9/11

This started as a Facebook post, but ended up being too long, I decided. Now it's a blog! :)

As a 7th grader, I didn't know what a "terrorist" was, and I had no idea what the World Trade Center was. When Mrs. Schaaf came in and told Mrs. LaFreniere to turn on the news, I remember thinking "Big deal, a plane accidentally hit a tall building..."  Sadly that wasn't the case. Throughout the day we began to understand the seriousness of the situation, but as a 12 year old child, I just didn't grasp what had happened and how it affected my fellow Americans. I remember Mr. LaFreniere stomping around & threatening to join the Army if only he were younger. Later that day, our teachers all gathered us in one room to explain what had happened and what it meant for our country. I remember feverishly scribbling notes and quotes from my teachers into a notebook (which I would LOVE to find) because I had a feeling 9/11/01 was going to be a big day for America. 

It wasn't until my senior trip that I understood the magnitude of 9/11. We took the subway to the World Trade Center stop and walked right out to what was left of the WTC. I remember looking out at the massive holes filled with construction equipment, wreckage, and dirt at Ground Zero thinking "This still isn't cleaned up? It's 2007!" I turned around and walked to a wall that had drawings done by children. I soon realized these were by children who had lost their parents or family members. I started reading them and broke down in tears. My friend Brad was nearby, and held me while we both cried. It was that moment that we finally "got" it. I then had to sit down, and I called Grandma Seger, who was at work at the time, and described my surroundings. 

We then went outside, and there was a timeline set up of the events of the day. There was also a display with the names of those killed. I remember filming it with my camera and it took something like 15 seconds of filming to get all of the names in the video. That was another eye opener. There were quotes, photos, and videos on the display right there on the sidewalk, with Ground Zero in the background. The photo that haunts me to this day is of a black man saluting with tears running down his face. 

When I returned to Ground Zero in 2013, it was a totally different experience. Hannah and I were visiting the city, and wanted to see the new memorial. We paid for admission, went trough security, passed through stores of 9/11 merchandise, and finally made it to the memorial pools. There were pamphlets in every language on display, and people everywhere. When we walked up to the memorial waterfall pools we were amazed at how HUGE they were. And the names...so many names of those who died. 

The One World Trade Center was nearly finished, and it was so tall I couldn't get the whole building in one photo. The museum was not yet open at this time. 

I am grateful for my experience in 2007, as it helped me to better understand the momentous event that was 9/11. I hope to return to Ground Zero again someday to see the museum and the finished One World Trade Center. 

14 years later, I continue to pray for those who lost family members, our president, military, and my fellow Americans. I pray that we will come back the only One who can save us: Jesus Christ! May God bless America!

Small Town Life

Small town life

Some people hate it.  Most people live their lives trying to get out of it. 

I don't see what's so wrong with it. 

Sure, people may get a little catty and gossip a lot. It's just like any family, and we usually get over it. Nobody can get away with anything in our small town because we all know each other. (That's always been fun for me; I enjoy it when people know who I am just by seeing the resemblance to my parents or grandparents!) When we call the credit union or bank, we don't need to give our last name because 99% of the time we know the person on the phone. Our pharmacist makes deliveries. Our locally owned store and restaurants let people keep tabs because they know we'll be back to pay it soon. We are related to most people, and if we're not, we know people who are. We literally have mutual friends with everyone in town, and probably the county! We can't escape a trip to the gas station without seeing the face of someone we know. We make the front page of the paper or  the 6:00 news for the most trivial of accomplishments. Whether we want to be or not, we are deeply invested in small town life.

I've spent my entire adult life being made fun of for loving Manton, which hurts my feelings, but I'm not afraid to say that I'm proud of my hometown. I'm proud of the PEOPLE in my hometown. With two deaths in the Manton community in the last 36 hours, so much has already been done to help those suffering. This isn't anything new. This is the way it's always been. When there's a tragedy, friends and neighbors, even acquaintances and strangers will go out of their way to help in any way possible. When there's a cancer diagnosis, an accident, an unexpected death, we pull together and help. Not only in the bad times, but the good as well. We celebrate and have fun together, too. What a blessing that is!

No longer do I live in Manton. Now I live in a place with the number of people residing in the city limits being equal to those in my entire home COUNTY.  I don't even try to explain the close bond Mantonites share. My coworker said "Wow, you have a lot of deaths in your hometown," and I had to think about that. It may seem that way, but the reality of it is that because we are such a small community, every death seems more personal. Every tragedy impacts all of us. Each misfortune feels like it's happening to our immediate family. 

We ARE a family. Never will you meet a band of people who will fight for you like those from a small town. Especially those from a small town in Northern Michigan. It's comforting to know there are 1,300+ people who will always have my back, and I can guarantee I'll always have theirs.

I love you, Manton, and let's stay Manton Strong!

***More specifically: Let's lift the Stanley family up in prayer, and support them in any way possible. Also please pray for the Weaver family, as Red passed away today. Two firefighters who served our community are now serving the Lord in Heaven.

For information on how you can help the Stanleys, see the story on 9&10 News' website: http://www.9and10news.com/story/28825420/manton-man-remembered-after-unexpected-death#

   

I leave you with some verses I found that apply to our situation.

