In Heaven There Is No Beer

I was thinking back to when my mom was in hospice. A night or so before my mom died, my brother- in-law, Steve smuggled some beer into my mom’s room. It wasn’t for her, but for those of us keeping vigil. We had a bucket of ice that we put the bottles on. I remember worrying that as the ice melted and shifted and made noise, we’d be busted. Took me right back to my college days. At one point one of the nurses came in while we were enjoying a beer. She just chuckled and said it didn’t bother her any. She went on to tell us that in hospice, if a patient requests alcohol, they try to accommodate them. We joked with her that in that case, Mother wanted a keg in the room. We all laughed about it, because Mother was never one to drink. She hated the taste of alcohol. I think the most she ever consumed at one time was probably a sip of communion wine. My dad wasn’t a drinker either. He would have one can of beer (or as he got older, O’douls) with supper each night, but that was it. So, if there truly is no beer in Heaven, I know that is not a problem for Mother and Daddy.

The thing I sometimes wonder about is when people say there is no marriage in Heaven. I certainly don’t claim to be a biblical scholar and won’t try to quote or interpret what the Bible says on the matter.  I can handle that no one gets married once they are in Heaven, but what about the marriages that took place on earth. Are they no longer valid in Heaven? When I think of my mom and dad in Heaven, I still picture them together as husband and wife. It is painful for me to think of them any other way. But then I think about people who have been married more than once. If there is still marriage in Heaven, which spouse will they be married to once they got to Heaven? Now if an earthly marriage ends in divorce, surely the two won't be married in Heaven. But what if a spouse dies and the surviving spouse remarries? What happens when they all get to Heaven? Is this why marriage vows say “Until death do us part”? I try not to think too much on the subject or it starts to feel like I’m losing my mind.

I remember my mom talking about how there is no time in Heaven.  She said that when she thought too much about that, it could drive her crazy. I believe there is a reason for why these things make us feel this way. It’s simple really: We are human. As humans, we can only comprehend human things. Time and marriage are human ways. So are fear, pain and anger. Things in Heaven are spiritual. As humans, we do not have a full understanding of spiritual ways. We can’t comprehend an existence without time, pain, anger, eating, drinking, or marriage.

After Daddy died, I had a hard time when I read different bible verses. Some seemed to indicate that when we die, we immediately go to Heaven. Some seemed to say that we remain in the grave until Judgement Day. Some seemed to say we were judged immediately upon death. I asked my pastor about this as it was really bothering me. Pastor Tim gave me some materials from a class he had previously done on death. It included some of the verses I had read and others as well. But what helped me the most was what he told me. First, he said that even though he’s a pastor and has studied the bible, he doesn’t have all the answers. In other words, he’s human too.  But he said that the important thing to remember is that God does everything in love. We are human and can’t always understand His ways. But if we have faith, we can be assured that whatever God has planned for us after this life will be wonderful. It is so beautiful and spectacular that our human minds cannot comprehend it.  But when we are in Heaven and have full spiritual knowledge, it will all make perfect sense. So our human wonderings about time, marriage or anything else in Heaven should not weigh us down. Rather we should have faith and trust that whatever God has in store for us in Heaven is more wonderful than our wildest dreams. I think I can live with that.

**Pastor Tim, if you happen to read this, I hope I did ok in relaying what you told me. My human mind doesn’t have a perfect memory. But I know your words helped me to feel at peace and know that God has our best interest at heart. I hope that what I wrote can help others to feel that as well.

Finding My Parents...In My Kids



My only grandparent that I ever met, was my Grandma Betz and she died just before I turned 3. I only have a very vague memory of her reading books to me and my brother, Mike. One of my greatest wishes for my own kids was for them to be able to get to know their grandparents and be able to remember them. I feel so blessed that my wish came true.



We talk about my parents a lot in our house. One of us will say something and it will remind of us something Grandpa or Grandma used to do.  I also frequently hear myself saying something and remember my mom saying the exact words to me when I was a kid. A few short years ago, that would have made me cringe. Now it can brighten my whole day. I already see traits in each of our kids that obviously come from either Eric or I. Some we're proud to take credit for. Others, not so much.



Ms. Dani and Mr. Colin with their
Church School class

I absolutely love it when I see little bits of my parents in my kids. Dani has a love for kids that my mom had. And kids are drawn to her. Our little neighbor boy who is almost 2 adores her as she does him. My mom taught Sunday School way back when she was a

Maxine and her Sunday School class

young woman. This year, Dani also started teaching Church School to 4 year olds. Those Tuesday nights at church were the highlight of each week for her. No matter what kind of a day she had at school, those kids made her smile and laugh and brought her joy. And she always came up with fabulous ideas to teach the kids the church lesson in a way that 4 year olds could relate to. She had me made her a stick donkey for Jesus (Pastor Morrie) to ride in on for the lesson about Palm Sunday. The kids waved artificial palm branches as he went by. She built a small cross that she took to one lesson and let the  kids carry it on their back while wearing a crown of thorns (a small grapevine wreath that we found at JoAnn). Another time, she washed the childrens feet to show how Jesus washed the disciples feet. She told me that when she got to one little girl's feet, they were covered in mud. Dani never missed a beat. She held up the girl's feet and told the class that was what the disciples feet really looked like when Jesus washed them.



