First You Need A Passion

The Little Girl from Emporium has a passion for her hometown.

FIRST YOU NEED A PASSION

Do not let the word "Mentors" in our name put you off.  Hometown Mentors, in the mind of the founder are people still living in Emporium, as well as those who lived there at one time and now live elsewhere in the world, but maintain a heart for Cameron County, nonetheless.

All these "mentors" have a certain passion for their hometown.

Where there is a PASSION for a worthwhile cause, and there is a WILL to create a nonprofit to benefit that passion, there is a WAY for the nonprofit to become reality.

It takes at least one person to act on that passion and BEGIN to create a nonprofit corporation.  If no one moves to begin a plan, they may forever say, "Someday I'm going to....." or "I wish I had...." and the opportunity may slip by without the nonprofit 501(c)3 ever coming into fruition.

"Begin", they say, "the rest is easy".

So, remember, the first thing to have, when starting a nonprofit, is a huge passion for a worthwhile cause.  The first thing "to do" is to make a business plan and run it like a business, not a hobby.

Passion, as defined by Miriam Webster, is: "a strong liking or desire for or devotion to some activity, object, or concept".  

Passion is also defined as: "the sufferings of Christ between the night of the Last Supper and His death", as well as, "sexual desire".

So, as you can see, the word passion has very strong connotations.

If not for an absolute passion for my hometown, it's people and my parents, Hometown Mentors, Inc. (HMI) would never have come in to reality.  Frankly, creating a not for profit, or as I prefer a "FOR PURPOSE" organization is way too much work, unless you have that drive and passion.

My passion for the cause was so strong that when I talked about HMI and what we wanted to create for Emporium, it was as if a soap box magically appeared and plopped down in the center of the room.

I would take my stance on top of that pedestal and begin spouting off.  The speech would go on and on, as long as the listener would allow.  Usually, the listener nodded in agreement with my speech, giving me more confidence and so the words would get faster and faster and the speech went longer and longer while my voice got louder and louder.

Even though I knew in my mind what I wanted, the total concept did not come out of my mouth in an organized fashion to let others know the totality of the vision.

Have you ever wanted something so badly, but you were afraid to start it because you knew if you started it, that it might fail?

I just could not get it all down on paper.  There was the desire to encourage the current residents of Emporium that they were not alone in this world.

Then, there was the desire to encourage the students that there were many opportunities in the world for them.  Others had learned various careers and whatever the student wanted to do in life, we could find a mentor with the same small town background that could lead them along a path.  This path from school to a successful career would be much shorter if there was someone who had already taken the long route with all the pitfalls and mistakes.

Then, there was a desire to help get more technology into the area.  Many many people, by this time, were using computers and the Internet every day.  This was not the case in rural areas of the country.  Much of that had to do with the lack of reliable bandwidth to keep your computer on the Internet.  Also, people had to teach themselves how to use a computer and the Internet, due to the lack of training in that area.

There was also the desire to help older people maintain their independence longer by putting an easy to use video call device in homes of the elderly in Emporium.  The idea was that, eventually, it could be connected to emergency services and their families that lives hundreds, if not thousands of miles away.  Staying connected is important to the state of mind and independent thinking.

I saw a huge potential that this nonprofit could go state wide.... NATION WIDE!  It was while looking at how much work must go into the formation of a corporation and the 40 page application to actually be certified as a nonprofit, where I lost confidence that it could be done.

There was another reason that I was dragging my feet.  I had owned a retail store in the 1970's and 80's that failed miserably, in the end.  The LAST thing I wanted to do was to start another business.  There had to be another way to help Emporium, I thought, but for the life of me, I couldn't find a way to bring funds into this small town without forming a 501(c)3 charity and I certainly did not have the financial wherewithal to do that.
But I did have the passion.

I believed that there was a good amount of grant money sitting in the coffers of the state and federal government. Foundations and corporations also have monies available to assist rural communities and places where the population is under-served.  Emporium and Cameron County are definitely under-served by the government because of the small population base.

There are many people, whose faces are forever young in my minds eye, with whom I had gown up and who learned perseverance and integrity (character) while living in Emporium.  These people had gone on in life to make a name for themselves.  They also have a love/passion for their hometown.  Surely, these people would like to help and give back to this worthy cause.

The idea was that these people might be willing to give donations to a nonprofit that would have a focus on bettering their hometown and encouraging her in to the future with projects like gardens in town or playgrounds or sponsoring the recognition of our past teachers and group mentors?

Government grants, as well as foundations, require an entity to have a 501(c)3 nonprofit status to apply for most grants.  Therefore, if we were to bring grant money in to Cameron County, then we had to have the nonprofit corporation certification.

We also needed the charity status from the IRS in order for people to receive an income tax deduction on larger donations, over $250.  I had some work experience working with boards of directors in for-profit corporations, during my career in administration, and the wheels in my head just kept turning round and round on how to get some of this grant money in to Emporium/Cameron County.

The first step was an experimental project that would set up the manor in which HMI might work, going into the future.  We found a project right away that used volunteers to design and build meter box covers that would be placed on parking meters in Emporium during the holiday - no pay season.

Through a conversation with the Cameron County Chamber of Commerce, we found they had been trying for a couple years to find a more decorative replacement for the plastic bags on the meters downtown.  She envisioned wooden boxes to cover the parking meters that would be durable enough, not to blow away and that could be used for a number of holiday seasons.

This was my first "something" for Hometown Mentors to "fix".

For the solution, I called my most beloved "hometown mentor" and my "go to guy" for anything I've dealt with in life ... My Dad.  So, I guess you can say that Ken Ostrum was THE first official member/stakeholder in Hometown Mentors, Inc. (HMI) ever!

We talked about the problem and, being a retired electrical engineer from Sylvania, he began his "problem solving".  Problem = wooden box cover design, requiring measurements of the subject meters to find the right sizing for the wooden boxes.  He suggested the second hometown mentor, Ken Byrns.

Step One:  DESIGN... We contacted Ken Byrns, a long time friend of my Dad, who said that he was on his way out of town, but could take the measurements and make the design when we got home.  However less than three hours later, we had a draft design, on paper, for a box that would cover both the one and two headed meters in down town Emporium.  The project had merit and now had a place to begin.

Step Two:  CUTTING THE WOOD... We contacted my old science teacher, the Late Calvin Hugar, because his hobby was woodworking and we thought that he would have the tools and knowledge to choose the wood and cut the pieces to be assembled.  Ken Byrns had also counted the meters and there were over 100 boxes needed to complete the project.

Step Three: PURCHASING WOOD... Since HMI literally had no treasury, we paid for the wood with a donation of $188 from my Dad.  HMI later paid it back.  Mr. Hugar cut the plywood into five or six pieces, as per the design. These covers were able to lock into place so that it would make it harder to be vandalized.  He did this labor at no cost.

Step Four:  ASSEMBLY... A fourth hometown mentor volunteered to assemble the boxes as a community service project.

Step Five:  DECORATING... By this point, our project had become known around Emporium and the Chamber hosted "family painting parties".  Some of you will remember that the pictures on each box were "coloring book" picture outlines stenciled on the boxes.  Families and any member of the community were invited to paint them, then they would be water proofed and the borough crew installed them on the meters.

This first Hometown Mentors project was "in the books" and it did exactly what I had envisioned.

