In Remembrance

Cemeteries look beautiful this time of year with decorated graves including flowers, wreaths, balloons and flags adding color and variety to the area. I appreciate having a holiday dedicated to the remembrance of those who have passed and have changed our lives for the better. In honor of Memorial Day, I like to post an article by someone who recently lost a loved one. This year Peggy Martin shared her Tender Mercies amid the challenge of losing her husband of forty-nine years. Her ability to recognize the blessings during this hard time is inspiring. Remembering the purpose of this holiday is to show respect and reverence for those who lost their lives in the U.S. military, I’ve found three thoughts worth sharing.

One of my favorite quotes by Carl Jung, “That which is most personal is most universal.”

This weekend as we honored those who have passed, I thought about the how and why we lost our loved one, is most personal. However, the grief felt with that loss is most universal.

I’ve included five of my favorite quotes concerning grief.

And one of my favorite songs

What’s your favorite quote or thought concerning Memorial Day, veterans, death and grief?

Relating Articles:

Twelve Things I’ve Learned About Grief

Blessings From Grief

Twenty Things to Know About Grief

Tender Mercies Amid the Challenges

Written by Peggy Peterson Martin

My husband, David Paul Martin, age 74, passed away the morning of November 5, 2016 at a Hospice Facility in Las Vegas, Nevada.

It all started with blood clots in early 2016… first one in his right leg, then one in his neck, then two in his left leg. Dave’s Oncologist couldn’t figure out why a 74 year-old man would suddenly start getting blood clots. She scheduled him for a colonoscopy, because he had colon cancer in 2003, and an endoscopy which they were supposed to do the same day. However, the doctor didn’t receive the orders for the endoscopy in time, so he only did the colonoscopy, which was clear.

Then on September 25, 2016, Dave had a stroke and was taken to the hospital by ambulance. He was expected to make a full recovery and released, but he developed pain in his side and back which kept getting worse. He was also unable to swallow solid food. Less than a month after his stroke, he was frustrated by the pain and liquid diet. Unable to get satisfactory answers from his Primary Care Physician, he asked to be taken to the ER. He was admitted and spent eight days in the hospital where an endoscopy was finally performed, which showed a large tumor at the base of his esophagus. It turned out to be stage 4 esophageal cancer and had metastasized to his liver. We found out it was the cancer that caused the blood clots and stroke! Dave was allowed to go home to consider his treatment options.

2016, “Our last family picture,” Dave is in a white shirt and tie while the rest of us are in our grubbies because he wanted to have an obituary picture taken. We used something else, however. The blanket is covering his pajama bottoms!

Feeling a sense of urgency, all seven kids arrived within three days, including our son, David, who had recently moved to St. Thomas, Virgin Islands. This was a beautiful weekend together. Despite his almost constant pain, we shared many tender moments, laughs, tears, and memories. It was also a difficult weekend because Dave decided to forgo chemotherapy which would only have limited effectiveness at best. Hospice was called a couple of days later. Dave was getting weaker, but his wish was to spend his remaining days at home. Unfortunately, hospice couldn’t give him the medication he needed to manage his pain at home, so they transported him to their care facility in Las Vegas. He never regained consciousness once they medicated him. He passed away only ten days after his diagnosis. Though this was a very difficult time, we recognized several tender mercies from the Lord.

A year earlier, our daughter, Missy, and her family surprised us and drove all the way from their home in Charleston, Illinois, to show up at our son, Steve’s house in Herriman, Utah, for Thanksgiving dinner. All our other children were there, and it was the first time in over twenty years that we’d all been together for Thanksgiving. Dave was particularly touched and told Missy, “I’ll never forget this special surprise.”

In June of 2016, despite pain from two blood clots in his leg, Dave and I made a trip to Salt Lake City to see our kids and 23 grandchildren, including Missy and her family who were there on vacation. Jeff and his family from Henderson, Nevada, also just happened to be there for his wife’s family reunion. Our son, Rob, invited us to do some temple work with him. When we agreed, he decided to open the invitation to his siblings as well. Maybe it was Rob’s offer to buy everyone lunch, but all seven of our children and all but two of their spouses joined us in the Mount Timpanogos Temple that day. Having our whole family together was such a special experience, and everyone felt the significance and joy of being together there. It just happened to be our 49^th Wedding Anniversary! This is a memory I especially cherish since we didn’t make it to our 50^th which would have been next month.