When she showed me the cross she'd made, I instantly thought of my dad. He loved to do carpentry work. I have a couple crosses hanging on our walls that he made. He would have been so proud of Dani for making that cross. He also would have loved to see her teaching little kids about God. He had a strong faith and so does Danielle.

 My mom would love to hear the stories about Church School from Danielle. She loved kids and would have been impressed with the creative ways Dani taught the kids about God. It just touches my heart to think Dani is doing something my mom did all those years ago.

Evan has my dad's tender heart. I think it is a good thing for men to shed a tear every now and then. My dad did on more than one occasion. When Evan was younger, he'd cry during Disney movies. Before both my parents funerals, my sister had put boxes of kleenex in the pews where family would sit. During my mom's funeral, Evan used kleenex after kleenex to wipe his tears. I admit, I actually chuckled when he pulled the last kleenex out of the box. He literally went through an entire box of kleenex at her funeral. I tell Evan that a tender heart is a good quality to have.

My mom and dad both loved that Evan enjoyed going to the farm. At the farm, Evan literally gets up at 5:30 am to help with the milking, helps my sister with barn chores, cleans calf pens and collapses into bed at night. He definitely got that from my dad. I avoid going in the barn at all costs.



Evan making chocolate chip scones



From my mom, Evan has inherited a love of baking. My grandpa owned a bakery for years and I figure that was where my mom got her love of baking. Evan will make muffins or cinnamon rolls or caramel rolls for breakfast lots of mornings. His favorite treat of all is Scotcheroos...especially when his aunt Jo makes them. They were one of my mom's favorites as well. When we had a cookbook made in honor of my mom at Christmast time, Evan was very excited to see the recipes to all his favorite treats. I tell Evan that a love of baking is also a wonderful trait to have. He should make a great husband some day. What woman wouldn't want a sensitive man who can bake?



Lauren definitely inherited my mom's love of visiting. She likes to tell every last detail of a story. Her and Grandma loved to sit and talk with each other. They had a special bond that really deepened after my dad died. She also wants to comfort others who are hurting, much like both of parents did. When Eric had to tell our kids that Grandma had died, he said he had tears in his eyes, and Lauren told him it would be ok. After my mom's funeral when we went to the cemetery, Lauren cuddled up with Jo and patted Jo's back to comfort her. Several months after my dad died, Lauren had a classmate whose grandma died. Lauren was only 7 at the time, but she drew her friend a picture. In the picture, my dad was welcoming Lauren's friend's grandma into Heaven. I made a copy of it for my mom and she loved it. I know my dad would have been very touched by it as well. I also recently found a picture Lauren had drawn of an angel that said, I Am Free. She has a faith that I'm not sure she even realizes she has. Lots happened with her after my dad died. She had a very hard time coping with his death. But I think working through that really helped her learn about God. She was telling me one day that there is a kid in her class who told her they don't believe it God. She said, "Really? Haven't you ever heard of the book Heaven Is For Real?"

Lauren's Angel Picture

My parents loved their grandkids. Even though my mom and dad are no longer here, they live on in my kids. They are never far from us. Evan told me one day that sometimes he still feels like he's getting a hug from Grandma...all the way from Heaven.





A Glimpse of the Cross

Holy Trinity Catholic Church
I was only able to see
the red "cap" and cross
from the hospital room.

On the morning on June 14, 2011, I drove down to LaCrosse intending to spend 2 days with Mother in the hospital and then head home for a busy weekend. Eric would be playing an annual golf tournament with his dad in Rochester and Dani was to be leaving on a church mission trip on the 19th. When I last saw my mom the 11th, she was doing ok. We knew she had bone cancer, but she had asked not to know the prognosis. I had asked the doctor privately and he had told me "weeks rather than months". I'd been shocked by the thought that she only had weeks left, but still was confident that we had that much time. And yet I vividly recall that as I drove into the hospital parking lot that Tuesday, a thought went through my mind and I wondered if Mother would still be alive when I got back into the van to drive home again. (I ended up staying longer than initially planned, and Mother was no longer alive when I drove home again.)

