2015 September 22 His Best Gift

When Leland breathed his last, 6 months ago today,  he left many gifts behind; the list is  long. I will share a few to illustrate his caring character.

His gifts to me began very soon in our relationship, while we were still in school; a poem from his heart, a gift of thought and time, one I treasured then, and now. It is hand written on a piece of lined paper, dated December 14, 1963, tattered on the  fold lines, fragile, and yellowed with time.

Dearest One,

Eileen, our friendship is short yet.

The time that I've known you not long.

The days since I met you are few ones,

Those days when fall came along.

That day at the picnic was one

of those days I will never forget.

Days that were filled up with happiness,

Happy like the girl that I met.

Blue eyes and a smile that can change you,

Make you happy though you want to be sad.

And when I think of you now, Eileen,

I think of the good times that we've had.

Well, I've talked long enough of these things.

But one more thing fore I go,

Eileen, I love and adore you!

And just can't help telling you so.

All my love for a wonderful girl,

Leland

1963/64  Junior year

1963/64 Sophmore year

This was the just first of many, some composed by him, others chosen because they reflected his feelings so well. In retrospect, the overly strict social policies of our school, while very frustrating, were an incentive to write, in order to communicate.  Memories were made and preserved which would  otherwise have been forgotten in the busyness of life and the mists of time.

We spent every moment together our small very strict boarding school would allow, supper seated at the same table with four others in the cafeteria once a week, mixed "play period" in the gym, prayer bands after vespers Friday nights.

Leland wanted us to have look-a-like shirts; even with his limited funds, he managed to buy them for us. They were white with black pinstripes; we wore them every "couples night." This would be considered corny today, and probably was then,  but we did not care. There would be others through the years, matching windbreakers and sweatshirts and red polo shirts for us and our three small kids. In later years, we would match his tie with a dress color  I was wearing; the last  time,  for Cherilyn's wedding.

After graduation sometime in the late summer, he began working with his dad and brother as part of a logging team, setting chokers and driving water truck. The pay was good- two dollars per hour, but there were many days they could not work, due to weather, or logistics. Consequently, by late fall when  he knew was to be drafted, he had very little money saved.  Nevertheless, he managed to surprise me with a  beautiful, petite, contemporary watch, engraved with my name on the back;  an engagement gift, the SDA equivalent of a ring in those days. I was proud to wear that little watch on my right wrist to let our small world know we were engaged. I still have that watch, though the  hands no longer run.

We were on a tight budget in the early years. We worked hard, delayed having children, and finally were able to have enough left over in the budget for personal allowances that we could spend as we wished. Happily, I spent mine; I don't remember on what. 

I do remember very well, however,  upon what Leland spent his. He came home with a lovely silver bud vase I had admired in a store where we had been shopping, causing me to feel cherished and loved, more than I ever dreamed possible.  I still have it, displayed on one of the shelves of his desk I am now using, a sweet reminder of those earlier days; of a powerful love that endured the storms of life, and withstood the test of time.

There was the the Christmas he gifted me with another vase, this one large, of cut glass crystal, and I wondered what I would do with it. Not aloud of course. But he knew me better than I knew myself. That beautiful vase held many large arrangements over the years,  sometimes filled with a surprise bouquet from him, other times with flowers from our garden. It has graced our dining room table, church services, weddings. and parties.  Most recently, it held a beautiful bouquet  in his favorite colors, lovingly arranged by Tina, for his memorial service. It is a very special vase indeed, infused with loving memories.

Leland possessed a generous heart.  Although the demands on his time were many with his job, a country home, and church responsibilities, he was never too busy to help the kids with a homework project, teach them to ride a bicycle, to drive, how to use the computer, camera, or recording equipment.  He always made time to help me with projects which I could not figure out on my own, and did not have the strength to accomplish without him.

To all outside appearances, Leland was an ordinary man, with an ordinary job, an ordinary family, ordinary activities. However he was extraordinary in his love for me and our family, spending his time, strength and money, to make our home a happy place.  In the end, his best gift was the gift of himself. He did not give of himself, thinking consciously it was a gift, however. It was who he was at the core of his being, a man of kindness, helpfulness, patience, integrity and honor; ready to ask forgiveness when needed, and quick to extend it. He was not wealthy in the usual sense of the word, but rich in the most essential qualities, and the ability to communicate his love to us in meaningful ways throughout all the years of his life.