As soon as Dave came home from the hospital after the devastating diagnosis, our son, Rob, took off work and stayed at our home for over two weeks, not leaving until after the funeral. I couldn’t have done it without him. He was a rock of strength and faith. He helped Dave with many of his physical needs which would have been difficult for me. While Dave was on his deathbed, we had a sewer flood through our house causing significant damage, both to the main floor and the basement. Rob discovered it and was there to help me bail water, trying to keep it from going into the bedroom where Dave was sleeping. Though we didn’t succeed, Dave never fully realized the extent of what had happened. Rob and some of our other children were invaluable in handling the mess and dealing with the plumber, restoration company, and insurance matters.

A tender mercy Dave had in his final days is that he was visited on two occasions by his deceased parents and brother, Leonard, who was killed while serving a mission for our church in Pennsylvania. This brought him great comfort and made him feel he would be with them again when he died.

Dave never became a burden. It was a pleasure to care for him. Several of our kids stayed in our home during Dave’s last few days. They took turns caring for him at night and spending time with him during the day. He was uncomfortable most of the time and in obvious pain, so it was heart wrenching to feel so helpless, but we were willing to do anything to give him even a moment of relief. His rapid decline and death were both devastating and merciful…devastating because it happened so fast and we felt cheated, hardly knowing how to prepare for or deal with our loss…merciful because he wasn’t made to suffer any longer.

We all feel gratitude for the few days we had with our dear husband and father before his passing. His love of family, great example, words of wisdom, and the blessing of serving him will stay with us long after the grief has passed.

***************

Dave and Peggy were one of the first ones to welcome us to our new neighborhood in Draper, Utah in the year 1996. Our friendship grew as Peggy and I participated regularly in a line dancing class for exercise. We also enjoyed serving together in a women’s organization for our church. In 2002, they moved to a new home in Boulder City, Nevada. Fortunately, the miles between us did not break the friendship bond. I treasure the memory of a few surprise visits when they came to Utah to see their kids. They always left with an open invitation for us to come to Nevada and stay with them. Dave encouraged us by commenting their home was wheelchair accessible. I regret we never made the trip. 

On this Memorial Weekend, I thank Peggy for recognizing and sharing her tender mercies during such a difficult time. I cherish our friendship and appreciate that when we’re together, it doesn’t seem like years have passed. We easily pick up right where we left off! 

 

 

 

The Starved Relationship

Last Thursday, Dr. Matt Townsend, a relationship expert, spoke to a group of survivors and caregivers at the Intermountain Medical Center. He presented life-changing skills with humor, teaching me how to improve my relationships in an entertaining way. I enjoyed his presentation so much that I’ve been listening to his many short videos on a variety of topics dealing with relationships while I work. If you like to listen to fun, uplifting, concise talks, you should check out his website.

A synopsis of what I learned from Matt is that life keeps changing and some experiences change the way we think and feel. Although our experiences may differ, we share feelings of: loss, sadness, insecurity, embarrassment, inadequacy, anxiety and/or depression at some time in our lives.

He quoted Carl Jung, a famous psychiatrist, “That which is most personal is most universal.”

Matt professionally counsels people for a wide range of challenges. Some have financial, fidelity, abuse and a variety of addictions. He calls these problems the smoke rather than the cause of the fire. He states we all have seven basic needs and we feel starved when those needs aren’t meet. When we feel starved, we don’t want to feed the other and the bond is broken, which ignites the fire.

We all want loyalty, happiness and honesty in a relationship. To feel joy and peace in a relationship we must feel:

• Safe – including physical, financial, mental, emotional, social and spiritual safety
• Trust – consisting of honesty and competence
• Appreciation- hearing or seeing words of approval (remember it takes four positives to ease one negative comment)
• Respect – showing through words and deeds
• Validate – hearing what is said to understand without having to agree
• Encourage – getting into the heart of your loved one and doing what you can to help them reach their goals
• Dedication – committing to your relationship and making them feel more important than any place or thing.

Matt said trauma or health issues are the number one way to expand in these areas. We don’t grow unless we are pushed. We learn through our challenges.

When these basic needs are not met, we feel starved which makes it hard to fill your loved one’s needs. We all feel love and express love differently. Gary Chapman, author of The 5 Love Languages, describes how some of us feel love by: words of affirmation, quality time, receiving gifts, acts of service and physical touch. We tend to give love to another in the manner that speaks love to us. However, it is better expressed in the language your loved one speaks. Matt says his wife’s love language is acts of service. He vacuums or does another household chore and she’s appreciative. His love language is physical touch. They’ve tried holding hands while he vacuums, but that’s just too awkward.