When I got to her hospital room (she'd been moved to a different room since I last saw her) I immediately saw a big change in her. She was not nearly as alert and no longer wanted any food or drink. Jo went home for a much needed rest and I settled in a bit. I met privately with the doctor again for an update. He now told me his feeling was that she had "days rather than weeks" to live. I was devastated. I spent a lot of time on the phone with Eric and my siblings. Jo never got her much needed rest. She was back at the hospital in a short time. It would be the first of several nights I would spend at the hospital.

I remember the next morning when I woke up (if I really slept at all). I pulled open the curtains in the room to let a little light in. I looked out at the bluffs and was in awe of their beauty. And then I saw it. Above the trees, there hovered a cross. I knew it was attached to a church steeple some where in the city, but from where I stood, it looked like it was just hovering over the trees. It felt like God had placed it there for me to see and it reminded me that He was always with us, even in our darkest hour. While I was devastated at the impending loss of my mom, I also felt peace knowing that when she left us, she would be in Heaven with Jesus, thanks to the cross.

I went to the window to view that cross several times as we "walked the valley of the shadow of death" with Mother over the next few days. It was a beautiful and comforting sight. It was months later when I learned through  a wonderful nurse practioner (who happens to be from Caledonia) at Gundersen Lutheran that the cross is atop Holy Trinity Catholic Church in LaCrosse.

As I continue to travel down this road called Grief, I pass through memories of smiles and laughter, as well as endless miles of tears. But always, I remember the cross I saw from that window and the peace it brought me. And I am reminded that it is a peace that only the cross can bring.

Ordinary People Make Extraordinary Friends

There are some people who make lasting impressions on us without ever trying to. To the casual observer, they are just ordinary people. But to those whose lives they touch, they are much more than that. They are signs of what is right in the world. They are also a reminder that every stranger we meet has the potential to become a life long friend.

My parents met some wonderful people in their lifetime. There are two who stand out in my mind that made lasting impressions. I am sure there are more, but these are two that I heard about for years, but didn't meet until the deaths of my parents.

The first is a man named Curt. He lives in Waseca and showed up at the farm one day years ago, wanting to know if he could hunt on some of my dad's land. My dad loved hunting in his younger years, so I imagine that shared love of hunting made for an immediate friendship between Curt and Daddy. Curt had brought some of his kids along to hunt with him. My mom and Curt's daughter, Jenni, really hit it off. It seemed that every time I was at the farm, I'd hear about how Curt had been down hunting and had stopped to visit. I always heard what a nice man he was and how he had the nicest family. I heard about Jenni and that her baby had some health issues, but was going to be ok. There were always stories of Curt bearing gifts when he came to hunt. For all the years I heard about Curt, I never had met him.

On the morning of my dad's funeral, at the visitation, I suddenly saw a man I'd never seen before, kneeling on the floor in front of my mom's wheelchair talking to her. I wasn't standing close enough to hear the conversation, but later Mother told me that the man asked her if she knew who he was and she said no (although she knew the voice sounded familiar). Then the man told her that she probably didn't recognize him since he was dressed up rather than in the hunting clothes she was used to seeing him wear. That was when my mom realized it was Curt. She was so touched that he came to my dad's funeral. The only contact they'd ever had was the couple times a year when Curt would stop into the farm house and visit when down hunting and yet here he was at my dad's funeral. We were all very touched and several of us sent him thank you's. I wondered later what his wife must have thought about him getting all those thank you's from us.  I exchanged some e-mails with Curt and we became friends on facebook. I remember him telling me once that even when my dad was getting to the end of his life and couldn't communicate very well, he still had a twinkle his eye. Yup, Curt knew my dad pretty well!

I let Curt know when my mom passed away last year. He sent his condolences and told me he was scheduled to work the day of her funeral. I understood, but wished he could be there. Just before her funeral was to start, in walked Curt. We were all as touched that day as my mom had been 2 years earlier when he came to my dad's funeral. And this time Curt brought his wife, Deb along. She had never met our family before. Maybe she wanted to see who all these crazy women were that sent her husband all those thank you's a couple years earlier! Deb is a sweetheart as well. I know my parents would have loved her too. Once again, Curt (and Deb) brought a gift. It was a flowering crab tree to plant on the farm in honor of my parents. He wrote a very touching note about how when the tree bloomed each spring we would be reminded of Mother and Daddy's vibrant lives. The tree is now planted in the front yard at the farm. My sister, Linda, said that the tree bloomed in a beautiful pink this spring. Pink was Mother's favorite color, and those blossomes made Linda think of her every time she looked at the tree. She said she knew that Mother and Daddy were looking down from Heaven and smiling. The tree has a very special story to go with it, just like the oak tree that once stood in that same front yard.

