Mother's Day

Perhaps this is how it was always meant to be, after-all it began with a young girl yearning to be loved and ended with that same girl, though experience and years had aged her, still thirsting for a love that made sense to her. 

 That’s the thing about love; it doesn't always show up in the ways you’d expect. At 15, my Mom showed love by choosing to keep the child she found her all too young self, pregnant with.  At 16 I showed up in a delivery room vying for my own version of that love.  Over the course of the next 40 years our ideas of love didn't always align but love was there – a love that transcends pain and reason. 

Love, I've learned is often a person’s ideal of how we think others should treat us, how they should make us feel, what we can get out of it. We expect to be loved by our own perfect description of it and feel justified in withholding our own love when hurt, misunderstanding, and wrongs have occurred. But despite that, I've also learned that love shows up.

My Mom would tell you she spent a lifetime disappointing people – just ask her siblings – most deprived her of their love until (and perhaps even after) her dying day. Failed relationships and marriages that ended in divorce seemed to prove to her that she was not worthy of that love either. Even the love of her children was threatened as hard choices were made over the years. Truth be told, she caused some hurt, she had some regrets, and made some bad choices but I've yet to meet someone who hasn't. 

My Mom was not a selfless person but not because she was selfish, but because she sought love so desperately she took to attaining it in ways that didn't make sense to many of the people in her life.

To those that loved her and allowed her to love them back you’ll hear a different story; and this is mine.

Being the daughter of a teenage mother had its share of challenges; while I was learning to walk and talk she was determined to graduate High School. While I was entering my school years she was a twenty-something single Mom trying to balance responsibility and not let life pass her by. When I was planning a wedding she was divorced and working on making a new relationship work. While I was hoping for a baby she was watching her husband die of cancer. While I was trying to become a Mom, she was busy being a Mom and step Mom. While I was working on being a wife and Mom, she longed for me to need her and yet often, as circumstances dictated, her need for me was greater.  We zig-zagged in our relationship and many times the roles reversed as I did my best to “mother her”; all the while dealing with my own disappointing ideas of the love and relationship between a Mom and her daughter.

Bob always says, “in order to move past disappointment we must give up the hope that things could have been any different.” These are wise and healing words. As I started to embrace that truth I began to see my Mom through different eyes. 
Eyes that didn't condemn, hold grudges, or demand justice. Eyes that saw a woman just like me learning about life and love through experiences the people in our lives. Eyes that saw her, really saw her as someone who desires love, acceptance, and loyalty like we all do.

My Mom may not have gotten everything right, but she loved in the only way she knew how and for me that was enough. She was at my school programs, helped me stand up for my rights, offered support and encouragement when I needed it most, gave me away at my wedding, celebrated my victories, mourned with my losses. She painstakingly helped me sort through and pack boxes as we planned our move even though she wanted nothing more than for us to stay.  

Through both the good and bad times she taught me about love – love that isn't bound by someone else’s perimeters but the kind that sees through them and loves anyway.  I don’t know if she knew, really knew how much I loved her until the very end – I think she always feared she had failed me in some way, but love showed up.  As I sat by her side, stroking her hair, rubbing lotion into her hands and feet reminiscing about the good times she smiled because she knew she was loved, and as I laid my head on her chest while she breathed her last breaths I knew I was loved.

So on this Mother’s Day, my first without hearing her voice, I long to pick up the phone, to remind her again that she was a great Mom, that I am proud to be her daughter, and that I will honor her life and memory until my own last breath because that’s what love does. 

Unfriending Soapbox

In the days of social media and digital connections I am thankful for the ability to use technology to get and stay connected with friends and family. I have often found myself arguing the constructive uses for these virtual platforms against the opposition of many who feel Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and the like have replaced human interaction with agreeably valid points. This is why it pains me to see people using "unfriending" as a means for expressing ill feelings. 

Don't get me wrong, I have terminated my share of virtual connections but barring the general acquaintance, I guarantee the affected unfriend was not surprised by the severing of the tie because we'd had a real life discussion to lead us to that point. The opposite is true as well; having been the unfriend-ee, I am rarely shocked to find the cyber window into one another's life has been shut. It's when the cut can be felt as a physical wound that it is being grossly misused. 

While every one has the ability to use their social media in whatever fashion they choose, it doesn't mean they should. If you were friends/family in real life don't you think they deserve at the very least, an explanation? But no, no, our culture suggests that passive aggressive posts and unfriending is the way to make a point with out actually owning your thoughts and actions. 