  

2015 July 3 49th Anniversary 1st Without Him

Add caption

 Our 48th Anniversary, July 3, 2014, the last one we would share,  a ride through the beautiful Columbia Gorge and lunch at Multnomah Falls,  We did not know for sure this would be the last one, but were beginning to suspect it could be.

49th Anniversary

48 Anniversaries, we celebrated every one
beach trips, mountains, dinners
all of it so much fun,

But for the first time you are not here

How can I celebrate without

you dear?There is no answer

For you are not here

On this anniversary,
to the cemetery I will go,
to place a vase full of flowers
on your grave just so

among the myriads of flags
for those who served .

You are there among them, it's true

just one of thousands;
 but my eyes and my heart
 see only you.

Instead of a trip to the beach

 with just we two,

I will go with our dear children who

Have been so caring of me,

but we will be missing you the whole day through

How can I survive this day?  I don't know.

I've survived other bad days it's true.
 By the grace of God, I believe somehow,

He will get me through this one too.

My love is gone, my mind tells me this,

the multitude of changes,

 The silence, the emptiness,

after being one with you nearly 49

years, tells me so.

 My heart though, resists.

"This can't be all, its only a bad dream

You'll wake up soon

and he will be right here".

The books call it denial,

say it's a protective device

to keep grief from overwhelming

one. To be concise,

 I am in a sort of

denial, although I have done all

that is expected of a widow. 

How I hate that word!

This aloneness anticipated  for 3 years

is worse than I could ever imagine.

Is more life changing than any of my fears

this loss of my dearest companion.

I was the Ivy, you were the Tree

supporting sheltering

loving me

Strong, wonderful, perfect for me

And tomorrow when we are by the sea

without you, I will remember

I was the Ivy, but You were the tree.

My Tree, fallen, cut up, cremated,

 I, the Ivy, torn away, bruised,

 deprived, decimated

slowly learning this uprooting

I will survive,

I was the Ivy but you were the Tree

in the dear distant past you supported me.

Our love is not dead

it is only on hold.

Our Father promises all things new.

His plan He will in time unfold.

That includes me dear, and especially you.

Till death do us part?

 Only physically it seems, for you

live still  in the center of my heart.

                                 Flowers from my Sweetheart on our last Mother's Day together, 2014.

Basic At Seventeen

Basic At Seventeen

He's tall, He's buff,

He's strong, and he's tough

on the outside,

this grandson of mine,

teetering on the edge of manhood

at seventeen.

He's up early today,

3 AM to be exact.

Not his usual practice.

This day looked forward to

worked for and suddenly dreaded.

He's only seventeen.

Too soon its 4 AM.

He's ready.

Jacket, jeans, very small bag

minimum necessities

short cropped hair.

We go outside with him

waiting for his ride

in the summer predawn darkness.

 Solar lights cast their starburst

lights on the driveway and lawn.

The birds have just begun their

insistent chirping high in the trees.

Car lights at the end of the street.

His ride is here.

Short quick hug.

Bye  Gramma.

Longer hugs for Mom and Dad.

He's only seventeen.

Sergeant Robinson has his 

Orders,

will take him to the airport,

drop him off with money for meals.

He will catch his first flight alone

Without the security of parents

or grandparents,

At the age of seventeen.

The Sergeant exchanges pleasantries

with us,  gives Grant his orders.

 We, his parents and grandma,

watch as the lights  disappear

down the street,

taking our pride and joy

on the first leg of his quest

to serve our country,

at the age of seventeen.

The house lately filled with happy

 laughter, conversation

and a fruitless hunt for his glasses,

is suddenly too quiet again.

We are already anticipating

his return after Basic is completed.

One very large step into manhood.

He'll be stronger, confident, mature

He will have survived Shark Attack and

Basic Training , Drill Sergeants,

and his first birthday without his parents,

this newly minted Private VanTassel,

of the United States Army Reserve.