Last week, I sent Curt a note asking if he would mind if I wrote about him in my blog. I asked him how he ever ended up going to my parents farm and meeting them. His answer made me chuckle and think of my mom. It was a long, detailed answer about how he started hunting near Caledonia years ago and how they hunted on other people's property. Eventually, land changed hands and one thing led to another and they found that my dad owned land near where they had previously hunted. So they stopped to ask if they could hunt his land. The whole story, complete with names of whose property they used to hunt on and how it all came to be, completely made me think of my mom's stories. I blogged last week about how she'd start a story with you know "so and so" and if I said no then she'd go on and on until finally I'd recognize the name of someone's brother's uncle's cousin's grandfather. No wonder my mom loved Curt...he spoke her language and could follow her stories! In our occasional e-mails, Curt and I have agreed that we had similar upbringings and that is probably why there was a connection when he met my parents. He told me that my parents were two of the most genuine, caring people that he ever had the privilege of knowing and that they treated him like family. Curt, I can honestly tell you that my parents thought just as highly of you and your family.

There was another person I heard about from my mom over the years. This friendship boggled my mind even more than the one my parents had with Curt.

When my mom and dad would go shopping in LaCrosse or have doctors appointments there, they liked to stop at Wendy's and grab a bite to eat. For years I heard about "Bev from Wendy's". She apparently was the manager there and from what my mom said, she was "such a nice lady". I couldn't figure out how you go into a fast food restaurant once every few months and come out knowing the manager and exchanging Christmas cards with her.

I had never met Bev. When my mom was in hospice, my sister Jo told me that she had called Bev to let her know about my mom's health. Even then I thought it was kind of weird, but Jo knew Bev so who was I to question it? Jo said that Bev was devastated to hear about Mother, and wanted to visit her, but was going to be out of town that weekend. She told Jo that she would call after the weekend and stop by. My mom passed away before the weekend was over. Bev asked if it would be ok for her to come to my mom's visitation. Of course, Jo told her yes. Finally I was going to meet this woman who had made such an impression on Mother. The minute I met her, I knew why my mom loved her. She was sweet and kind and loved to visit. She is the type of person you are just drawn to. She is down to earth and loving and has a strong faith. She was in tears over my mom's death. It was obvious that not only did my mom love Bev, but Bev loved my mom as well.

She told us that what really made an impression on her about Mother and Daddy was when they came into Wendy's and ordered food, they'd always sit in their booth and say a quiet prayer before eating. Bev talked about what a sweet couple my parents were and how they'd always sit at the same table just inside the door because it was hard for them to get around. I remember my mom saying how if it had been a while since they'd been into Wendy's, Bev would greet them when they came through the door and say she'd been worried about them because she hadn't seen them in so long. At other times, she insisted on buying their meal for them.

Not long after my mom's death, we learned that Bev had put a little sign up at my parents usual table at Wendy's in honor of them. I know how touched Mother and Daddy would be and I can just hear my mom saying,  "We weren't that special to deserve something like that."

Never underestimate how big of an impression the smallest of your actions can have on another person.

When Did Funeral Directors Stop Being Creepy?

The easy answer to this might be when people stopped calling them morticians or undertakers. Both of those words make me conjure up images of a creepy old guy with evil intent. The term funeral director makes me think of a professional doing a necessary job that few others would want to do. When I was a kid going to St. John's Lutheran School, our classes would often sing at funerals at the church. I can still picture the undertaker walking down the aisle, very somberly and closing the casket one last time.  I know my parents said he was nice, but still, the whole idea that he was an undertaker creeped me out.

Thankfully, I had no reason to have contact with any funeral directors until Daddy died. To understand my first meeting with Jeff Fredrickson, Funeral Director, you need a little background information.

I think the biggest fear my dad had was that he would end up in a nursing home. I know nursing homes are sometimes necessary. When my mom was there, all the workers were wonderful and took great care of her. Still, for as long back as I can remember, my dad feared ending up there. He was adamant that he would die at the farm. He said many times that the only way he was leaving the farm was "feet first".

On the evening of Feb 23, 2009, I got a call that my dad was being taken by ambulance to the hospital in LaCrosse. He was having trouble breathing. He'd been diagnosed with congestive heart failure months earlier. We all knew that this could be the end. As it turned out, he was sent back home again the same night. Knowing my dad, when he go to the hospital, the emergency room doctors probably asked him how he was and he no doubt answered, "Oh not so bad!" I had seen this happen months earlier with my own eyes. That night in February, before I knew he'd been sent home, I told Eric that I wondered if they put him into the ambulance "feet first". I predicted that if they had not, he'd go back home again. I later asked my sister-in-law Leah who rode with him in the ambulance that night, and he'd left the farm head first.

On April 16, 2009 I received a call that things were not good and that we needed to get to the farm as soon as possible. We arrived at the farm 10 minutes after Daddy had passed away. I knew as soon as we pulled into the driveway and saw my siblings gathered on the back steps that we were too late. The strange thing was, I had peace in not being there when he died. Some how, I felt it was the way it was meant to be. We had seen him only 4 days earlier and I know he wouldn't have wanted my kids to see him struggling at the end. To me, the important thing was that we'd fulfilled his request to die at home. I did however, feel there was one more final request of his to fulfil. I told my mom what I had in mind and she liked the idea.

