The Special Friendship

 

It has taken me several years to get this story just right. I hope you enjoy it.

The Special Friendship

The early August sun promised a beautiful day as I grabbed my laptop and headed outdoors to my porch to do a little writing. It had been a good summer. A major prayer had been answered for my father. For several years, I’d prayed a specific prayer for him. My parent’s old home was beginning to show signs of wear. The windows were rotting on the outside. Shingles needed replaced on Dad’s garage. A small back door roof had fallen down. Painting jobs were needed everywhere, inside and out. But the worst of it was my parent’s shower. The walls were beginning to cave in. It was unsightly, but I worried mostly about how unsafe it was for them. With Dad’s heart condition and some financial burdens, we couldn’t find help. I wanted to do something for Mom and Dad, but I didn’t have the finances either. I began praying deep, heartfelt prayers that somehow we would find help; something that would lift my father’s spirits and show him that God truly cared.

Earlier in the summer, my father came home from church with the weekly bulletin. A small article we could have easily missed was printed off to the side. It read: Catholic Heart Workcamp. Dad asked, “Do you think this is something for heart patients? Maybe some type of help for them?”

Normally I would have dismissed this as unimportant, or something that was meant for other people but not my family. However, a nagging feeling pushed me to contact them. Do this for your Dad, someone seemed to say quite persistently.

Oddly enough, the nicest people reached back out to me. They were a group of young people and mentors who raised their own money all year ‘round. They didn’t vacation in the summer, but spent their time doing free work for those with household needs.

God, is this truly possible? Would Dad qualify for this?

The answer was yes, and the kindest group of kids came for a week and repaired, worked, laughed and prayed together at my parent’s house. Everything was done to perfection. They even were able to repair the shower. When they were done, I hugged each one of them and began crying. They had been an answer to prayer; a true miracle.

That was why on the early August day, I found myself daydreaming as I wrote. A loud “Chirup” stirred me from my reverie. The most glorious male cardinal sat only several feet from me on the railing of my porch. He looked inquisitively at me, turning his head a little as he chirped loudly once again. I could see the beautiful black mask on his face and the deep red of his perfect feathers.

“Are you hungry?” I asked. “I’ll get you something,” and went into the house for seeds.

On a small, flat feeding dish I placed seeds as the cardinal sat nearby. How odd, I thought. As if he’s waiting for me. He’d flown to a low branch in the crab apple tree of my front yard. One more “chirp” as if thanking me, and I moved away so he could eat in peace.

From that moment on, something wonderful happened. The cardinal came daily to the porch, making sure he was heard. He sang sweetly in the branches of a Rhododendron bush outside my front window. When I pulled into my driveway after work each day the male cardinal would land nearby. He seemed to come closer and closer. I spoke to him and he listened with his tilted little head and piercing dark tiny eyes. He sometimes sang for me on the spot as I talked.

I found it odd that we were developing such a unique relationship, this bird and I. Many people began to comment that he was an angel, perhaps. He warmed my heart with his presence and brought me joy with his song.

My father landed in the hospital later that same month. Though it had always been congestive heart failure, this time his gallbladder would be the culprit. Well, at least it’s something easy, I thought. But it wasn’t. Dad developed sepsis. We lost him several weeks later.

With my heart breaking, the male cardinal still came daily. Throughout Dad’s time in the hospital and even on the day of the funeral, he was there singing his sweet song for me, trusting me, and coming ever closer. When tears and grief enveloped me, I felt comfort and hope with this small miracle of nature.

He remained through the winter months, and one time I saw him feeding seeds to his lady bird. What a special caregiver, I thought. Just like Dad had been for Mom.

It was then that I realized God had given me a gift in the form of this amazing bird. Through all my sadness, I’d held onto a new friendship: The kind that could only have come from above.

The cardinal came often, throughout the next year. I even tried feeding him from my hand. He seemed ever so close to wanting to breach this gap between human and bird, yet he hesitated always at the last.

I lost my mother nine months after Dad once again in the summertime. One year since our family’s blessing with Catholic Heart Workcamp, and one year since my unique bird friendship.

