Eating Neon Yogurt

The One Where I Ask for Help

I've always been stubborn... and naive, both. Last year, I raised $1000 to support St Baldrick's Foundation for childhood cancer research. So, this year, I decided to match my goal.  I emailed my friends and family. I posted on Facebook and Twitter. Then, I sat back and waited. I waited some more. I kicked off the donation campaign by donating myself. Then, I continued waited.  It's time to up the ante. For each donation to my event, I will write the name of a loved one lost or fighting on a scarf. If you are local, you may do the honors. I will sport the name of our loved ones as a sign of our support and love. 

 

We have 1 month. Please help me reach my goal by donating.

Donate Here

 

Thank you! 

We Can Change the World

I know what you're thinking. 

She's always been naive. 

She's been under some stress lately.

She's lost her mind.

Yes, I have always been naive and I like it that way.

Yes, I have been facing some challenging times. Haven't we all?

Nope. I am as sane as anyone reading this.

I really believe that each of us can make a difference by living a life full of love and free of fear. Help me make a difference to children living with cancer. Last year, my goal was $500. We raised $1000. This year, I'm raising the stakes.  Join me. On Saturday June 22, I will be shaving my head to show my solidarity with those brave fighters. I hope to raise $1000 for St Baldrick's Foundation and pediatric cancer research. Join my Bald Brigade by commenting below (I'll get the details to you) or by clicking HERE and making a donation.

Last year, I told you about a childhood friend I lost to cancer. She was 17 and I was 16. She had lived 15 years longer than expected. Last night, I introduced you to Tracy Steel who lost her mother to breast cancer. Today, I am challenging you to join me in a quest to change the world. 

Grieving the Loss of a Parent - Week 3: Beholding Beauty in Cancer

Today I welcome a new friend, Tracy Steel. 

Tracy Steel is a mentor, author, and speaker who is passionate about helping women become who and what God wants them to be, one degree at a time. Whether the setting has been a small group Bible study, youth ministry event, women’s retreat, or MOPS group, she has been honored to teach and mentor the girls and women God has placed in her life.

She inspires and challenges through messages that:

• Enable discovery of true identity and purpose in Jesus Christ
• Empower women to harness and unleash their gifts in the world around them
• Equip women to impact and inspire younger generations
• Encourage women to embrace and esteem their current season of life

 

Beholding Beauty in Cancer

 

2001

“Tracy, your mother’s on the phone, do you want to take her call?”

That is strange… my mother never calls while I am at work.

“Hi mom…”

“Tracy… it’s… it’s… falling out.”

My mother was weeping.

“Mom, what is falling out?”

“My hair, it is coming out in clumps. I was taking a shower and now it is all over the bathtub. Your dad is
at work and I am here by myself. I just need to hear your voice…”

The lump in my throat grows thick. I will not lose control of my emotions.

I picture her naked laying on the floor of her bathtub.

Scared.

Alone.

“Tracy, are you there? Should I keep pulling it out?”

“Oh mom, I will sit here with you while you do. You’re going to be ok. I am with you…”

“Ok… Tracy, I feel so ugly.”

Minutes pass.

I cry silently on the other end.

“Tracy, I think I am done.”

“Mom…

mom, you are and will always be beautiful to me.”

2007-October 7, 2012

My mother’s hair returned, but so did the breast cancer.

Now it was all over her body.

More hair was lost and more chemo was taken.

There were days when my mother needed to hear my voice because her pain was great and because her
reflection repulsed her.

My answer remained the same: “Mom you are and will always be beautiful to me.”

October 8, 2012

It hurts to look at what remains of my mother’s body. I rub her bald head and grasp the skeletal remains
of the hands that first held me.

It’s just me and her in the room.

I am not sure what to do with the silence.

The lump in my throat is growing.

I will not lose my emotions.

I am her daughter and I hate cancer.

But I love a God who is good and gracious. What doctors said was impossible, He made possible. He
honored countless prayers.

Jesus is coming to free and heal her now…

+11:00 am

I lean in close so she will be sure to hear me. She can no longer speak or open her eyes.

I know that she needs to hear my voice

one

more

time.

“Mom… I am here now. I am so thankful God chose you to be my mom. It’s time for you to go home to
Him now. You are and will always be beautiful to me.”

And then I sing “Amazing Grace” and “Jesus loves Roxie” over her again and again…

+1:25 pm

My mother won her battle against breast cancer.

She beheld Beauty, literally.

Her suffering ended.

Her questions answered.

Her joy is unending.