I had never met Jeff Fredrickson before, so I had no idea what to expect. The first thing that I noticed was that he was not a creepy looking old guy. Rather, he was a nice looking young guy. (I'm guessing he's about my age, so that makes him young, right?) He immediately told my mom how sorry he was for the loss of my dad. He was professional and yet personable. Mother told him that I had a request of him. I wasn't quite sure how he'd react to my request, but it was for my dad, so I went for it. I asked Jeff if he could make sure that my dad left the farm "feet first". I told him that it didn't matter to me if he put my dad into his vehicle feet first or backed out of the driveway, just so long as I could honor my dad's final wish. To my amazement, Jeff didn't look at me like I was crazy. He told me that he'd never had that request before, but he could certainly accommodate us. I remember Evan (only 7 at the time) was feeling really bad about Grandpa's death. Jeff got down to Evan's level and told him that he would take good care of Grandpa and get him ready for the funeral.

When it came time to take my dad from the house, Jeff again assured me that my dad would leave feet first. I told him that while I believed him, I was going to watch to make sure. My dad's body was loaded in the vehicle, head first, which meant Jeff would have to back out of the driveway. It was dark outside by now and we were out in the country. Jeff wasn't familiar with the road, so Eric drove our van down to the end of the driveway so the headlights would give Jeff enough light to see where he was going. We all watched as Jeff backed my dad out of the driveway, fulfilling my dad's desire to leave the farm "feet first".  As we watched, Jeff turned too soon and backed right into the ditch. To our surprise, he didn't stop but kept driving backward up and out of the ditch. We all chuckled thinking my dad got more than he bargained for. Jeff continued backing up the road until he found a spot to turn around...a good 1/4 mile or more up the road.

The next morning, when we met Jeff to make funeral arrangements, he asked me if I'd backed into town that morning. We all needed that little bit of humor. We knew my dad was laughing right along with us. Jeff did such a wonderful job with the funeral. He was so kind to Mother, making sure that everything was just how she wanted it.  My mom was so pleased with everything. She told me that Jeff even called her a week or so later to see how she was doing. How sweet was that? At the funeral, Jeff told me that some day he planned to right a book of memoirs and the story of my dad leaving the farm feet first was going to be included. I told him I expected a free, autographed copy.

Fast forward 2 years. My mom was in the nursing home with horrible back pain. She was given morphine, which was the only drug that ever took the edge off her pain while she was there. The problem with the morphine was that as she said, it made her feel "dopey" and it made her have bad nightmares. She told me that she had a dream that Jeff came "to get her" and that she could feel him carrying her out of the nursing home. She then felt herself in her grave and could feel dirt being thrown on top of her. It broke my heart to hear of this nightmare.

Weeks later, on the morning of what would end up being my mom's final day, her and I were talking. I told her that I loved her and that all of her kids and grandkids loved her too. She responded that she loved all of us too. Then out of nowhere, she said, "Tell Jeff I love him too." I had no idea who she was talking about, so I asked, "Jeff who?" Her reply was, "I can't remember." My niece, Kelly was dating a man named Jeff, who Mother had only met a few times.  I asked, "Kelly's Jeff?" to which she responded, "No." At that point it hit me that she might mean Jeff the funeral director. So I asked, "Jeff Fredrickson?" and she said, "Yes." I told her that I would tell Jeff for her. She passed away about 7 hours later.

The next morning when we met Jeff to make funeral arrangements, I told him that I had something to share with him. I hadn't seen him in 2 years, but he asked, "Was I supposed to drive your mom feet first?" I chuckled and told him the whole story, complete with the awful nightmares my mom had and her asking me to tell him that she loved him. He had a tears in his eyes and told me that he wished he had been there to tell my mom that he loved her too. He said that doing his job in a small town was hard because he gets to know people and when some of them die, it hits him very hard. He said my mom was one of them. That brought tears to my eyes. I told him my mom said that she liked him the first time she met him. It was at another church member's funeral and my mom needed help getting my dad into the church. Jeff was right there to help her. I know my mom would have been pleased with her funeral. She looked great and the service was beautiful.

I know she would have laughed when he told us that one of her rings was going to be hard for him to remove before closing the casket the final time. He told us that his secret was to use Windex as it breaks down tissue and makes it easier to remove, but that he didn't think it was appropriate to carry a bottle of Windex down the aisle. He also joked about spraying the Windex around his own waistline to break down excess tissue. I know some might find this to be in bad taste, but our family has a sense of humor and needed a few laughs. I also know my mom would have raved over how clean Jeff got her glasses. She never could keep them clean, and now they were sparkling. Oh, and for the record, Jeff got the ring off without the use of Windex.