One day, later in the summer while sitting outdoors with my writing once again, I heard the familiar “Chirp!” I looked up to see the male cardinal and four fuzzy brown babies sitting next to him on the stoop of my porch.

“Thank you, oh thank you,” I said to him. “I love your babies. Thank you for sharing them with me.”

I never saw him again after that. It seemed the cardinal had done God’s work. He’d gotten me through the death of my parents. He’d shared song, bonding, friendship, and his family with me. Now my yard is filled with other cardinals. I’d like to think they are all parts of my special friend’s family.

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Bright eyes bushy tail.

That was my boy, my beautiful boy.

Purring, cuddling, lying next to me.

Stretching, scratching the cat pad, throwing a toy around.

Once upon a time you loved a laser pointer, a milk cap, the scent of catnip. Soft blankets, sun puddles, cuddling your sister. You jumped so high to catch yarn. You jumped and caught a few flies too.

You never wanted to be held but we shared special time each night, such special moments next to each other. We watched movies and how you loved bird videos, cat videos, The Lion King.

When a storm was coming you would zoom through the house on white paws flying up and down the stairs. But the sounds didn't scare you. The heart of a lion was yours.

You washed your sister like a good brother, but then would pounce and make her hiss. Her tail was the best toy of all to grab as she pranced by. But you did it all gently. Nothing mean about you.

I called you my boy boy, and Wocky. I sang songs, silly songs to you and you blinked that slow loving blink that told me you loved everything I did.

How the treats made your whiskers twitch, and later, your churros. I never minded the few years of thyroid pills to keep you well, to keep you whole, to keep you.

Weight started to drop, energy level too. You couldn't make it onto the couch or into the tub to drink your morning water. We didn't meet on the couch any  longer and you chose to hide downstairs where it was quiet and calm. Though you greeted me when I looked for you and purred and purred when I rubbed those feline cheeks. Something was wrong. Something that might take you from me.

I knew it was time to say goodbye though. A good mom knows these things and she would never hurt you, never let you suffer, so she decided and it was hard, it was rough, it was sad. You purred when you saw me, you let me rub those kitty cheeks again. But our time was short and fifteen years wasn't long enough, no amount of time would have been.

There's a void, an empty place in our home, in my heart, as we go on without you and your sister looks for you.  

Your love wraps around me, your sweetness. And the fact that you made me better. I will love you forever my sweet sweet boy.

The End and The Beginning

 

Something began to happen with me and I know when it started. Something that was so foreign to my nature became the new normal: anger. It was three years ago. A major shift had happened in my life and it wasn't personal in nature it was with my work life.

You see when I was nineteen-years-old I graduated from a business school in Pittsburgh. Unable to find a job in the secretarial field, I was trained on-the-job as a dental assistant in my small hometown of Ambridge, Pa. Unsure at first if it was a good fit for me, I grew to love my position and the wonderful people I served daily in my capacity as a dental caregiver. I had a tough but fair boss who taught me with his excellent skills and knowledge. Twenty-seven years went by in the blink of an eye, and it was time to move on from my beloved town and job that I truly cared about.

When I moved, I was able to find an old-fashioned dental office in my new town and work with some truly great and wonderful people. The skills that had served me all of my young life helped me to do well.

Up until three years ago, I was extremely content with my workload. I was able to manage my time, get along great with co-workers, and grew extremely fond of my young boss. A purchase of a new facility changed that. There were difficult personalities to get used to. We'd merged with another dental practice and it was as foreign to me as if it were another planet. Their ways were odd, and the combination of two offices gave us so much work it was difficult to keep up. My stress level rose and every day was a new lesson in difficulty. At my age, I wondered why would I have to work so much harder now. Wasn't I moving toward retirement years? 