Even as I type the software doesn't recognize the word 'unfriend' and that, my friends, should tell us something as a society - as humans. So stop congratulating those that "made the cut" in your posts after you've gone through and "cleaned out" your connections. There are better ways to deal with your current emotional state than with a cyber F-you. Consequently, if you no longer want to be Facebook friends - be darn sure you don't want to be friends in real life either because for most, there's very little difference.

Honestly, I'm shaking my head as I reread what I've written because really, there should be no reason for it. We are real people with real feelings, living in an already really challenging world - yet we have the luxury of connecting on virtual forums. So with that social privilege should come social responsibility. Do better, people. Don't let unfriending be the marker for this generation. 

What a Year

In looking back on this past year 2014 was not at all what I expected it to be as I cheersed the New Year with champagne and kisses surrounded by my dearest friends and family. It started subtly enough; an innocent conversation between Myah and I as we warmed our perpetual Minnesota chill in the steam room at LifeTime Fitness. She was sharing with me about her day and what she had learned in Drivers Ed when, like any good parent would, I took that opportunity to ask her what she planned on doing to make money to pay for the car, insurance, and gas that having her driver’s license would require. Without skipping a beat she informed me that she would not need a car as she was planning on going to Georgia Tech for college where the MARTA would suffice as her main mode of transportation. Recalling that she had toured GT the previous summer while there for a wedding with her Grandma I began to ask questions about why, what she liked, credentials, criteria, and of course tuition. As our conversation neared its end I recall shrugging and saying “I could live in Georgia”. And as the saying goes; be careful what you wish for. 

That simple entertaining of thought, subsequent discovery of the aforementioned tuition, prayer, and a whole sky of stars aligning we began our journey south. Reflecting upon this past year, I can unequivocally say this was definitely the biggest transition I have faced in my 40 years. Bigger than getting married, becoming a Mom, and losing loved ones. Scarier than the Haunted Basement of the Soap Box Factory. More emotional than the first time I watched Rose lose Jack’s grip as he slipped into the icy waters after the Titanic sank. And, truth be told, more exciting than stepping onto a Royal Caribbean cruise ship.

From telling our friends and family the news to selling our house and saying goodbye to all of the above, many of the truths I had come to know were beautifully confirmed:  First; that I am surrounded by the best people in the world who planned parties, helped pack, stored and sold countless items, supported us, encouraged us, and most importantly, cried with us. They show up when you least expect it and need it most. Second; I know now that even on my worst day as a Mom I will move mountains to give Myah the best chance at achieving her dreams. Third; I know that my husband is the best kind of magician – no tricks, no sleight of hand, no smoke and mirrors; pure, raw, hard to accomplish, triumphant magic. He makes things happen for the simple pleasure of making me smile. and finally, I understand myself better. Not in a self-discovery “ah-ha” kind of way but in a quiet resolve and content kind of way. I used to think that being virtually omni-present and involved in every detail of people’s lives was how I proved myself as a friend (don’t get me wrong I long for spending time and knowing all the details but 1100 miles is a distance not easily bridged in person) and now I see that true friendship has no boundaries. It is not stifled by time differences, limited by distance, or diminished by frequency of visits. It is, however intentional and fueled solely by love. 

So as I look back on this past year of unforeseen heartache coupled with unexpected adventure I am humbled because it is part of my life’s story and that is my favorite book.

They say fences make good neighbors...

When you move into a new neighborhood one of the first things you wonder is whether your neighbors will be nice. Are they easy going? Are they loud? Do they take care of their lawn? Ultimately, will we love them or loathe them? Moving into the corner lot of Coolidge Street 11 years ago we wondered those very things and being new to the neighborhood those same questions were being pondered about us. It didn't take long for curious neighbors to come greet the newbies and assess the young family joining their neighborhood ranks. 

To the back, we learned that the mature couple was meticulous about thier lawn grooming and didn't care for our lack of a green thumb and mediocre lawn maintenance. They planted fast growing trees to finish off the already partial blockade of pine trees clearly defining where our (often brown) lawn ended and their golf-green lawn began. 

To the side we discovered a very different type of neighbor. They were kind, friendly, always outside working on a project or garden and became our sole resource for borrowing tools. These neighbors kept an extra eye on anything out of the ordinary, helped snowblow, brought flowers from their garden (I think Lisa knew I'd never be growing my own), and were simply there with a smile a and a wave as we went about our respective daily lives. 