To learn more about The 5 Love Languages and to discover your own love language, visit: http://www.5lovelanguages.com

We all want loyalty, happiness and honesty in a relationship. To feel joy and peace, we must feed the relationship. “You must be the change you wish to see.”- Gandi

Matt is the founder and president of Townsend Relationship Center, a relationship skills-building organization.

To hear Dr. Matt Townsend’s presentation of The Starved Relationship see:

 

 

 

Dad, I Love You

Dad holding me. Rosanne & Mick on the porch.

Dad, I love you and do you know why?

Because of that special gleam in your eye,

Which tells me something significant and true:

That I’m an important part of you.

 

 

 

Mom and Dad 2014

 

I love you because I know there’s no other,

That you love more than the one I call mother.

I love you because you are always there,

Extending a hand to show that you care.

 

My first filly, Ginger, a dream come true

 

 

I love you for all the things that you teach

Like nothing I want should be out of reach.

You’ve taught me to work and to save my money

For things that I want to make my life sunny.

 

Dad riding Chili the mother of Ginger. I love the hard hat he always wore.

 

I love you because you are honest and strong;

You’re courageous and steady when things go wrong.

I love you because in your steps I can trod,

Because I know you’re clearly a man of God.

2014, One of Dad’s many talents, leading music.

 

Dad, I love you and do you know why?

Because as a man you are never shy.

You’re friendly to everyone you meet,

And as a friend, you just can’t be beat.

 

 

 

2008, Mark and Dad

I love you because your in-laws you truly love,

Making them fit in the family like a glove.

And with your grandkids you always have fun

With work or rain, but mainly snow and sun.

 

 

1980, Dad and I

 

I love you for these and so many other reasons;

Thank you for all the joy—no matter the season.

For dancing, camping, horses and snowmobiles too,

Boats, 4 wheelers and swimming, just to name a few.

 

2013, Dad on his backhoe

 

 

I love you for being the perfect dad for me.

I value your opinion and your wisdom I see.

You listen while I hash out my crazy ideas,

Then you help me achieve them, I cannot tell fibs.

 

1980, Dad & Mark boating

I’m the luckiest gal ever, I know,

Because I have a dad that loves me so.

And I married a man a lot like my dad,

They’re the best of friends for which I’m so glad.

 

2009, Me with Mark and Dad

 

I love you both and do you know why?

Because as fathers you’re quite the guys.

And because on earth you’re what fathers should be,

I’m blessed to be yours through eternity.

 

 

Happy Father’s Day!

Links to my favorite story’s about Fathers:

My Home Delivery

A Blessed Life

My Two Favorite Men

Dad Creating Beauty After Tragedy, Part I & Part II by Katie Wilson Ferguson

Offering Love and Comfort

My brother gave me an article out of the Reader’s Digest, September 2015 issue, titled The Art of Offering Love and Comfort, written by David Brooks from the New York Times.  I appreciated the suggestions and thought today would be a great day to share them in light of the tragic accident that happened in our neighborhood last week.

The Art of Offering Love and Comfort references the Woodiwiss family whose daughter at age twenty-seven died in 2008 from injuries resulting from a horseback riding fall. In 2013, another daughter, Catherine, at age twenty-six was hit by a car while biking to work. She has endured and will continue to endure a series of operations. Her recovery has been slow. Her mother, Mary, talks about the grief that a parent feels when he or she has lost a child and sees another badly injured, “a pain felt in bones and fiber.”

Through the Woodiwisses experiences, they share a few lessons about how those on the outside zone of trauma might better communicate with those on the inside. The right responses are not limited to what is discussed in the article, but rather a collection of their wisdom, which I found useful. My favorite points as written in the dos and don’ts list is as follows:

“Do be there. Some people think that those who experience trauma need space. Assume the opposite. Most people need presence. The Woodiwisses say they were in awe after each tragedy by the number of people, many of whom had been mere acquaintances, but showed up and offered love. They were also disoriented by close friends who simply were not there, who were afraid or too busy.

Don’t compare. Each trauma should be respected in its uniqueness. Catherine writes, ‘From the inside, comparisons sting as clueless, careless or just plain false.’

Do bring soup. Nonverbal expressions of love are as healing as those articulated. When you see a need and act on it, whether it’s a meal, a needed item or helping with a household chore such as dishes or laundry, it is appreciated. The Woodiwisses recall a friend who noticed they didn’t have a bath mat and went to Target and bought one. It was a thoughtful gesture which they will never forget.Don’t say, ‘You’ll get over it.’ Catherine writes, ‘There is no such thing as getting over it. A major disruption leaves a new normal in its wake. There is no back to the old me.’