The project itself brought the whole town together to accomplish "something" and it was fun. The meter boxes even made the pages of the local newspaper, The Cameron County Echo and many of the painters took credit for their work by signing their meter box for posterity sake.

It has been many years since the meter boxes were made and they only lasted a few years because we made an error and did not seal/waterproof them as well as we should have.  We should have done maintenance on them after each seasonal use, but we didn't.  These are lessons learned.

What a wonderful memory this is for the history of Hometown Mentors.  It also proves that Hometown Mentors are NOT people coming in to town trying to teach or change anything.  Hometown Mentors are those people in Emporium, or not, who see a need and who band together to fix the problem that needs fixed.

You see, the highest degree that I have, is a high school diploma from Cameron County High School.  As it turns out, that's the only degree I ever needed in life and in order to create this corporation. 

It was a passionate heart for my hometown that started the brain thinking.  

Following posts, will show other wonderful-fun projects where Hometown Mentors, Inc. began to shine in Emporium and Cameron County.

Subscribe to this blog to see more history of the HMI corporation.  

Hometown Mentors a "STATE-OF-THE-HEART CORPORATION"

The Little Girl from Emporium starts thinking

By Cathy J. (Ostrum) Swarmer

These chapters are part of an eBook about the formation of the nonprofit charity, Hometown Mentors, Inc. 

This unique 501(c)3 nonprofit corporation has done some special things over the years that have brought many smiles and some encouragement to our mentors of the past as well as to the residents of the future.  

The WHO, WHAT and WHEN are integral to the "vision theory" and purpose for HMI.  Each component was a puzzle piece in the beginning, which took form, when gathered together, to create the charity as it is today.  

I don't believe in coincidences.  I believe there are only reasons that things happen the way they do and the puzzle pieces had to be connected. 

The theory for a nonprofit started with a passion for the welfare of current residents, along with the nostalgia held for our hometown by the people who used to live there and with whom I grew up.  Emporium now has a population just over 2000 people and, as with other rural towns, the population has diminished over recent years.

Many of my friends and relatives were skeptical about the formation of Hometown Mentors at first, as they thought that it couldn't be done.  All agreed that it was a wonderful idea, however.  

Frankly, this author wasn't sure it could be done either, but went about the step by step tasks of forming HMI with a determination and an attitude of  - "Where there's a will there's a way". 

That is how I proceeded, full steam ahead! Although, at times it felt like our ship was dead in the water, I knew that we were going in the right direction... albeit slowly.  

HMI is the ultimate creation of a "STATE-OF-THE-HEART CORPORATION".

The first puzzle piece had a lot to do with my late Mother.

So, my Mom always said, "Cathy, once you get something in your head, there is no getting it out".  I'm not sure if she thought that to be a good thing or not.

Another thing, both Mom and Dad agreed on, through my life, is the fact that I have always taken things apart to fix them.  Unfortunately, the clock on my Mom's wall oven in 1965 never worked again after I took it apart, but I tried.

Maintaining a positive attitude, persistent determination in life, along with a mind that always tries to find "A FIX" for something, can be quite daunting and tiring over the years.  However, all these traits have ultimately worked together and served me well over the years.

From her many sayings, to the songs she sang for any subject to personal talks of caution through life, my Mother played a very key role in the beginning theoretical science of the HMI concept.  It was such a profoundly memorable role, that I thought for a time of naming the nonprofit organization after my Mom and Dad.  I was reminded, however, by family, that she was a very private person and would not want her name on an organization, no matter the cause.

And so, we start the HMI story on January 27, 2005, at The Cleveland Clinic in Ohio. 

January 27, 2005, had national historical significance due to a visit to Cleveland Clinic by then President, George W. Bush.  


January 27, 2005, is remembered by me and my family, because the Emporium Ambulance Crew came to Main Campus, to take my Mother home to Emporium, one last time. 


Of course there was traffic congestion, while roads were closed and cars were rerouted in order to accommodate The President of the United States.

You have to understand that Emporium is about "fifty miles from everywhere".  It is at least, a three hour drive by car from the Clinic and she was in such a fragile state with so much pain, that no way could she be jostled and shaken by a long drive like that.  In fact, the doctors warned that trying to take her home in our car, would most certainly be fatal. 
So, you see, my Dad was up against a rock and a hard place.

Days earlier Mom made up her mind that she wanted to go home.  She wanted to spend her final days in Emporium, where she was born and raised, and where most of her friends lived.  She understood about going into hospice care, following a long battle with cancer, and asked my Dad, saying, "Please take me home".

That request was not as easy as it sounded to fulfill.  

The health professionals, at Cleveland Clinic, explained that Mom would need to go by ambulance, if at all.  They also explained that the cost would be prohibitive.

Most likely the expense would be in the thousands of dollars because an ambulance and crew for that distance, especially, was a very expensive means of transportation.  Such a long trip would be a huge financial burden that the insurance would not cover, and that is not even to mention the cost of a flying ambulance.  

The remote location is the reason we like Emporium, as it is safely nestled in the hills of north central Pennsylvania, Cameron County, away from many hustle and bustle struggles of urban life.  

The remote location is also the reason living in Emporium can be challenging in times of health emergencies, because it is truly in the heart of the PA Wilds Area. 

Believing that there was a way to take Mom home, Dad contacted the Emporium Ambulance Crew who immediately said that they would come to Cleveland Clinic and bring her home.  Many things have changed in the intervening years, but at the time, the cost could be worked out later and would not be in the thousands of dollars.

So it was, that this date was chosen and they had to fight the presidential motorcade and traffic.  The Cleveland Clinic is a large facility and some roads were closed and traffic rerouted on Main Campus for the president's visit.  It took a little while and a lot of patience, on the part of the driver, but the ambulance crew found my Mom in her room.  

This was an emotional day for all of us.  I was present as they gingerly lifted her from her bed to the gurney and then wheeled her down the hall to the waiting ambulance.  Her prayer was being answered the journey home began.

When Mom was safely on her way down the hall, Dad reached to shake the hand of one of the crew members and said, "Thank you so much.  This means a great deal to us."

The response from this person resonated in my mind for many weeks after that.  He said, "It's alright, Ken.  Emporium takes care of their own."

This would turn out to be an "Ah Ha" moment and the whole outside frame of the puzzle which lead to the formation of HMI.  I thought, "But who takes care of Emporium"?

Emporium, PA Borough

The town is separated from the rest of the state by hills on all sides and Emporium is the seat of the Cameron County Government.  

There is one school district and some students are bused nearly 30 miles to school each day. This is my hometown.  

Next to God and my family, Emporium is my heart.

So, when I heard the words, "Emporium takes care of their own", it resonated in my brain and I wanted to "FIX" something.  


I wanted to make it better.  


I got it in my head, and remember what my Mom said, "Cathy, once you get something in your head, there is no getting it out".  

From this point on, I began turning over the puzzle pieces, one at a time, until the charity, Hometown Mentors, Inc. was a reality and the "FIX" was in.

Are you interested in starting a nonprofit corporation?  I like to call it a "for purpose" organization.

If you are interested in starting a charity for your cause, what is the first thing that you must possess to start a 501(c)3 tax exempt charity?

The answer to that question is clear:  PASSION for a worthy cause.
In my case, it was PASSION for my hometown of Emporium.

If you like what you've read, click on the Follow button on the right side of the page and follow along.  It is absolutely free of charge.  Cathy would be honored.