Prayers will follow him every day

for safety and success.

When he returns home, full of stories

at which we will laugh together,

he'll be another step closer to manhood

at the age of eighteen.

We're proud of you, Grant.

We love you.

2015 May 9 -A Love Expressed Part II

Thank you Mark for helping me make this overdue change to the blog.  The new title was suggested  teasingly by him and I  instantly liked it because it is an ongoing joke in our family- and was when Leland was still with us. He would like it, as my glasses are the subject of at least one treasure hunt every single day!

To be notified by e-mail when a new blog is posted, let me know, by email, by FB private message or a phone call. 

A Love Expressed Part II

  Leland graduated from Columbia Adventist Academy in June of 1965. I elected not  to return, partly for financial reasons, but mostly because I wanted the freedom to see my Sweetheart whenever it was possible for us to be together, as we lived 150 miles apart with our parents. I enrolled in night school, while working full time at United Medical Laboratories.  Leland worked with his Dad and brother in the woods, hoping to go to Walla Walla College and take electronics.  However, he was drafted in December of that same year, 1965, and left on the 8th of December.  He was drafted as a non-combatant and  trained as a medic for a Battalion Aid Station. When his basic and AIT (Advanced Individual Training) were over, he was stationed at Ft Irwin California with an Artillery Unit, training for Viet Nam. 

The exchange of folded notes for nearly two years at school, became a flood of letters, first from Redmond to Portland, then from Ft. Sam Houston, a couple from Ft. Lewis, and the rest from Ft Irwin, in the southern California dessert.  How I haunted the mailbox for a letter from him!  My hope was almost always rewarded; he was very faithful with his writing.  Those letters, recently removed from the box where they have resided for nearly 49 years, are very precious to me.  They were at the time they were written, for they spoke of hope, of love, of plans for our future, and of anticipation.  I treasured those letters, with their sometimes misspelled words, written on whatever paper he could find.  They told me the news, what he had done that day, but more importantly of his love for me.  I read them over and over, and answered quickly.  By the next day or so, another one would arrive, and I would pore over it, again and again.

In this age of cell phones, unlimited long distance and texting, a courtship carried on by snail mail is almost incomprehensible. But those technical advances were still many years in the future for us. The US mail was all we had; that and a very occasional long distance phone call that was definitely outside our slim budget. Stamps were 5 cents for regular mail, and 8 for airmail.  We opted for the extra 3 cents in order to get our mail one day sooner.

On a cold November night, 1965, before he was drafted,  Leland had come to see me in Portland.  We went out together that night, I don't remember where, but I do remember that we ended up on Mt. Tabor overlooking the city lights.  He parked the car, I slid into his arms and we exchanged a few lingering kisses. He then told me how much he loved me, and asked me to be his wife.  I said yes, he reached under the seat, took out a  little box and opened it to reveal a very pretty,  modern little watch ( the SDA alternative to an engagement ring). He  placed it on my right wrist and we were officially, engaged.  It was a delightful surprise, not the proposal, I was expecting that at some time, but the manner, the timing and the watch were all unexpected. That was his style, he loved surprises, and was very good at keeping his secret until time to reveal his plans. 

We had no money, he was to be drafted in December, and most likely sent to Viet Nam.  I was still in my senior year, going to night school and working during the day.  My wages were 1.65 per hour and  I was  helping my parents out by giving them one hundred dollars per month room and board.   We had no idea when we would be able to be married and support ourselves.  The only certainty we had was our love for each other and a determination to be together, whatever that would take.

 All of our wedding plans were carried out  through the US Mail, one letter at time. It was difficult to plan our wedding without a date. We were uncertain when  he could get a leave to come  home; the consequences of a probable pending deployment to Viet Nam, and not enough  money  were a constant concern.  But with all of those issues there was also  the sweet anticipation of knowing that when  the details were finally worked out, we would be married and together for the rest of our lives.

 We were married  July, 3, 1966 on a cool rainy day in Portland at the Village Church.  It was the best and happiest of days!

