~Quiet~

 I lay on the exam table in the oral surgeon's office. I look into the masked faces of the medical team- surgeon, nurse, medical assistant, and anesthesiologist. I'm going to be deeply sedated while the surgeon extracts a cracked molar that has been giving me a bit of grief. I don't think I'm nervous but my blood pressure tells otherwise. 

The nurse hooks me up to an IV and also  draws a vial of my blood which will be spun to clot it; it will later be inserted into my empty tooth cavity in order to help healing and preserve the bone.  She also places a nasal cannula up my nostrils and I can sense a light flow of oxygen. Each step is explained to me. I take a deep, slow breath. 

The doctor asks me my name, who is with me to take me home, and other basic questions. He then says that I will now be sedated. I have a sensation of something entering my veins... and then ...................... quiet....very very quiet.... 

The next thing I remember is the sound of driveway gravel. Our car comes to a complete stop. We are home. I remember nothing else--my conversation with the nurse after the procedure, how my husband helps me in and out of the car, the drive home, how he wrangles my sandals off my feet, how he helps me to the bedroom to sleep the sedation off, and removes my ice pack every 15 minutes. 

It was just a beautiful hour and a half and more of ..... QUIET. 

Initially I was only going to take local anaesthetic for this procedure, but after my consultation, I decided it might be best to take IV sedation. There would be cutting of the gum, possible cracking, pushing and pulling, and blood. Um... maybe I don't want to feel it or see it. 

 I did not feel any pain at all, and even today, I'm almost pain free. Every once in a while my tongue feels the gap in my gums, and I'm in awe of technology.  

 I'm thankful that I chose the QUIET option. 

Photo by Etienne Delorieux on Unsplash

Have you ever been consciously sedated? 

This is my Five Minute Friday link up post. Do join in! 

A New View

It's been a busy couple of months... and now here I sit in my new study/guest room which still has some moving boxes staring at me and a closet that needs organizing. But, here I sit... 

So much has changed in such a short time. 

We have walked our old property for the last time, gazed out of the backyard window for the last time, and locked the front door, for the very last time. Our dear house is no longer ours. A new family has purchased it and yesterday was their possession date. 

And we have moved. A new chapter in our lives has begun.

A couple of months ago, our eldest son and his wife decided to purchase a beautiful riverfront acreage home in a rural part of our fair city, about 15 minutes east of where we lived.  So, really not that far. 

They asked us if we'd consider moving into the daylight basement. It didn't take us too long, after we had viewed the property and suite, to accept the invitation. Riverfront property, walkout suite, being near our grandkids, and some perks for my husband, like a huge shop. How could we say no? 

So, we've been very busy preparing our home to sell, downsizing, and then packing up, unpacking, and setting up. We are TIRED! But we are both feeling very happy with the move. 

We have talked about moving for about five years now, but there was nothing that we had seen that excited us. So we stayed put. Until now. 

Some may say we're too young to make this type of change, but I remember reading in an excellent book on strategies for healthy living into our senior years, that it is wise to downsize before you are forced to. 

We have gone through all of our belongings and sold, given to family or friends, and donated to charity what we didn't want or couldn't keep.  Mind you, we do have room in this home to store a good number of bins, which had made this change possible. 

Each morning I look out of the kitchen window above the sink. It's a new view from the one I've had for 28 years, but I'm liking it. So far, so good. 

Five Minute Friday :: Time

 Lately I've been looking through a few family photo albums of past years. That's one way to be reminded that time is ticking on! Snuggling with my grandchildren, I am reminded that the weeks and months move on oh so quickly. From the day I first met my eldest grandchild, to his present age of 3 1/2, I can only say... whaaaat? Where did the time go?

How long is one breath? Breathe in, breathe out.  In God's economy, we are 'but a breath'. But that breath is so valuable! Though our years may be short, compared to the time that the world has been in existence, each of our breaths is so important. God is the One who has breathed His breath into us, and we became living souls. 

Our days are numbered.  Each minute is important.  I have more years behind me than ahead of me, even if I die of old age. That gives me pause. The grains of sand are falling, as time passes.  I am now in my sixth decade, and still I have been feeling that there is so much more I want to do, to be, to experience, to learn! 

May I be grateful in the good times, and trusting in the difficult ones. May I make the most of the time given to me. 

One day at a time. 

Photo by NeONBRAND on Unsplash   

This post is part of the weekly Five Minute Friday link-up! Write for 5 minutes on a selected topic, and share it with others. Feel free to join in!

A readerly afternoon

One of my favorite pastimes is reading, as my friends and family know. I listen to some bookish podcasts, which helps me keep a list of books that sound promising. I have an Amazon wish list that I will never get through, even if I live to be 120 years old!   As well, it's easy to follow others' recommendations on Goodreads. Of course, just talking books with other book-loving friends helps too! A trip to the library to pick up holds is usually a highlight for me.

