Some Would Say This is a Good Thing. If So, Why Do I Feel So Ashamed? (by Richard)

It started out as another normal Saturday…. taking care of a few household chores and then settling in to watch some college football.  As I watching some of the best games of the day, I was doing some mindless computer work and internet surfing.  I saw a commercial advertising that the musical, Wicked, is coming to the Peace Center in Greenville, SC next February.   I quickly got on their website and checked about the availability of some tickets to see this play that evokes so many memories of our years with Jacob. I was happy to be able to secure some good tickets that will serve as a nice Valentine’s present for Karen.

I called up my calendar on my computer in order to record this outing…when it hit me.  On a note posted on this date is a reminder that seven years ago Jacob underwent his second heart transplant.  It jolted me to my core!!!  I had forgotten the importance of this day!

To anyone who has lost a child or another close loved one there are certain days of the year that hold a higher and poignant significance. Days like birthdays, anniversaries, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, holidays, and, especially, the day we lost our loved one conjure up memories of that person.  In Jacob’s case, we add on two more momentous days – the dates of his two heart transplants.

I have written in previous notes I’ve posted on Facebook that for many friends of Jacob’s and friends of our family, they have continued on in their lives. They recall occasionally a happy memory of their time with Jacob but, for the most part, those memories are shelved in a remote section of the brain as they deal with other things in life.  And that is to be expected …. for them.  But not for parent or sibling or spouse who has lost a loved one.  Those memories stay closer to the surface and many things will bring those memories to mind on a daily basis. But special days, like were listed earlier, will stir those memories up to remembrance like a blast of arctic air that takes your breath away when you open the door.

However, friends and well wishers will whisper to one another about their grieving friend, ‘some day they will get over it and, I hope for their sake, they get over it soon and move on.’

So, is this the day I’ve ‘gotten over it and moved on’?  Did the busyness of the day of getting chores done in time to watch my favorite teams play cause me to momentarily forget about the significance of the day?  Some would say that’s a good thing.  If so, why do I feel so ashamed?  How could I forget this day among a handful of others that impacted us so deeply? Are the memories of Jacob fading from view? 

I guess this is may be a new phase of the grieving process.   We don’t talk of Jacob as often. You may have noticed I don’t post as many things about him as I once did.  We recognize that people have moved on and there’s an awkwardness with some people when we bring up a memory of him in their presence.  As a result, in a sense, we have gone underground with our grieving. But I assure you, we still grieve! There are still times of sadness and tears, but mainly in private.

So the seventh anniversary of Jacob’s second heart transplant nearly slipped by me, but it didn’t.  Some would say it would have been a good sign if it had.  Who knows, maybe some year it may slip by me entirely. If or when that happens and I come to realize it, I expect I’ll feel as ashamed as I do today.  I never want to get to the point of ‘getting over it’ that I forget days like today. Jacob’s life means too much to me. I may get to a point where I fail to post some tribute (as I have in the past and like this today) but I hope I will always have quiet moments of reflection on days like this.

I’ll close this somewhat sobering and sad tribute with my favorite memory of that mind boggling day that I posted last year on this day - http://embracinggrief.blogspot.com/2013/11/another-anniversary-by-richard.html.

Chili's and McDonalds

by Richard Edfeldt

Today is the 26^th birthday of Jacob and as you would expect, it unleashes a flood of emotions (literally) and a host of memories of that significant day. Here are a few:

Karen and I were aware of Jacob’s fatal heart defect (hypoplastic left heart syndrome or HLHS) for several months before he was due. We had to endure months of hearing what were our options were (A. an abortion, B. do nothing, C. move to California and hope for a heart transplant [human or baboon], or D. palliative surgery only done in Philadelphia).  Added to the oppressive weight of this decision was the impact this decision would have on our other two children and the financial ramifications of it all.