I sometimes thought about leaving but so much responsibility had been given to me, that I felt horrible guilt if I entertained the idea too long. People counted on me. The patients, my boss, co-workers. Phones rang continually. Walk-ins became the new norm. It felt as if everyone needed a little piece of me. I micro-managed major parts of every day. I did front desk duties, assisting, and kept ahead of major insurance issues. I was fried. And then anger set in. I snapped at co-workers. I even began to snap at my boss, a man who deserved my respect. I mostly took my anger out on my husband every evening when I practically fell through my door exhausted. The hours were long, long, longer. I felt trapped with every part of my being.

A time had come and gone when I almost left. I'd prayed about it and felt that the Lord had told me to wait. Still I seethed in silent suffering and not-so-silent ways as well. Until recently.

That time came again and when I prayed about it, every door began to open. I asked of other people if they would choose peace over money. Every single person said yes. I fretted a bit over working again at my age for another dental practice. Working with different personalities, a new dental program. And what about the hours? They would be considerably less than what I was used to.

With a heavy heart and extreme difficulty, I said goodbye to the office that had been my home for the last eighteen years. I said goodbye to girls I'd been with for so very long, and others I had just begun to know. I felt riddled with guilt and anxiety. I almost sabotaged my own happiness. Every night for over a week I had horrible nightmares. I'd hurt some people and I was a horrible person.

Until I realized I wasn't. I deserved this break, this new time. A dentist who was a good friend of mine gave me a golden opportunity. Without realizing, God worked through this man and he saw what was needed in my life, my older years. 

Though my first week felt so odd to me, though guilt threatened me at every turn, I stayed with it. I found that I gained more than I might have lost. God spoke in that still, small voice inside of me when I questioned things. What does it matter, He asked. Do My Will.

It has turned out that His will meant more than just helping others or being a good employee once again. It has been a gift He wrapped for me in beautiful, shiny paper. It is the gift of much-needed time. Less hours, less days. Hour-long lunches where I can walk outdoors in the brilliant sunshine. Yes, He moved me to what I was supposed to do. 

Don't question Him, friends. When you truly ask God to Open Doors That No Man Can Shut, and Shut Other Doors That No Man Can Open, and if He moves you, do it with your whole heart. Yes, it can be scary. But He will not leave you. He will walk with you. Oh, and that anger, He has removed it from inside of me. For how can I feel anger when there are so many blessings all around me?

A Simple Journey

 

It began about two years ago for me. Work had hardened me. The load felt unbearable, and the new duties, insurmountable. Days began to blur one into the other, and the hours took their toll on my mind. 

Right about that time my husband retired from his job. He'd earned it, believe me. Putting in around seventy-two hours a week, working short-handed at Monro Auto as their manager for many years, had not given him much time for relaxation and enjoyment.

 There would be no more alone time for me, however, when I was home. He would always be there. No more coming back from work to an empty house for a few hours of quiet time. There would be someone every minute of my day either at my job or my home. I became resentful. I felt I had no outlets except anger.

 I wasn't the same person I'd been, the "caring Karen" that everyone knew. I became short-tempered, quick to judge, a bit mean with those around me, co-workers, but especially my husband. I admit it. I felt I lost a little of "me." 

I wasn't giving myself grace or self-realization to allow those feelings to come and then also to flow away. I held onto them tightly, not liking myself much, and getting swept up in the attitude that so many others had after covid times anyway. Maybe I would change once I retired. But did it need to take that long?

Until recently. Until I began my journey of finding Mr. Rogers. It began oddly, at the end of his own journey: at the gravesite of this simple, wonderful man. On a sunny afternoon, my husband and I drove to the town where Fred Rogers was born and buried. It took only a few moments to locate the mausoleum where he rested. I got out of the car and took my time walking to the front of it, looking through the glass door and seeing his name etched upon the stone. Fred McFeely Rogers. I knelt on the marble stairs and wept. I cried for this dear soul and all he'd meant to me in my life. I cried for myself too as I felt something breaking inside of me.

There were little nick knacks and painted rocks left for him. I, too, left some small tokens: a little cardinal and butterfly pendant. The symbolism of those two items for me was profound. They sustained me during the loss of my own parents a few years before.

