Small moments. Big changes.

March 31st.  This day always makes me stop and think about how the course of one's life can change in the smallest of moments.  It was on this day, 25 years ago, that I was cruising town with a couple of girlfriends, when we ran across a 1980 Z-28 Camaro with three guys in it.  On a whim, we stopped to talk to these three strangers.  One of those strangers was my now husband, Reuben.  The rest, as they say, is history.

On this particular March 31st, I'm left thinking about a few other small moments filled with big changes.  Two weeks ago today, my mother died.  Well, she clinically died.  She was preparing to leave the local Christian medical clinic, where she volunteers twice a week, when she suddenly collapsed.  Thankfully, she was surrounded by ladies that instantly knew something was seriously wrong.  Only office staff were present that day.  Although the clinic is attached to the hospital, it is separately affiliated, so they had to call 9-1-1 for help.  While waiting for the ambulance to arrive, one of the ladies rushed down the corridor to find a doctor that could help.  She located a nurse in the office next to theirs, who was able to find a doctor.  Dr. Cochran immediately followed them back to the clinic, where he was able to begin CPR on my mother.  For a medical clinic, the office wasn't equipped for such an emergency, and the doctor found himself without the tools necessary.  He continued chest compressions while his nurse called the Code Blue over the hospital's intercom.  A crash team from the ER and cardiac unit arrived, along with paramedics.  After nearly fifteen minutes and somewhere in the neighborhood of seven shocks from a defibrillator, my mom's heart was once again beating on its own.  Somewhere in the chaos of all of this happening, a friend of my mom's was able to reach my dad by phone.  She relayed to him that my mom had fallen, was unconscious, and was being taken to the ER.  He was about fifty miles away at the time, so he called me, knowing I could get there a little quicker than he could.  I was about thirty miles away.  What followed was an agonizingly long drive to town, while stuck in a long line of traffic.  A million things run through your mind in a moment like this.  Initially, I imagined my mom falling on some stairs or something and hitting her head.  I was concerned but not panicked.  I assumed I would make the trip to the ER, spend a few hours there while they treated her, and be home at a reasonable time that evening.  The longer that drive became, the more grave my thoughts turned.  My mother's brother had collapsed and died unexpectedly just days after I had graduated high school.  He was 55.  Even though I had run through several scenarios in my mind, I wasn't prepared for what followed.  The parking for the ER was completely full, which left me entering the hospital's main entrance.  I didn't know the quickest way to get to the ER, so I stopped at the Help Desk for directions.  By this time, I had been running and was slightly panicked.  The two elderly ladies at the desk obviously weren't picking up on the fact that I was frantic, as they started asking for the patient's name, room number, how she came in, etc.  I cut them off, telling them that I didn't know the details, but my mom was working at the Christian Clinic when.... their unison gasp told me this wasn't a minor fall and passing out.  One of the ladies insisted upon ushering me to the ER instead of just telling me how to get there.  This slowed my pace considerably, but I complied.  I was met at the doors of the ER by a number of ladies with grief-stricken faces.  They all gasped and surrounded me, telling me that I needed to get back there to my mom.  I was trying to do just that when a nurse intercepted me to say that the doctor needed to speak to me before I entered.  She showed me to a consultation room, where the band of ladies asked if they could follow.  I've watched a lot of documentary-style medical shows in my time.  I love medicine.  I know that nothing good ever comes from being taken to one of these rooms.  I found myself bracing for the worst while I waited for the doctor to come in.  As he explained that my mom had a pulse and was somewhat stable, I knew I wouldn't be going home at a leisurely pace that evening.  I knew everything had changed in the blink of an eye.  My dad arrived within a few minutes, and I watched him crumple into silent sobs as the doctor started over with the information he had.  The Lord helped me manage to keep my emotions in check while I devoured every word the doctor said.  I knew my dad wasn't really hearing anything more than his wife was alive but still at risk of death or brain damage.  I knew one of us needed to absorb exactly what we were being told.  She wasn't conscious.  She was on a ventilator.  Her blood pressure was very low.  They had given her sedation that would give her amnesia, if her brain function was even intact.  They were hoping to get the blood pressure up enough to take her to CT scan to check for any brain bleeds, while on the way to ICU.  What followed were more miracles.  My mom regained consciousness about four hours later.  It was obvious that her memory was affected by the medication, but it was also obvious that she knew us.  She could communicate, first with hand movements and later with pen and paper.  Another twelve hours would bring the removal of the ventilator.  The next day would bring an angiogram, showing no heart damage or blockages.  A few days later would bring the implantation of an ICD, a defibrillator that would automatically shock her heart back into rhythm if this awful thing were ever to happen, again.  One more day would bring her back home.  Each day at home brings her a little closer to "normal."  I can't even begin to express the impact of many small moments.  Some were heart-wrenching.  Even more were filled with relief and joy.  While I know she still has a battle ahead, physically and emotionally, I'm just so very thankful that all of those small moments added up to her still being with us.