Do be a builder. The Woodiwisses distinguish between firefighters and builders. Firefighters drop everything and arrive at the moment of crisis. Builders are there for years and years, walking alongside as the victims live out in the world. Very few people are capable of performing both roles.

Don’t say, ‘It’s all for the best.’ Don’t try to make sense of what has happened. Don’t over-interpret and try to make sense of the inexplicable. Some people have a tendency, especially in an achievement-oriented culture, to want to solve problems and repair brokenness.

What seems to be needed is the art of presence: to perform tasks without trying to control or alter the situation.  Allow nature to take its course. Grant the sufferers the dignity of their own process. Sit simply through moments of pain and uncomfortable darkness. Be practical, mundane, simple and direct.”

I’ve touched on the key points of the article which resonated with me. What insights do you have from your own experiences? How have you been helped or how did you help someone through a time of grief and/or affliction? Your thoughts in the comment box are appreciated. Together we can add to this list and help one another improve in offering love and comfort to those who are suffering.

Our Ultimate Goal

By sharing our stories, tips and/or thoughts  we get a look into each other’s hearts which helps us appreciate the unique challenges each one of us face. It also helps us realize we’re not alone and points out what we have in common.

I’m grateful for all the past and present guest authors on Uniting Caregivers who have helped me reach my ultimate goal of increasing love, patience, tolerance, care and understanding. If you’d like to  be a future guest author, that would be wonderful! I believe you have something we can benefit from. If you have a thought, tip or story you’re willing to share, I’d be happy to help you publish it. If it seems overwhelming and you don’t feel like you can do it, please know I’ll be there every step of the way. Let me know if you’re interested by leaving a comment in the box at the bottom of this page or by sending an email to Barbara@UnitingCaregivers.com.

Thank you, Cally Johnson, Pamela Clark, Judy Coon, Silvia Caswell, Jamie Sorensen, Glenn Oliver, Cindy Oliver, Dianne Breitling, Julie Brown, Barbara Larsen, Deidre Pickering, Katie Ferguson, Ann McDougall, Eric Reynolds, Tim Gray, Laura Norfelt, Greg Norfelt, Rosanne Day, Chuck Ferguson, Neils Knudsen, Mark Wilson and our current guest author, Christine Scott. To revisit any one of their stories, type their name in the search bar on the home page and it will take you to that individual’s article or list of articles in some cases. I appreciate each of you sharing your unique challenges and wonderful tips which help us reach our goal of better understanding one another.

Happy Valentine’s Day

According to Wikipedia and the Catholic Encyclopedia there were at least three early Christian saints by the name of Valentine. It is said that the first St. Valentine, a Roman bishop who lived in the third century, held secret marriage ceremonies for soldiers in opposition to the Roman emperor. Claudius II believed married men were more emotionally attached to their families and didn’t make good soldiers. He prohibited marriage to assure quality soldiers and ordered the execution of St. Valentine on February 14th after he healed one of the soldier’s daughters from blindness and is said to have signed a card to her, “Your Valentine”. His devotion to God and commitment to supporting love and marriage is a remarkable example.

In England, by the eighteenth-century, February 14th evolved into an occasion which lovers expressed their love for each other by presenting flowers, offering sweets, and sending greeting cards known as “valentines”.

For Mark and I, the traditional Valentine’s Day symbol has become three heart-shaped balloons with the sentiment “I love you” written on each one of them. They proclaim our feelings plus remind me of the overpowering relief and joy I felt with Mark’s first words to me after our car accident.

Excerpts from my article written March 9, 2015, “Love Ya Back”

Bath bed

Part of my new routine included helping the nurse’s aide bathe Mark. I wasn’t expected to do this, but I wanted to. It was important to me that he knew I was always close by and involved in every aspect of his care. It took two people to slide him from the hospital bed onto the bath bed, which was on wheels. Mark’s naked body was covered in warm blankets. He was secured to the bed with two safety belts, one around his chest and another around his legs, for the ride to the “bath” room. The bed was hoisted into a large bathtub with jets. After nine weeks of sponge baths on his hospital bed, he seemed to enjoy being immersed into the water.

One night in July, after his bath, I cut his hair and shaved his cheeks. We were alone in the bath room. All clean and well-groomed with no place to go except into bed, I stepped back to take one more admiring look at him and said, “I sure do love you!”