We had a copy of the book, Heaven is for Real at the visitation. Jeff started reading the book that evening. He also told us about a show on the Biography Channel called: I Survived, Beyond and Back. It is about people who have been declared clinically dead and come back to life and the experiences they had while they were dead. I have watched the show a few times since then, and it's very interesting.

I believe that when my mom told me to tell Jeff that she loved him, that she was telling me she knew she was going to die and that she was ok with it. She trusted Jeff after how caring he was when Daddy died and she knew he'd be just as caring now that it was her turn to go.

I know that if Mother was here reading this, she would want me to tell "Kelly's Jeff" that even though he wasn't the Jeff she was talking about that day, she loves him too. Kelly and Jeff got engaged at Christmas and plan to marry in 2012. Kelly's Jeff wore a pink tie to my mom's funeral. I just know Mother smiled at that. And the more I learn about him, the more he reminds me of my dad. How could my mom not love him?

I truly have no idea what makes a person decide to become a funeral director, but I completely believe that Jeff Fredrickson has found his calling. I think the most important requirement for being a funeral director is being a people person. And, no, not just a dead people person. Yes, you have to prepare the body for the funeral and burial. But what really matters is how you treat the family of the deceased. It is the saddest time of their lives. A little caring and compassionate goes a long way. Jeff provides both of these and throws in just the right amount of humor too. Even my kids still talk about how nice he is. I have never met Jeff's wife or kids, but I send a big thank you out to them as well. Jeff can't choose his hours of work and I'm sure it cuts into precious family time for them.

At my mom's funeral, I asked Jeff if the story of my mom saying she loved him would make it into that book of memoirs some day. He said it would. Since I've taken the liberty to write about our experience with Jeff, I feel it's only right that I pay for the book he publishes down the road. But I still expect it to be autographed!

Stormy Weather

My mom hated thunderstorms. My dad could sleep right through the worst of them. I have vivid memories from childhood of stormy summer days and nights at the farm. I took after my mom and was terrified if there was even a chance of bad weather. If I heard that there was a thunderstorm or tornado watch, I would be nervous the whole day.  I remember hiding in a corner by the refigerator whenever the sky looked threatening. I'm not sure why I picked that spot, but it was probably because I wanted to be close to my mom in the kitchen, but I also wanted to be in a spot where I could not see out any windows. We never went into the basement at the farm in stormy weather. There were a couple of reasons for that. First, that basement was almost more scary than any weather that could possibly come our way. Second, my dad always said that because the house was built of cement blocks, if a tornado hit, rather than blowing away, the house would collapse into the basement. No wonder I was afraid of storms!

When my Uncle Dale and my Grandma Betz lived with us, apparently Dale would go outside if it started to storm. He liked to stand on the back steps or even lay down on the lawn to watch the sky. My Grandma would holler at him to get in the house. I'm betting she even called him by his full name: Dale Arthur John Betz!

Every summer when I was a kid, our Aunt Lydia would come and stay at the farm with us for 2 weeks. (Thinking about the fact that our house was so crowded back then, I am now wondering where she slept. I bet one of my older siblings will remember.) Aunt Lydia's visits were the best. She would re-tell the same stories every year, but we never tired of them. It was also neat because she wore a wig and it was super cool to see her wig resting on top of a small table lamp when she went to sleep at night. And there was also the medicine she took. She always had pills to take and she always would put the pills in a spoon of my mom's homemade jam to swallow them. After the 2 weeks, we'd drive her back to Mason City where she lived. Her son, Kenneth and his wife, Hazel would always pick up Kentucky Fried Chicken for our dinner when we brought Aunt Lydia home. This was a huge treat to us as it was the only time we ever got KFC. I remember Aunt Lydia's house in Mason City actually had a storm shelter area built into the basement. No need to fear storms when we were there.

It never seemed to fail: every year while Aunt Lydia was staying with us, there would be one really bad storm in the middle of the night. All of us (except my dad who went right on sleeping) would be up and scared to death. Aunt Lydia would always grab her purse and have it sitting on her lap while we waited out the storm. I never understood why she did that. I thought it had something to do with her having all her pills in her purse. But if we blew away in a storm, what were the chances of a jar of homemade jam landing next to her so she could take her pills?

As I grew up, I lost a lot of my fear of storms. I think having kids made me face that fear a bit. After all, if they saw me afraid, they were bound to be scared as well. The first house that Eric and I bought backed up to an elementary school. There was a tornado siren in the school yard. When Danielle was little, she was terrified whenever they tested the siren...which was at 1 pm on the first Wednesday of every month. Once, after the siren was tested it kept rotating. There was no longer noise coming from it, but Danielle was terrified to even see it turning. She wouldn't even step outside until it was fixed a couple of days later.

