Sleepless in the Suburbs

As I lay on the couch last night in the middle of the night, awake for the umpteenth time, I was thinking how the previous several hours felt like a comedy of errors. The story actually begins about the 19th of this month when Adam started complaining of a sore throat.  His throat was indeed red with his enlarged tonsils. Whenever he has a sore throat, it takes me back to the end of February 2007 when I proverbial kick myself for not getting his tonsils out while we had his adenoid removed.  But lest not I digress. No fever, no other symptoms but we keep him from helping out in hospitality at church and keep an eye on him, giving him our preventive medicine prescribed by the doc for just this situation on top of cold medicine to sleep. And I pray, hard.  Not that there is ever a good time to be sick, but this was an especially bad time to have the symptoms creep up on us. Adam's cello and chorus concert was just a mere 3 days away, as his class party, and lest we not forget, Christmas. Just a few weeks earlier he had suffered through the stomach flu so this just seemed especially bad timing.

By Monday, Adam's sore throat is not as sore but he gets the sniffy nose. Typical progression for him. But no fever and he's not feeling all that bad. But enter Elise. She is starting to sniffle too, throwing away Kleenex as if they grew on trees. There was a box of Kleenex lining the trash can looking as if they belonged back in the box. Seriously. One little wipe on the nose does not mean the Kleenex is used. Arggh. But again, I digress.

I tell Adam, "You are going to the concert whether or not you are sick. You can't miss it. No way". He agrees. Just get through Friday, I think to myself. After Friday, feel free to be sick. Please. God had mercy on us and Wednesday came and went, Christmas Eve, Christmas Day. We made it. No worse the wear. By Christmas weekend, Adam is fine.

Elise being who she is with the chronic sinus issues begins to cough at night.  Only at night.  The cough lingers all week progressively getting worse. Which leads me to last night.  If you follow me on Facebook, you know that Tony has been sanding, refinishing and painting new furniture for our little darling and started painting her room yesterday. Because the room was empty, Elise needed alternate sleeping arrangements. On her old mattress on our bedroom floor was the plan. Our plan. Not Elise's. God love her (and us, too!) she can be stubborn. Maybe it is typical little girl strong willed bent, or the second born temperament, but she is headstrong. And anything having to do with food or sleep can be an especially difficult issue to force. Trying to pacify her, we cajole her into obedience by saying she can sleep in our bed and we'll use a night light in our bathroom. Agreed.

Elise is tucked away into bed, fully medicated and quiet. Battle won.  The next battle for me was deciding to up my sleep medicine that night. No small undertaking at this stage in the medication challenge. After my latest frustrating sleep study results, it is decided that I need to pursue resolution to this stubborn problem an entirely different direction with new meds. A gradual increase by 100 mg. per week for 6 weeks until my medicine reached the maximum dose of 600 mg. Sounds like a lot but for seizures (the true use of this drug) the medication is usually dosed at 1,500 to 2,000 mg., so my dose is actually quite small.  However, with each 100 mg. dose it is reported dramatic day time sleepiness for the first two to three days of increase. Thus, the increments need to small and infrequent, and to this point was every Friday night so that if drowsiness was going to occur, it would be on a weekend when I had my husband for back up. Usually when the doctor has warned me of this grogginess (feels like a sleepy hang-over), it hits me like a mack truck. Making my final leap to maximum dosage was going to be the toughest and there really is no good time for it. Since Tony is home on vacation through Sunday it really needed to be now or never.