After that day, I wanted to learn more about Mr. Rogers and his life. I began to read books written about him and watch videos of his life. I found a simple yet powerful faith, an attitude of love, and an aura of kindness surrounding every word uttered about him. Yes, I'd watched his television show when I was younger and I adored him and his precious neighborhood of make-believe. But I'd never delved so deeply into what this man stood for.

I had met him briefly in 1972 when I lay in a ward at Children's Hospital of Pittsburgh. It had been a dreary day and my parents were unable to be with me. Encased in a large plaster body cast which covered me from neck to above my hips, I felt sorry for myself, frightened, and unsure of what lay ahead. The school year before had been a nightmare. Boys had been making fun of the way I walked. They hadn't known, well, I hadn't known either, that I had scoliosis, curvature of the spine. 

I felt ugly, misshapen, odd, and alone. My mood was as dark as the rainy day. There was a lot of commotion going on in the hallway. It seemed that a special visitor was there for us. Since I couldn't move, I had to be content to wait and see what the hoopla was all about. Then he came in. It was Mr. Rogers. In the red sweater we'd all known him for. He stopped briefly at every child's bedside in our ward. And when he came to me, the oddest thing happened: he put his hand on the rail of my bed and looked me straight in the eyes. "What a pretty girl," he said, giving me that charming, sweet smile. I know I smiled back, feeling a little starstruck. 

How did he always know what to say to everyone? I feel this man had a deep connection to God. It's as if the Holy Spirit moved through him and the right words at the right time would come from within. His words changed my life. No longer was I homely and different. I was pretty. Mr. Rogers told me so.

And now in my life, I hear him speaking to me once again on this journey to finding Fred. He says the words to me again, and this time they are meant for another purpose. What a pretty girl. I'm not bound by my angry feelings, the ones that make me ugly inside. I take his lessons with me daily on my job and around others. I remember the best lesson: kindness. It takes nothing for me to apply Mr. Rogers lessons to daily life. My journey may take the rest of my life, but it won't be a lonely one. For I have Fred Rogers in my heart now. I carry his beauty, faith, simplicity, and goodness close. 

Thank you Mr. Rogers for the compassion you once gave me. I will try to spread it to others.

Just Ask

 

One day I was missing my parents so much. I talked to God and asked if someday He might share a small sign that they were near with me. I have never asked this. As I folded clothes later that evening in my room, I felt as if someone stood next to me. I looked to my side and said, "Hi Mom and Dad," and went right on with the clothes. I didn't see anyone.

Later that night as I turned in for the evening, I said "goodnight" to a picture of my parents that is laying on top of my nightstand. It isn't framed, only a regular photograph.

The next morning when I awoke, (I'd like to say I hopped out of bed with a spring in my step, but, well....arthritis and all...), but when I got out of bed, I looked over and the picture of my parents wasn't on the stand. I looked and it was laying on the floor on the side of the nightstand, face up with their beautiful smiling faces looking at me.

I placed the photo back on the nightstand. I tried creating a breeze with my arms, with my bed blankets, with the closet door, etc. Nothing stirred that picture at all. I tried to replicate laying there and hitting it with my arms, but it was too far away from me, and I usually cocoon myself like a burrito when sleeping, so flailing arms aren't usually my thing anyway.

"Well, Lord," I thought, "I did ask. The Bible says you have not because you ask not." Perhaps God's gentle breath blew through my side of the room that night. He stirred the picture of my parents to show me a sweet little sign. They're okay, Karen. They are here with me. They still love you, but they've changed, and they don't have the worries and concerns they once did. Be happy for them.

When I look at the photograph now, a huge smile breaks out onto my face. For in this picture, they are young, healthy, happy, and so in love. And I believe they are like that right now.

What signs and wonders have you seen perhaps in nature, or in your own home that reminds you of God's existence and love?

A Big Decision

 Two years ago our small dental office moved to a larger location. Along with the move, we also acquired a whole new patient load and several new staff members. The move itself was stressful and the labor needed to get us to the new facility was intense. I can't say I was thrilled at the time, but the new office was bigger, brighter, and modern. I would certainly give it my best.

