Last night

Clayton and Michele got in and today we spent the day at the Calder's, then all of us went out for dinner at Carraba's. The food was excellent, but the best part was looking around the table at my whole family, watching the little ones stuffing pasta, and listening to the banter. I love each one of them so much! On Friday we go to Ocean City for the weekend to play on the beach and celebrate Father's Day. And I'm feeling stronger every day. Blessings...blessings...

Thank you, Cancer

for showing me how precious time is

a commodity of this world

wasted often

on petty worries and frustrations

owning too many things

bickering

planning way ahead for tomorrows over which I have no control

robbing myself of todays

but no more

wiggling my feet and toes every morning

stretching this 50+ frame

jumping out of bed each day or imagining

that I still can

to see who gets there first

me

or the sun

Thank you

for giving me a love of this body

that never cared about stretch marks

or fat

looking in the mirror

how often I berated her, and for what?

when I should have been saying

Thank you! You’re amazing! I love you!

that astonishing journey of carrying another soul

within mine

three times was I granted the privilege, three!

now I see a miracle every day

would never trade perkiness for the wisdom

these sagging breasts hold

or a dancer’s dreams

for discovering the abstract beauty

of varicose veins and stretch marks

triumphant scars of motherhood

and being female

and alive!

Thank you

for helping me open my mouth

that short span when I could neither breathe

nor sing

a gentle reminder

of how much I have to say

finding new notes I’m sure weren’t there before

were they?

speaking up more easily

and I’m still practicing and you are patient

but this I know

that stuffing it,

hurts

and for that

I am sorry

adjusting the direction I was headed

why did I care what they all thought?

or worry that my truths might

be different from theirs?

Thank you

for expanding my vision

I see them now

the ones I’ve passed so often as though they were invisible

what a little fool

when I thought it was all about me

perhaps I didn’t want to see because

I would have to learn how to get

out of my own way

acknowledge my own mortality

looming

like a vacant marquee sign

when all this time

you were just waiting for me

to fill in the blanks

First Born and Second Chances

Brandon was my first-born in the wilderness, son of my youth. He gave me motherhood in all its facets. He was my first pregnancy, my first labor and delivery, my first experience with breast-feeding and teething and diapering and loving thoroughly another perfect human being who depended on me completely for his life. On him I practiced, with him I was infatuated, from him I received much love as he was a cheerful baby, but on him I made the most mistakes. I didn't know nearly as much as I thought I did. As he grew up he became more and more independent--sometimes too independent to my way of thinking--and the problems, experiences, the trials, the joys, the successes, and even the mundane, all became more complicated because soon we were a family of four and then five, and Brandon was not just the first-born, he was the older brother, the one we expected to set the example for the others, the one who, no matter how old he became, was always the first child. Whether he was 12 or 22, my experiences with him were always new. Always a trial run. Always a crap shoot if I was doing it right or not. But Brandon seemed to be able to handle it.

Later as I grew in wisdom as a parent, I lamented the fact that I could do a much better job with Brandon if only I had the chance to do it over again. I got my wish July 30, 1998 when Brandon survived a major car accident. Horror. We didn't know it that day, but Brandon was going to come out of his coma a 200 lb infant; we were going to do all the things with him that we'd done the first time around. He had to relearn everything and we were going to re-raise him only this time with an upped ante--magnified personality traits, a man who didn't realize anything was mentally wrong, intense temporal lobe rages that put us in physical danger, an inability to reason, and all with the same strong independent will as before and a physical strength that returned well before his mental capabilities did. God help us all if he stopped progressing at 15! Thankfully, he didn't. But even in the most difficult circumstances we found some humor.

Shortly after Brandon first came home after three months in the hospital, he went from using a wheel chair to walking with a walker. His balance was very poor. The doctor had emphasized how devastating it would be if Brandon fell in the shower or anywhere and hit his head again. For that reason, one of us always followed him to the bathroom to stand guard in case he started to fall. Chantel even put on her bathing suit and helped him in the shower a couple of times. I remember one time in particular, Brandon went into the bathroom and I was close behind him. He was physically progressing rapidly and was irritated when any of us were in there with him. In frustration he turned around and hollered, "Well, you followed me in here-- do you want to hold my penis for me too while I take a piss?" There he was! The old Brandon! Shortly after that, he quit using the walker and we gave him back some privacy.

Another time, Larry, who had became Brandon's full-time-every-kind-of therapist, (fodder for another post) decided that he needed to increase the level of Brandon's physical activity. Brandon had surpassed every physical goal, from being able to walk to the corner and back, to walking around the track down at the school, to walking around the block and up the hill. Larry often brought the wheelchair with them in case Brandon needed it to get home, but one day he decided to sit in the wheelchair and let Brandon push him. That was the day that a neighbor drove by and scowled at Larry as if to say, "What a mean father you are, making that poor crippled boy push you up the hill!"