We hear her coughing in bed for about an hour and decide to up her medicine dose. This quieted her for about an hour, long enough for me to crawl into bed on the other side of her. What I didn't realize is that the previous hour would be the quietest of the night. No sooner am I tucked into bed next to her, groggy from my sleep meds, does she start snoring--and then coughing--snoring some more--coughing some more and just for a bonus, kicking me in the back at regular intervals. This was definitely not working for me. Not at all. After laying there for about an hour, watching the clock near 11 p.m. I leave the comfort of my own bed to lay on her crib-sized mattress on our floor. Maybe if I hadn't been so tired it would have occurred to me to move her onto the floor and for me to stay in the bed, but I was too tired to think clearly. Obviously.  Maybe being a few feet away from her coughing would make it easier to sleep. You'd think anyway. Finally, midnight approaches and I ask for back up. Tony has wisely grabbed his pillow and a blanket and had been crashing on the couch. I don't know if it's because he saw me on her mattress or heard her coughing every 5.5 seconds but he was wise enough to sleep far, far away. He obediently comes upstairs to re-medicate her, probably bordering on a dose big enough for Adam, but we were desperate. Here is where True Love showed herself by Tony offering me the couch so that maybe I could get a few hour's sleep. The bad thing about sleep meds is that you have to sleep a minimum of 8 hours to not be groggy the whole next day. And with the risk of that anyway, today was not looking good.

The rest of the night I slept fitfully on the couch. Not that I am complaining; I'm not. I certainly had the better end of the deal. Poor Tony's been working his little heart out all week on Elise's room. He needed a good night's sleep more than me. But he also knows how I am when I'm extra sleep-deprived. Again, I'd say it's not pretty. My night's end came around 5:30 when I feel my precious little one tap me on the back. "Time to get up now, Mommy?". Back to bed, honey. It's still dark out. As far as I know she complied. Until 6 a.m. Repeat. Finally at 7 a.m. she made one last attempt to get up.  For the life of me I couldn't figure out how she wasn't sleeping until 10 since she had been coughing all night, but here she was ready to start the day. Blindly, I turn the TV on for her and crawl back into my bed. Certainly not a finest Mommy moment but too tired to care. I vaguely remember mumbling something to Tony about her being awake. I'm not sure but I think he dozed back off. At some point though, he did get up with the kids while allowing me to sleep until 9.

Come to find out she asked to sleep in her bed on the floor at some point during the night--or maybe it was during the early morning attempts at starting her day. Apparently Tony's sleep was not exactly quality. All I can say though is that I'll be glad to leave 2009 behind as long as I can leave behind our own version of musical beds and start fresh with 2010!

Humble Beginnings

"Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is Christ the Lord. This will be a sign to you. You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger (because there was no room for them in the inn.)" (Luke 2:12b,7b).

Arguably this is one of the most well known and retold stories of all time. Growing up I can imagine Jesus asking his mother to retell the story time and time again. The odd circumstances surrounding his birth -- from his conception to his actual birth. A miracle given from God for all time.  I also imagine Mary never expected her first born child to be born under the intrigue and hand of God Almighty himself.

Personally, I look at the details surrounding my birth and find them rather unremarkable. Yes, I had the RH Factor resistance and received 7 blood transfusions pre- and post-birth after being given almost zero chance of survival.  My mom said you have never seen a needle until you see one long enough to be inserted through your abdominal wall and  into your womb. Never mind the little injection needles; they are nothing, she would say with a smile.  Perhaps my story is fascinating enough that my children, particularly Elise if she is lucky enough to be blessed by children, would enjoy hearing retold over time.

I suppose it is the ordinary nature under which most of us are born that I never really thought much about my parent's early years either. Obviously my mom has a unique story of her childhood, but honestly, I never really took a closer look into the life she lived before the internment until this last spring as I watched the SHOAH Foundation tapes.

She was born one wintery day in the late 1930's in a little village named Veliko Srediste in the South Banat district of Yugoslavia.  Despite the translation in German for Veliko to mean "large", this small Serbian town is often not found on maps. The largest town nearby would be Vrsac located near the Hungary border. Before the Russians invaded her small village,  my mom recalled beautiful trees and gardens that cascaded across the acres often found between homes. Mountain peaks were visible along the outside of town. The small homes were overshadowed by the beauty of the countryside. Yugoslavia was a beautiful green, lush country.

Born to mother Anna and father Franz Bohn, her earliest rememberances began around age 5 while living with her mom's parents Anna and Thomas Dernetz and her Uncle Josef, who was approximately 15 years old. It was not uncommon for multiple generations to live under one roof. The house the six of them lived in was a small white-washed home with dirt floors. When asked about the details of the home for her visual history testimonial, she could only recall two rooms, the kitchen and a bedroom. The central piece of the kitchen was the homemade kitchen table and chairs. The memory of the bedroom was limited to one, recalling sitting on the edge of a bed playing with her doll as her mother said goodbye-- the prison guards waiting nearby to escort her to go by coal car to Russia as a slave laborer.