Ever so softly, I heard, “Love ya back.” These were his first words in ten weeks and I wasn’t sure I heard them right.

Tears filled my eyes as I moved closer and cupped his cheeks in my hands, “Did you just say love ya back?”

He looked at me and said, “I love you, I love you, I love you.” Each time was slightly louder. I knew he wanted me to be sure of what he was saying and he said it with all his strength.

Exhausted, he closed his eyes. Did I imagine this? No, it was real. I felt his jaw move with my hands and he said it three times, looking straight at me. Without another person in the room, there was no witness. Ecstatic, I wanted to shout to the world that Mark had spoken and recognized me, but I feared they’d doubt me. I didn’t want anyone to squash the joy I was feeling, so I chose not to share this grand news—at least not yet. After helping the aide get Mark back into bed and getting the kids from the playroom, I left the hospital elated, keeping this blessed moment to myself for fear no one would believe me.

Excerpts from my article written March 16, 2015, The Roller Coaster

Enthusiastically, I walked down the hallway of Western Rehab. I was anxious to see Mark and wondered what new words he might say to me today. After hearing him say, “Love ya back” and “I love you,” three times the night before, I was hopeful he’d be even more alert this morning. The hallway seemed longer and brighter and I couldn’t get to his room fast enough. I was tempted to run down the hallway as our children often tried to do, but since I wouldn’t allow them, I decided it wouldn’t be appropriate for me to do it either.

To my dismay, I walked into Mark’s room and the nurse told me he had a fever and his heart rate was fast. He had an infection and the doctor was investigating the source. They pulled the catheter from his bladder and replaced it with a condom catheter in hopes the infection would clear up. Mark was totally unresponsive that day. Even when the kids came to visit that night, there wasn’t the usual blinking of his eyes to their yes and no questions.

We thought the intravenous antibiotic must be working because the following day when my mom brought the kids to the hospital for a visit, he was answering some of their questions with the routine blinks of his eyes. When they kissed him good-bye, he surprised each one with a soft, tranquil, “I love you.” Overjoyed by words which are so often taken for granted, the kids skipped out of the room wearing ear to ear grins, each holding Grandma’s hand, while Mark slipped back into his deep sleep.

2016 Valentine’s Day at Rocky Mtn. Care

Those three words spoken three times to me and to both of our children two days later were the fuel which got us through Mark’s next fight with phenomena. “I love you” is always wonderful to hear, but we often forget the power behind it.

Three heart-shaped balloons professing “I love you” mean more to me than flowers, chocolate or jewelry. I would appreciate any one of them, but the memory and the recognition that came with the “I love you” said three times with all of Mark’s weakened strength reminds me of the electrifying power it gave me nearly twenty-five years ago. Today is a great day where we are simply and quietly celebrating our commitment to love and marriage.

How do you acknowledge your love on Valentine’s Day?

I look forward to Christine Scott sharing the second part of Laura’s Story on Tuesday.

Friends Like Family

Donna Call has more than thirty-six years of life experience on me, yet we instantly became good friends. She was older than my own mother and shared her first name. It was an unlikely friendship under different circumstances, but our similar situation has bonded us together since 1991. She called me her soul sister when we met at Mackay Dee Hospital in the ICU waiting room while my husband, Mark, was in a coma after a car accident and her husband, Wayne, was also in a coma after complications from heart surgery.

Wayne and Donna Call lived in Burley, Idaho while we lived in Sandy, Utah. The miles between us make it doubtful that we would have met otherwise, yet our husband’s critical health conditions put us together under the same roof in the Ronald McDonald home as directed by the hospital.

This small house, which was located by the hospital parking lot, became my home away from home. It had two bedrooms, one bath and living room with a couch, reclining chair and television. The kitchen had a small table, fridge, stove, a few dishes and utensils. In the beginning, I was assigned the basement of this home, which was set up just like the upstairs. After a few days, some plumbing issue surfaced and I had to move upstairs with the Call family. Donna had one room and I had the other. Each bedroom had a double size bed plus bunk beds. I don’t recall a dresser, but there was a closet to put our clothes in. My broken collarbone made it difficult to sleep while lying down, so we squeezed one of the recliner chairs in the bedroom in front of the closet. There was just a little pathway between the bunkbeds and the double bed and another small pathway between the foot of the double bed and the recliner chair. Sometimes I shared this room with our two children and my parents when they came to visit and on weeknights my brothers often took turns staying there.