Flash forward to the present. Work was becoming almost unbearable. Staff changes, new associates, dental insurance nightmares, difficult patients. Sometimes lack of communication lead to unbelievable stressors. Would we ever find the fun, simplicity, and camaraderie that we once shared?

Some of the ladies in my practice have become good friends. We've shared laughter, tears, life stories. And for their own reasons, they decided they needed to leave. Though my heart broke, I knew that I cared for them enough that their happiness was most important. Though my own work load would triple, and I truly wanted to walk out that door with them, I decided to pray about it. "Lord, you know I can't take the stress. This has become too much for me at my age. I need peace desperately. I need your guidance."

No lightning bolt crackled nearby. Only one word came to me in that still, small way: WAIT. I pondered its meaning, I questioned God daily about it. I sought other employment but felt no joy. Then I said, "Lord, if you want me to stay, I will do it. But I need you."

Several weeks ago I had a small breakdown of sorts. Though I'd never done this before, I called off the following day from my job and left them completely unattended at the front desk. I could not think one more thought, could not step into that building without crying or feeling my chest tightening.

My employer spoke kindly to me one evening. It was after I told him I needed to resign. He looked at me and said, "I can't do this without you. You are the heart and soul of this place. Give me a chance. I want to make this work for you."

Again, no bolt of lightning nor crack of thunder. No Charlton Heston voice out of the blue giving me cosmic advice. Just that small voice: wait.

I made the decision right then that I would wait it out. I would give the place that had been home to me for seventeen years another chance. I adored many of the patients especially the elderly ones who have come to know me so well. The ones who specifically ask for me and trust me with their concerns. I would give my employer what he needed. He'd become more like family over the years, another brother to me, even. But also, I could not abandon them. I would not be the reason that our practice could potentially fail. My mother raised a girl who had a conscience.

Has it been easy waiting for new staff, working alone, working extra hours, taking on even more responsibilities? Not at all. But God. That's right. When I feel anger, anxiety, or a pit in my stomach, I say quietly in my spirit: "Jesus, I need you right now." That is what had been lacking up until then. The simple childlike faith that had gotten me through other trials in my life. A simple sentence, and sometimes only His name whispered: Jesus. 

Though I don't know what the near future holds, I will do my very best. I will not complain to friends and family when the day doesn't go as planned. I will go to the throne... not the phone. For it says in the Bible: So let us come boldly to the throne of our gracious God. There we will receive his mercy, and we will find grace to help us when we need it most. Hebrews 4:16

But the promise I made to my son, husband, and brother, still stands. If I can't take another second, if stress piles and situations don't change, I will have to do what's best. I would have to make the decision to leave. Right now, I don't see that. Right now, I am living one day, one hour at a time. 

Oh, did I get some concessions out of this? You bet I did. I am nobody's doormat, nobody's fool. Just a kind girl who believes in being a help to others. 

Savor

 

It's almost been a year since I blogged. I could say that too much "busyness" has kept me away. That's a good excuse. But then something really important happened. Something I need to speak about. 

A month or so ago, I had my routine mammogram. I looked forward to the letter that would arrive stating the "all clear" diagnosis. This time, I received a phone call. A sonogram was ordered to investigate a little further. Stomach clenched, heart raced, fear arrived. "This has happened before," I told myself. "Stop working yourself up."

The day of the sonogram arrived. With faith in my heart and prayer as my shield, I chatted with the technician and hoped for the best. She left the room to give the results to the on-call doctor. Those fifteen minutes or so felt like eternity. 

When the two of them walked through the door, my heart sank. I figured if it was good news, the technician could have given it to me. But the doctor... this meant business.

"You have a very small spot, only 3 millimeters. But it's best to do a biopsy to determine further results."

Biopsy. A word that conjures up all sorts of horrors that I won't get into right now. Stomach churned, heart palpitated, fear made its way into me. And there it stayed for the next several weeks. 

I had amazing prayer warriors. I had a husband who believed for the best outcome. My own faith didn't waver, but I said to God, "No matter what. My story for Your glory." I wanted good news of course, but I was ready to face anything.