When asked she could only recall a handful of happy memories from the first few years of her life. Sadly, even the earliest of memories distinct from the concentration camps were marred with abuse and hardship. Her favorite memory was of a beautiful mulberry tree in her yard. The fruit was plentiful and she recalled being covered in red juice from eating as much as her belly desired.  She also remembered going in the orchards with her mom as her mom worked. She would run and play and explore nature, gathering small flowers, trying to keep out of her mother's way. Times were not easy but my mom remembered them being carefree days since my grandma insisted she was too young to help out.

As she was recounting memories, it struck me that what she did remember was solitary. The other children she remembered  interacting with were older school aged children, who were too busy with school work and helping out with chores to take time out to play with her very often.  Having grown up as an only child without memories of having friends until she was in America, my mom was very purposeful in providing us siblings and to create a lot of happy memories for us growing up. Every generation wants their children to be happier and have more than what they had the generation before. My mom was no different in that desire. And neither am I.  I want to give my kids as good a childhood as I had, if not better. We cannot change or re-write our history but we can preserve it by talking about it and making sure that we do not leave this earth with stories that are better shared.  Every day we are creating that 'history' for our children to one day talk about with their children and the generations to follow.  And that legacy is one I am proud to claim as my own and pray will become a family tradition.

Sweet Silence of Relief

Happiness. Contentment. Peace. Joy. Agape love. Romantic love. Accomplishment. Satisfaction. These are all common attributes and emotions that if asked, what is your favorite, likely one of these would be your answer. Afterall, who doesn't want to be happy or joyful? We all want to experience love from another human being. Content and peacful in the midst of our circumstances.  They are all emotions any of us would like to experience at any given time.

In our day of want and greed and keeping up with the Joneses, I'd bet that a lot people polled would answer accomplishment. Men in particular are driven by their careers and find a lot of their identity wrapped up in their successes at work. As a mother, I certainly judge my accomplishments by the house I keep, the raising of my children, and the health of my marriage.  Are my kids polite, well behaved, educated? Is my life in order or chaos? Would my husband see me as the Proverbs 31 woman, finer than gold, satisfying his needs so that he is not tempted by pornography or by other women? Accomplishment is a big one for sure.

While there is certainly nothing wrong with any of these "answers" mine is actually quite different. For me, my favorite emotion is relief.  Oh, the joys of relief. 

Finding the right combination of medication to be free of pain.

The relief of financial burdens by an unexpected gift or raise or bonus. Or in today's economy, finding a stable career after under- or un-employment. Relief that the mortgage or rent is paid and you have food on your table.

Finding your lost keys or wallet. Relief.

The relief of loneliness and fear when your loved one returns from serving our country in war-times.

Whether it is the simple every day moments you find yourselves breathing a sigh of relief -- the grouchy child has just fallen asleep at naptime, or your to-do list is checked off and you can sit back and relax -- or the major moments, selling a home and moving or completing a huge project by its deadline--relief is an awesome feeling.

Whereas I look at being happy or joyful as being more subjective and elusive on some days, relief is something I find myself feeling several times a day. Ahh...you can almost hear it.

New Year's Resolution

With Christmas just around the corner, the new year is also almost upon us. New Year's resolutions. Those 3 words can evoke a myriad of  negative emotions: fear, doubt, angst, terror, defeat. In a perfect world they would rather inspire or challenge you to let go of a bad habit -- smoking, over eating, alcohol bingeing, etc. It might encourage you to develop patterns of preferred behavior -- exercise, healthful eating, spending more time with your family.