"And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away." -Revelation 21:4

"And the people asked him, saying, What shall we do then? He answereth and saith unto them, He that hath two coats, let him impart to him that hath none; and he that hath meat, let him do likewise." -Luke 3:10-11

In "Hymn" We Trust

        Tonight my church had a "hymn sing," which I had never heard of or been a part of. Over 60 people from multiple churches came together to make one big choir, and members of the community and of each church filled the pews. As the entire congregation joined the choir to sing "Saved, Saved!" I got goosebumps as the first chorus ended. I marveled in the awesomness that is God, the Creator. What an amazing thing to hear so many of His people in one place lifting our voices to Him in praise.

"I bet this is kind of what Heaven will be like," I thought to myself. 

Multiple people gave special music, and two different families sang accapella with their 5 children! I would LOVE to do that someday but I don't think I'm that musically inclined. I was inspired to take piano lessons again. I wonder if there's a piano teacher who can teach older re-learners like me? It would be worth checking into I think! I still don't know what my passion is and how I can use it to help others, but I think music (or more specifically, the piano) is high on the list. 

During the service, the most adorable baby woke up and was looking around and smiling at people. I got a lump in my throat wondering when it will be MY turn to have a beautiful baby like that. When will it be MY turn to sing to my children and teach them the great hymns of the faith? Trying to not be selfish, I put the thoughts aside and continued to enjoy the music.

The last song the huge choir sang was "It Is Well With My Soul". This song has a history with me and my church family back home, and I couldn't hold the tears back. Even though this song triggers memories of a horrible day, if I think about the lyrics in the verses in a different sense, they are just so powerful!  "My sin, not in part, but the whole is nailed to the cross and I bear it no more. Praise the Lord, PRAISE THE LORD, oh my soul....Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight. The clouds be rolled back as a scroll. The trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend. Even so, it is well with my soul!"

It was a joyful evening spent with a room full of strangers, but all with a common love for Christ. I wish this is how every day ended!

Dementia - a COTA's Prose

I type in the code to enter the locked unit. Only the most confused and demented patients are kept here, and are locked in for their own safety. I walk the long hallway with shiny wood floors and enter the main gathering room. It's bright and cheerful, with large windows allowing for a view of the sunset in the evening. Elderly people are scattered all over the room; some dozing in recliners, others wander aimlessly in wheelchairs or on foot, while another sits in the corner playing with a baby doll. 

My patient, M, is in a recliner sleeping. To wake him, I must pat his leg and yell directly into his ear in order for him to hear me. He stirs, smiles, and is thrilled when I ask if he would like to work on an activity with me. Before he stands, I unplug the chair alarm safety device that will squawk loudly once his weight leaves the chair. He walks faster than most, and is fairly cognizant, though his hearing makes communication difficult

"Let's get out of here!" he says, after participating in our sorting activity for about 4 minutes.

"Ok, let's go!" I yell. Off he goes with his blue 4 wheeled walker. We walk the two long halls and look outside, a place he hasn't been in weeks. He speaks clearly, when he can hear my questions, and is a joyful man. 

After about a half hour, I help M back to his chair for the rest of his nap, making sure to turn his chair alarm back on so the aides will be alerted if he decides to wander. I walk the long hallway and wonder why he is in the dementia unit as punch in a different code to exit.

The next day, I go back to The Meadows, as it's called. It's lunch time, and all of the residents are gathered around the tables with trays of food in front of them. I pull up a chair next to my patient, and scream hello into is ear is a wave. He smiles and says hello. He continues to eat his lunch in a slow fashion. He doesn't have enough strength or dexterity to use a fork in the proper way, so he scoops the food onto it like one would do with a spoon. It's hard not to reach out and help him as his hand shakes and most of the food falls off the fork. One time I do break from my role as  therapist, and help him by stabbing a piece of chicken with the fork and putting it back in his hand. 

"Don't you think I know how to eat?!" M says loudly.

I sit back and let him finish, monitoring his hand movements, coordination, and efficiency. A half hour later, he is still finishing his food, slowly but surely. He says he enjoyed the meal. Our treatment time is up, and he says goodbye with a wide smile.

        I return at lunch time the next day and greet M in the usual way. He is nearly asleep in his plate of food. My attempts to wake him are unsuccessful. His hands are clasped together tightly, and I try to separate them. No luck. I try to place his fork in his right hand, but am met with tightly gripped fingers. The nursing staff reports that he has been this way all day.

As I try to rouse M, I notice a woman in her sixties sitting next to a much older woman lying in a geriatric recliner chair. The lady in the chair is so small, she looks nearly skeletal. She has no teeth, doesn't speak, but cries out randomly. The woman next to her holds a spoon, scoops up some pureed food, and brings it to the elderly woman's mouth. She eats from the spoon.

"Mom, swallow!" the woman commands as gently as possible. I realize her mother doesn't understand she needs swallow pureed mush without a verbal cue to do so. 

The daughter gazes into her mother's face, and I can see the sorrow in her eyes. I try not to stare as I imagine this now decrepit old lady as a young woman, caring for her daughter, feeding her, and teaching her how to walk. The tables have certainly turned. I learn the daughter returns almost daily to feed her mother. 

This is dementia. This is real life. And sometimes life isn't fair or easy. Through it all, I attempt to be a blessing in all of my patients' lives, whether they remember me the next day or not.