Donna and Wayne had six kids and since she was spending most of the time at the hospital with her husband, their kids took turns bringing her needed items and staying overnight with her. I believe before I moved upstairs, Donna had a room and whoever came to visit had the second room. Even though I cut their living space in half, they welcomed me with open arms. Once in a while it was such a full house they used sleeping bags on the floor in the living room. We got to know each other well over a seven week period of time. Despite Donna’s own heartache, she took me under her wing, making sure my needs were taken care of and made me feel part of their family.

If it was getting late and I wasn’t home, Donna worried about me. If I didn’t have a family member staying over, she’d send one of her boys to Mark’s room to check on me. They offered to walk me home. They were concerned about my well-being and crossing the dark parking lot alone. I appreciated they cared enough to make sure I made it to the McDonald home safe and sound. They’re kindness was inspiring, especially because they had their own worries and sorrow. I will forever appreciate their friendship. I was grateful for the comfort of this home which became a safe haven from the upset of the hospital. When their only daughter, Janice, came to visit and stayed in the McDonald home, we’d stay up late sharing tears of concern for our loved ones. Amongst the turmoil and worrying about Mark as well as missing my own home and family, I received the great blessing of new friends. Over a seven week period of time they became my hospital family.

We moved onto Western Rehab and a few months later Wayne got well enough to return home for three more years until cancer took his life in 1994. For our first Christmas after the accident they mailed us a package full of many adorable bears they had made together out of logs and branches. With the box was a letter explaining they had made each of their children these bears through the years so each family member had a “bear tree” for Christmas. It was a symbol of their love for us. I treasure our “bear tree” and every Christmas as I put it out I’m reminded of their loving care.

This bond has continued on for nearly twenty-five years. We’ve made trips to Burley, Idaho to visit them. We’ve stayed in contact through letters and phone calls. Despite our age difference and the miles between us, our similar experience and concern for one another kept us together. This is a friendship I will be eternally thankful for.

Donna died on her 93^rd birthday, January 12, 2016. We made another trip to Burley Saturday for her funeral. By all those who were in attendance, I realized she was loved by many and made all who knew her feel just as important as she made me feel. I enjoyed reuniting with her children and recognized what a tribute their lives are to her. I don’t know a kinder, more thoughtful lady and I will miss her. Donna and her children were a light of hope and beacon of courage during a very dark time for me. I am blessed to know her and her family. I’m thrilled for her as I think about the great reunion she is having with her husband now.

 

Dancing with Class, part 2

On Friday, July 2, 2004, Judith lost control of her bike and flipped into a ditch. Her back was broken. Last Sunday, Neils Knudsen, her husband, shared the emotional and physical impact the accident had on both of them. Today he shares part 2.

Written by, Neils Knudsen

Our search for a new home for ourselves ended when we found a development with new construction. A site was chosen and the contractor was eager to make the changes we needed for Judith. In January of 2005 she removed her clamshell brace for the last time and we moved in to a home with a view.

Judith at glacier 2006

Judith was excited for the new beginning. Although the doctor visits, medications and surgeries continued for some time, life for her became more peaceful and satisfying. She was free of her constraints and could now test her new wings . . . and wheels. That cruise to the inside passage of Alaska was realized and she began to see a larger, more magnificent world.

The home scene, though more comfortable soon clashed with my work schedule. My normal work hours grew longer along with mandatory overtime on weekends. I couldn’t meet the demands of home and work.

We discussed our options and in April of 2006 I took an early retirement and Judith decided she would return to her old job part-time. I quite enjoyed the change and got a lot of insights into her career.

Construction of other homes was still underway in our development. Hammers, Skill saws, heavy equipment and tons of dust covered the streets and vehicles. It was difficult for Judith to be heard at a distance during the day.

“Neeeeeeee-ills.”

I lifted a handful of clothes out of the washing machine and paused, listening.

“Neeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-ills.”

I tossed the wet laundry into the drier and ran upstairs in a panic.

“What?” I clutched my knees and panted breathlessly. “What’s wrong?”

She sat at the kitchen table and took a sip of her coffee, the morning paper opened to the daily crossword puzzle. “Hey you,” she smiled, “what’s a 6 letter word for ‘Spring’?”

“Neeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-ils.” The unmistakable sound of a power saw knifed through my mind. It turns out, if you stretch my first name out as if you’re calling for me it sounds much like a power saw cutting wood. Add a touch of nasal cavity to it and it truly becomes a power tool.

“I didn’t call you,” she guffawed and pointed out the door. “They did.”