I've never been one to make New Year's resolutions in the traditional sense. Being a rule follower, I don't live my life in extremes. As far as lifestyles go, I am pretty balanced. Imagine my surprise when at my physician's office last week he suggested that to encourage better sleeping,  I cut out my two cups of coffee per day, tweek my eating habits and add a minimum of 30 minutes of cardio exercise on the days I do not go to the gym. I looked at him like he had two heads. Aren't I already ahead of the curve? Work out 7 days a week--really? There have been several weeks where getting to the gym my usual 3 days a week is a stretch. Of course, I have my various work out DVD's that I could pop in front of the TV to exercise from home. Am I likely to do it? Not so much. Let's just say that if I were to work out even 5 or 6 days a week, give up all my caffeine and eat even more healthy than I already do, I am going to register for the Gateway Naturals Bodybuilders Competition. That kind of discipline had better have some pretty big perks. Seriously, he's nuts.

Having said that, there are areas of my life where I could use a resolution or two to improve upon things. Speaking more kindly to my husband and kids is a big one. Isn't it a shame that the people we love the most are often the ones who we can be the most short-tempered with? Mine stems from two sources: Fatigue and maybe a little too much face time. Please don't misunderstand me: I love being a stay at home mom. The last nine years have been a huge blessing and I've been there to see all their milestones and have shared memories with them. But having a child home with me full time over the last nine years has had it's challenges. I rarely get the opportunity to "miss" my kids, to appreciate a time apart. Regarding Tony, again, I love him dearly. But men and women don't always understand each other and we've had our share of disagreements and flat out wars over the years. A peaceful household is a definite resolution toward striving for--starting with ME.

Another big area that could use some tweeking is finances. Despite the recession, Tony has earned a few substantial raises and promotions in recent years. For that we are grateful. Years of annual family court modifications and appearances, years of child support payments, and just the cost of raising 4 kids, we are managing year by year. Deciding to be a "one income family" has had it's challenges and good financial stewardship is a must. My parents taught me well and fortunately, Tony and I are both financially responsible people. However, I could certainly be a bit more thrifty and responsible. As the sole bill payer of our family, it is up to me to see that we are wise with how the money is spent. In the last few years I've attempted to track our bills and income -- watching where some careless spending is occuring. Perhaps a personal goal for me is to track our expenses in 2010 more closely. Fortuantely, child support will likely end in the next twelve months -- the two sets of braces we are paying on currently will eventually be paid for -- no more preschool tuition after April. Many areas of financial freedom are forthcoming. I would love nothng more than for my husband to get the car of his dreams in the next 18 months. He's been driving an 11 yr old old (faithful) car and it's his turn to enjoy the fruits of his labor. That would make me really happy for him.  Yes, financial stewardship is a goal for me -- one that will bring security for my family and help us sleep easier at night.

Personally, I like that the only New Years Resolutions I make is to not make any. That is the one I can keep!

Why Women Should Not Take Men Shopping

After I retired, my wife insisted that I accompany her on her trips to Target. Unfortunately, like most men, I found shopping boring and preferred to get in and get out. Equally unfortunate, my wife is like most women - she loves to browse. Yesterday my dear wife received the following letter from the local Target.

Dear Mrs. Samuel,

Over the past six months, your husband has caused quite a commotion in our store. We cannot tolerate this behavior and have been forced to ban both of you from the store. Our complaints against your husband,

Mr. Samuel's offenses are listed below and are documented by our video surveillance cameras.

June 15: Took 24 boxes of condoms and randomly put them in other people's carts when they weren't looking.

July 2: Set all the alarm clocks in House wares to go off at 5-minute intervals.

July 7: He made a trail of tomato juice on the floor leading to the women's restroom.

July19: Walked up to an employee and told her in an official voice, 'Code 3 in House wares. Get on it right away'. This caused the employee to leave her assigned station and receive a reprimand from her Supervisor
that in turn resulted with a union grievance, causing management to lose time and costing the company
money.

August 4: Went to the Service Desk and tried to put a bag of M&Ms on layaway.

August 14: Moved a 'CAUTION - WET FLOOR' sign to a carpeted area.

August 15: Set up a tent in the camping department and told the children shoppers he'd invite them in if they would bring pillows and blankets from the bedding department to which twenty children obliged.

August 23: When a clerk asked if they could help him he began crying and screamed, 'Why can't you people just leave me alone?' EMT's were called.

September 4: Looked right into the security camera and used it as a mirror while he picked his nose.