Remembering those times makes me proud of how the Dayley family sacrificed for Brandon and how hard he worked to 'come back.' It makes me marvel at how determined he was to overcome his limitations and to what degree Larry and Chantel and Clayton gave to make that happen. It makes me reflect with gratitude on the power of faith, the hundreds, maybe thousands of prayers that were offered up for all of us, and it makes me hopeful that I will have the opportunity to help the families of other head-injury victims, even if it's just a word of courage to them.

I do feel sad to remember how open ended our grief was in those days. The Brandon we knew had died, but his body had not. Although people sent numerous cards, and offered many prayers and messages of condolence, there was no funeral and no closure. We wore our grief like shackles, with no one to explain to us the grieving process or how to get through it. At the time, Brandon's accident was the worst trial I'd ever been through. I didn't think I'd ever go through anything more difficult than that. I was wrong. But would I go back and change those days? Fast forward over the early years to a place where Brandon was mature and confident and hopeful? Not a chance. I learned so much with him and from him, and from my family also. Those years were a gift, a blessing in the form of adversity. Brandon should have died in that car wreck. The day I stood at his gravesite and spoke was the day I realized that he didn't need to have been here, to struggle like he did these past ten years. It was the rest of us who were given the opportunities to grow. We became more patient, more understanding, more willing to give and do and love, more forgiving, more filled with compassion. And isn't that the idea? To return home with honor to our Heavenly Father and Mother, having received the experiences we came to earth for? Sometimes I ask myself: If I had the chance to relive those years, knowing what I know now, would I? My answer is always the same: You bet your life. And mine too. In a heartbeat.

Drifting into Consciousness

Well, can't tell you how good this feels, to connect with the world again both literally and figuratively. I am doing well. Surgery was major, major but no complications and I'm healing well. The emotional swings are a bit harder, both from all of a sudden finding myself in a new group, but also the immediate moving into menopause. I don't have a problem with that. In fact, when I had a hysterectomy a few years ago, I rejoiced at never having to have periods again! But now with both ovaries gone as well, I don't quite know what to expect regarding loss of hormones. I'm sure there are answers. Nervous about the chemo. (Starts next week). My mom will come out here when I'm ready and I think that will be good because she is a wiz with both food and nutrition. A Kaiser nurse today told me that when I eat, make sure it's something that my body needs and can use. Don't waste calories on junk.

I'm so glad to be at my sister's. She gave me two brand new rooms in the quiet wing--one for my bedroom and one for a living room. They are next to each other and right now, almost everything I own is in one room or the other. I can visit with friends, enjoy my lovely things, and avoid having to put furniture in storage.

Please keep your prayers and emails and cards coming. They mean so much to me.

Sometimes I feel as though I'm just waking up from a long, bad dream. I wonder, "Is this my life?" But it is. I just hope I have enough courage and faith. Friends and family tell me I do, and when I don't, I can lean on theirs. I love you all... so much

Last Morning Love

Today I return home to the Bay Area and I admit, it is with great ambivalence. I have loved being in a new place, seeing new country, checking out some universities (yesterday I went to Baltimore), but mostly I have loved being with, and a part of, this wonderful family.

Chantel, You are everything a mother could hope for. Your love for your family and the consistent, firm, and loving way you and Austin parent is a joy and a wonder to see. You are an example to all of us and I love and appreciate your strength, testimony and faith. Thank you for the extra care you gave me, my own space, the special mattress, waiting to decorate the tree until I got here. Thankyou for including me in family nights and family prayer, for the beautiful stocking, and for all the extra traveling we did together to see this wonderful part of the country. I will miss you and yours, but I know that our family love is forever. My favorite memory will be hearing and seeing your morning ritual of love with your little ones--what a treasure. With Love, xo, Mom

Reading time before breakfast.

Morning love with Owen

Soren grabs Owen for a kiss--notice his hand on Owen's ear!

Gratitude

I am so thankful for my family. I know that's a phrase that gets tossed around a lot sometimes, but I wonder if my family really knows how much I love each of them. You, and you, and you, and you...My Mom flew out from Utah this year. She's such a little bird now! My older sister Madelyn and her husband Jeff flew down from Washington, and their son Alex came out from Nashville. There were 14 of us around a giant table in Marty's new house. Madelyn made a toast "to all the family who aren't here today," then names came up individually all around, "Leah...Brother John and his family...Chantel and Austin...Owen and Soren...Larry...John and Jasmine...Estee and Mike..." I sat and listened, watched faces, heard names, and I felt so blessed to not only love my own family, but know that my brothers and sisters feel the same way. We had an amazing meal (Bruch women can cook!) and Rachel taught Andrew how to dip truffles. He's a natural at it! I will try to get a photo from Rachel or Sheila and post it for y'all to see. Anyway, if you're reading this post, know that you've touched my life, from you I have learned, and for you I am thankful. I have many other things to be thankful for as well, but nothing is as important as our love for one another.