Now, after nearly 49 years of happy marriage to my best friend, lover, and father of our children, those letters and notes are doubly precious to me. The envelopes are  ragged on the edges, torn open by eager fingers, and yellowed with age.  They speak of  promises kept, dreams fulfilled, a love that matured and became more precious as the years went by, living now only in my memories, and in my heart. They spark memories of a life well lived, and  remind me that I am a fortunate woman to have been loved by a man such as he, faithful, loyal, true to his family and to his God.  Never were promises  of love more faithfully kept than by my Sweetheart.

The world would not judge these letters as great prose, but to me, outside of the Bible, they are the most precious words ever penned; I will treasure them in my heart for as long as I draw breath.

A Love Expressed

A Love Expressed

Love letters are a wonderful means of communication; when a couple is apart,  or perhaps is unable to speak the words one wishes to say, or just as a lovely surprise for the loved one.

I was the happy recipient of many such delightful letters in the 2 and a half years we went together before our marriage.  We were in a SDA Boarding school when we met; it was definitely against policy for us to spend much time together.  The time we were able to spend was strictly controlled and limited.  Of course, teenagers in a boarding school must be closely chaperoned. But mere rules will not suffice to keep two hearts apart which are  meant to be together.

Our first meeting was in the summer, at school.  I was there working to earn my entrance fee. It was lunch time, when into the cafeteria came Leland, his brother Norm and their Dad.  I was not sure who they were, but thought maybe they were Lamar VanTassel's brothers.  He had been my Pathfinder leader, and had told me about them.  They went through the boy's line and I went through the girls line.  We ended up at tables beside one another, and Leland pulled out my chair for me.  I had never been the recipient of such a courtesy before, and was impressed.  I said thank you, we smiled at each other and sat down to eat at our respective tables.  I sneaked several glances at him as we ate, and noticed he did the same to me, but no more words were exchanged that I can remember. 

Several weeks later, when school began, there he was again.  Our class schedules did not mesh, he being a junior, and I a sophomore, but we did see each other in cafeteria each day;  always caught each other's eye and smiled. 

A few days after school began, the traditional ASB (Associated Student Body) all school picnic,  was held at Lewisville Park.  We all milled around the central structure, which is still there.  I was sitting on a log talking with my roommate. Leland and his brother and some friends were hanging around the area, standing in front of us.  I could not help but notice him-which I am sure was his intent!  An event was announced on the field below us, and before I could even rise from the log, Leland stood in front of me, stepped gently on my toe, and said "let's go."  That was all it took; we spent that entire happy day together, not yet knowing it was only the first of thousands.  We talked so easily, of many things as we participated in the planned activities.  By the end of the day, when we loaded up on the buses, and went back to the dorms, I was very sure he was the nicest boy I had ever met.
  

Once a week was couples night, when rather than the usual assigned seating, we choose with whom we wished to sit.  Leland asked me to sit with him at the very next Couple's night, which may have been the first one of that school year, 1963/64. I, of course, said yes. We were immediately once again in tune with one another. There was never a lack of subjects to discuss in getting to know each other under the very watchful eye of the faculty members.

Two hearts destined for a lifetime together will find a way to communicate-even when frowned upon.  So began the notes to each other.  Who wrote the first one? Undoubtedly it was Leland, for most girls waited for the guy to make the first official move in those days. I was no exception to that rule, but I do remember making very sure that he knew I liked him!  It was entirely mutual, though, as he also gave me no doubt that he found me very attractive as well

Very soon in our relationship, one of the girls who was in his class came to me and told me to leave him alone. "He will break your heart," she said, "he has another girlfriend in California that he really cares for."  I thought about that, but decided I was here, and she was there, and I would just see what happened.  We must have talked about it at some point, because in one of the  notes he slipped to me very soon thereafter, he told me he had said his good-byes to Lavonne, because he was really liking my company very much. Thus began the relationship with the love of my life.  I was only 15, he 17, but the love we first expressed through those notes has lasted a lifetime.
 

The notes we exchanged while at school, were all on some sort of lined paper, usually torn out of a composition book, or a steno pad.  They were always folded in quarters vertically, then folded into a small square, with the edges tucked into a diagonal fold. They were quite compact that way, easy to carry in a pocket and slip into an eager hand, or ask a roommate to give to his brother/roomate,  who would then give it to him.  Those notes could not be  passed  openly,  for fear a faculty member would demand to see it.
 