Today is one of those lazy days. I'm fighting a bit of a cold, so I decided it was okay to pamper myself and spend a few hours in the middle of the day to finish off a book I'd been really enjoying. 

Night of Miracles by Elizabeth Berg is a book about residents coming together finding the true power of community. It's a  follow up to The Story of Arthur Truluv. Both books are heartwarming fiction taking place in the small town of Mason, Missouri.  

Berg has a way of developing realistic characters and situations and although there's a sweetness to these two particular books, there's also pain and sorrow. Her books are always full of beauty and hope in the middle of ordinary days and trying life circumstances. She understands the complexities of life. She writes about all ages and stages of living, and in these two books, the older characters are portrayed so well. 

I've read several Elizabeth Berg novels over the years, and have enjoyed the majority of them. She writes women's fiction really well. The first book I ever read of hers (quite a number of years ago) was about a marriage that was falling apart. I had just finished reading a similar book by a Christian author, and Berg's book rang much more honest and believable to me. 

It's a joy to find fiction books that I lose myself in. It doesn't always happen. 

~When~

Another day of freewriting. This idea came to me minutes before I began typing.  There's more I could say about it, but I only have 5 minutes! 

Day 15 When

The question that has got me thinking lately is this: When does midlife start? When does it end? Can I still call myself a woman  in midlife and if not, what do I call myself at the ripe age of 59? I still consider myself in the middle years. I’m not in the beginning years and definitely not near the end. And I refuse to believe that any of my children are in midlife, because.... that’s just  ridiculous ;) 

Well, here’s what I think. I believe midlife starts at about age 40.  I think thirty something is just too young to be considered midlife. Besides, these days this group  is  young, active and amazing and the thirty somethings I know probably wouldn’t settle for being considered middle agers yet.

 I prefer to think of middle years as being from age 40-70. I know it makes no sense, but I think I’d be okay to be considered an old person after I turn 70. And not a day before!  

Photo by Mitch Lensink on Unsplash

1933-2017

I know there are a few of you out there who read my blog regularly (even though often my posts are few and far between).  I have shared about my dad's cancer journey in a few posts over the last few years, so I thought you might want to know about today. 

One week ago I kissed my 83 year old dad goodbye and flew home, after spending a week helping my siblings, mom, and extended family care for Dad in the hospice he had been moved into a couple weeks earlier. It was a gift and a privilege to spend time with him, hugging, praying with him, talking him through spasms of pain, playing his favorite worship music, holding his hand, helping him eat and just being with him. He couldn't really carry a conversation anymore, but he sure brightened up when family was in the room.

Early this morning, my dear beloved dad passed away. My one-of-a-kind gentle, loving father who quietly lived his faith through his deeds, took his last breath here on earth in the early hours of the morning, and is now pain free and whole in every way. He is now supremely happy in heaven with his beloved Jesus, the One he gave his heart to many many years ago.

He had suffered from prostate cancer, then bone cancer, for 6 years, bravely fighting it until his body got too tired. And with some dementia as well, it was time to let go.

We did not know when he would take his last breath. First it was months, then weeks, then last Sunday we were told days. But no one really knew. As my brother said, it was like taking steps down the stairs, with pauses and then another descend, and sometimes, surprisingly, a step or two back up. I was kept posted daily, sometimes hourly.

Whoever has ever witnessed the last months of life of an elderly loved one knows that often dying is a process with so many ups and downs, hopefulness, hopes dashed, seeing progress, seeing pain, frustration, witnessing the decline, the vulnerability, the fear, the uncertainty, the faith, the knowing, the love, the joy, the tears, the hugs, the kisses, the prayers, the thankfulness, and the mixed deep emotions.

And then the phone rings much too early,  and one hears the words, "Dad passed away early this morning".

That's what my day has been like today.

We are one blessed family. Having parents who loved each other and loved their 7 kids fiercely, not perfectly,  but deeply and with such commitment.


I've often said to friends, I don't know what I'll do when my dad passes away. And now this day has come. I'm taking time to cry and laugh, to reminisce, to share my sorrow with my friends and family, and looking forward to flying out again in the next day or so to again spend time with my family and help make the plans for the memorial service.

Although I've said goodbye and shared many hours together recently,  and spoken words of comfort to my dad, I still am sad that I missed his last moments. As much as I tell myself it's okay.

It's been a weird day. I'm feeling at odds with myself, sometimes now knowing how to feel, then being surprised by a wave of sadness overwhelming me. Lots of texting and what'sapping with siblings.  And my own husband and children, too, are grieving in their own way.

I will get through this, but never over it.  Until we meet again, dearest dad.

Love you forever, Dad!