What helped us cinch our decision came through an appointment with a fetal echocardiologist in Houston who became a trusted friend. Doctor Jim Huhta was at Texas Children’s Hospital at the time and we were sent to him to confirm the diagnosis we had received from Karen’s doctor.  After he performed the procedure and, indeed, confirmed that dreaded diagnosis, Karen asked him this question, “What would you do if this was your child?”  He tried giving the expected answer of saying he couldn’t say and that it was our decision to make. But Karen would have none of that and pushed him for his real response. Finally he took a deep breath and gave his answer.  And his answer became the driving force in our decision making and care for Jacob throughout his life – he said, “I would do all I can within my power to provide a chance for life for him.”  Doctor Huhta then went on to explain that he had just accepted a new position on staff at Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia (CHOP) to work with the world renowned surgeon, Dr. William Norwood, who had pioneered a series of palliative surgeries for HLHS that showed a lot of promise.

On March 8th, we said our tearful good-byes to Ben and Katie and to my parents (who had come to take care of them) and boarded the airplane headed for Philadelphia.  Normally, starting a trip that would end in a birth of a child would be surrounded by excitement and joyful anticipation. To be sure, we were excited that we were close to the birthday of our third child and had already carefully chosen his name – Jacob Blackburn Edfeldt.  But there was also a heavy cloud of dread of the vast unknown as to  what we would be facing. Would we be coming home with happy hearts as we held an infant … or with a crushed soul

accompanying a casket?

Philadelphia's Ronald McDonald House

We had been in contact with the Ronald McDonald House in Philadelphia (the original one!) and had a room reserved for us. We landed in Philadelphia and took a taxi to the beautiful house. We met with the RMH staff and they gave us the tour and explained the rules of the house. Once we settled in, we faced the decision to find a place to eat.  There were several restaurant choices down the street a few blocks. So we began to walk down the street in silence, lost in our fears and neither wanting to make the decision as to where to eat.

We turned a corner when we saw it.  Here we were, two scared young adults from Texas struggling with making our way around the foreign land of Philadelphia and grappling with the reason why we were there. But the decision of where to eat was made for us in an instant. There was Chili’s, specializing in Tex/Mex food! It was like saying, ‘You’re not in a foreign land after all. Here is a little bit of home for you.’ We went in and had our fill of chips and salsa and ordered up fajitas for two.  Except for having to ask for ice in our tea, we felt like we were back home, at least for a few minutes.

Karen and Jacob at birth

The next days were filled with meetings and preparation for Jacob’s delivery and the first of three open heart surgeries. And then Friday, March 11^th, arrived and so did Jacob via C-section!  Karen and I were able to see Jacob for a few seconds after his delivery in the University of Pennsylvania hospital before they carted him off through a series of tunnels to nearby Children’s Hospital of Pennsylvania.

The following Tuesday,  Karen and I experienced the first of many times when we walked by the gurney wheeling Jacob into the surgical room; pausing long enough to give him a kiss and pushing the terrible thought away if it would be the last kiss.

On that day, they performed the first of what became many open heart surgeries in Jacob’s life and the relief and thanksgiving when told he came through surgery just fine.  I remembered distinctly how cold Jacob’s body was when they brought him out into the hallway, due to him being packed in ice throughout surgery.  How thankful we were that they had prepared us for that eerie tactile sensation.  We often joked with Jacob about being so hot natured was a result of those ice baths.

Leaving Chop

Over the following weeks, other memories were made:

• The Polaroid pictures of Jacob Karen had taped to her hospital bed
• Long days sitting and holding him in PICU
• Long nights trying to sleep at RMH while thoughts pestered you about what the next day might bring
•  Cold and snowy days in the northeast for a couple born and raised in the south
• Ordering real Philly cheesesteaks from trucks parked outside of the hospital (imagine a ‘wattayahav, wattayahav, wattayahav’ with a major attitude!)
• Daily mile long walks to and from Ronald McDonald House to CHOP through the campus of University of Pennsylvania (a beautiful campus)
• Pushing Karen in a wheelchair from RMH to CHOP up and over a bridge and on that same mile long walk through the university. Unfortunately it was across a brick walkway (no way to soften the jarring of each brick for Karen who was recovering from her own surgery no matter how hard she hugged that pillow)
•  Enjoying meals made by volunteers at the RMH
• The conversations and comparing notes with other RMH parents

Back in Houston

And the best day … the day we flew home with a three week old infant!  He may have a little blue in his skin color due to mixing of his blood as a result of this ingenious surgery by Dr. Norwood, but he was alive! And he was coming HOME!