When one of their many projects included building a fence seperating our property lines I felt a pang of disappointment assuming they had grown weary of our consistent flow of social activities and that perhaps we were not the neighbors they had hoped for. As the fence went up I watched as Mark situated each wood slat next to the one before so tight that even air would find it difficult to pass - surely they wanted complete separation. As the weeks passed and the fence went up I had resigned myself to the fact that we had somehow failed them as neighbors. 

What I hadn't considered was an opening in that fence; one with an ornate walk through and long lattice trellis that was designed to allowed easy access from our back yard to theirs. It was never discussed, it just was what it was - an open invitation for a neighborly visit. 

Years have passed since then and we still adore our amazing neighbors so it was with sad hearts that we walked through our walkway last month to share the news of our moving away. Before long we found Mark attaching hinges to the walkway opening and crafting a seamless door so that when shut, the new neighbors would be none the wiser that there was ever a passageway connecting our families. The door is complete but they have yet to seal it shut while we are still here. As I sit today and look at that open door knowing the new owners will only see fence, I am reminded of the old saying that fences make good neighbors

but in my experience a fence with a walk through makes good friends. 

98%

It started with a nonchalant conversation in the LifeTime steam room (where Myah and I solve all the worlds problems) as my ever prepared 15 year old announced that despite it being most teens dream, her father and I, in fact, do not have to purchase a car for her 16th Birthday.  Clearly confused I wrongly assumed she didn't want the responsibility of paying for the insurance and gas of said vehicle, but not she adamantly assured me that the reason was because she is going to attend Georgia Tech for college and planned to ride the MARTA for her transportation needs. While relaying this bit of information to Bob, just as nonchalantly as his daughter, mused at the idea of packing up and moving south. By March our house was on the market and we were in full 'move mode'. Showings and a couple offers we didn't entertain arose while we waited for the right buyers. We waited. And waited some more. In May we decided that since we weren't in a position to HAVE to sell, we'd take it off the market on June 1st and consider trying again next year. Two weeks leading up to the 1st, all house activity ceased to exist, we'd reconciled within ourselves that we'd be spending another winter in MN, and we were ok with that. 

June 1st, 2014

I came home from church to be greeted by Bob shaking his head announcing we received a request for a showing that night and since it was technically within our timeframe he felt we should go through with it. And so we did. During that showing another realtor called to set up a showing for the following day. Bob again felt that we should let it happen (since the call came in on June 1st) so we did. They loved it and put an offer the next day, within the week we had addendum's and a purchase agreement signed. By no human coincidence, Bob had already planned to drive to GA with our friend Bob and his son Colin; and so that Saturday the Bob's (dubbed by a Jamaican as Sexy Bob and Cool Bob) set off on a road trip to the Empire State of the South. Arriving on Monday Sexy Bob set out on a two-day date with Becky the Realtor in search of the perfect house. With Skype-style showings for me and my brave husband taking on the daunting task of describing (in great detail) the look and feel of the features he knows I'm most interested in, we decided on our new home. So here we are with closing dates set, a house to be packed, and another southern road trip on the books. #futureGApeach 