March 28, 2013

I stand beside my grieving father as we clean out my mother’s side of the closet. Her clothes smell of
her perfume. I quickly place the shoes she wore to my wedding in a trash bag. To stop and hold them is
painful. Her High school ring and pearl necklaces are still here with me. But my mother is gone from me,
temporarily.

Memories overwhelm me.

The lump in my throat returns.

This time I let my tears fall and I remember.

I remember beholding my mother’s beauty.

Cancer couldn’t kill the beauty of her courage or the beauty of her faith and trust in God.

Beauty cannot be purchased in a bottle, achieved by a diet, or purchased off the rack.

Beauty isn’t skin deep, it is soul deep.

My mother will always be beautiful to me.

I have beheld Beauty now.

Praise You, Jesus.

 

Random Thoughts

I wish I could tell you that a head cold is causing my mind to wonder. I can't. My mind wonders constantly. Here are my thoughts for the week.

My nearly 4 year old daughter is having a love affair with Thor, Iceman, Hulk, Flash, Ironman, and Captain America. She has been watching entirely too much television. I wonder if she might be a bit young for the Super Hero Squad and I wonder if I've become too lenient with her TV time. It hasn't seemed to influence her behavior. Daddy did have to order Super Hero Squad wall stickers to replace the Dora ones, though.  

 

This week, it dawned on me. I have become a bit obsessed with the United States Poet Laureate. I can't stop thinking about how Natasha Trethewey uses poetry as a means of writing historical memoir. She is incredible effective! I wonder if I chose the wrong genre for my project. However, I keep trudging along in essay/ non fiction form because I want to reach a broad audience. That sounds ridiculous. Trethewey is reaching MANY more people than I ever hope to. 

 

Dad has been on my mind. I was planning my next head shaving event and thought, I should call Dad to tell him he can join me this time. He asked if he could join me last summer. I was surprised but I said yes. I was already sporting my beautiful bald head & I wasn't sure if he was joking. I'm still not sure and I can't actually clarify. I want to live a meaningful life and I want to honor Dad and nothing seems appropriate, my friend, Andi is very active in Relay for Life in honor of her mom. Dad didn't have cancer - a fact we became aware of a few days before he slipped away. Dad had other issues. He was a diabetic and a hemophiliac. Dad had an inoperable tumor wrapped around his pituitary gland causing an excess of growth hormones called Acromegaly. I'm certain the acromegaly was a factor in his death.  I have yet to hear about people shaving heads for acromegaly research. I can't think of a single symbol for hemophilia to tattoo as a remembrance. I wish I could. I guess I can but I feel frozen in something that's inbetween grief and normalcy. I don't think is has a name -yet. Perhaps, I'll call it The Nothing. That would be a close description.  I long to pick up the phone and call Dad.  I feel desperate for my dad to know me, again. I should have been there with him.  Had it been me, in the hospital, Dad would have been by my side. He wouldn't have abandoned me as I lay dying.  I've been trying to not think about that too much. Dad died alone. I can only cope if I remember that he died in his sleep and unaware. I hope his mother and father were there to meet him on the other side of life. Dad hadn't seen his own father in 50 years. My grandfather died at a young age from a brain tumor. Grandfathers tumor was operable but it was 1951 (or so) and he never recovered from the surgery. Grandfather returned home to die.  He was surrounded by his children in his final days.  My grandmother followed her husband in death in 2000 from pancreatic cancer. Five of her children were there as well as her grandchildren.  My dad was alone and this will haunt me for the rest of my life.  I can't quite move forward, yet. I hope no no one tells me Dad is in  better place. 

 

We've lived in Iowa for nearly 6 years.  I miss Denver but I LOVE Des Moines. I spend a huge amount of time downtown working and playing. Des Moines offers a surprising foodie subculture. If you can eat it, you can find it - except for authentic Mexican food. It may exist but I haven't found it yet. I decided to come downtown today to write and drink and snack a bit. I stopped in at Americana - a restaurant that advertises Tapas and adult beverages. The chef here is renowned. After I ordered a Jamison at the bar, my bartender, Karla, suggested the buffet. It seemed odd for a Saturday. I decided to indulge myself. I had 2 plates of salad, pastries (not gluten free) and a gourmet grilled cheese sandwich (I recommend the Fanny Pack-  jalapenos, tomatoes, cheese & bacon). WOW! Is that a bloody mary station?! Excuse me....  Yep! I'm in love with Des Moines. I must remember to bring Meredith here next time they're in town. Buffet & spa day sounds wonderful to me. 