Now, moving on to other small moments.  Tomorrow, my firstborn will turn twenty.  His teenage years will end.  He gave me the greatest gift I could have ever imagined.  He gave me purpose.  I had always loved kids, and kids had always loved me.  It didn't matter if they were strangers.  Little kids had always been drawn to me.  Even so, none of that could have prepared me for the love I would have for my own little child.  Robbie was born a perfect baby.  He was laid-back and so easy to care for.  That's not to say that I didn't have moments of mommy frustration, but they were minimal.  He wasn't demanding.  His big, dark eyes were beautiful.  He was my whole world.  Everyone and everything else faded into the background.  He was mine.  He needed me.  As he grew, it became obvious that he was super bright.  He was inquisitive and a quick learner.  And he was oh so adorable.  You couldn't help but love him.  I knew sending him off to school would be harder on me than on him.  I was right.  I was lost without him there.  He became more and more independent, and I had baby number two, Brady.  The drift had begun.  He had been a little lifeboat, tied to my side, and now he was slowly drifting off into his own big world.  Saturday, he will marry his best friend.  And while I'm happy that he has found someone to love, who also loves him, I'm left feeling like he's in a whole different ocean now.  I miss that little lifeboat being tied to my side.  I miss being the most important girl in his world.  I miss him coming to me when he needed something.  And it will take but a short, small moment for him to say, "I do," and fade further into the sunset of my life. 

Treasure every small moment, friends.  The smallest of these moments can become monumental. 

Here she comes...

Today was a good day.  I woke up to our kitty, Mr. T, sitting on the nightstand next to the bed.  He likes to get up there and play with the odds and ends sitting there.  It's his way of waking me up.  He knows I'll get up and let him out if he makes enough noise.  And so I did this morning.  Daylight was just breaking.  It's getting light earlier and earlier as we ease into Spring.

I have gotten in the habit of taking daily walks through our property.  Some days, I walk just the fields, and on others, I walk the woods, also.  Most of the time, I walk in silence and just listen to the sounds of nature around me, birds chirping, squirrels and chipmunks scampering in the leaves, the breeze through the trees.  The last few days I've been listening to some music while I walk.  I have about five different versions of "I Surrender All" on my phone.  I play them over and over and even sing along part of the time.  It's a special kind of peacefulness.  I started with those same five today and listened to them each a couple of times.  Then, I decided to listen to some Steven Curtis Chapman.  His "Beauty Will Rise" album is one of my absolute favorites.  It was written in the wake of tragically losing his little girl, and the raw emotion of the songs tugs at my heart.  When each song ends, I think, THAT is the best song.  Then, another one plays, and I wonder how he wrote an even better song than the last.  When you are feeling sad, the words speak to your aching heart.  When you are content, the words remind you of how blessed you are.  I listened today and thought about how bad things can happen to anyone.  Steven is a famous, successful Christian artist and still suffered an unimaginable loss.  I thought of Joey + Rory and the struggle they've been sharing publicly.  When we go through terrible times, it's easy to blame God or question why we are being punished.  Truth is, everybody hurts... sometimes.  (To steal a line from R.E.M.)  All of the songs on the "Beauty Will Rise" album are wonderful, and my favorite song changes, according to my mood.  Two that always stand out to me, though, are "Jesus Will Meet You There" and "Questions."  If you find yourself hurting and wondering how you'll survive, listen to these songs.  You'll receive a blessing, just as I did while walking the woods today.

I got on Facebook just a few minutes ago and learned of Joey's passing today.  I've followed their blog for several months now and have been expecting this sad news for a while.  It was still very sad to hear.  Rory posted a beautiful video of Joey receiving a video message from Dolly Parton recently.  She loved Dolly and had never met her.  It was so touching.  Famous people are just people, too.  It's nice to be reminded of that, occasionally.  And so, tonight, I will cry for this stranger, this lovely lady taken from this world so soon.  My heart will take comfort in knowing that she just made her journey from one shore to another, though, and is rejoicing with her Savior for all of eternity.