In a Heartbeat

What started out as a typical Wednesday morning in the Vogt house quickly turned to anything but; I had decided to work from home due to an appointment in the afternoon.  While making breakfast Myah called for me from the living room, I found her lying on the floor with her feet propped up on the chair breathing deeply and feeling dizzy.  She recalled that last time she felt this way was in March and the feeling then had passed quickly with little notoriety.  So not wishing to miss her bus she pushed past the feeling and headed out the door. I asked her to text me because I wasn’t confident she was really ok. Within 10 minutes the first text came – she was definitely not feeling well, she was still quite dizzy and having a hard time focusing her eyes.  We agreed it would be difficult to intercept the bus so I would meet her at school. Having rushed out of the house I was later glad I had opted to trade my yoga pants for jeans, however I neglected to brush my teeth and hair.  The car ride from school to the clinic was a tricky one; motion caused her dizziness to increase and yet pulling over would only delay our need to see her Doctor - stat.  We made a swift entrance to the clinic only to be slowed down by Front Desk Fran (no, that’s probably not her real name).  “Yes, my address is still the same as it was 10 minutes ago when I alerted you we’d be coming in.” Yes, we still have the same insurance” (again from the recent verification via telephone). “Yes, I’m aware of the $20 co-pay” this is why I’m standing her waving my credit card at you…  and “yes, I know what HIPAA is (by evidence that I already signed it before you asked) oh, and no I don’t need the sheet explaining it.” At this point Fran realizes I am keeping one eye on Myah who is holding her head in her hands as she sits in the chair I had previously deposited her in, and one eye on her as I was jumping through administrative hoops and proclaims “she really doesn’t look well, take this portable vomit bag.” Thanks Fran. We’re finally off to Care Unit C and we are quickly ushered into a room.  Nurse Nancy (unlikely that is her real name) tries four times to take her blood pressure and fails each time. She then wheels in the digital reader which errors out after three additional attempts. Nurse Nancy asks Myah to stand so she could try again.  This works and Myah is now the unlucky owner of a 74/48 blood pressure.  Unfortunately the standing causes more dizziness and brings on the vomiting (seriously, thank you, Fran for the timely vomit bag). At this point Dr. S. (yes, that is her real initial) comes in and recommends IV fluids. They put a heart rate monitor on Myah's finger and then the panic sets in…her heart was beating 198 times per minute! Nurse Nancy and Assistant Nurse Annie (no, that’s probably not her real name either) fail miserably at their attempted to insert the IV but are thrilled to be able to cover up the needle mark with a shiny band aid which was supposed to make it all better.  I decided to not be the parent that explains that a 14 year old in this condition couldn’t care less that her band aid could double for a disco ball.  Enter Dr. McSomebody (I assume this is Dr. S’s boyfriend because I watch too much Grey’s Anatomy), who tells us Myah could have sepsis and we should head to the ER NOW.  911 is dispatched and we are now awaiting EMS.  Within 5 minutes there is a gurney outside the room and the two EMT’s strap Myah down to prepare her for her very first (and hopefully last) emergency vehicle transport.  Despite the stress of the moment, I did snap a picture to memorialize the occasion which earned me the hairy eyeball from Myah which in turn also told me she was feeling a little better already.  In the ambulance she was hooked up to a 4-lead EKG which revealed nothing out of the ordinary.  EMT Moustache cracked jokes about snow on May 1^st while EMT Slim Shady verified that I am in fact Myah’s Mom.  Since the EKG was normal we were deprived of wailing sirens and flashing lights which is kind of a bummer.  The medical bill we’ll likely get should at least include a good story about whizzing through Coon Rapids as if we were in a high speed chase in my book!  Needless to say our arrival to Mercy Hospital was underwhelming but we made it nonetheless.  We were escorted to Room 23, instructed to have Myah don the ever fashion-less hospital gown and wait for the nurse.  By this time Bob found us and we all settled in for what would end up being a very long day. Nurse Guy (not his name, just his gender) was the first to assess the situation and request a urine sample.  Myah has long been a very private girl but in this instance had no problem requesting that I join her in the restroom to provide a step-by-step tutorial on peeing in a cup (I, of course was designated the pee courier as well).  Eventually Dr. Taj (real first name) came in to see us citing concern over her still low blood pressure and high heart rate.  He ordered the first liter of saline hoping it would bring her heart rate to an acceptable level.  In the meantime a lovely phlebotomist arrived to retrieve blood samples for further testing.  It is important to know at this point that Myah out right belly laughs when getting her blood drawn – it is her own special brand of coping. We apologize in advance that we will both be partaking in fits of laughter as soon as the alcohol swap touches her skin.  I watch as the needle is removed from its sterile packaging and the giggling begins, she tries not to laugh right along with us; after all she was the one with sharp objects!  Once complete and the laughter subsided she informed us this was her last blood draw…ever.  After 23 years in the Allina HealthCare System she was packing up and moving to England and that Myah had been her first and last patient to giggle profusely while blood was being syphoned from her arm.  At this point a battery of tests was completed; kidney function, blood cell counts, diabetes, liver, the whole gamut – with little in the way of an explanation to her condition.  Dr. Taj reappears to deliver the “normal” results, chat a bit more, and order another liter of saline – surely this time it will bring her heart rate down. Not so.  He explained that in rare occasions a person’s heart could be enlarged causing it to work harder therefore a heart ultrasound was on tap.  Wanting to rule out all possibilities before ordering a D-dimer test, which could result in an unnecessary MRI, we agreed to all other avenues of investigation first. I will come back to the events of the ultrasound because it is, in fact the reason for this entire story.  As a courtesy to the Reader, I should tell you her heart is just perfect for a healthy 14 year old – no issues at all.  Since her heart rate was still high (my guess having a young and cute doctor that close didn’t help her cause), a third liter of saline was ordered.  When that failed to produce the results the good doctor was hoping for and all blood tests came back normal we were forced to do the D-dimer; and needed more blood.  Again we warned the new phlebotomist of the impending fit of laughter and delivered on it with a hearty display. Unfortunately Blood-taker Tony (his name was really John) was not as experienced as her previous one and her tears of laughter quickly turned to tears of pain and frustration.  Having to resort to a vein ultrasound machine to draw two more vials of blood she was officially over her ER adventure.  9.5 hours, multiple blood tests, ultrasounds, IV fluids, hospital cafeteria food, and too many episodes of Bones later, we were given the green light to head home. The D-dimer was normal and we had finally exhausted all life-threatening possibilities for why we found ourselves in the Mercy ER on a snowy day in May. Charged with keeping close eye on her and returning if necessary, we left with the assurance that Myah is healthy coupled with the pang of still wondering why we ended up here in the first place.