A list of Cathy Swarmers writings:

therealcathy.blogspot.com

myrealfaithseeds.blogspot.com

travelswithcathyjane.blogspot.com

The Little Girl who lived in Emporium, PA

Forward:  In order to give a clear picture about how and why Hometown Mentors, Inc. was created, we first need to introduce you to the founder and give you the "in-a-nutshell" story of the girl who grew up to create HMI. This unique nonprofit did not just appear on the scene out of the blue.  We will first tell you her story, then in following chapters, the story of the town itself, followed by details of how to create a nonprofit corporation in Pennsylvania. We hope you enjoy the tale. 

Once upon a time, there was a little girl who lived in Emporium, Pennsylvania, a small town in the heart of the endless mountains, where there are more deer and bear than there are people.

It was a very normal thing, in the late 1950's and early 1960's for her family to drive on dirt roads in the woods, at dusk and shine a bright light into the wilderness to see how many deer they could find.  Everybody did it.

The little girl and many neighborhood friends would sometimes stand along side a huge bear hanging by it's legs, many feet off the ground, at the game warden's place, for pictures.  She once cuddled an abandoned bear cub who was only a few weeks old.

Heck, that was nothing.  The game warden also brought 5 or 6 rattlesnakes to her church day camp as an exhibition.  You could see the lumps on his hands where he had been bitten by rattlers once or twice.  It was so cool.

Some days she would visit her grandparent's house, next to the railroad tracks in town, and smell the aroma of sassafras, as her grandfather sat on the back porch to make sassafras tea, from roots he collected in the woods that day.  Sassafras is a lot like rootbeer.

Some days Poppy came home from hunting, while still dressed in his orange hunting clothes, holding a turkey by the feet with its huge wings spread out, as if trying to fly upside down.

When she was eleven or twelve, she joined the Sylvania Rifle Club and learned to shoot a .22 rifle at the range, up Plank Road Hollow.  That's where she got her little trophy for marksmanship.  She went hunting at 14, with the preacher and her dad,  and shot a deer.  But, when she got home with it, her kid sister called her a murderer and she never went hunting again.

This little girl had the best Mom and Dad in the world and, life was all about church and grandma's house for Sunday dinner, youth organizations and family picnics at Sizerville Park.  She was content and happy and then she started "adulting".

That is when her world began to change.

She graduated from high school, taught Bible School for a few weeks on an Indian Reservation in Middle Verde, AZ.  She worked at the court house, met a Marine from Wisconsin, got married, adopted a dog and a cat, went through years of infertility, adopted 2 girls and wrote an article about the adoption triad for a local magazine.

Right after that, late one night, a drunk driver hit her thirty-seven year old husband of fifteen years, while he walked alone a country road.  She grew up immediately and became a caregiver to her brain injured husband.  The little girl became the woman-of-the-house at thirty-five years old, while she raised two girls, aged 3 and 9, at the time.

This girl - now woman - from Emporium, went on day by day, trying the best she knew-how, to get along in life, with life and in spite of life.   After a time, she got very tired and emotionally drained. She wasn't in Emporium any more, Toto.

Eleven long years passed with full time work, frequent visits to the doctors, mobile therapists, psychologists, raising two wonderful daughters, parent teacher appointments at school and trying to stay away from angry outbursts directed at her from the new personality of the man who now occupied her husband's body. There was a dirty house that she never had time to clean, tears in her bedroom, so no one would see her cry and putting up a good front to her extended family and church family.  She tried to stay content but inside she was tormented.

She worked at a full time job and was laid off because of the number of times she came to work late, in tears and the number of doctor appointments she had to attend.  Her boss said that she was bringing down the morale of the office.  She was living this life 24x7, but even her own psychologist admitted that 20 hours a week of seeing patients was all he could stand.  She was up against the proverbial rock and a hard place.

The house that the family lived in for twenty-six years was sold so that the bank would not go through with foreclosure and they moved to a house that was cold and unfamiliar, just in time for her older daughter to graduate high school and go in to the Army.

Her depression grew and, unlike the old song her Mom used to sing, "the grey skies would not clear up".  She wanted to go back to Emporium.

When she was 47 years old, she suddenly packed a little overnight bag with pajamas and the items that she had given her girls on their adoption days and ran away to her parent's house where she wanted to cower in the corner for a while and then start all over again.

But, you can't start all over again, can you?

Somewhere, somehow, there had to be a place where she could recover the peace that she knew while growing up in her hometown, but financially she had to earn enough money to support herself and her younger daughter who was now a teenager.

She took off her wedding ring, put on her CCHS class ring to cover the twenty-six year divot in her ring finger, and ran away again.  This time to the city.

She worked at a store called Nordstrom's in Tyson's Corner, VA.  While she had never even heard of this store, she soon found out that it was a bit "hoity-toity". She was selling tank tops for $50 each!  That was unheard of in Emporium.

This woman from Emporium was good at customer service and many of her wealthy customers said, "Now, sweetie, never let the city take the sweetness out of you".  That sounded sort of like what people wrote in her CCHS 1971 class yearbook the year she graduated.  Maybe she had held on to that character from Emporium.

Some days she floundered and some days she was on top of the world, but all the while, she remembered her sweet hometown, her grandparents, her Mom and Dad and her two younger sisters.

She held on to hope and her purpose in life because of the character and roots that where established in those early years in Emporium.

Fast forward to 2019...  Some nights, when the darkness prevails, sad memories overflow from my eyes, as tears, and I can easily lament all the pain and hardship that life held.  But I snap out of it when I dream about that little girl's early life and the peaceful laid-back little town of Emporium.

I am lucky enough to still have my Dad, who is living in Emporium today.  I go back in time as I sit on my late Mother's front porch swing, on his screened in front porch, not too far from what used to be the railroad tracks.

She was me? I am she?  I lived that little girl's life and I'm here to tell you that Emporium is the best little town in the world because of her people and the character building that begins in that wonderful mile wide valley in the hills of Pennsylvania.

The passion that I have for Emporium, Pennsylvania was the "first dot" in many that we have connected in order to form Hometown Mentors, Inc.

I'd like to tell you about the beginning of HMI.  The story is interesting and something that could be done in any small town in Pennsylvania.  Actually, it could be done in any small town in the US.  This unique 501(c)3 nonprofit corporation, given it's exceptional board of directors, has done some truly great things for Emporium.

They (my family, my friends, the town folk) all said it couldn't be done.   But, they also said to me many times in life, "I don't know how you do it.  I wouldn't be able to get through all this."

We all have to WANT to do something.  Do you have a passion for your hometown?  Let me show you how easy it might be. The saying goes, "God doesn't send the equipped, He equips those He sends. Read on to learn the story of how HMI came to be a legitimate nonprofit.

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Butterfly Blessings,
The Real Cathy

A Daytona Beach Sunrise

Sunrise Daytona Beach, FL 2/8/19

It is 8:50 AM and already there has been so much action it's hard for me to take it in.
I woke up to watch the sunrise for the second day in a row and, while I was taking pictures, I saw two Mennonite kids walking on the beach.  The lime green and black colors of their clothing was the first thing that I noticed and, of course, the girl's long dress.

Seeing them on the beach was odd, but then they walked back closer to me and, as I spied on them from my balcony on floor twelve, each of them bent down and used their hands to draw a heart in the sand.