As terrified as I was for the biopsy, it was incredibly painless and easy. All of the healthcare workers were wonderful. Okay, I admit, I did take a Xanax, but that was just a little... help of sorts. I lay there and kept the Bible verses close to me that were the best encouragement: "Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified. For the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go." And, "Do not fear for I am with you, do not be dismayed for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you. I will uphold you with my righteous right hand."

The results would come in three to five business days. Even with faith as my shield, uncertainty loomed before me. If it was this... then I'd have to go through that... Could I dare hope for a benign result?

My prayer partners and praying husband reassured when darkness threatened. I kept busy with my job and daily routines until I saw an email from the health portal that said: New test results available.

Nope, not gonna look at that. I don't understand health lingo. I knew the office would call very soon at that point. While at work, my cell phone rang. I jumped from my desk and took the call outdoors of my office. The nurse was pleasant and kind as she gave me the news: Benign. The best word a woman could hear. I laughed and cried with her and then laughed and cried with everyone I called right afterward.

Today, a few days later, I am better for having gone through this. My story for His glory. God was with me even in the darkest night terrors. He stood near and held me when I thought I'd faint from fear and worry. I looked to Him with hope that no matter the outcome, He would be with me. I remembered a few other times in my life when I'd needed him most: the loss of my parents, another health scare many years ago; a time I had to be strong for my child. He had never failed me or left me alone. His love is real. No Matter What.

This morning I chose the word savor. I like the sound of it and all it implies. It means slowing down, enjoying, really enjoying every little moment of every single day. Taking time with my prayer life and reading encouragement. Basking in a long, hot shower. Typing these words. Playing like a little kid with my husband or son. Crocheting with beautiful yarn as it slides through my fingers. Swinging in the sunshine on my porch swing and not caring that I don't have important tasks at hand every second. It's okay to even be a little bored. It means there's life in my body, breath in my lungs, health and light.

The internet had this to say: Savor: to enjoy food or an experience slowly, in order to enjoy it as much as possible: It was the first chocolate he'd tasted for over a year, so he savored every mouthful. Love the fact that you are alive and savor everything that life has to offer.

Are you fearful today? What's pressing upon your heart? Is it time for healing in your soul? Ask. Talk to that wonderful Father. Then ask Him to help you to savor every single blessed moment of every day. 

Merry, Exhausted, and Content

 

It's nice viewing everyone's Facebook posts about the recent holiday season. Though I didn't share much about my own time, I feel it is important to talk about it now.

My heart has never been fuller. From the special gift buying this year- I took my time early and carefully to find truly special items for my loved ones- to my true exhaustion this evening, I have never been happier.

The Christmas week began with a visit to my brother's home which is our parent's old home. There they were, special ornaments tucked here and there, little memories of times past, warming my heart and giving me the kind of glow that only family can give. We spent time watching the new "Ralphie" movie which in itself was extremely nostalgic. Mom and Dad adored the original and watched it over and over annoying us to no end sometimes. But at the center of that movie is a message: family is everything, even dysfunctional and imperfect. Christmas is special, and "The Old Man" was truly the spirit of Christmas when he knew the exact gift Ralphie really wanted.

When the movie was over, tears coursed their way down my cheeks as I remember my own "Old Man" and how he made Christmas so very special for us all. My brother and I took time looking at old Christmas albums together, scratched and worn, a bit broken even, but every little nuance of our parents was indelibly marked upon them.

Christmas day itself was spent with dear ones. My brother and family met us at Matt's house to have a little food and the usual several hour opening of the gifts. Even my nieces were in on it now. There was a warmth, a respect, and a lot of love around that living room. I know in my heart that my son adores having company, and even that in itself gave me such joy.

We visited with my step-daughter and family the week before, making a mess of a gingerbread house but laughing through it all.  Today we watched our Florida grandchildren, little girls we hardly get to see but were able to spend the whole day with. I've not had a moment's peace this year, but this whirlwind of visiting and people remind me of Ye Olde Times of my youth. When family meant everything, people were exhausted but grateful, and sitting back after a it all helps make some of the best memories ever.