Both my girls inherited my fear of storms. Evan sometimes gets scared of them, but not as bad as the girls. When we bought this house, we learned that in the late 1980's a tornado went right thru this neighborhood. I'm pretty sure we kept that a secret from the kids as long as possible. Once, not long after we moved into this house, there was a nasty storm that went through. We lost 2 trees (one of which narrowly missed hitting the house). Danielle actually seemed to become less afraid after that incident. Lauren's fear only got worse. Much like I was years earlier, she started getting scared if she heard about any storm watches and warnings. And with tv these days, we hear about watches and warnings that are so far away from us that there truly is no need for us to worry. But she still does.

Last year, just before the 4th of July, we had arrived at my in-laws cabin for the holiday. The sky grew very dark and threatening. The kids were terrified and considered hiding in a closet as there is no basement there. I took pictures (from inside) and told the kids that Grandma had just gotten to Heaven. There was no way that she was going to let God send a storm that would hurt us. Thankfully it blew over or they would never believe anything I told them again. A few weeks ago when we arrived at our new cabin in a downpour and found ourselves locked out, Lauren started crying and was very scared. Evan piped up and told her that there was no way Grandma would let a storm hurt us. It made me smile and I'm pretty sure my mom was smiling up in Heaven too. Last weekend, we heard two stories of tornados hitting places on our end of Mille Lacs over the years. We won't tell the kids those stories and I think I might say a few prayers that God puts my mom in charge of where future storms hit up there. (All 3 pictures are from that storm last summer. The lights you can see in 2 of the pictures are reflections of cabin lights, not UFO's.)

Now I actually find storms to be interesting. I love to fall asleep to the sound of rain and thunder. I do get a bit nervous if there are tornado warnings out for us. And we do go to the basement on those occasions.  A couple of nights ago there was a thunderstorm when we went to bed. Evan was sleeping right through the storm, much like my dad would have. Eric was still up, so Lauren climbed into bed with me. I told her not to worry, it was just a thunderstom, nothing severe. She told me it was easy for me to say, since I was never afraid of storms, even when I was little. She would know better if she'd ever seen me curled up hiding next to a refrigerator!

Does God Smell Like a Red Fox?

 

I apologize in advance to any PETA members who might be reading this. Although my dad's official occupation was farmer, I think of him more as a trapper and outdoorsman. He loved to get out in the woods and trap fox and coyote. He would also trap muskrat and mink down by the creek (or crick as he called it). When I first brought Eric to the farm to meet my parents, he would walk my dad's trap line with him. I think the two of them learned a lot about each other on those walks. Eric says my dad was a hillbilly. He means it as a compliment and insists my dad would think of it as one. If you knew my dad, you know Eric is right. We have pictures of hundreds of fox that my dad trapped in his younger years. Selling the hides supplemented the farm income and helped keep all of us kids fed and clothed. I can still remember opening the chest freezer and finding animal hides in it. That is not a pleasant memory. When Daddy could no longer walk the trap lines, he loved to go for car rides down into the valley in the evening to look for deer out in the fields. Eric was always happy to drive him when we were down visiting.

My dad's health had been failing for quite a while. In the summer of 2008, he was diagnosed with congestive heart failure. His long time doctor estimated he had 3-6 months to live, but told my sister that "Mr. Betz has surprised me before." For the record, he made it about 8 months. After Christmas of 2008, Daddy was no longer able to walk, even with a walker.

About three weeks before his death, we drove down on a Friday evening. When we got off of I-90 by Houston, we started seeing deer in the fields. This wasn't unusual and we started counting how many we saw. (We always did this and then would tell my dad the count when we got to the farm.) But this night, every field was full of deer. It was like nothing we'd ever seen before. We literally couldn't count all the deer we saw and estimated it to be over 200. I remember that even though I was in awe, I told Eric, "I don't like this." When he asked what I meant, I told him I was afraid my dad wouldn't be alive when we got to the farm. It is hard to explain the feeling I had. It was almost like I felt this is was my dad's view of Heaven...hundreds of deer grazing in the farm fields.

When we made it to the farm, I was told that Daddy was already in bed for the night. We stood in the kitchen and talked with Mother. All of a sudden, Lauren told me that Grandpa was up. I asked her what she meant, since from where we were standing, there was no way that she could possibly see his side of the bed. Then she pointed and said, "He's right there." As I walked toward my parents' bedroom, sure enough, he was sitting on the foot of the bed, on my mom's side. I still don't know how he managed to get himself there. About a week later, I got an e-mail from my sister, Linda, telling of an even more amazing story. She had helped him into bed for a nap one afternoon and gone outside to do some work. My mom sat in the kitchen reading. When my sister came back in to get my dad up, he wasn't in the bed. She found him sitting in the living room chair, with his walker next to him. My mom never heard him. Some how, this man who could no longer walk, even with help, had managed to get out of bed, get to his walker that was well out of reach, and walk to the living room. From stories I read months later, I learned that this actually is not uncommon in the last weeks of a person's life. My mom also told us that 2 days before he died, Daddy was sitting in his chair in the kitchen. He wheeled himself over to the kitchen window by the sink, and pulled himself up to standing and looked out at the farm one last time. That was the last day he would get out of bed.