There are those who might laugh or snicker at those notes, and at us for being so young and so serious about our relationship.  I would not advise it today, but it worked very well for us.  We wrote many notes to each other,  went to every couples night, and every mixed play period we were allowed to attend  together.  When Christmas time came, the school went Ingathering on weekend  evenings. Different church members deemed responsible, volunteered to take out small groups in their cars, for caroling and collecting money for disaster relief.  Was that an opportunity!  We of course went, and managed to sit side by side in the back seat.  It was dark, and it was there we exchanged our first kiss.  I don't remember much more about that caroling season, nor who the driver was, nor with whom or what we sang, but I do remember those delicious kisses!

The notes continued through that year, and the next, our last year there. We were enabled to communicate thoughts and feelings, dreams and desires through those notes that we would have been unable to otherwise.  One day a few weeks before his graduation,  we risked a few moments to talk  after class right in front of the AD building.  I remember he told me he was nearly to the first of two major goals.  I asked what they were, and his reply was "to graduate from here, and marry you!"

To be continued....

2015 4/18 His Empty Chair

His Empty Chair

I sit here in our silent house; across the small table between, Leland's chair is empty.  We sat here together so many times just to talk, to read a story or a book together, listen to music or watch an old MASH movie. Now that chair is empty, the imprints made by his arms still showing on the arms of the chair. We sat here together nearly every morning and shared a worship reading, most lately reading through several books of the Old Testament, then starting in the New. We sat here in the evenings, to read or watch something together, and sometimes would bring our supper to these chairs and eat while we watched a favorite movie.

Everything in this house has his touch in some way or another; the furniture we chose together, the pictures he hung on the walls, the candles he so carefully placed so they would be straight, his personal things put neatly away. 

His watch, glasses, keys and wallet lay on the dresser where he last took them off, until I could no longer bear the pain of seeing  them every time I passed by, and put them in a drawer. It is such a testament to who he was, this dear husband of mine, now gone.  He was careful and precise and hardly ever mislaid anything.  I, on the other hand, am the opposite; always looking for my glasses or a pen.  He told me several times with a little sideways grin, that if I would keep them on my face, I would always know where they were. Then he would help me look for them.

His clothes still hang in the closet, everything neatly organized and all facing the same way, shirts all together, pants and ties, jacket and hats,  each in its own space.  His shoes are where he last took them off, right on the shoe rack by his step stool seat in the utility room. He assembled that stool, and stained it.    His music,  DVDs, computer, and Kindle all here, where he left them the last time he used them, just a couple of days before his death.  I sat up late the other night, listening to his keyboard music, and looking at pictures he had put on his Kindle.  A gift  he did not know he would be giving me.

The silence screams loss and emptiness.  I still have the impulse to call him when I am out, to let him know I am ok and will be home soon. As his illness progressed, he became a little anxious when I would leave to run to the store, and he did not feel well enough to go.  "Be sure and come back to me" he would say.  "I will," I always promised. 

The huge red valentine balloon he gave me for Valentines Day is still afloat in the corner of the dining room.  We were in the store together and he was driving one of the handicap carts. The aisle was so full of merchandise, I could not walk beside him, so was a few steps in front.  I turned back to make sure he was coming, but he was stopped and seemed to be entangled with that huge balloon.  I went back to help him get loose.  He grinned at me and said "I'm buying this, it's for you."  I love that balloon, the last gift from my Sweetheart. 

He wanted a clock for the living room which he could see from his chair, so my gift to him that last Valentines Day was a clock which we chose together. It has a round face, black curlicues and a pendulum that swings back and forth as it ticks softly in the silence reminding me of those last precious days we had together before cancer robbed us of the last thing it could take; his very life.