 

I guess that's enough rambling for now. I'll be back soon with part 3 of Grieving the Loss of a Parent. I'm not counting this post. 

Grieving the Loss of a Parent - Week 2: Odd Moments

This week, I am featuring a friend and member of the Writers Unite group, Susan Heiser.  Susan is a judicial assistant by day, proofreading and editing appellate court opinions, but at night she gets to indulge in her real passion – writing. She is currently working on her first novel and has recently started blogging at http://quickandrandommusings.wordpress.com/, where admittedly she shares pretty much whatever random thoughts happen to pop into herhead. She’s also the mother of two grown sons and the wife of one extremely patient man.  Please visit Susan at her blog & welcome her to our litttle corner of the world.

The Odd Moments

 

It’s the small things, the little things, the inconsequential things, the things you wouldn’t

necessarily think would matter. Like making warm milk on toast for breakfast and suddenly

remembering how she always made warm milk on toast with just the perfect amount of sugar so

the edges were sweet and crispy, and the center was all warm and gooey.

 

Or like driving past her off ramp and feeling like I should exit and go west, to her house, to make

dinner and then play Scrabble or Trivial Pursuit.

 

Or, on low energy nights, on nights when her back had been hurting her all day, or she’d been

having trouble breathing, just watch Jeopardy on TV with her and then make sure she got to bed

before coming on home.

 

Her birthday came and went, and of course I thought about her. And my birthday came and

went, and of course I thought about her then too.

 

But it was on my brother’s birthday that I missed her the most, my brother who died too young

I called her every year on his birthday. And this year she wasn’t there for me to call and say, “I

still miss him too, Mom.”

 

It wasn’t like this when Dad died, because I wasn’t the one who took care of him when he was

sick; Mom was. She made sure he had everything he needed, and tried to make him comfortable.

She made sure he was never lonely. She made sure she was always there to hold his hand when

he was scared.

 

She made it look easy.

 

I took care of Mom when she was sick. Turns out, it isn’t that easy. But I made sure she had

what she needed, and I tried to make her comfortable. And I made sure she wasn’t lonely as best

I could, right up to the minute she took that last breath.

 

So I find it is in the odd moments, the unexpected times that I feel that lonely ache. I know it is

the natural way of life for parents to die, and I accept it. I’m not morose about it, but I miss her.

And this haunts me a little, in those odd moments:

 

Was I always there to hold her hand when she was scared?

Grieving the Loss of a Parent - Week 1: That Phone Call

 

It has been one month since my dad died. I am marking this event by introducing a series: Grieving the Loss of a Parent.  Each week, I will feature a post by a different writer and friend. Please participate in the conversation by commenting at the bottom of each post. Keep comments repectful. Thanks!

My daughter must have known something was different. She woke at 5:45 am ad I struggled to keep her in bed until 6 am. I finally gave up and escorted her downstairs. Half way down, the phone rang. It wasn't quite 6:00. Phone calls that early always bring the worst news. I turned on the television and made my was back upstairs to my husband to find out the news. He met me on the staircase. He was awake and wearing his bathrobe. 

I'm sorry. That was you mom. You dad passed in his sleep last night. 

I gasped and sat on the top step and then I heard a wail. I could only manage to croak out a few words. I didn't get to say goodbye. I actually meant so much more. Goodbye wouldn't even scratch the surface of what my dad needed to hear and what I needed to say but those words were all I could manage. Please, tell me it was peaceful.

Yes, it was peaceful. My husband embraced me. Your dad passed very peacefully in his sleep. 

I wept. I don't know how long I sat. Eventually, I realized my 3 year old was not going to stay quiet for much longer and I sent my husband down to her while I collected myself. I showered and dressed and called in to work. We drove 600 miles with our child in the back seat. I wrote my dad's eulogy and an obituary. My sister and I delivered the eulogy in my dad's chosen church and we both swallowed our pride and didn't make a scene when we couldn't take communion during the mass. I wept. We drove home to Iowa and we returned to our regular lives. I pushed the feelings to the back of my mind and focussed on mothering and being a wife. I got caught up at work and I wept only once - in my car, alone, listening to the radio. 

 

We used to sing with the car radio. Dad once received a scholarship to study vocal music at Adams State College in Colorado. He had to put it aside to go into the military. They promised to hold his award until he was finished with his tour of duty but when Dad returned, his scholarship was gone. Dad ended up working his way through college. He graduated with a BA after eleven years. I took 8. We both had a lot to learn.