As they say, "It wondered me to see them that close to the ocean". I also marveled at what their thoughts must be from living so simply in every day life, to standing on the sand of this expansive body of water.

The "Awe" they must feel!

The "Love" they must have at this moment in time, for each other.  May it last forever in their hearts.

I watched the sun come up until I couldn't watch any more, as it hurt my eyes.  I took pictures but they look like the pictures I took yesterday.

Same sun. Same ocean. Different day.

But it isn't "Same ole, same ole".  It FEELS like a different day.  Then I started getting text messages.

Not good text messages.

My sister writes that my Dad woke her up in the night, shaking and with a fever.  The ambulance was called and they were off to the ER.  He had just been to Cleveland Clinic the day before for a follow up check after having had a kidney stone removed the week before.

At the ER, he was diagnosed with an infection and readmitted to the main campus of Cleveland Clinic.

Here I was, looking out over my balcony railing and admiring God's beauty and young peoples innocence and just that quickly, I had to come back to the real world.  Back to the real Cathy.

Do you think that God gives us glimpses of heaven while we deal with the realities on Earth?

Each sunrise over the past two days, I noticed that the flocks of birds sit on the sand of the beach until the sun rises and only when the sun is above the horizon, they start flying and fishing and chirping.  But until the sun is high enough in the sky, they wait.

They "wait on the Lord".

Isaiah 40:30  "but they who wait for the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint.

Romans 8:25: "But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience."

Romans 12:12 "Rejoice in hope, be patient in tribulation, be constant in prayer."  This is my Birthday Verse.  I was born on 12/12.

Exodus 14:14 "The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still."

Psalm 27:14 "Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord".

While I'm writing this, my sister is dealing with my Dad being admitted again to the hospital with an infection, when they thought he was on the road to recovery.  He is scared, confused and not at all happy.  I'm texting both sisters to say "this" and "that" and remind him that "This too shall pass".

It's so difficult to be so far away at times like this.  But my confidence in prayer says that my Dad will be fine very soon.

Just don't be scared Dad.

I'm continuing to pray for my Dad and watching the ocean as it moves closer to the shore.

Tiny Mustard Seed Matthew 17:20

God moves the moon which moves the ocean and He tells me that with faith only as big is a tiny mustard seed, I can tell a mountain to move.

Therefore, today, I'm telling this mountain my Dad is climbing in his health, right now, to move.... go away.... My Dad will be JUST FINE.

Butterfly Blessings everyone,
The Real Cathy

When it's difficult to write

There are days when it is quite difficult to start writing.  This is one of those days because it is the day after 17 people were killed in a school shooting in Parkland, FL Broward County.

I watched as they interviewed a student who was in the school at the time of the shooting.  She was only a freshman and she said that she lost nine friends to this maniac.  I cried for her, as I listened.  It is unimaginable pain and I'm a writer who "has a way with words". 

Words fail me right now.  This is the eighteenth mass shooting in the US in 2018.  I can remember when I was a freshman the very worst thing that happened at our school was when 4 kids were arrested for having beer in the parking lot.  It felt so wrong then.  Now, after the things that have gone on in schools today, it seems perfectly fine.  I guess you can't go back in time.

I worry.

I have two grandkids in high school right now.  It could happen to them.  And who knows what type of life threatening problem will come up in 15 years when Skylar is in high school?

I worry.

I worry because as a writer, there should be some words that can be written that will protect Ryan and Kayla.  There should be some profound way to "FIX" this problem.  We are meant to keep our children safe.  Protect them and keep them from harms way. 

No child should go off to school in the morning and not be able to come back home in the afternoon. 

The girl in the TV interview was in a creative writing class and they were writing "love letters".  Then pop, pop, pop.... and a fire alarm was triggered so that everyone would go out in the hall way.  The shooter tried to disguise himself and blend back in with the students as they were escorted out of the school.  He went and got ice cream after this senseless massacre. 

So, was he just tired of the "video game"? 

His mother recently died and his father was dead for a number of years.  Can't blame the parents.

What is the answer?  Guns do not kill... people kill. 

I agree that we should all be allowed to bear arms, however, I believe that they should also be licensed and registered, just like a car or a truck or a motorcycle or a boat.  Why not?

The forefathers never intended that people would start shooting children in school.  He should not have had access to guns.

After my first husband's brain injury, I took his rifles to my parents house for a number of months.  He was not mentally able to control his actions and I was cautious about what he could do with them.

In fact, I did bring them back to the house after a time and one day he came up from the cellar with a rifle pointed at his throat.  I took my kids and we drove to my parents house.  Well, that was after he threw himself down in front of the car, trying to bar us from leaving.  Then I had to drive out the side of the lawn which was opposite the driveway so that we could get away. 

So, how does a grandmother protect her grandchildren in this type of environment? 

I don't know.... I can't, really....it has a lot to do with faith that God will protect them when I'm not there. 

This is where we get into another discussion about if there is a God, why does she allow things like this to happen.  The age old question. 

Tonight I don't have words for that either.  Do you?

I'm just sad, tonight.  I don't want to be a writer.... tonight.

Ramblings of the real Cathy

I have always wanted to write, ever since I can remember. I wrote for my Mother's church missionary group when I was just a kid.  It was a marvelous article about the gift of Jesus' love being wrapped in a purple cloak and the ribbon represented something.  I can't remember exactly what I said any more, and I'm sure she didn't keep it, but it was absolutely marvelous, I'm sure.

I even liked the writing assignments in English class in seventh grade.  Especially the time that I researched the invention of "talkies" in the film industry, at the library with the real dewy decimal system and library cards.  And, NO, I don't remember it.  It was way before my time.  However, the topic fascinated me.

 And, as a writer, I fell in love with every word I wrote, in every article I wrote for every paper I wrote and in the order I wrote them. I became very offended if someone wanted to put them in any other order.  (I think that's called "editing") 

Today, I'm over that for sure, I'm just fascinated when I get enough TIME to write. 

It seems I can only write when I'm many many miles away from home, as is the case this evening. I'm alone in our Wyndham Resort in Daytona, FL. which is a two day drive from our home in Pennsylvania.  I drove it myself, in a car with 170,000+ miles on it and, I get to stay for another month!!  I love the way Steve provides for my rest and relaxation.

I started out two mornings ago and reached my destination today about 4:00 pm.  I stopped over night in Fayettville, NC.  According to my recently purchased Fitbit, I got seven hours and 59 minutes sleep last night, while I was by myself. I don't know why I can't seem to ever get eight hours sleep. 

I know why I didn't get eight hours the night before.  Our dog Bella wanted to go outside to poop, three times in the night.  She is a great dog and I'm happy she woke me to take her out, so that I didn't have to clean messes in the house.  I suppose it was also great for the movement record because according to my Fitbit, I got three flights of stairs in, as well.  Awesome.

Steve and his friend Charlie, drove down to Florida about 10 days ago because dirt track racing starts much earlier in FL than it does in PA.  Velousia was the key word of this week.

In addition to Steve and Charlie, Mifflin and Juniata counties in PA, pretty much empty out the racing enthusiasts as they end up here for a couple weeks in February to celebrate the beginning of the race season. 

In my mind, there is no beginning and no end to the racing season. 

I suppose there is a bit of a gap, even if it is only a day or two, because we did find one day, in the middle of December, three years ago, when we could invite all Steve's racing buddies to witness our wedding.