Finally Home

And being greeted by the best welcome home party in the world being comprised of an 8 year old boy and his 2 ½ year old sister ready to meet their new little brother, Jacob, and begin their next stage of life as a family.

That’s how Jacob’s journey began 26 years ago …. and what an extraordinary journey it has been!

Family Dedication 1988

Jacob's Award

by Richard Edfeldt

You’re probably aware that we have just concluded a move to North Carolina. Over the past year we have conducted the arduous task of downsizing. We have owned this cabin in North Carolina for about four and half years while maintaining our home in Marietta. We found it shortly after Jacob’s death while visiting with our dear friends, Wes and Debbie Stoops. Both Karen and I felt a strong sense of peace then and continue to feel that peace in the midst of our grief when we are in the mountains. Often times we have called this home, “Jacob’s Place: Our home of Refuge and Restoration”. But I digress…

While sifting through those mountains of boxes of family mementos, I came across a plaque awarded to Jacob at the end of his junior year in high school. It was during the first half of his junior year that his health deteriorated so rapidly to the point of him being placed on the heart transplant list and receiving that gift of life on December 21, 2004.

While he was in the hospital awaiting that life saving procedure, he tried to stay up with his studies. Through the generosity and support of the faculty of McEachern High School, Jacob would receive assignments and would endeavor to complete them from his hospital room.

Often was the time when Jacob was too sick and on so many different medications that he could not concentrate enough to work on his various independent homework assignments.  During those times when he was so addled, he received some ‘extra’ help from loving adults and students that had come by to check in on him.

Since I feel the statutes of limitations are over on any ‘stretching’ of the definition of support and/or help (some may call it ‘cheating’) in completing Jacob’s assignments, let me describe a few occasions that are fondly embedded in my memory.

Jacob was never a gifted student. His gift was being a friend to all he encountered, but he was not gifted academically. I remember one occasion when one of Jacob’s youth teachers from church, I’ll call him David, came to check in on Jacob when he was restricted to his hospital room. Jacob was struggling with a science assignment and that was David’s forte.  He offered some tutoring tips and, as Jacob’s endurance wore down, David gently moved Jacob aside and filled in the rest of the multiple choice assignment while Jacob drifted off to sleep.

That brings me to the aforementioned plaque that I found in a box of Jacob’s things. Jacob was taking a special elective class on Comparative Religions when his health took the ultimate nosedive. Again, his teacher was very gracious in him finishing the class through independent study.  The class was drawing to a close when Jacob’s health as at its weakest. He had the final test to complete but had no energy to draw on to do so.

You may be seeing where this is going …. but, in case you don’t, let me remind you my vocational calling – Christian ministry! Several of my classes dealt with Comparative Religions. Now it may cause you to think less of me in the less than honest action that I’m about to confess I carried out. But, as a loving father, watching my son wait and waste away waiting for a new heart, I felt compelled to help my son in this way. I took Jacob’s final exam in Comparative Religion.  I didn't give it a second thought nor did I sense any overwhelming conviction in standing in his stead except with a conviction of my love and empathy for my son.

At the end of the school year we attended Awards Night.  Jacob, with that twinkle in his eye and the wry smile he always had on his face, responded to his name being called …. and received the award for ‘Outstanding Achievement in Gifted Comparative Religion’ class.  That twinkle and that smile … and the standing ovation he received amid his name being yelled out by his fellow students was the best confirmation that I had done the right thing months before.

I do feel compelled to apologize for the other students in that class who may have received the award if I had not helped Jacob at that time. I hope you accept my motive. By now, chances are you are a parent as you read this.  You can now understand the lengths a parent may go to help their child who is facing more dire consequences in life than receiving an award and a grade in an elective class. And I dare say, though I hope you never face the situation, you would do the same for your child.

Uncle Jacob

by Richard Edfeldt

A few days ago, I posted the following statement in Facebook:

I hate that I have to gauge significant events affecting me, my family, and/or my friends as BJD or AJD (before or after Jacob's death).

Regrettably but inevitably, that’s how I analyze when things have happened.  What brought this to mind recently was a posting from a niece of mine who celebrated the 6^th anniversary of the ‘Gottcha Day’ of their adopted daughter, Zoey.  My first reaction was, “Wow! It’s been six years already?” Then this reaction was quickly followed by, “Was Jacob alive when this happened?”  I quickly surmised, “Yes, he was”. Then I asked myself, “Did Jacob ever have the chance to meet Zoey?” That answer still eludes me.