He was drafted into the army during the Viet Nam war, and went to Texas for his training.  We communicated only by letter in those days, but I got a wonderful letter from him nearly every day, once the initial induction period was finished and he had a few moments to call his own.  He passed through Portland one day after his AIT training was complete, having been sent to Ft. Lewis in a classic Army Snafu. He called me and said he would be at the train station that afternoon on his way to Ft Irwin, and would have a short lay over.  I got off work early and drove downtown to meet him with great anticipation. He met me with open arms, and I felt as though I had come home to a safe harbor, warm, welcoming and wonderful. How I hated to watch that train pull out with him aboard, not knowing when we would see each other again.

We were married a few months later, and he retained that warm, wonderful, supportive attitude all of our 48 years, 8 months and 19 days together. He came and rescued me a couple of times; once when the engine died in our car when I was on the way home from a school board meeting.  It was dark on that country road, the lights had gone out and I was  afraid.  But when I saw the headlights of his truck coming to get me, I felt safe and cared for.  And loved.  When thanked him, and he said of course he would come and get me any time, any place.  A few years later,  I was again out after dark on a country road, and got a very flat tire.  By then, we had our first cell phone.  But there was no service, so I could not call home.  I was however, able to call 911, which Oregon answered, patched the call through to Washougal police, and they connected me to Leland at home.  Again, he came straight away and rescued me.  Again, I felt safe, loved and cared for. I should say,  more than usual, for he always had the ability to make all of us feel safe, loved and secure with him.

No matter how long a good marriage lasts, it is never long enough.  We had our moments of disagreements, and misunderstandings as everyone does, but our infrequent arguments were quickly resolved and forgiveness freely extended.   I still love him and always will, he was the best of men.  When he would thank me for doing something special for him, I always told  him he deserved it-because he did.

And so, in the midst of the greatest sorrow of our lives, in the huge adjustments we must make to live without him, the mundane chores of life must go on. There is shopping for necessities,  the ever present paperwork, death certificates, social security, bills to be paid,  the kids must keep their own homes cared for, and go to work and school.    Maybe that is a blessing in disguise, better to have work that needs to be done, and take one's mind, if only briefly, away to other subjects. It is only brief however.  There is a pall of sadness in everything we do,  like looking outside through the sheer curtains which Grant termed "lingerie for the house." 

I have learned that there are no human words to make this better.  The Blessed Hope is often spoken of and invoked,  I am grateful  and comforted by that.  However, it does not really soothe an aching heart full of grief or fill the huge void he left, for these realities are here and now.  The Blessed Hope is future, and while I believe and trust in that with all my heart, it does not  take away the sorrow today, only time will do that-so I am told. In the meantime, the days are long, and  passing slowly. It

has been 25 days since Leland died;  it seems a life time.

I knew it would be lonely when he was gone, that my heart would ache, and tears would come unbidden at any time; that was already happening.  But the silence, the emptiness, the loss of his companionship; so dear and close for 52 years must be experienced to be understood.   The void is palpable.   Family comes, and friends, and pastors, for which I am  grateful.  The kids have been wonderful, and assure me often that their homes are open to me at all times. I appreciate that, and I do spend a lot of time with them.  But then they must go back to their responsibilities, and I must learn to live alone for the first time in my life. Facebook

2015 March 29 -- Our Last Moments With Leland

2015 Sunday March 29-- Our Last Moments With Leland

As thunder rolled and lightning flashed, Leland took his last breath. The skies wept with us for a few moments.  Then the most brilliant rainbow any of us had ever seen appeared in the eastern sky;  a full double arch with repeating colors, the sky almost glowing inside the arch.  A gift and a promise from heaven; a measure of comfort on this worst of all days.

The love of my life, the father of our children, my best friend, companion, the steady rock we could always count on to fix broken things or broken hearts, was gone, and we could only hold each other and weep, as his last gift to me, a huge red valentine heart balloon, swayed gently in the corner still afloat.

The Hospice nurse came, the paperwork was signed, and we prepared him for the last part of his earthly journey. The nurse helped us dress him, and I combed his hair. Cherilyn removed his wedding ring, which I gave to Mark. He lay there, still and at peace, as though he would open his eyes at any moment, smile at us, and ask how long he had been asleep.