Some people say what do you do all the while Steve's gone?  Steve goes to over a hundred races a year and I'm "left at home" to fend for myself.  Oh, don't get me wrong.  He invites me to each and every race, if I want to "go with the boys", but I'd rather not.  I don't even take a rain check.  I just don't want to go.

Oh, My, What, Ever, Will, I, Do while my husband goes racing?   

Well, there is gardening in the summer, babysitting my grandbaby any time I want, there is working on Hometown Mentors, a nonprofit that I started a number of years ago and maybe line dancing on Friday nights.  Then, there is of course, writing.

I didn't marry Steve to change "his affection" for dirt track racing.  I guess that could be "his obsession".... No, that's not quite the right word either.... "his addiction".... no, none of those work.  Dirt track racing runs through and through Steve's blood stream, as it is in his DNA.  There is no word that gets it quite right.

Steve's Dad, Pete, started racing the very year Steve was born, 1947.  Pete was a champion racer, even after he lost his right foot in a trucking accident and there is absolutely no way that any woman, let alone a woman who loves him, would want to interfere with Steve's life by even suggesting that he stay home from racing, or not watch it on TV, or turn over the channel while he's watching football or hockey.  It's all he knew before marrying me and you can't teach an old dog new tricks, as they say. 

So, get this, he says that when he gets too feeble to climb the bleachers at the track any more, he wants me to promise that I'll wheel him in his chair and sit him just as close to the action as he can get. 

And, if he is bedridden in a nursing home, the TV must be tuned to racing, football or ice hockey.  Not basketball, for pete's sake.  never basketball.  If I can, there should be three TVs with each one tuned to the different sport because he is sure he won't have the where-with-all to work the remote easily.

Anyway, while he is away, I busy myself with lots of things like WRITING, WRITING, WRITING.  That is, when I'm away from home.  If I'm at home something always takes up my private time and I just don't have time to write.  However, I'm getting older and there may not be many years left for me to start, write and complete those books that I've wanted to write for so long. 

When I'm too feeble to type any longer, I'm going to make Steve promise that he will get me a computer that will write what I speak into it.  It has to be able to un-slur the words and make sure that someone plucks the hairs from my face and shaves my chin. 

I don't ask a lot, but I expect that someone will see too it that I'm properly groomed.  As far as TV, just put on an "I Love Lucy" marathon and make it loop 24/7.

I have to find the time to write.  The world is waiting to hear my words.  ha

The Real Cathy

Grateful for this gift from his sister

Note to self:  Create a writing nook at home.  Because when I'm HOME, I have NO TIME TO MYSELF!  Thus the lack of blogging the last few days.  haha  

It was a beautiful day in Wisconsin on Friday, August 18, when we laid Dan's mother to rest.  It was neither too hot, nor too cold and the blue sky embraced some beautiful puffy white clouds.  It was a lot like the weather in a beautiful dream I'll tell you about a little later.

Her ashes were placed in the grave with his Dad and right next to Dan's plot.  It was a very private ceremony, performed by a minister from Saint James Lutheran Church, the church where Dan grew up.  He also went to school at Saint James Lutheran School until eighth grade.  

Although five of us were there to celebrate and place the ashes of his mother, it felt to me as though I were there to celebrate and bury the man I had married in 1974. It was difficult to talk for those tears kept coming back. 

You see, some time after the accident, as his brain healed; Dan's heart hardened and he became a very depressed and angry, paranoid man.  I didn't recognize him most days, worried about him other days and was afraid of him in the last days before I left, but I was married to this person.

His physical body passed away on August 5, 2006 (there's that month again) but my husband really died on August 23, 1989, when he was injured by that drunk driver. It just took a very long time for me to recognize this, as I tried to bring my husband back to life over those eleven years, post accident. 

This day in August, was a day for me to remember the good and mourn the loss of the man I married when I was such a young twenty year old and he was the handsome, dashing Corporal in the USMC.

So many cliches come to mind during times of crisis and through the aftermath.... 

"The Lord never gives you more than you can handle."  

"It's not how many times you get punched down, it's how many times you get back up". 

"People who have loved ones by their side, heal best and fastest".

I don't doubt that these things are true and I've held on to them during difficult times, but I get SO TIRED OF HEARING THEM!

Tears come to my eyes from time to time, as I believe (but don't want to believe) that all of us (my kids, me and Dan) would have been far better off, had Dan's life ended that night on Bailey Lane.  Now, isn't that a fine thing for a wife to say of her husband's demise?  

The difference is that we would not be the same people we are today, had we not had to be strong through this crisis and beyond.  Would that be a bad thing?  I don't know and "You can't turn back time", so I guess we will never know.

When talking about cliches, it was common for me to utter this one about someone I love dearly:  "He has the patience of Job".  But, I had no Earthly idea about the patience of Job.  I had not read the book.  I had only heard the cliche and thought it was a good thing.  

After I read the book, I won't utter that phrase about anyone I care about, again.  "Don't pray for patience." The kind of patience that Job had was not the kind of patience you need while waiting in rush hour traffic.  It wasn't the kind of patience that you need when getting ready for a visit to the dentist or doctor and it certainly wasn't the kind of patience you have right before losing your cool and punching something.

First of all, in the story of Job, God, Himself, brought the Devil's attention to Job because he was such a good and faithful man.  Really???  Being a good guy gets you time with Satan?  Well, you should read that book it sure makes you scratch your head for what he endures. 

At any rate, the ending is where God gives Job back ten times what Satan took from him.  So, it is a good ending, but a severe test of Faith and not patience, in my mind.  Don't wish the "patience of Job" on anyone that you care about.  

I promised that I would tell you about a beautiful dream I had so remember that I married this man because I loved him deeply.  For the first fifteen years we were very happy.  We had issues as others do, but we were happy. 

On August 17, 1974, before God and witnesses, Dan and I made a commitment to each other that we would remain together until death do us part.  My personal guilt, these last seventeen years, was that I could not physically stay with him and in 2000, I walked out of the relationship. 

At that time, Dan moved back to Wisconsin to live with his Mother and Sister.  He had to have someone close to help him day to day.  It wasn't ideal but it was what had to be at the time.  

I never saw him after the day in August 2000, that I asked him to go with me to counseling, in order to save whatever we had left of the marriage.  

He said, "I'm not going to tell anyone what I've been doing." 

That was my queue to leave.

I'm finding that I have to start with the ending and write about things out of order.  Wow - "out of order" - that is sure what our life became after the accident.

On the day Dan died in 2006, I was alone in my apartment in Alexandria, VA and I had a very uneasy feeling that day.  Remember we had been estranged for six years by this point.  

While I was watching TV that morning, suddenly I became very nervous and felt cold and hot at the same time.  Starting at my toes and working it's way through my body, I wondered if I was having a heart attack.  I wanted to run and laugh and then I wanted to curl up in the fetal position and cry.  I was totally out of control for about two minutes.  

Then it was over.

I felt peaceful and sat on the couch for a while, just wondering what had just happened. 

About fifteen minutes later, as I was still sitting on the couch, my daughter called and said, "Mom, Daddy is gone."  

I asked her where he had gone and she said that he had passed away earlier that morning as he was getting out of bed.  They suspected a heart attack.  At that point I suspected that his "energy" or "spirit" had just visited me to pull away from me forever.  We were no longer one in the spirit.