The moment crafted just for me…

With the room illuminated only by the picture on the ultrasound monitor and not even the sounds of us breathing I watched as the Doctor searched for Myah’s heart with the gelled wand. I could hear it before I could see it; her heartbeat.  Seconds later there it was, on the screen, whooshing and pumping in a rhythmic symphony.  All at once I was fighting back the tears.  Most Mom’s get to hear and see their baby’s heartbeat for the first time before they are born; a sigh of relief at the sign of life. For me, I had long ago given up the anticipation that I would ever have the chance to stare into a monitor with a silent prayer on my lips waiting for the Doctor to proclaim “everything looks great!” but in that hospital room, on a most peculiar day, I got to see my baby’s heartbeat for the very first time and that piece I was missing found its place securely in my own heart.

What the heart has once known it shall never forget ~

It started about a month after the accident, I was in Florida sitting alone on the patio near our leafless and seemingly dying Silk Floss tree he had planted from seeds (illegally pilfered from Disney World on a previous family trip!).   As I was contemplating our "new normal" a dragonfly caught my attention as it landed on a branch of the tree which was occupied by at least thirty other dragonflies simply resting on its branches.  I didn't think much of it beyond the intrigue of seeing so many on one place and on that sickly looking tree of all places.  Alas, in the following months I began to see dragonflies everywhere I went. They would dart in front of me, fly into my car windows, rest on near-by chairs, and generally make their presence known. I would see pictures, art work, and trinkets emblazoned with images of dragonflies regularly.  A couple weeks after the dragonfly-covered Silk Floss tree scene, my Mom called to tell me that our tree was budding leaves!  I told her about the dragonflies and how I’d been seeing them literally everywhere since that day on the patio- dragonfly sightings had become so prevalent in my everyday life that I couldn’t deny the fact that they had to be there for a reason.  

So one night I retreated to my office with a hot cup of coffee and after cuddling into a blanket, settled in for a little research.  Before long I was sifting through stories and symbols, meanings and significances of this newly remarkable creature in my life.  The most common theme arose quickly; dragonflies are symbolic of the souls of those no longer with us.  Other significances include their aerodynamic (airplane-like) shape and penchant to graceful flight. “They are fantastic flyers, darting like light, twisting, turning, changing direction, even going backwards as the need arises”.  My Dad had aviation in his blood (as did his Dad) and loved flying; his airplane wings were practically an extension of his own body.  Countless stories of flight, beauty, life, and inspiration filled my computer screen.  It was becoming quite clear that my heightened awareness to their presence was a frequent and gentle reminder to celebrate, like the dragonfly’s too short life, my Dad’s all to brief stay with us.  I knew my search for their meaning was complete with the five final words, while reading a brief snippet describing their short life and innate aspiration, I could almost hear my Dads voice echoing his favorite motto “live life to the fullest.”

It’s hard to believe that it’s been 5 years since he’s been gone; and though I still recoil from the pain I find myself thankful for the time I did have, grateful for the memories, and privileged to be his daughter.  

If you happen to look into the Anoka sky tonight and see 3 lanterns glowing as they gracefully skim the skyline, I hope you smile knowing they are in honor of an amazing Father-in-law, Dad, and Grandpa.