Christmas with a Missionary

Missionaries from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints sacrifice a lot. Young men, "elders" commit to serving 24 months. Young women or "sisters" serve 18 months. They voluntarily leave their home and families to go to a place that the leaders of the church prayerfully select for them. I know of a young woman that opened her mission call today. She turned in her paperwork the weekend before Christmas and she has learned that she will leave in March to serve a mission in Korea. It's a crazy whirlwind once the mission process begins.
Keely turned her paperwork in the middle of June. She opened her call on June 21, 2014. She entered the MTC (Missionary Training Center) on Sept 10, 2014. The summer flew by. We bought clothes, a bike, a luggage set and various sundries all in preparation of her year and a half in Orlando Florida.
We went through the Portland Oregon temple for Keely's first time through the House of the Lord. We also visited the Seattle temple and were sealed as a family for all eternity. Once we arrived in Utah, we visited the Logan Utah temple and the Salt Lake City Utah temple. It was an amazing journey filled with spiritual moments and family bonding.
The MTC no longer allows family to come in to say good-by. You drop off your family member on the curb. Another new missionary greets them and then whisks them off. That worked well for us. Keely and I had traveled alone from Olympia to SLC. We had plenty of time to talk and prepare for that moment. I felt happy when I said good-by. I knew at that moment that we would be okay and that she was where she has always planned on being. What a relief.
Keely was at the MTC for 12 days. The missionaries stay longer if they learn a foreign language. Keely speaks English on her mission. Even though that seems obvious, there are missionaries in Orlando that speak Spanish and Haitian. 
She was allowed to call me from the SLC airport waiting to board the plane to Florida. It was a great phone call. She sounded excited, energized, scared and happy. It was quick but it was great to hear her voice and the sense of enthusiasm. I was happy for her.
Now I was well aware that our communication would be limited.Missionaries are only allowed to call home on Christmas and on Mother's Day. I was prepared for that. I know that she can more easily concentrate on her service and mission work if she does not have external distractions. I even understand and respect that I cannot friend her on Facebook even though she has a missionary page with her Ipad. I respect and obey the instruction that we are not to message back and forth on Mondays when she writes her email. As hard as that is for me, I get it.
So Christmas for any missionary family is a glorious day because you get to speak to your missionary. People kept asking me if I was getting excited for the call. I didn't really know what to expect so I tried not to allow myself to be excited. Usually it is done face to face via computer if your missionary resides where technology permits. Jack and I were able to Skype with Keely. She contacted us just after 4 PM on Christmas, 7 PM her time. As soon as she saw us, she started to cry. I was prepared for that. We were given 40 minutes to chat. There is a timer on Skype so you an keep an eye on your time. We mainly talked about her mission. She has only seen her mission president 3-4 times since she has been there since she is about 1.5 hours from the mission office in Orlando. The area that she and her companion tract is 7 miles from where they live. So when biking they have to bike 7 miles each way to meet members, investigators or knock on doors. They are well fed by the members and the woman whose home Keely was calling from, assured me that she would be driving them back to their place that night. She is eating meat and doing well with that. She loves what she is doing. She has never been scared and feels people overall are friendly. Then the time started to tick away ever so swiftly. Keely seemed to panic a little when the time was almost up. She began to cry again. Only this time it was painful. I think she was crying because she didn't want to say good-by. We won't talk again for 5 months. And that will be 40 minutes again. Not much time to fill each other in about our lives. 
I asked her not to cry. It was breaking my heart because I knew there was nothing I could do in that moment to make it better or easier. I ached for her. I remembered my first Christmas away from home. It's hard. You are supposed to be with your family on Christmas. And when you're not, it hurts. I understand that. And of course it doesn't feel so great at home either. I miss her. I wish we could have had more time. Christmas and Thanksgiving were meager for Jack and me. There was something, no someone missing.
But I can't allow myself to dwell in sadness. I am proud of my daughter and the choice she has made. I know this time will fly by and she will be home in the blink of an eye. And I am privileged to receive emails from her weekly. And her written words are like music to my soul. I feel so close to her. She expresses herself just as if she were talking to me. And that makes me happy. I feel her personality in every sentence. And she sends pictures. I have seen her Bell's palsy nearly disappear and her gorgeous smile return. I see the landscape of Cocoa Beach and Rockledge. She lives in a gorgeous area with people that surround her with love and support. I am not worried about her but I miss her.
So that Christmas call was wonderful and hard.  I remember when I first dropped Keely off at preschool at the ripe old age of 2 1/2 that she never looked back. I was jealous of the parents whose children clung to them with tears in their eyes. Keely's teachers assured me that Keely didn't do that because she was well adjusted. Now I know that she loves what she is doing and that she will bring souls to Christ. My wish is that she will keep moving forward and enjoy every moment as she gives her time, her talents and herself to those that she serves.