Nearly a month later, as I was sleeping, there came a very vivid dream.  This dream will never pass from my memory.  

The weather was beautiful, just like the day of the memorial service.  The sky was a deep blue and the clouds were white.  I was standing on a knoll of green grass, probably alfalfa, that went on as far as I could see to my left and down the knoll in front of me. 

Off to my right was a large red barn with white trim and a silver roof.  Close by to the barn was a pasture with Holstein cows (the black and white ones).  It was as beautiful as a picture and then I heard someone coming.

When I looked back to my left, coming up the hill was a darkened figure but I could tell by the very recognizable gate in his walk that it was Dan.  

He walked directly to me, never said a word and put his arms around me, giving me the nicest hug and the sweetest kiss that simply made me "melt".  The feeling of peace that came over me was incredible and I did not want to wake up.  As he let go his embrace he started walking toward that barn with the cows and I did wake up.

No... I didn't want to!  Please let me go back to sleep and continue to feel that peace in my heart.  But it was gone.  He was gone.

Evermore, I will believe that it was Dan, visiting me in a dream to tell me that everything will be fine now.  He is in his Heaven and happy.  Was he also telling me that he forgives me for leaving?  I will never know for sure, but that peaceful feeling will remain forever with me.

You see, farming was in Dan's heart and soul.  He grew up with it and worked during our married life for a Holstein farmer.  He always said, "There is no prettier color on the face of this Earth, than black and white on green."

Dan's happy place in Heaven is a dairy farm and I can picture him riding that tractor, singing as he goes to drown out the noise.  Never having to worry about the accident ever again.  

The Real Cathy.

My cousin, Donna, and the rainbow

Since writing and sharing about that horrible moment at the hospital, yesterday, it seemed to me that I had dug a hole in the "pity" realm and it would be difficult to climb out.  This writing was so negative in my thoughts that I contemplated giving up this blog altogether.

As a kid, I couldn't even watch Lassie movies because I knew there would be crying and crisis and drama all the way through.  I tried to tell myself that the ending would be happy, but I just could not deal with the drama.

So, how was I ever going to verbalize what I needed to, without seeming like a victim?  There were some funny things that happened while Dan was recovering and I could write about them.  I may still write about some of the funny stuff.

However, I know that over all, I do not want to live those eleven years of pain over again.  My kids don't need to relive those years because I tried to protect them from the pain while it happened.  And my immediate family doesn't even know some of the stuff that went on, because I did not tell them.  After all, they were dealing with their own stories.  So, what was this writing thing all about?

Why did I feel compelled to come all the way to Wisconsin?  What was it that I needed to say about my life and the pain that this drunk driver put into our lives?  I really didn't know where this was headed.

So, I put up the keyboard and stopped writing for the night.  I did some "retail therapy" and then drove to the cemetery to clean off the headstones!  After all, the baby needed some Oshkosh B'Gosh and the stones needed to be spiffy for the service Friday morning!!

The skies were angry as I drove Rt. 41 to 47 north to Shawano.  Fast moving clouds and storms were in the area with dark clouds to the East.  Then, if I turned around there was blue sky to the West with puffy white clouds moving quickly.  I'm not used to seeing so many miles in 360 degrees around me.  At home, mountains cut off the view for the most part.

After I parked and before I entered the Oshkosh B'Gosh store, I messaged my cousin, Donna.  I know that she is an avid reader and would be able to critique my blog, as I knew she was following it.

My message read, "Hi - I was wondering if you had a chance to read my posts and what do you think?  I need a reader to critique.  Am I doing anything wrong, am I doing anything right?  What do you think?"

The message did not come right away but then after shopping, I received from her, the message that I came all this way to hear.

From her message, I learned that I didn't come here only to write my story.  I came here to prove to myself that it did take strength to get through my life.  It made me realize that I came to Dan's hometown to push away, to bury and to pulverize the extreme guilt that I have carried with me for the seventeen years since I left my husband in 2000.

All those years, I said to myself, "If he is like this next year, I'll have to leave."  Then I heard the little voice in my head, "In sickness and in health, until death do you part."

One by one, I counted off the years to eleven, and each year I stuck it out one more time.  I did this because of stories of people whose spouse was injured or lost limbs or became paralyzed and then the comments from people who said, "If that happened to my spouse I would stay with them for sure.  How could anyone leave their spouse because of an accident, when they are disabled?"

I even made a speech one day at Calvary Baptist Church Sunday School about how Satan was NOT going to pull my family apart.  I would stand by Dan forever because of my vows, before God and in public.  The minister also had me talk to the Sunday congregation about Jonah and my experience with the accident.

Have you ever heard someone say, "Get away from all negative people.  Just put them out of your life."  How do you do that when it is your spouse?

I found myself hoping and praying that he would leave me because, then people couldn't say that I left a sick man.

But then, even after telling the whole church I would, I couldn't stay forever.  One day I melted and broke.  Mentally and physically, I was exhausted, I was human and I gave up.

I walked out the door and went to my parents home.  In fact he drove me there because we only had one vehicle.

From that day, for the next seventeen years, I felt so much guilt that I started to complain to whomever would listen about his treatment of me.  I told the story over and over again about the accident.  I had to turn away from the love I still had for him.  I had to make him my enemy because otherwise, people would talk and blame me for walking out on him.

I had an emotional/mental breakdown.  You've heard of "functioning alcoholics", well, I was a "functioning emotional wreck".  I was even laid off from a job at Penn State because, I was causing a morale decline in our office, as I came in and cried at my desk most mornings.  Employers especially do not understand clinical depression.

When I came out of Oshkosh B'Gosh, there was a reply from my cousin.

In Donna's reply to me she said, (written with permission) "Yes, I am reading them.  It would be easier to critique if it were fiction.  This is your life, your journey and should be written as your thoughts and feelings flow.  If this were fiction, I would tell you that so far I love it, you're holding my interest.  There's laughter and deep sadness and I'm anxiously awaiting the next chapter.  But this is the real Cathy, real life.  I want to hug you.  I want to tell you how incredibly brave you are.  I want to tell you how sorry I am.  I want to tell you how proud of you I am.  So I guess I'm trying to tell you that your words are having a deep impact on me and that is what a good writer does.  I'm not qualified to grade you on the mechanics of your writing.  One of the lines that really stood out to me and I loved was the one about "the tapestry of our lives being torn into pieces"  Not sure if I quoted it exactly.  You are a very talented writer and I hope that someday you will write that novel.  Until then, may you find the peace you deserve and the release of any undeserved guilt that writing this blog can give you.  I know this isn't the reader's critique you were looking for.  Just know that you have my support and encouragement.  You go girl. I love you."

After reading her reply, of course I choked up, this was a week for sudden tears and that always makes me SO mad.  I want to talk when I'm being emotional but sometimes the tears just flow and words won't come out.  I thought about what she said on my trip to Kohl's, my next shopping destination.

As I traversed the store, it dawned on me that I didn't come here to write the negative things. Nor did I come to make amends with Dan for leaving him.  I came here to free myself of the burden of guilt that I carried for leaving him.

Logically, I know I've been forgiven by God.  As a Christian, I know that I'm not perfect but that I am forgiven.  However, I find it easier to forgive others of transgressions against me, than to forgive myself for the stupid/awful things I've done in this life.