We began to travel, mostly by car. Judith had always been an easy traveling companion and that didn’t change. We no longer rushed to go places, often stopping to explore as we went. She sometimes grew wistful as she watched others strolling together at a scenic overlook. That prickly, stubborn and ‘always in a hurry’ woman had changed. She came to appreciate that what she had gained was equal to what she had lost and accepted a more measured and contemplative attitude. Soon, that new life would include painting the scenes which she now saw with new eyes.

The visits to doctors and hospitals subsided to an occasional check-up. She learned to touch and be touched. Gentleness and acceptance of life grew to replace her ambition. She retired from her job and began to focus more on her art.

Judith is also an avid reader and has a degree in English. She has distinct tastes in what she selects as a reading subject. Unfortunately we don’t share those tastes to any notable degree. So when I started writing as a hobby I chose Science Fiction and Fantasy as my genre. She once tried to read “The Hobbit,” but got bored with it. The same with “Lord of the Rings,” though she loved the movies.

Four years later I finished my first book, The Singing Stones of Rendor. Credit for that project, including all its awards, would likely not have happened if not for Judith. Her gentle prodding, encouragement and constructive criticism was the gas in my tank. I repeatedly tried to kill off one character, but she argued against it—often to the point of bloodshed. I’m glad I listened to her. The arc of the story would not have developed and garnered so many trophies, if any, without her insights and skills at knowing what makes a good story.

My wife is, for the most part, independent and needs little in the way of any physical help to do things. I still help her with some of her transfers on occasion, but not often. The day will come when she’ll need more help. I expect I’ll need some help by then myself. She is the light in the tunnel, the gentle whisper in my ear, my tease, my best friend and motorized mentor who runs over my toes when I get curmudgeonly.

Alaska Cruise 2006

Judith has never given up. She always listens to people’s stories and encourages them to fight on. The impact she has had on the people around her is best illustrated by a young man she mentored while she worked on Wall Street. He went on to establish his own hedge fund and became a wealthy man. When he heard of her accident he flew here to visit her in the hospital. Later he would establish a scholarship fund in her name at Utah State University which is awarded annually. It is a fitting tribute to this woman who has given, and still gives, so much of herself to help those around her.

My part as a caregiver is insignificant compared to what Judith offers. So, I ask again, who is the real caregiver?

What I can say for sure is that I have been dancing with class.

Thank you Neils for sharing your heartfelt journey. I appreciate getting to know you and Judith better. I agree, you have been dancing with class. 

Dancing with Class, part I

Written by, Neils Knudsen

Neils & Judith 2004, a few months before the accident.

I’m not sure who the caregiver is in this marriage. My wife, Judith, who suffered a serious spinal cord injury in 2004, has given back more than I’ve ever given her. It didn’t always seem that way. In fact we were near divorce at the time of her accident.

We met one cold Tuesday night in February, 1997 during a dance class at the Murray Arts Center. I was two years into the single life after divorcing my first wife of 23 years and still trying to rediscover myself. She had seen ten years since her marriage ended.

Since there were more women in the class than men we were supposed to change partners from time-to-time. I tried to avoid her. She was clearly too much for me. That tall, slender and quite buxom woman would eat me alive and steal my lunch money. She fit a stereotype which I couldn’t afford, financially or emotionally. No problem, I thought. Those other guys are clamoring for her attention.

They tried . . . oh how they tried, but to my horror she shunned them and zeroed in on me.

Why me? I don’t have anything she wants, I thought.

Over the course of that evening, and many more to come, we became partners. This woman actually had a sense of humor similar to mine. She bantered with me. She teased me and, more importantly, I could actually tease her back. I was hooked. We married in October 1997 and moved to New York City where she worked once again on Wall Street for a young man who was once her protégé.

Judith grew up in a large Wyoming farming family. They were poor which only made her stronger, harder working and more determined to pull herself out of that circumstance. She was the middle child between four brothers and four sisters who gave no quarter and expected none in return. Competition was not new to her, but ambition would pull her out of, not only poverty, but an abusive marriage.

I relate this part about her life because it helps illustrate who she really is . . . a woman of strength and good character, of love and deep compassion. It also helps to tell you of where she was in her life when the accident happened.

As usual, Judith was prickly, stubborn and controlling the morning of Friday, July 2, 2004. She didn’t want to be and said as much, but life had pushed her there and it was hard to put aside.

A year of marriage counseling and an on-again, off-again relationship was coming to a close. I was working a weekend graveyard shift. She was beginning a long Fourth of July weekend.

She had gone on a bike ride with her cycling club. When I got home that morning I unplugged my phone, closed the windows and drapes, went to bed and quickly fell asleep.