Within a week of my dad's death, I saw a red fox near our house in Maple Grove. Our lot actually backs up to a wooded area so I wasn't too surprised. We'd seen fox a few times in the 5 years we'd lived here. But during the summer of 2009, I started seeing that red fox all the time. I go for early morning walks, and I saw that fox countless times. There were times when it would just sit and watch me walk by. It never seemed afraid of me. Other times, I wouldn't see the fox, but could smell it's unmistakeable scent. I'm sure some might think I'm crazy, but I just knew it was a sign from God. It always seemed that on the mornings that I felt the lowest and missed my dad the most, the fox was there. This kept happening for about 6 months. One of the last times I saw it that year, I was in our dining room and something happened (which I won't divulge here) and I said out loud, "If this is what I have to look forward to in the future, God help me." I swear that those words were no more than out of my mouth and Danielle yelled from the other room, "Mom, the fox is out back!"

Occasionally I would still see a fox and it always seemed to be at a significant time. In the summer of 2010, Danielle was going on her first mission trip with church. She was 13 and I was still getting the hang of being the mom of a teenager. She made a comment on the morning she was leaving about how getting away from us was one reason for going on the trip. I probably provoked the comment, but at any rate, I was feeling bad after we dropped her off. As we drove home, suddenly there was a small (as in probably teenage) fox running down the side of the road in front of our car. It was the strangest thing and it just hit me that she was fine and we were fine.

On my morning walk one day near the end of May in 2011, I saw a red fox again. It was the first time in a long time that I saw one. I remember e-mailing Jo as soon as I got back from that walk, because it was on that day that Jo and Char were taking my mom to a new doctor in LaCrosse for her back pain. We had done some research and thought this doctor might have the answer to her problem. I was sure seeing the fox that morning was a sign from God that she'd be alright. By the next day, I was even more convinced this was the case. The doctor my mom saw was fantastic. He thought he found the problem and gave my mom a "cocktail injection" in her hip. My sisters and my mom raved over how kind this doctor was and how he went above and beyond his job to help. By the next day, my mom's pain was gone. She was feeling great again. I saw her over Memorial Weekend and couldn't believe the difference. She was talking about the things she was going to do when she got home again, including visiting us in the Twin Cities. I do specifically remember her saying that even if it didn't last, she was so thankful for every day she had without pain.

I still think I was right that the fox I saw that morning was a sign from God. But what I'd forgotten was that God never promised that life would be easy. What he promised is that He would always be with us. He knew we'd need to lean on Him more than ever in the weeks to come.

Mother's pain free days lasted about 2 weeks, and then returned, worse than ever. Within days we would learn that she had renal cancer that had spread to her bones and that the outlook was grim. When my mom was in hospice, a doctor I'd never met before came to visit. It was the doctor who had given her the injection that gave her those two weeks of relief. He had heard that she was in hospice and came to apologize for not having made the correct diagnosis. We hugged him and thanked him for the two wonderful weeks he'd given her. I will never forget that before he left her room, he kissed his own fingers and gently placed them on my mom's forehead.

God was so obviously present with us in hospice. I'm sure I'll write more about it in the coming days.

Most of you know that my sister, Jo, was diagnosed with breast cancer in January and had a mastectomy and reconstructive surgery. She is doing great! One morning, before her surgery I came downstairs to make coffee. Something outside caught my eye. As I looked closer, there was a fox in our old sandbox. God was reminding me once again that He is always with us.

This morning when I was almost home from my walk, I noticed movement in the tall grass. As I stopped and looked closer, there was a fox watching me as well. But this one was different than the others I've seen. When I got home, I looked it up on the internet, and I believe it was a gray fox rather than the red fox I have seen before. If my dad was still alive, I know he could tell me for sure.

I know some question whether or not God sends us signs. I've questioned it myself. But when it happens to you, you just know. And I've talked to many people who have had similar experiences. What I truly believe is that God is everywhere at all times. He is constantly sending us signs. We just have to open ourselves up to seeing Him. And it is often when we are at our weakest and most desperate that we finally are willing to truly see what He is showing us. In case you are wondering, I don't think that the fox is a reincarnation of my dad. What I think it that God knows us better than anyone and sends "signs" taylored to each of us. Open your eyes and see what He is showing you.

I will leave you with a quote I recently found that I just love:

"Coincidence is God choosing to remain anonymous."