Too soon the undertakers came, and after more papers were signed, they transferred him to the gurney, placed him in the bag, zipped it to his chest, then thoughtfully covered it with a nice patchwork quilt.  They stepped outside then, to give us a few more moments with him.  We gathered around him with tear streaked faces, and somehow Chaunda led us in singing Amazing Grace in a remarkably strong voice. I reminded everyone that his dearest wish was to be reunited with all of us in heaven, and all of us agreed we would be there.

Then Matt prayed for him and for us all.  One by one each said good by.  Then I kissed Leland's dear face one last time and with breaking hearts, we let him go. Grant stood at attention and saluted our husband, father, grandfather and veteran, showing highest respect from one young soldier to an old one. One of the worst days of our lives was over. The battle was lost, but not the war. He went to sleep in the full assurance of God's love, and with absolute confidence that he will awaken to spend eternal life with Jesus and all of us.

I am so very grateful for our children, natural born and "adopted." They have been so wonderfully helpful and supportive, as we cared for Leland together through his last couple of days. Tina ran the kitchen, keeping us fed, making sure we all ate and drank enough fluids.  Todd shared the whole experience, looking after Phoenix and supporting us all with hugs and his presence.  Dawn took some very sensitive, beautiful photographs so discreetly we did not even realize she was doing so.  Matt, Chaunda's boyfriend, was here through it all, cleaned up the kitchen that last night while we were all incapacitated by grief, and stepped forward to pray for us when none of the rest of us were able to.

Leland's memorial service will be held on April 25, at 3 pm at Riverside Church in Washougal, WA. There will be a reception immediately afterward. Seating at this venue is limited, so PLEASE RSVP to Del or myself so that arrangements may be made for extra refreshments and seating if necessary.

February 10, 2015 Hospice

February 10, 2015 Hospice

Leland entered the Hospice system on January 27th.  One of the nurses came to the house for an intake interview, then Wednesday the 28th, we met his assigned nurse, Gina.  We picked up his "comfort pack" at the pharmacy and he began the program.  It was a little disconcerting to see meds labeled "for end of life discomfort or anxiety".  The anti-nausea drugs were essentially the same, in higher doses, which were largely ineffective.  He became progressively worse, we were not able to go to church on Sabbath and by Sunday night he had kept nothing on his stomach since early that morning.  Each time I called Hospice, they were very responsive, but by Sunday night when I called and told them "this just isn't working", we were told to bring him to Ray Hickey Hospice House to get the nausea under control.

We arrived there at 10:15 pm. We were immediately met by staff who took us to his room, got us settled, and brought in his medications.  They have an excellent patient to staff ratio, their teams consisting of 1 nurse and 3 CNAs for 6 patients. They answer the call lights promptly, with very little waiting, very kind, friendly, helpful and technically excellent.  Evidently most of the patients there do not eat much, so there is no kitchen with working staff, instead there is a nutrition room which is stocked with easy to prepare foods such as frozen potatoes, eggs, fruits, juices, crackers and such.  The CNAs prepare any food desired any time of day and bring it in.

The nausea continued all night, but by morning Leland felt like eating a little, so they brought him some food, which was a mistake, as his stomach immediately rejected it.  They then told him his stomach needed to rest, they changed his meds again, trying new ones each time, but nothing worked until by afternoon on Monday they accessed his port, put in an IV line and and injected Zofran into the line.  By evening he was feeling actual hunger, a sensation which had been replaced by nausea  for the last two months.   He had a small amount  of chicken-flavored broth with a couple of soda crackers; it tasted good to him and he kept it down.  Sometime in the middle of the night, he asked for a banana, ate most of that and kept it down too.  On Tuesday morning Dr. Chowdhury, Hospice Director,  told us we could go home later in the day.

 We arrived home around noon to find a lovely surprise on the doorstep consisting of potato soup, artisan bread, home made candy, flowers and a leather-bound book, Jesus Calling, from three of our dear friends at Riverside Church, Dottie, Lynda and Barbara.  Two more precious friends came to visit from Goldendale, Nancy and her daughter Amy, so we had lunch together as the house-keepers Todd and Cherilyn sent over, cleaned the house. We have been the recipients of so many kindnesses and thoughtful deeds; Mark and family cleaning and organizing the storage room and garden shed, Ken Line repairing sheet rock damage so painting can be done, visits from people we love, cards, emails, phone calls,  and more than I can recall right now.