This process goes on continually – “Was Jacob alive when ….

Barack Obama was elected president?” – Yes

The Atlanta Braves got back into the baseball playoffs?” – No

When I began working for LifeWay?” – Yes

When Karen was selected Teacher of the Year at Abney Elementary?” – Yes

When Tucker was born?” – Yes

When Libby was born?” – No

It goes on and on and on …..

It’s those last two that really do a number on me.  Jacob loved kids and was extremely proud to be an uncle.

We’ve told the story in a previous posting about how Ben and Beth, along with infant Tucker, rushed back to be at Jacob’s bedside when he received word of the availability of his second heart transplant.  We have pictures of Tucker dressed in a pumpkin sleeper being held securely in Uncle Jake’s arms.

 Jacob had a pet name for Tucker – Monkey. I’m not sure Ben and Beth approved of it so Uncle Jake would whisper it in Tucker’s ears when the parents were in the area. But Uncle Jake loved his little Monkey!  Jacob went so far as to get Tucker a Curious George stuffed animal and book.

I remember a few months before Jacob’s death, we went to Nashville to care for Tucker while Ben and Beth were attending Beth’s brother’s (Cooper Kandler) wedding.  Jacob spent as much time as he could babysitting Tucker throughout those few days.  I got a huge smile on my face to see them playing on the floor.  But, it also gave me a chill and tears brimmed in my eyes when I heard  Jacob, on the floor with Tucker, quietly say to him, “Will you remember me?”

“Will you remember me?”

After Jacob’s death, we kept his computer. It is one of those desktop styles with the tower CPU. We rarely use it any more, since we have our laptops and Ipads.  We still have the printer, too, and that’s the main use of the unit now – we wirelessly send our printing requests to Jacob’s computer which passes on the request to the printer.

We have finally gotten to the point where we acknowledge we don’t need that ‘antique’ computer set up any longer so today I sat down in front of that old computer and when I jostled the mouse, the screen saver came alive presenting picture after picture of Jacob with college friends – some on BCM mission trips, some at fraternity functions, or others showing him just horsing around the Shorter campus. It flooded the room with great memories.

 I said to myself  that we needed to save those pictures. But when I tried to access Jacob’s files it asked for the password. I was stymied! I tried to venture a guess and guessed wrong. But then the computer asked if I wanted a hint. I clicked on it and here was the hint:

MONKEY

That’s right, “Tucker” was the password! Uncle Jacob loved his nephew and his greatest desire was to watch him grow, to play ball with him, to take him to movies and take him to plays.  He wanted to be a part of his life and he wanted to be remembered.

Fortunately, Tucker was born BJD (Before Jacob’s Death) but probably was too close to it so he won’t have recollections of Jacob’s physical presence in his life. And sadly, Libby was born AJD (After Jacob’s Death). 

But I pledge to you, Jacob, that Tucker and Libby, and all future nieces and nephews of yours WILL REMEMBER who you are and that they will know that Uncle Jake loved them to infinity and beyond!

A Reunion to Remember

by Richard Edfeldt

Sleeping Lady Mountains

Ten years ago, members of the Ralph Edfeldt branch of the family tree arranged (through the extreme generosity of Ralph, the patriarch) to fly in from around the country to have Christmas in the state of Washington. David and Bonnie had scouted out suitable places and found the perfect location in Leavenworth (remember its Washington, not Kansas so forego the obvious joke fodder). The idyllic spot found was called Sleeping Lady Lodge, named for a range of nearby mountains and beautifully nestled along Icicle Creek. It was built as a camp site for the CCC back in the 1930’s and it has gone through several owners over the years. Now it is privately owned and is an absolutely perfect place for family reunions.

Each family had its own cabin on the property. We would slip and slide along on the sidewalks bordered in by waist deep snow to get to the dining room where we would feast on gourmet food created by a wonderful and personable chef. Each evening we would gather in a great room, complete with roaring fire, to play games, sing songs, and tell stories. Part of the celebration was for the upcoming 60^th wedding anniversary of mom and dad. We also decided to throw in an 80^th birthday party for mom. We were quite in the festive mood.