 

Dad was my best friend in high school. We spent many hours debating politics and religion. Sometimes the discussions would become heated and Mom would end the conversation.

 

Come on, you two. That's enough fighting!

We weren't fighting. Dad was teaching me how to think for myself and how to stand up for my beliefs. 

 

I spoke to my sister last week and she asked me how I was doing. I really don't know. I've been too busy to grieve. I attended church yesterday morning for the first time sense Dad's funeral mass. I had communion at the alter and then asked for a healing blessing. I wept. I'm fairly certain the healing minister who anointed my forehead felt love and some pity for me. I know this woman and am grateful she is loving and compassionate. 

 

I don't believe Dad ever read any of my work. Yet, he would have been the first to encourage me to write. When I shaved my head last year for pediatric cancer research, Dad asked if he could shave his as well. He had his hair cut for a radiation treatment but not really shaved. I think he approved of most of my decisions but not all of them. I was imperfect and that was fine with Dad. Dad was imperfect and I was not ok with it but I loved him. I believe in angels and messages from God. I look for messages from Dad in each moment and I find nothing. I look for a way to memorialize my dad and nothing feels right. I thought about another tattoo but more ink would be for me not Dad. I need to know that Dad knew I loved him and cared even if I lived so far from him. I ask God to tell me what I am supposed to be doing now. I haven't found any signs, yet. I'll let you know when I do find a sign.

 

Now it's your turn. You are invited to discuss this piece. How do you know you're actually coping with hard times and not ignoring the difficult moments?  When do you find time to cry? 

 

Death, Life and Resurrection: I'm going to get a phone call from school

Bedtime has become very interesting over the past 2 weeks. 

When my dad died, we sat down with our 3 year old daughter and explained that her papa had died and gone to live with God in Heaven. She seemed fine. Until bedtime.

 

TIme for Prayers, Mija. I folded my hands.

 

Ok, Mama. My child closed her eyes and began, Dear God, thank you for the puppies. (she's a creative) Thank you very much. Thank you for all the children and for Mommy and Dad. Please let Papa come home. Thank you.

 

My heart stopped. Very good, Honey. That was a wonderful prayer. Papa can't come back to us. 

 

But I asked God, so Papa will come back. Maddie sat up and pushed back her covers. She slid from her bed and purposefully marched and turned out the light. He WILL come back.

 

I sighed and took a deep breath. Maddie, Papa can't come back because he is dead. Sometimes, when people get very old, their bodies get worn out and they get to be... broken and the doctors can't fix them anymore. Thats when people die. Papa's body was too broken and the doctor couldn't make him better.

 

MOM! Papa WILL come back! I KNOW HE WILL. Papa is with God in our tummies and then he will get born like Jesus. God lives in our tummies and Papa lives with God. She folded her arms and her eyebrowns frowned.

 

Oh dear. I forgot will told her she lived in Mommy's tummy and we also told her the Christmas story. How to fix it.... how to fix it....

 

Maddie, before people are born, they grow in their mommies tummies until they are ready to be...

 

I KNOW THAT ALREADY! ...UNTIL THEY GET BORN. 

 

No, Honey. God lives in our hearts because we love. This isn't helping. I think I'm making it worse.

 

Papa and God live in our hearts? Maddie stopped. Oh. God and Papa live in our hearts and we can remember them and love them and they can't come back. I WANT my papa to come back.

 

Me too. 

That could be the end of the story but last night, it continued.

I thought it would be a good idea to pull out Maddie's Bible and read her the children's version of Easter. 

 ... they saw the tomb was open and ...Jesus was alive...

SEEEEEEE!!!!!! Jesus came back! I told you Papa lives in our tummies and Papa is going to come back. Mommy, when is Papa coming back?

Oh dear.

1200 Miles

Tonight I am sitting on my own couch eating chocolate and watching a movie. My child is tucked in and peacefully sleeping. My husband is beside me. I am thankful that we made it across the plains ahead of the snow. I know I have so much for which to thank God. I am not ungrateful. 

 

I am also empty. My dad is gone and the church of my childhood will not give me a gift of comfort. In theory, I should not feel grief over that last part but I do. I have a loving church family and this family has treated me warmly. I leave my spiritual care to God, a loving pastor and my church family. 

 

I need to forgive. The bitterness makes my grief feel bigger somehow. I am glad to be home. I miss Dad and I miss my still living family 600 miles away. I feel alone in my sorrow. 