3 years gone by

2011 was a hard year. We watched Kenny grow weaker and weaker. We were in the hospital more than I can count. We struggled alongside him as he made decisions to try to prolong his life while oftentimes destroying the quality of his days. It was difficult to watch. As a nurse I've watched this dance with death play out countless times before but now it was in my home, my family. The stakes were higher than ever before. I wanted to have my kids emerge as unscathed as possible. We were in a battle for their dad's life and we were losing.

Kenny was diagnosed with stage IV rectal cancer in June 2009. We visited oncologists and surgeons in Olympia, Seattle and Renton. We decided that the care he could get in our own backyard was as good as what was offered in the big city. And not one doctor sugarcoated our situation. From the get-go we knew all options were palliative not curative. That meant that we would try to prolong Kenny's life but there was no cure. He would not survive this.

He endured two and a half years of chemo, radiation,surgery and ablation. He suffered through every chemo treatment which he received every 2 weeks with the exception of a one month break period. We knew the chemo nurses and the oncology floor staff better than we knew our extended family. We saw these professionals regularly.

He fought the good fight. More than I wanted him to. I thought the agony he endured was too great a price for him and for us. He had physical pain with constant nagging nausea, an abscess with a drain that persisted for weeks,no months. It was awful.

Yet he didn't want to give up. I once asked him what his goal was. It was to see Jack graduate high school. We had 5 years to go at that point. Kenny died when Jack was in 8th grade.

I often say that his dying was much harder than his death. Seeing a once stubborn, quick to anger, not afraid of anything man become frail, tender and humble was overwhelming. The time he was given definitely helped ready him for his passing. While he never wanted to die, he did become accepting of his fate.

So renal failure was his ultimate downfall. Or so they say. The last time we went to the oncology care and saw Kenny's oncologist, his lab work was off. He was in kidney failure. Needless to say, his chemo was cancelled and we were told to get him directly admitted to the hospital. Once there, his kidneys never completely recovered. They hydrated him with IV fluids and his numbers rallied a little bit before we were finally told there was nothing more to be done. Kenny's mental state was poor at that point and I became the decision maker and spokesperson. 

They talked to us about hospice. He had never wanted to die at home. I asked for an inpatient situation. There was none. So against my will and Kenny's wishes, he was sent home to die. His biggest fear was that he would die in pain so I knew I could help with that even though I often felt powerless in his end of life care. They told me it would be fast. 

He came home on a Saturday. Hospice admitted him on Sunday. The nurse told me that based on his heart rate and mental state, she thought he would be gone in 48-72 hours. He hung on for another 36 days.

That time was awful. We were richly blessed by friends and family that sat with Kenny, fed us, distracted us, prayed for us, let me sleep, let me work, let me out for a day of Christmas shopping. I will forever be grateful for all those that ministered to us. 

Kenny's death was quiet and seemed peaceful. His last breath was taken during a Beatles' tune, very fitting for him. There was no struggle, no gasping for breath, no furrowed brow. He had Cheyne-Stokes breathing for about 2 minutes and then he was gone.

And now three years have passed. Some moments on his final days seem crystal clear as though it happened last week yet most is a blur. I suppose that eases the heart a bit.

My family has survived. Keely is on her mission in Orlando, FL, Jack as a junior in high school. And me, I work days at a computer. Our lives have changed, mutated. We have for the most part found that new normal of life without Kenny. Most days are good. Some days like this one are hard.

We were sealed as a family this summer. We have the opportunity to be an eternal family. I hope it plays out the way that I see in my mind's eye and feel it in my heart.

I pray that Kenny has found peace. I believe that he is being taught, just as I am, of the Lord's plan for us. I pray that he accepts that plan. I strive for a forever family and will try to live each one of my days living up to my end of the covenant.