September 10: While handling guns in the hunting department, he asked the clerk where the antidepressants were.

October 3: Darted around the store suspiciously while loudly humming the Mission Impossible' theme.

October 6: In the auto department, he practiced his 'Madonna look' by using different sizes of funnels

October 18: Hid in a clothing rack and when people browsed through, yelled 'PICK ME! PICK ME!'

October 21: When an announcement came over the loud speaker, he assumed a fetal position and screamed 'OH NO! IT'S THOSE VOICES AGAIN!'

And last, but not least:

October 23: Went into a fitting room, shut the door, waited awhile then yelled very loudly, 'Hey! There's no toilet paper in here.' One of the clerks passed out.

Old Man Winter

I am a snow baby with this being my birth month. According to the Zodiac, I was also born under the sign of fire. Heat versus cold....heat will edge out cold for me any day!! Can I just put it out there that I really dislike winter. I know I have several friends who live for winter. They love snowmobiling, skiing -- basking in the snow. Not me. At all! I. do. not. like. winter. Just so that we're clear.

Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter. That would sum of my favorite seasons in descending order. Maybe I'd like it more if we had true winters. I've never researched it but I think we must be the ice capital of the mid-west.  Cold temperatures definitely, but we don't see a lot of snow. It rains a lot, which I think is odd. It's raining today. And since it is in the 20's, it's cold nasty rain. What's up with that? At least with snow, it's pretty and predictable. But with cold rain, it's just yuck. And when it freezes into ice, stay off the roads. St. Louisans really don't know how to drive in anything but sunny conditions.The overcast sky that takes up temporary residence, often not showing the sun for weeks at a time, adds to the ick factor. Seasonal mood disorders from a lack of sun. Pretty depressing. Literally.

Prediction for an inch of snow? News coverage around the clock; the grocery stores have stampedes like it's Thanksgiving eve. Really? Stupid people. 

What I dislike about winter is having to bundle myself and my kids before leaving the house--coats, hats, gloves, scarves. Hassle to buckle my daughter into her car seat in the winter. The summer no problem. With a pair of flip flops and cute little short/top outfit, you are good to go. Much more forethought into leaving the house in the winter. When it does manage to snow, it's the melting gooky snow left behind from tire tracks and footprints that end up on your car floorboard and kitchen floor that is just gross. Yep, I am not a fan of winter.

Of course there are a few things I love about winter. An excuse to snuggle up on the couch with a mug of hot chocolate with mini-marshmallows. And soup. I love making soups once or twice a week. Definitely love the warm comfort of food in the winter. Changing over my summer wardrobe to winter clothes is kind of fun, too. To be clear, it's a necessary evil to change over my kid's clothes, too, which is decidedly on a top 10 list of things I do NOT like. But for me, I like it. I find sweaters and boots I had forgotten about--or a a find a reason to add a few pieces of clothing to my wardrobe.  And I do love the quiet falling snow, undisturbed by people or animals. It can be beautiful to watch while in the comfort of your warm house.

Oh, there is one more thing I like about winter.....When winter has officially arrived, I can start the countdown to my favorite season and I know when it arrives in March or maybe early April I have a full 8 or 9 months to enjoy before having to deal with old man winter. Yes. THAT is my favorite part about winter.

Tis the Season

It may surprise many people to know this, but I struggle with getting into the Christmas spirit. And that has been true for most of my adult life.

Actually, I think there are several elements interfering with being joyful this time of year. As a young adult, it started with the fact that my two sisters, my mom and myself have November-December birthdays. It's always been a challenge for me to focus on Christmas when there are several birthdays that are immediately before it. Then enter married life. I recall meeting Tony's extended family at Easter and them asking when my birthday fell. When I said the date, they all reacted the same "Of course it is". Their reaction was fitting. Why? Tony and his twin, their sister Holly, sister in law Karin, my father in law and oldest niece all have December birthdays. Add that to the mix of Olsen birthdays and it's enough to make any one's head spin. Talk about stress coming up with double the gift ideas--and double the money.  Unfortunately, the financial stress in November and December doesn't help matters. A few of my best friends also have December birthdays. Seriously, couldn't we spread the wealth just a little?