My daughter shook me. “Dad, wake up.”

I hated to be wakened during my work week for no good reason. There never had been before, why now? “What?”

“Judith’s been in an accident,” she said as she plugged my phone in. It rang.

I answered it. It was Judith’s best friend, Gloria. The story she told chilled my bones. “Judith lost control of her bike and flipped into a ditch. Her back is broken. She’ll never walk again.”

“Are you sure it’s permanent?” I asked, hoping for some good news. “Sometimes these injuries are temporary.”

“Yes,” Gloria said.

My heart sank, but I still held out some hope. I got dressed, called my workplace to let them know I wouldn’t be in that night and then drove to McKay Dee Hospital in Ogden with my daughter.

The news of Judith’s bicycle accident had preceded me. Her mother and most of her siblings waited in what I soon learned was the ‘cry room’. They told me others who lived in far flung states and countries were on their way.

I joined them as we waited and hoped for a chance to see her. I cried.

An eternity later Judith’s daughter, Aimee, emerged from the ICU. She updated us and then turned to me. “She wants to see you.”

“Me?” I searched the bewildered eyes of her family. They seemed as surprised as I was. I followed Aimee through those impassable doors that led to . . . what? I held onto a prayer that I could hold back the tears when I saw her.

The nurse came out of Judith’s room as we approached. She said something, warning me about something, and something, something, something and I could only stay five minutes. “So little?”

She seemed asleep when I saw her. Scrapes covered her face. Bandages shielded her nose and forehead. Tubes strung from her mouth.

I leaned over and caressed her temple.

She opened her eyes and looked at me.

God denied my prayer. I wept.

Her eyes glistened and smiled.

God answered a prayer I did not know I made.

I saw deeper into her soul than ever. I saw the gentleness she always wanted to have. She would let go of her past.

(Editorial Comment from Judith) “At this point, I have to give you the other side. I knew almost at once when the bicycle flipped me head over heels and I landed on my back that I was paralyzed. When Neils came in, I was battered and bruised and hadn’t even begun to deal with what it all meant. When our eyes locked I smiled mostly in wonder because I could see love, a physical manifestation, as a light with many colors streaming from his face. I knew that we were together, united and I was safe, as I had never before been safe.”

The five minutes I was given became an hour. I thanked the nurse for letting me stay.

Aimee would later ask me if I could deal with being her mother’s caregiver.

“I will do this,” I said.

The next day Judith’s daughter April arrived from Arizona. The day after that her son flew in from New Zealand. The three of them took charge of insurance, doctors, the hospital and things I knew nothing about.

A week later she moved to a regular hospital room. The family continued to visit and her friends and coworkers often filled her room. As word of Judith’s accident spread, flowers flooded in and spilled into the hallway.

I did not, until that moment, know how well loved and respected she was.

“Why me? Of all the men on that dance floor, why did she pick me?” This woman who was so well regarded at her work and had such a wide ranging set of friends chose some dolt like me. Doubts about my ability to be a suitable caregiver crept in. She had a lot more support and resources available than I could give her.

Judith with her granddaughter, 2004

Eventually she left the hospital and went to a rehab center. We put our home up for sale and began looking for something more wheelchair friendly. At this point my real caregiving skills were yet to be tested.

The day finally came for her to come home wearing a clamshell brace which covered her from chin to tailbone. She hated that device, but at least she was out of the hospital. Home healthcare services were set up and I continued to go to work. My shift work and 14 hour workdays weighed me down. The physical issues Judith had were not unlike that of a newborn baby. The changes in her body functions required frequent attention. Preparing meals, bathing and nurturing were not unfamiliar, but the intensity of it was.

Judith has never been a complainer, but she did have days when her outlook suffered terribly. I tried to give her some hope of new adventures with stories about the wonders I’d seen while in the Navy. We soon planned a cruise to the inside passage of Alaska.

More doctor visits, hospital stays and surgeries added to the time demands. The emotional impact on Judith of these trials stressed her ability to cope. There seemed no end in sight.

Word soon came that my mother, who lived near Seattle, had developed dementia. She wanted to return to Utah. I couldn’t deal with it. Fortunately, after weeks of searching for a facility to care for her, my brother accepted that challenge and looked after her. Nevertheless, as the years went by, watching her decline was difficult. We were by her side when she passed away peacefully in 2010. I’ll always be grateful for that.

Thank you Neils and Judith for sharing your story. We look forward to next Sunday, part 2.