During the day we took on winter excursions that those from the South had never experienced. We tried hiking across the tundra in snowshoes and we properly embarrassed ourselves with cross-country skiing. On Christmas day, we all went to the Stephens Pass ski area. Some went skiing (or so we called it) and others went tubing, but all had fun. Karen and I took some lessons and were such ‘special students’ that, after the standard lessons were given, the instructor sent the rest of the class snow plowing down the hill and gave us extended teaching time so we wouldn't damage any trees on our excruciating journey down that mountain.

But the most memorable part of the trip was the day we went on a cross country tour via snowmobiles. There was an age requirement so Jacob was paired with me. We went through a few cursory instructions and then off we went.  Jacob and I was the caboose of the snowmobile train.

 We wound through meadows and jetted across frozen lakes. It was glorious. Part of the tour was to ascend a mountain for a breathtaking view at the top. So we headed up the side of the mountain using a switchback path when the improbable happened.

On one hairpin turn, I saw something out of the corner of my eye that caused me to lose control of the snowmobile and crash into the side of the mountain. Neither of us was injured (except maybe my pride) and no damage was done to the machine. However, in the crash the snowmobile had tipped over on its side.  I was pleased that Jacob and I had listened to the part of the instructions about bailing out on the high side of the machine if you felt it tipping over! But I was chagrined when we couldn't tip the machine back on to its skis.  We were stuck!

Now, remember …. I said we were last in line so nobody saw what had happened to us.  The line of snowmobiling Edfeldts was well past the next bend in the trail and no one had a clue where we were. When Jacob and I both acknowledged that we were fine, our next questions were, “What do we do now?” and “How did that happen?”  We checked to see if we had our candy bars on us so we knew we could survive and we knew we could eat the snow in order to stay hydrated. We were well into survival mode. So we began to address the second question. What happened that made us crash?

 

I started reviewing what had caused me to lose control. When I got to the part about something that had distracted me, that’s when Jacob nearly shouted, “I saw it too! I saw Sasquatch!”

WE HAD NEARLY RUN OVER THE LEGENDARY SASQUATCH!!

We rolled around and around in the snow laughing our heads off as we embellished our story to Mt. Everest proportions in order to explain what had happened when our rescuers would eventually arrive.  We both made a pact that that was our story and we were sticking to it!

Fortunately for us, Karen soon realized she couldn't see us and notified the guide. He circled the group back, up righted our snowmobile, and we finished a fantastic memory.

It truly was a perfect family reunion that year. But little did we realize on that trip that Jacob was battling an

undiagnosed disease of Protein Losing Enteropathy (PLE) that was causing his pudginess and lack of endurance. We were told it was the normal growth cycle of a young teenager and that we needed to watch his food intake and make him exercise more. But six months later, we were finally given test results which told of the disease (which is the subject of a previous blog) and the fatal toll it would inevitably take on Jacob’s ailing heart.

We also had no clue, as we enjoyed the beautiful northwest, that less than one year later, nine years ago today (December 21), our family and a multitude of friends would be waiting in a crowded room at Egleston Children’s Hospital and around the country to hear the greatest news. Jacob’s new heart was working! What a memorable Christmas!

But now we face another Christmas without him … his smile … his creative imagination …his incredible sense of humor…. his zeal for life.

But we will always have the memory of a Sasquatch sighting!

Another Anniversary

by Richard Edfeldt

For a person or a family that has lost a loved one, the grieving process is never complete … you only cope with it better and can mask the pain easier (most of the time). Sometimes the pain comes back in the most unexpected times and ways. It could be triggered by a song we sung together, a billboard with a word or picture that reminds you of an occasion, a car that is identical to what your loved one drove, a stranger who looks like him or her from the back, … strange things that remind you of how much your loved one is missed.

But then there are days you expect it. On the calendar you can see it coming for weeks ahead … and you begin to dread the dawning of that day. This day is one of them.

Everyone who has lost a loved one has a list of days that they may dread. There are the obvious ones, like birthdays, holidays, and the death anniversary. For parents who have lost a child, Mother’s Day and Father’s Day are tough ones to endure. But for Karen and me, we have some added ones and today is one of them – today is the 6^th anniversary of Jacob’s second heart transplant.