 

A wonder why people always feel the need to tell a surviving child or spouse that the deceased loved one "looks so good." I understand people can't always think of the right thing to say but, really, my dad didn't look good. He looked dead. A better thing to say would be, "I'm sorry for your loss." Leave it at that. 

 

I wrote a letter to the deacon of the church my parents belong to. I hope that just thinking on paper helps me heal. Hubby thinks I should actually send it. I'm just not convinced the deacon would really care. I think he may actually pity me. 

 

Forgiveness is hard. I will be able to think more clearly in the morning. No pun intended. Good night, everyone. 

James F. Tapscott Obituary, Denver, CO | Horan & McConaty: Obituaries

James F. Tapscott Obituary, Denver, CO | Horan & McConaty: Obituaries.

God bless you, Dad.

Love,

Kiki

For my dad -

Disclaimer: 

I think it's only fair to warn you. My sister and I wrote this eulogy for our dad and will be delivering it this morning during his funeral mass. You may want to have a box of tissues ready. 

 

His name is James, Jim, Dad, Papa, JimBob, Brother, Uncle, and Mr. Tapscott to all his friends selling things on the phone.

 

We remember fondly the sound of his voice singing old cowboy and love songs.  We laugh remembering those sudden home improvement projects, always finished with impressive professionalism.  He was a camper, a carpenter, a criminal investigator, a reader, a savvy shopper, a proud dad, proud papa, loving husband and forgiving man.  He never talked bad about people.  He worked hard and displayed integrity everywhere he went. 

 

He was a patriot.  He loved the outdoors and bear claws from the donut shop.  He enjoyed time in Albuquerque and coffee at Panera.  And he enjoyed walking his grandson to class.  He loved westerns, Rockies baseball, Avalanche hockey, and Broncos football. Dad came from a large German family who didn't believe in waisting energy complaining. We believe in living through faith. We simply accept what God has given us and move on.  My dad didn't complain. He accepted and moved on. He didn't believe in dwelling on hardship. He didn't like to admit how brief life was but he knew time in this life was limited and their was much life to savor. 

 

Dad often spoke of his seemingly idealistic childhood. He loved having 5 sisters and brothers. He loved the chaos of a large family and I think the constant noise enveloped him in comfort. Dad learned to embrace differences in people and ideas and he learned to stand up to what he believed was just: love, compassion, and justice. 

 

My dad was a kind, pacient, loving father. I think he learned to sit and listen through the life's loudness because he grew up in a crowded home.  Dad never spoke down to his children and generally talked with us as if we were adults. Dad always encouraged me to think for myself and question the world around. As a teenager, dad and I spent many hours debating politics and religion. Often our conversations would become a little intense and Mom would end the debate by saying, "Ok, you guys! Thats enough. Stop arguing." We would always answer her the same way. "We're not fighting! We're just talking." Then we'd turn away from the conversation and focus on something else.

 

I remember many special times with Dad. When we were in elementary school, Dad moved the family to the mountains. The nights were pitch black and the stars were nearly always visible. Dad would point out constellations to me and I would ask the tough questions such as, "What's at the end of the universe? When did the universe begin? What is out there?" Dad always had an answer: some answers were more creative than others.  

In our childhood, Dad was truly a lot of fun. He taught me to hit a baseball, how to appreciate a pun and how to love words. He taught us about compassion, and  about God's love. He taught us how to sing loudly and how to waltz. It was because of my dad that I waltzed with my husband on our wedding day. Dad taught us that we could do anything our male cousins could do. We could bait our own hooks and go fishing. We were expected to go to college and grow up to be adults who would serve others. We were expected to make mistakes. Dad sat back and watched us and loved us and offered advice only when we sought it out. Failing was part of growing up. 

 

Dad never discussed death or the afterlife with his daughters. He had lost his father when he was very young and I think it really impacted him. Over the past few years, Dad had many close calls and his family knew his time was coming to an end. Time after time, Dad pulled through. When Dad told me he was going in for a procedure in March, I was afraid. My sister and I questioned him to be sure we felt he would have the best care possible. Everything seemed set. He got his medications and the doctors knew his special needs. After the surgery, Dad declined dramatically. I began to price airfare to come home. Slowly, he seemed to heal and the family thought the worst was over. One Thursday March 14th at 5:57 am, the phone rang. My husband answered and, a short time later I heard him moving about. I went upstairs to see about that phone call. My dad had slipped away in the night. 

 

Goodbye, Dad. We miss you and we'll see you again.  I promise I'll go to church on Sundays. One more thing, Dad. Don't take any wooden nickels. I love you.