Leland has been feeling so much better since that Tuesday, it is as though he came back from the brink of the grave.  We were able to have a family birthday party for him on Friday night for his 69th birthday.  All the family was here, including Dawn and her daughter Ena.  Except for Cherilyn who was home with an awful sore throat and fever. We were all disappointed she was not able to be here, and she was too.  Dawn and Chaunda took lots of pictures of the balloons and the rustic but simple and elegant center piece Chaunda created. Dawn did a video of everyone saying Hi to her, capping it off with Phoenix saying Hi Mommy! which was the highlight. It was sent immediately from Dawn's Smart Phone, so Cherilyn was able  participate a little anyway. And Leland was able to eat everything and enjoy it!

Today we will meet the Hospice Chaplin, there are errands to do, bills to pay, which Leland is teaching me to do,  and general chores.  Not so much laundry as has been, as the night sweats creating piles of towels, sheets and t-shirts seem to be getting less thanks to another medication change. We now dealing with lack of sleep for another reason, one of his meds, a  compounded combination of several anti-nausea drugs in a suppository called "The Bomb" which bypasses the stomach, has Dexamethazone in it, which is keeping him pretty wired.  He is sleeping only a couple or three hours at night, and very short naps in the day.  I will call our nurse today and ask if that amount of Dex can be lowered to let him get more sleep.

As he edges closer to to the end of his journey, the Bible promises become ever more precious to both of
us, and the comforting presence of Jesus more real with each passing day.  We are so grateful for the knowlege of our loving Saviour, for the promises of eternal life, for love of family and friends through this journey which would be unbearable without it. And we are grateful for those who minister through the Hospice program, wonderful resources made available to those who would  suffer ten-fold without it.

2015 January 25 Major Decision

2015 January 25, Major Decision

January has been a difficult month.  Leland caught a virus, fever, cough, and more weakness.  To add to that dismal picture, his PSA shot up from 36 to 464.  Because he has been so ill, his anti cancer meds were all discontinued, hoping it would alleviate the nausea and vomiting.  Finally Dr. Eshaghian told us he believes the nausea, fatigue and vomiting were all signs the cancer is rapidly growing.  The one option we have left is the Cabazitaxel chemo, much harsher than he has had before, side effects of fatigue, nausea, vomiting, and worse.  Dr. E. does not feel that Leland could survive the onslaught to his system since he is already so compromised.

He has had 2 blood transfusion, and 3 infusions of fluids and anti-nausea medications.  Dr. Liss's nurse was able to help us with the proper dosing schedule for the 3 anti nausea meds, and he has had two wonderful nausea-free days.  

We saw Dr. Liss on Friday, she told us she has a really hard time prescribing cabitaxol for anyone, because the side effects are so devastating. .  Leland's choices were to try the chemo, or just say enough is enough and opt for Hospice.  Dr. Liss told us she believes he has maybe 6 months left.

We have been facing this reality for some time now, and as he grows weaker, it becomes more obvious to everyone who sees him.  We have talked about this for some time; the first of these conversations seemed surreal-this cannot be happening.  But as we have been forced into reality, the conversations have become easier. We still have to hold each other and cry from time to time, but we are also able to face what must be and make the necessary plans.

We will see the Hospice people on Tuesday of this week.  We are assured this will make managing these last months easier, which will be a blessing.

Our kids are struggling with this, but they are a wonderful help and support.  We were all able to celebrate Tina's birthday together last evening at Cherilyn and Todd's home, and we had a wonderful time.  As late as Thursday, we had thought we would be unable to participate, but Friday was the turning point for the nausea, and Sabbath was good too, so we were able to go.

The pastor from Riverside Church came to visit us last week, and offered to be our pastor.  He was so kind and encouraging, telling us he had lost his 17 year old daughter to cancer several years ago.  But he termed it a temporary loss, which was a good way of putting our lives here in perspective-they are all temporary right now.  The shadows in the valley are lengthening, but we are very sure Who is leading us, and where. Furthermore, we know will be together again when all sickness, trouble and grief are in the past.  Let's all be there!