas in our screened-in cabin in the woods, enjoying the relief from the heat and revelling in the building up and egging on of fears about the powerful storm amongst this group of imaginative, silly girls.

I was 22 years old and sitting on Jeff and Dave's porch at their Riata apartment in Austin watching the rain pour down and smelling the crushed granite, bark from the Live Oaks, heat, and rain combine while espousing the beauties of the hot Texas summer afternoon storm to the newly immigrated Texans.

And I was sitting on a porch that smelled of smoking barbecue next to the love of my life, looking at the wind begin to pick up in the sunflower field ahead of us. The loud ping ping of the huge drops on the tin roof above us just added to the atmosphere. We watched a while longer and then slowly walked to the car smelling, feeling, returning to, and being in the moment.

Why We Run

For the first time in years, I cannot run. Well, I technically could, but my balance and rhythm feel off in a way that makes my primary form of relaxation and therapy no longer relaxing or therapeutic. That point at which my breath, body, thoughts, and my surroundings become one escapes me. As a result, several weeks ago I decided to figuratively temporarily hang up my running shoes.

I am 20 weeks pregnant and my body has changed dramatically as tends to happen in such circumstances. I have given up many things with pregnancy and have not really minded any --- I am just so excited about Fetus Mayerson that will come join us in October. I miss my brie, wine, and sushi, but more than anything I miss my running. However, it has also been a nice time for me to pursue other physical activities I enjoy and, as with the absence of anything meaningful, it will make me appreciate running that much more when I can start up again after my recovery from my C-section. [I have already chosen out the most awesome running stroller ever, the B.O.B. Revolution, and it is the item I am most excited about on our registry!]

My pause from running has provided nice breathing room for introspection. I walk and bike by people running of all levels and smile. I am part of their club [my mind shouts out to them "I am would rather be running too!" as we pass each other] and hope they are loving every minute of using their legs and breath and body.

This evening after some wild kite flying at the duck pond, I read a piece by Haruki Murakami in this week's New Yorker called The Running Novelist. It talks about what brought him to running and how it has impacted his life. It is a question I would love to pose to other people --- there are so many great reasons people join the pack and eventually self-identify as runners.

For me, it was driving through west Texas on our way to Big Bend when I was 13. Many people despise the west Texas landscape and write it off as boring or uninteresting. Not me. I am wowed by many landscapes, but it has to be one of my favorites. Miles of open spaces that mess with your depth perception and head. So much plant and animal life, but easily written off at first glance as a place fit for no creature. The skies, chasing the horizon, and the reminder of how small I am are comforting to me.

That day on my way out there I kept thinking, "I want to run." I wanted to use my legs over that open space. I wanted to move them until I could not move them any more. A few hours later, I flew out of the van window and shattered my pelvis, broke my back, banged up my organs, and broke my ankle. I don't believe anything foreshadowed this accident or made me decide on a fundamental level I needed to run just a few hours before I broke, but through all of the healing and body work after the accident, my desire to run did not go away. Once I was patched back together enough and had walked (albeit with a little clump), I decided to start running.

At 15, all of the doctors saying "you will not be able to run nor should you run," was just the catalyst I needed to finally start pursuing my newly declared hobby of running. Starting with little runs, clumping along with my uneven legs, I would run through my mom's neighborhood or on the treadmill at the gym. Slowly I developed better breathing and, while still not a vision of grace, smoothed out my stride a bit. At some point in my freshman year of college, running transitioned from a hobby to part of my identity ["I Run."]. I ran in bad weather, I ran on ill-advised trails, I ran on vacation, and, yes, often I ran at 7 in the morning with the quintessential college hangover. I ran.

Now at 29, running is just a part of what I do along with sleeping, eating, laughing, petting puppies, and all of the other necessary activities that fuel my life. Even during my current semi-self-imposed hiatus from running, I am a runner in the sense of it is part of me. It would be terribly easy --- not even a challenge --- for those who like to talk about how many races they run a year or their times to one up me and that is ok. However, in my identity as a runner, numbers of races, times, and pretty much everything else falls away and it comes down to a simple, core fundamental part of my being and who I am. I Run.

In the meantime, here's to my first post-pregnancy run! :)