“A bath and a tenderloin steak. Those are the high points of a man’s life.” Curt Siodmak
Jan 12, 2022
It was January. Nobody likes January. Christmas had passed, taking with it all the magic and wonder and leaving stacked up bills and stale gingerbread cookies in its wake. The snow on the ground wasn’t sparkly and magical, it was just cold and wet, covered with dirt and car oil, not the kind of snow you see in Hallmark movies.
When my son Isaiah was younger, he would get so excited when he saw the first snowflakes of the season, he’d squeal, “It’s Christmas!!” even though the calendar on the wall would reveal that we were in fact closer to Thanksgiving than Christmas. But no matter how hard I would try, I could not convince him that having snow did not mean that it was Christmas. It frustrated me at the time, but now I was wishing I could go back to that sweet innocence. Instead, Isaiah, along with the rest of us were suffering from the post Christmas blues. Not only that, but the nonstop care was taking its toll on all of us. We knew we were right where we were supposed to be, but even so, we were all missing our friends and our church family back in Virginia. We were missing getting out of the house and doing something, anything!
Just as I was having a pity party for myself, I looked over at Mom and felt guilty. Mom had not taken a step since the morning of August 12, the day she got her ALS diagnosis. This inability to walk, also meant she was unable to shower or to take a bath. Her baths instead were all sponge baths given in the bed. She longed to be immersed in water, and to feel really clean again. I discussed this with hospice, but there was just no feasible way that we could see to make this happen.
As I stood in the shower, I let my warm water rush over me and took a deep breath. I found myself wanting to take it all in, and not take this blessing for granted. “Lord thank you for this shower. Thank you that I can stand and walk. Help me to be grateful for the gifts you have graciously given me, and help me to stop looking at the negative. And please Lord, if there’s any way, any way at all that we can get Mom into the shower, please reveal that.”
I don’t remember if it was that night, or a few nights later, but while scrolling through Facebook, I read a story about a bedridden ALS patient who received one of her dying wishes, a chance to take a bath, a real bath, immersed in water in an inflatable bathtub. As I read the story, my heart yearned to provide that same gift for my Mom. I looked up the price, and realized it just wasn’t within our reach in the moment. There were just so many extra medical costs right now. But God heard that yearning. A day or 2 later, a friend from Oasis Church, Hannah Gardner, reached out to me and asked for our address. I thought perhaps she wanted to mail a card. Oh no! You see Hannah, had read that same story even though she wasn’t a member of the ALS page, and even though I hadn’t said anything to her about it. It showed up on her feed during the wee hours of the morning. God had tugged at her heart and she too thought of my sweet Mom and how she may enjoy that special gift. What’s crazy is that I hadn’t talked about this yearning to anyone other than my immediate family and my heavenly Father. But the Holy Spirit moves in ways we may never fully understand. And so, unbeknownst to David and I, Hannah created a Facebook post to collect funds for this bathtub. Several people gave and went above and beyond what she asked for, some of these people I don’t even know. That tub arrived, along with an inflatable hair washing tub and a little relaxation kit for us. Mom received her first bath in months. Months of dried skin and soapy residue were washed away, revealing more youthful, supple skin underneath. Mom got her wish. She finally felt clean. The hospice nurses couldn’t believe how different her skin looked. It was January, but we got our magical Christmas snow.
Although we were in Ohio, we kept a closer watch on the weather our friends were experiencing in Virginia. Our 1890’s farmhouse didn’t fare so well in the cold. Her beautiful box sash windows were no match against the cold windy gusts of the Appalachians. Every winter, we covered the windows with plastic and stoked the outdoor woodstove to keep our house a toasty refuge against the harsh weather. But this year, we weren’t there to take care of our house the way we needed too. I feared the worst, burst pipes and water damage. Another friend from Oasis Church, Kimberly Reese, called to check on me, something she had very much gotten in the habit of doing over the last few months. She could hear the worry in my voice as I lamented, “I just don’t know what to do. I know that we need to go home and take care of our house, but I can’t leave Mom. But I’ve got to get home because I also need to pick up David’s truck. In a couple of weeks, we have doctor’s appointments that can’t be delayed. And I need to go through our mail and get some different clothes and some forgotten schoolwork for the kids. Friend, I don’t know what to do.” Kimberly tried to calm me down, but at this point I was wound so tight that it would take hours to untangle my mess.
I’m a worrier. Kimberly is not. Kimberly is a doer. “I’m sure it will all work out,” , she tried to assure me. I was not so sure. Later that day, my phone rang. It was Kimberly again. “Hey, what if we go to your house for you and put the plastic on your windows. And then we can drive David’s truck up to you? Does that work?”
I couldn’t speak. It was too much. I could never ask anyone to do such a big favor. But we were stuck and couldn’t see how we could possibly do these things ourselves, still I kept grasping for other solutions. It was like trying to catch bubbles in your bare hands. Out of options, we humbly accepted this lavish gift of friendship. Kimberly cheered, “Yay! Perfect! Okay, you make a list of everything that you need and send it to me. We’ll take care of it. Now stop worrying! We got this.”
Until that moment, I didn’t realize how much this had been weighing on me and running through my mind like a scratched record on repeat. I could finally move forward.
We didn’t tell the kids that their friends were coming. We wanted it to be a surprise. So the day they were driving to Ohio, Kimberly and I kept texting back and forth. Earlier in the week a counselor with hospice had given the kids some reading material and coloring books on how to deal with grief. I believe at some point there was mention of a Care Team that could talk with the kids about their feelings,or perhaps I made that name up. Either way, from that point on, unbeknownst to the kids, the Reeses became The Care Team. Any texts or phone calls I received were from the Care Team. In order to get the kids motivated to get out of their pjs and look nice, I told them that the Care Team was on their way and wanted to talk to them. Reluctantly, they dragged their feet, and bemoaned, “We don’t want to talk to the stupid Care Team. We want to see our friends.”
The kids were in the back bedroom when they pulled up. A knock on the door. “The Care Team is hear!!”, I shrieked. Did my excitement give me away?Everyone shuffled to the door. The door flung open. The room erupted with cheers, as the kids lifted each other off the floor in tight embraces. Bella’s mind couldn’t process what she was seeing fast enough as she just kept saying, “Wait, why are you here? Why are you here?” with tears of joys streaming down her face.
Later that day, the Reeses took the kids out to the local YMCA to swim and get away for awhile. That evening, I snuck away with them for an hour or so to go to Playmore Lanes to pick up our dinner, the best tenderloin sandwiches and onion rings in the county! While we waited for them to finish our order, we picked up a quick strike and spare. I remember literally closing my eyes and inhaling a deep breath through my nose and then slowly letting it out. I could breath! It felt like I had been holding my breath for months. The night was filled with laughter and games. Everyone piled in and spent the night on air mattresses and couches. It was a full house, with overflowing hearts.
We couldn’t find the oasis, but the oasis found us and refueled us for the journey ahead.
17flattires 