Decorating the tree, decking out the house--interior and exterior, baking special Christmas treats, planning and shopping, wrapping gifts, Christmas parties, Christmas shows, school productions.  The list is endless this time of year. When you are already busy the insanity of this time of year is mind-boggling. Yes, I struggle to actually enjoy and appreciate this time of year.

Jesus. My Christian roots are really what's important and yet somehow the Christmas season is less and less about Him and more about the hustle and bustle of traditions and keeping up with how everyone else is celebrating. What it comes down to for me is that all this attention is focused on our Savior's birth--Carols are sung, manger scenes are proudly displayed, Jesus buttons appear on lapels--and it's accepted, even encouraged. But come December 26 it's over. And for another 11 months society will tell us it's NOT alright to proclaim his name or boldly talk about Christ. Yes, getting in the spirit is difficult for me. Society's contradiction squashes down my excitement.

I don't need Christmas to celebrate the greatest man ever born; my Savior and Lord. I do that 365 days a year. And I do it authentically, consistently and passionately. I'll gladly put away my Christmas tree, put away my Christmas music and cookie recipes for another year. Jesus for me is more than an abstract concept to be celebrated once a year. He's in my heart every day.

What's in a Name

When asked "What is Elise's middle name?"  I usually smile as I answer "Kathryn, after my mom." It's not the name that makes me smile...it's the story behind the name that cracks me up.

My mom's first name is Hilda--an Ethnic German name meaning "Battle woman", which I think is appropriate for a woman with her heritage. Yugoslavian born, she was given a common name for the time. Her mom used to call her Hilde, with the distinct pronunciation difference. I wonder if her birth certificate would have actually shown the alternate spelling rather than the "a"  With birth certificates of that time destroyed, we will never know. Those documents simply do not exist--anywhere. 

My mom's middle name is Kathryn, which does not in my mind jive with her first name. Totally not ethnic German; in fact, Kathryn is Greek for "pure". My mom did not know why her middle name was Kathryn -- although I think I have an explanation. Maybe. My grandma had an older sister who died at the tender age of 6 months. Her name was Katharina. It wasn't until my mom discovered a little booklet with birth and death dates--and dates of their internment in the camps--that we even knew she existed. By the time we knew of Katharina, my grandma had died, so there was no one to ask the details. It makes sense to me that my mom was named after her deceased aunt.

Being so young at the time they emigrated from Yugoslavia, my mom never was able to explain how they could make "legal" travels without proof of who they were. My grandma wouldn't explain, either. My mom seemed to believe that there were a lot of falsified documents along the way and it was only by God's grace that they were never caught--and able to declare naturalization as citizens after they came to the United States. I wonder if my grandma gave my mom a more Americanized identity and intentionally changed her middle name from Katharina to Kathryn. Just a theory, I suppose, but Katharina translates to the American Katherine. Totally plausible if not substantiated.

One day while in my last trimester of pregnancy with Elise, I was visiting my mom at my parent's house. She asked me to grab her driver's license from her wallet. Glancing at the license, I notice her middle name was Catherine. Red flag for me -- her granddaughter was going to be named after her.

"Mom, that is not how you spell your middle name." I said, matter of factly."You know I am naming Elise after you and we are spelling it the way I know it to be."

"Oh, honey." she responded. "I never remember how to spell my middle name. It never mattered before."

"Well, it matters now since I am naming her after you. At least after the part of your name that you like." adding with a smile.  My mom never liked her name, which is probably no surprise. She even went by the nickname Kitten in high school. Thankfully, her nickname did not follow her into adulthood. At one point as a young adult, she had considered changing her name, but did not want to offend her mom--and she wasn't trying to alter her past so figured it was best just to keep it "Hilda." I recall a horribly stupid television show called The $1.98 Beauty Pageant. It ran back to back with the equally horrific The Gong Show. My mom was horrified when one of the contestants was a fat slobbish housewife named Hilda Olsen. Yeah. That was not my mom's favorite moment. It wasn't funny at the time--and truthfully, I don't think she ever found the humor in it.