Many of you participated in the vigil leading up to this event six years ago. Many of you cared for us and supported us. Many of you celebrated the successful surgery that gave Jacob another chance to live, though at an immeasurable cost to another family.

But for this anniversary, I can actually smile, amid the tears, at some of the remembrances of that day and the time leading up to it. Permit me to share on such memory and, maybe, you can smile too.

On November14, 2007, Jacob had completed yet another agonizing round of treatments in an effort to stop the body from rejecting his sick heart. But to no avail. His body was slowly shutting down. His name was now on top of the donor list. In one last ditch effort, the doctors had scheduled a procedure to extend his life while waiting for a donor heart to appear. They were planning to attach Jacob to a Ventricular Assist Device (VAD) that would serve as a temporary bridge until that heart could be found. This procedure had its own risks and you could sense a grimness in the tone as the doctors described this procedure to us. This surgery was scheduled for the morning of the 15^th.  But in the mean time, they encouraged us to gather any family and loved ones from out of town.

Ben, Beth, and baby Tucker had been flown in from Texas on the 14th to be with Jacob. What a way to celebrate Beth’s birthday – to fly across country in hopes of seeing your brother-in-law for possibly the last time!

They arrived shortly before midnight …. and five minutes later the tenor of the night changed dramatically.  A cardiac intern came to the door and announced nonchalantly that a donor heart had been located and preparations for a transplant were underway. He calmly walked away and we stared at each other not believing what we had just heard. In fact, Karen and I chased the intern down and made him repeat his announcement to make sure we hadn’t dreamed it. It was true; Jacob would undergo a second heart transplant in a number of hours.

We came back into the room and shared tears and hugs and began the arduous wait, but not without a funny incident that occurred  that always brings a smile to me when I remember it because it was ‘so Jacob’.

In the wee hours as we waited, a young (I mean YOUNG) chaplain intern came in to see how we were doing. She sat herself down in the circle of family and just watched the banter and verbal interplay that was going on around Jacob.  Every once in a while, she would try out something she had learned in a class and ask Jacob, “Well, how do you feel about this?” (Seriously? You’re asking such an inane, obviously answered question to someone who has just received a new opportunity for life?)

My favorite quote of hers was when she blurted out in the middle of a spirited conversation, “This is as exciting as watching a ping-pong match!” (I am not kidding!)

After some time, (felt like hours), I saw Jacob typing something out on his phone. I assumed that he was texting with a college friend when suddenly MY phone vibrated. I checked on it and saw that it was a text from Jacob. Here’s what it said:

GET HER OUT OF HERE!!!!!!

My head popped up and focused on Jacob. I saw his devious smile and laughter in his eyes as he nodded his head to the poor chaplain intern.  I had to cough to stifle the laughter that was trying to get out.

I went to the nurses’ station and asked if there was a way for them to get the intern to leave and give us some family time and they quickly obliged us.

You know the rest of the story. They soon came for Jacob and, after a torturous day of waiting, we received word that he had a

new, healthy heart. The surgeon came to us with the news that the new heart was beating strongly in him. And Dr. Kantor added, ‘not a minute too soon. His old heart was thoroughly worn out.’

And you know, that was Jacob’s life – he thoroughly wore out three hearts! He lived life to the max on each one. He loved life, loved his family, loved his friends, and loved his Lord.

Jacob, you are missed every day but on this significant day, the hole in our life is very noticeable.

The House at Pooh Corner

Christopher Robin and I walked along

Under branches lit up by the moon

Posing our questions to Owl and Eeyore

As our days disappeared all too soon

But I’ve wandered much further today than I should

And I can’t seem to find my way back to the Wood

                 Richard and I are downsizing and boy, what a pain! One of the disadvantages to having houses with basements and lots of storage spaces is that you save everything and you don’t even know it. We keep throwing out boxes and boxes of stuff, but it just seems like the stuff keeps multiplying. We plan to move to North Carolina next summer and our house there is a good bit smaller, so the stuff has to go. One of the big tasks we have to do before we put our house up for sale is to clean out the two storerooms in our basement. Our basement is not one of those cool basements you see on Pinterest. Instead, it is the old-fashioned kind – dark, damp, musty, and a little creepy; however, it must be done, so we have been spending our weekends sorting through boxes of stuff.