I believe in signs and wonders.  I've had a few signs that God has sent my way over the years. But I was floored when I came out of the Kohl's store.

There before me, was a complete rainbow.  A covenant that God made between Him and His people, that He would never again destroy the Earth.  Rainbows have a special meaning for me.

Thanks to my cousin, Donna, and God's rainbow sign, I learned why I made this pilgrimage.

This won't be the final writing in this blog, after all.  It is, however, a turning point for what I'll be writing about.  I hope to hold your attention and give you some things to laugh at, as well as, some things to ponder in your life.  I will write more about the memorial service that happened this morning because it confirmed my beliefs and was a very pleasant experience.

Godspeed,
The Real Cathy

The Cemetery, but I know Dan isn't here

DISCLAIMER:  This post may be too graphic toward the end, in describing events at the hospital for some people.  Please do not read this post, if it will cause emotional pain for you.  It is not the intent.

About an hour north of Oshkosh is the town of Shawano.  It sits on Wolf Lake and is the town where Dan was born on August 16, 1951, and where he passed away on August 5, 2006.

This is the physical destination of my current trip, but I know that he is not here.

Writing about death and cemeteries is not something that I want to do.  I want to write encouraging things for empowerment in life.  I want to make you laugh and brighten your day.  How am I doing so far?

It is said that you have to be sad sometimes to know how good you feel when you are happy.  (ha)

Woodlawn is a very old cemetery and there are mega, hundreds, maybe even a million headstones.  During my visit, I was reminded about the day I was casually talking to my Mom on the phone.

I asked her if she had a nice weekend and she said, "Oh, yes.  It was really nice.  Your Dad and I went to DuBois to the cemetery and we found some headstones that we have been looking for."

You see, this is what a genealogy hobby can do to a person.  They loved walking through cemeteries.  Me, not so much.

In addition to having MANY and varied stone markers, they seemed to all be facing different directions!  In Newton Cemetery, all of the markers are facing the same way and you can look for names, most times without getting out of your car.  Not so with this place.

There is a beautiful chapel in the midst of the graves.  It was built in the early 1900's and honors the men who served our country in the military.

Just outside of the chapel are benches that people can use to sit and contemplate, pray (because the chapel isn't always open) and just be quiet.

Each bench has the insignia of a branch of the service.  Which bench do you think I chose?  Remember from my earlier post?  In which branch of the service did Dan serve?  You must be paying attention.... there will be a test.  (ha)

He absolutely LOVED his time in the Marine Corps.  Yes, that is the one I chose.  Even though I am the daughter of, the mother of and the wife of Army Veterans, at this point in time, I had to choose the USMC.  Semper Fi

After driving down one road and the next in Woodlawn, I realized I would need Dan's sister's help.  Now, here is a story for you, that you may not believe, but it is the absolute truth...

The day before my visit here, I sent a text message to my former sister-in-law.  The text told her that I would be going to the cemetery in the morning and could she help me to better locate the graves by giving me a street address.  The text message went unanswered.

Many years ago, Dan had brought me here to visit his dad's grave and that of his infant brother, Andy.  I thought I knew a vicinity to look, but no luck.  Then, out of all these hundreds of graves I saw the name Lee Gerhard who had passed in 1980.  I knew this man!

Lee, whom Dan called "Bear", was talked about many times.  He had "unofficially" adopted Dan when he was a teenager because he had a few sons of his own (I think 4) and they lived close enough that Dan was always at their house.  Dan thought the world and all of Bear.  A happy memory, but still not my first husband's grave.

When I got back to my car, low and behold (the part you may not believe) I had a text asking if I was able to locate the graves.  She couldn't give me a street name for the location, but said that she would come and show me, as they were not far from the cemetery and had the rest of the day free.

While I waited and was sitting on the USMC bench, I had time to talk a bit to Dan.  (again, is this weird?)  Remember I can't talk one on one to a person, so I guess, not looking at him, I was finally able to say some things that I wished could have been said, so that he would understand them, in person years ago.

I read through some old journal writings that I had with me and realized what I came here to tell him what that I was so sorry.

I was sorry that the drunk driver had hurt him and I didn't just ask him to come to bed that night.

I was sorry that we didn't have more than 15 years of marriage before the accident.

I was sorry that during the eleven years following the accident, my witness to him and my care giving wasn't enough to help him through his depression and pain.

I was sorry that I betrayed him by leaving him alone on July 27, 2000.

I was sorry that I wasn't strong enough to live with him day to day.

I was sorry that he refused to go to counseling with me to save our marriage.

I was just plain sorry for what he had been put through in life.
=========caution======
Brain injured people have different and varied quirks but one of the things that Dan believed was that somehow, I conspired with the woman who hurt him because I wanted him out of my life.  He blamed me for letting him lay on the road that night.  He believed that I wanted him dead.

Hurtful as that sounds, I could logically understand that, were he in his right mind, he would know that was not true.

Dan was in a coma for two and half weeks.  The woman who hit him did stop and seek help, but it took a while to get help there.

In 1989 there were no cell phones and all the phones in houses were connected by wires to the land line.  So she and her husband banged on a couple doors until finally someone let them in to call 911.

What happened was this:  Dan closed up the store we owned at 9:00 pm.  He came home and upstairs where I was reading in bed.  He said he was going out for his nightly "constitutional" and went to kiss our girls good night.

I heard them giggling and then it was quiet.  I rolled over and went to sleep (so you see I was not part of the conspiracy) and was awakened about an hour and half later by a knock on our kitchen door.

It was our neighbor, Nancy, who told me that Dan had been hit by a car.  We stood in the doorway and she asked to pray.  At this time I was thinking perhaps he had a broken bone but I knew everything would be ok.

Immediately, I called my Mom and Dad so that someone could come sit with the kids while I went to pick up Dan at the ER.

After that, my doctor called on the phone.  (Oh to have caring doctors like this today)  He said that he heard that Dan had been taken to the hospital and he was sure that he would be well taken care of.  However, if there was a bigger issue, he would meet me at the ER.

My Mom stayed with the girls and Dad drove me to the hospital.  I remember the night as if it was yesterday because the weather was crystal clear.  So balmy and not a cloud in the sky.  I remember looking at the moon and thinking, Bailey Lane, where he was walking, was mostly deserted, especially at that time of night.  How could a car have hurt him?  How could this happen?

We arrived at the hospital and I was met by a nurse who told me that I could not go back to where Dan was and that Dr. Schell would be out shortly to talk with me.  I was escorted to a small room and told to wait.  I started to realize that this must be more serious than a broken bone, but I couldn't imagine what lay ahead.

Soon I saw Dr. Schell's familiar face, as he came into the room.  He was somber and I complained that they wouldn't allow me to see Dan.

He said, "That's because Dan is not himself right now.  You wouldn't want to see him until they get him stable."

He went on to say that in his opinion it was very critical and that I should call my pastor because he couldn't guarantee that Dan would live through the night.  They were going to life flight him to the trauma center in Danville.

I suppose I was in shock because all these things were just words.  I couldn't understand what was happening, let alone believe this was happening.  It must be a dream... I had to wake up from this dream because I didn't like it.

But it was not a dream.

Soon I called my pastor who came to be with us.

Then Dr. Schell escorted me back into the room where Dan was being treated.  Even today, I can't hold back the tears, remembering.