Fast forward to early to mid 2007.  My mom was completing a "Grandmother Book" for my sister's daughter at a request by my sister; hopefully, putting onto paper the Grandma her young daughter would never otherwise know. Fortunately my sister had the forethought to do that since her daughter would barely be two at my mom's death. Because she was working on this book, my mom called me on the telephone one day. 

"Honey, now HOW do you spell my middle name again?" she asked.

I remember smiling on the other end of the receiver. Well if nothing else, my mom was consistent. And we all know the answer to that question now. Everyone except maybe my mom herself!

....As the Candle Burns

For the first time I noticed a candle today at my dad's house. A large light red candle with dried wax along side of it's awkwardly-shaped remains. It certainly was not a pretty candle--one that I imagine wasn't pretty to start with.  It sits on the second shelf over my mom's computer desk. And there it still sits even two years after her death.  From the looks of it, the candle was well-used and now sat dormant along side the corner of the office free of use.

My parents each had their own desk with my mom's being far more elaborate and useful than my dad's. From the looks of it, my mom's desk is generally untouched. My parents converted our old billiards room in the front of the house into their office or den area. For not working outside the home for many years, my mom's desk was utilized fully. She had files for her very successful E-Bay business; had filing cabinets full of her animal charity work--and even some files dating back to the days when she worked for her attorney-friend sending out collection letters.

Most noticeably, though, are the trinkets and personal affects that adorn the shelves. My favorite piece is the ceramic baby harp seal.  That was the first animal rights cause my mom joined. In fact, I wrote a very well-received term paper my senior year about the plight of the baby harp seals. That cause was a platform for my mom to realize that there were a lot of animals who needed human intervention to keep them safe and protected. That seal speaks volumes to me in who my mom was, what she believed it, and what she was passionate about.

Another favorite piece is a beautiful ceramic African elephant planter. She got that as a gift from the neighbor across the street on her last Christmas.  This was just one of many elephant pieces she owned. Honestly, I never understood where she developed a love of elephants. On a Friday, Pam and I spent a day cleaning their house as a surprise for when she came home from the hospital. I remember so vividly dusting the shelf that proudly displayed several elephants, carelessly breaking off the trunk of her favorite one. I got disproportionately upset about it , knowing even in the moment that it wasn't really about the elephant. Fortunately, my dad was able to repair him. Unfortunately, my mom never made it home.

Gazing across the desk, I also noticed a box of tissues. It seemed oddly out of place. Opening her drawer, looking for a paperclip I scanned the contents. Surely my dad had rummaged through the office supply drawer looking for a post-it-note or highlighter, but it struck me how largely it was untouched.

Even today, as I entered the front door to my parent's house, I gazed to my left as if looking for my mom. It was at her desk she spent most of her time -- either working or playing games. Gem Shop was her favorite game, although she loved Iggle Pop and Jewel Drop, too. It was at that desk that my mom grew suspicious of the cancer growing inside her. She started experiencing back and belly pains and often noticed it while at the desk. The doctor had suggested getting a new chair. I think even the weeks leading up to the diagnosis--one that should not have taken so long to get--she knew something was wrong beyond the ill-fitting chair the doctor claimed it was. Although my dad would defend the doctor, my mom shared with me her frustration in the 3 months it took to be diagnosed--even with all the advancements and clear indicators of a serious illness. Three months is valuable time lost with a pancreatic cancer diagnosis and she knew it. My mom was rarely sick -- rarely ever visited the doctor-- so for him to put her off for so long really "irked" my mom, as she would say.

My dad has been steadfast and diligent in remodeling the house--directing his grief in a positive manner. The office is one of the next projects. Although "next" seems to be the operative word. He has acknowledged that my mom's desk would be better suited for him--that it would be beneficial to combine work spaces and get rid of excess furniture. Easier said than done, I wonder. As he remodels the house, it has become his space -- one that does not include her. The office is the last space in the house that still embodies her and can tell a story of her life.

Maybe the day will come when the desk will be dismantled, the ceramic animals dusted and put away. And maybe that day will be sooner rather than later. And as ugly as it is, the candle will find its way home with me. It's time to burn it again--and see what was so special about the ugly red glob that graced her desk.