                I knew this would be emotional for me because I would be going through some childhood mementos of Jacob’s. I wasn’t prepared, however, for just how bittersweet it is looking at all of my children’s photos, stuffed animals, baby clothes, etc. For some reason, I saved every note they ever wrote me, their favorite stuffed animals (some with heads and arms missing), their report cards, even their “diplomas” from preschool. I had just spent three weeks this summer going through all of my mom’s belongings and wondering why she saved so much stuff and here, I had done the same thing.

Kermit the Frog, survivor of all 3 kids

So help me if you can

I’ve got to go back

To the House at Pooh Corner by one

You’d be surprised

There’s so much to be done

Count all the bees in the hive

Chase all the clouds from the sky

Back to days of Christopher Robin and Pooh

 One of things I do to help me get through this cleaning-out process is to listen to music on my iPhone. As I was going through boxes of Ben’s things today, Kenny Loggin’s “Return To Pooh Corner” started playing. As I listened to the song, tears began to flow. I was transported back to Kermit, Texas, rocking my first-born. I was scared to death, but so in love with this new little baby boy. I knew then, as I know now, that the best job I would ever have was to be a mom.

                                           This is a picture of Ben at about three months old.
 

Winnie the Pooh doesn’t know what to do
Got a honey jar stuck on his nose
He came to me asking help and advice
From here no one knows where to goes
So I sent him to ask of the Owl if he’s there
How to loosen a jar from the nose of a bear
 

When I was a new mother, I loved to read Winnie the Pooh books to Ben. I really didn’t appreciate what wonderful literature it was back then. As the years passed by and I started teaching, I began to understand why A.A.Milne’s books have been loved for so many years. I would spend hours reading them to all three children. On those long, hot, humid Houston summer days, it would seem like we were transported to the cool, lush woods of Christopher Robin and his friends. I can remember reading these books so often to the kids that I had them memorized. The kids had their favorite characters and would reenact the stories over and over and over again.

Katie, at about three weeks old.

 

elp me if I’ve got to backTo the House at Poh Corner by oneYou’d be surprisedThere’s so much to be doneCount all the bees in the hiveChase all the clouds from skyBack to the days of Christopher and Robin and Pooh. Help me if you can

I’ve got to get back

To the house at Pooh Corner by one

You’d be surprised

There’s so much to be done

Count all the bees in the hive

Chase all the clouds from the sky

Back to the days of Christopher Robin and Pooh.

 

 

                The tears flow as I look at pictures, baby books, stuffed animals, and so on. I think back to what life was like as a young mom, far away from family. This was before Facebook, Facetime, Skype and the Internet. I would talk to my mom and Richard’s mom once a week. If the kids were sick, I would call Dr. Mom and get her advice, a thousand miles away. I wasn’t sure I would ever make it out of those preschool years. The days were long, and a little scary. The years when I was totally homebound with Jacob were by far the most frightening. More about that for another time.   

Jacob at about one year old– I think.

It’s hard to explain how a few precious things

Seem to follow throughout all our lives

After all’s said and done I was watching my son

Sleeping there with my bear by his side

So I tucked him in, I kissed him and as I was going

I swear that the old bear whispered, “Boy, welcome home.”
 

 So, here I am, with my children grown, wondering where those days of Christopher Robin and his friends have gone. How did it happen so fast? I know young mothers don’t like for us older moms to say this, but, truly, it did go by in a blink of an eye. There are moments when I wish I could be transported back to where my children were snuggled up on the couch reading about the antics of Pooh. Then, I think if I have to read about Winnie the Pooh getting that silly honey jar stuck on his nose one more time, I may be tempted to break that jar with a baseball bat. I remember that there is a reason that the universe designed for moms to be young. I don’t think I could go through those preschool years again. It’s pretty fun having grown children who turned out to love each other and their family and not be too terribly messed up from the job I did as their mother.

One of my very, very favorite pictures….Christmas 2008, one of the last pictures of the three kids together.

 

 

And, of course, the best thing about having your kids grow up is that they give you adorable grandchildren.