I'm sorry.... please stop reading, if this bothers you.  I only wish I could stop writing about it, but I can't.  I have to take it out of my head and put it in print.  There HAS to be a reason, that I know not, for me to be compelled to write Dan's story.  This is his story, not mine.

Maybe you have been through something similar and you will not feel alone, now.  I have no idea why this needs to be written.  God knows.

The ER was pretty well open at that time, but as I remember it, the gurney where Dan was laying was the only thing in the room.  I nearly didn't recognize him with all the wires and breathing tubes and neck brace, etc.

I was weak in my knees, the doctor was holding onto my arm.  I went closer to his side and noticed blood from his ear and blood on his face and blood all over.  His blood.  My husband's blood.

Putting my hand to my mouth, I whispered, "Wash his face, please wash his face."

The doctor calmly said, "They will wash him soon.  We had too many other things to deal with right now as they are prepping him for the life flight to the trauma center in Danville. But he is being well cared for."

Perhaps this is harder for me than the reader because I lived through it.  My next post should not be as sad as this and again, I'm sorry to make public something so difficult.  I just feel like it needs to be written and I try to listen to that inner voice of mine.

"Always Leave Them Laughing" is a 1949 musical comedy-drama film, starring Milton Berle.  I agree with the premise, so, how can I leave you laughing?

Here is how.... As I watched the helicopter leave Mt. Nittany, I thought how very angry Dan was going to be (and he could get angry) when he woke up and realized that he slept through a helicopter ride.  (ha)

By the way, I was right about that.

Putting down my writing until tomorrow probably.  The memorial service will be at 10:30 am Central time.  I'm off to get some Oshkosh B'Gosh outfits for my grands.

The Real Cathy

August 16, 2017 would have been birthday 66 for Dan

When planning our wedding day, we chose August 17, 1974, because it was on a Saturday and it was a day after Dan's birthday.  I always told him that, if I was able to remember his birthday, then he had NO EXCUSE but to remember our anniversary.  That worked for fifteen years, until his traumatic brain injury changed him and took many of his short term memories and some of the long term ones, as well.

So many things are going through my head while I'm on this personal journey, but I believe that I'm experiencing just the things that I came all this way to find.  When I began, I knew that I had to be by myself and I had to be close to where Dan lived the last years of his life.

A few months ago, I read (and you know you can't believe everything that you read) that the difference between meditation and praying is this:  In meditation a person tries to stop the thoughts from coming into your mind.  The person meditating makes an "oom" sound and in that way, can not receive thoughts.

With prayer, the person praying pulls thoughts into their mind so that they can process them, give them to God or file them away for future reference.

There is no way that I have to know if this was correct, although it seemed reasonable to me.  But I do know that trying to keep all the thoughts out of my head over the last three days would have caused a pressure build up surrounding the outside of my brain that might have crushed my skull.

I also know that if I listen and receive the thoughts, I can sometimes hear God's Word for my soul.  But, I sure have to listen carefully.

I am so appreciative of my family and want each of you to know how much I am grateful for you allowing me this pilgrimage.  Even though this is a personal trip, my immediate family has shown in their own ways how they are supporting me and truly that I am important to them.

I know that it is not easy to be without me for a week.  (cough cough)  I also know that while I'm away, I remain in your thoughts and prayers.  I'm doing well and will see you soon.

Yesterday, I started my day with coffee and the most delicious omelet, made to order just for me. I had a side order of link sausage a dish of watermelon and I took the muffin back to my room for a late night snack.  Normally, I have a couple pieces of cinnamon toast and a cup of coffee.  Then, after breakfast, God provided someone to "nourish my soul".

You see, for the past 28 years, as of August 23, the night of my first husband's brain injury, I have had a number of crises.  One would think that a spouses brain injury might be enough for anyone, but even after that there was the fact of my single parenthood with all its many joys.  There was trying to maintain the life of a doomed retail business that I had started a year after graduation from high school.  I was also working forty hours a week at a job that gave me a paycheck for "luxuries like food and clothes" and then a bankruptcy and a near foreclosure on the house we lived in for 25+ years, as well as, moving from that house to "downsize" which really meant tearing the tapestry of our family life to pieces.

The last seven years, thanks to my incredible husband, Steve, has been a time for me to take a rest.  There were no more emergency to emergency times in my life and if something came up, he was there as a sounding block to help me process through whatever it was.  Also, he is very generous in allowing me to journey back to the place of my first husband's birth and death.  I believe that Steve "saved my life".

So, people could say that I might be bitter because of all these things.  But I'm not.  God helps pull me out of some valleys and just yesterday morning I'm sure it was God who sent a little message for me.

Do you remember that maid, from my post on Aug. 15, who forgot to empty the trash in the bathroom which gave me complimentary breakfasts?  Well, her name is Jean and I met her yesterday morning as she came in to tidy my room.

At first I was worried that I had caused her some grief by my little complaint about the trash can but she never mentioned it and I sure wasn't about to.  After she had finished making my bed (what a luxury hotel!) and emptying the trash, she was about ready to leave, but made a comment which caused a conversation to start.

She said, "You are really a very neat person.  There is so little to do and it is such a pleasure to take care of your room."

At this point in my post, I can actually hear my husband and my girls laughing big belly laughs at the thought of me being tidy.

So, just stop it!

So I thanked her and told her that this was the first time in my life to be alone for something that was so personal to me and explained just a bit about why I would be here for the week.  I could see that she got tears in her eyes as I was talking.

Then she said that she had buried her husband a number of years ago and just three years ago, her daughter died, leaving a one year old baby girl.  (I thought of my own 6 month old granddaughter) She then talked a little about her daughter and how she felt that her daughter had helped her locate an "Olaf" doll in the store a while ago.  She said, " It was the only thing my four year old granddaughter wanted for her birthday and I couldn't find it. As I searched I got lost in the store and then, in a place where I would never have looked, there it was!  It was on the shelf right in front of me.  It was a miracle."  She lowered her voice and said, "I know it was her."

Quietly, I said, "It's one thing to bury a spouse, but I can't even imagine if one of my girls passed away."  Then I remembered the day that my daughter's best friend was hit by a car in Boalsburg.

Kris and I stood in our driveway with one of our neighbors and prayed that the rumors were not true.  We prayed and cried out loud, to no avail.  She was 16 years old and she was gone.

It was in the days of walkman radios and she was walking with the earphones in, listening to music.  She didn't notice that the light was red, in front of her and tried to cross Rt. 322, when a car could not stop in time and hit her.  Her family was forever changed in that brief moment.

That's the thing about head injury too.  It is a family issue and not just an injury to that person.  So it was with Dan's injury.  Our whole family was hurt that night.  We had two young girls, who Dan and I promised to raise as our own.  This was not supposed to happen.

Well then, I told you to expect some "raw emotion" and I sure was feeling it yesterday.  I'm sorry if my words made you cry, my grandmother always said that sometimes a "good cry" was necessary.

Please remember as you go through this journey with me that I am processing all of this in a short time and that my current life is wonderful.  It is now filled with vacations and cruises and a new grandbaby who is the light of my life.  As I've always been told, "This too shall pass."

So, don't cry.  My story comes out just fine.  As I would tell my kids during violence in a movie...."It's only ketchup."

I'll end here so that I don't lose this while I write my next post about the rest of yesterday's events, while looking for Dan's grave and meeting up with my former sister-in-law for the first time in 17 years.

The Real Cathy