Monthly Archives: November 2016

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Thanksgiving

     I grew up on a small family farm. We raised a few cows. When the calves were old enough to be weaned from their mother, we would separate them into separate pastures. The cow and calf would moo to each other for several days. It seems like that would stop within a week or so. We are approaching three years since Ashton died. I don’t think a day passes without my thinking of and missing him. Tears still come easily. My uncle had his right (dominant) hand amputated from a roping accident when he was 19 years old. He’s now 77. I asked him…somewhat in jest…”How long it takes a person to get used to losing his right hand?” He replied, “You’ll have to ask someone older than me; I’m still not used to it.” My uncle has learned to do many things without his right hand: he wears a prosthesis on that arm that he uses to hold electric clippers or a comb when working as a barber…which he has done since his 20’s. He learned to rope again. He has learned to function without his right hand…but he still misses it. No analogy is perfect, but I see some similarities with my missing Ashton: I am learning to adapt and accept…but I still miss him beyond my ability to express.
     This Thursday is Thanksgiving. The last two Thanksgivings have been difficult for me. Someone asked if it was hard for me to feel grateful; that’s not it; I am grateful to God for His mercy and His perfect plan…but Thanksgiving is a family day…and my entire family is not here on earth with me. Another friend asked me how my Thanksgiving was. I said it was kind of rough. He said, “OK. Let me rephrase the question: ‘How was your food on Thanksgiving?'” I think he was trying to be upbeat and cheerful…which I appreciate and probably needed. However, I’ve also learned that there are some people who are not ready to hear the answer to, “How are you doing?” And that’s OK. I don’t resent that or them. I just have to give the obligatory “Fine” response in those situations.
     My goal for this Thanksgiving is to be prepared to have as much fun and to be as playful as I can at a family member’s home as we enjoy the day together. I certainly don’t want to be a “downer” for anyone else who is trying to enjoy the holiday. Please pray for me in this endeavor.
     Faye and I were asked to speak on Gratitude in our congregation today. However, it turned out that someone else was already scheduled to speak…so we have been postponed to next week. I confess that I dreaded speaking today. Again, I’m very grateful to God and His Son, Jesus Christ. However, whenever I talk about what I am grateful for: to know that “Families can be together forever” and that Ashton is my son through the eternities, my emotions overcome me, I cry and I have a hard time speaking. Sometimes it gets worrisome crying in front of others. I think it’s probably awkward for them.
     One of my favorite authors is Ashleigh Brilliant, who writes epigrams (a pithy saying or remark expressing an idea in a clever and amusing way). I have adapted one of them for my circumstances: “Please put your [grief] away; it’s making me too sad.” I think it’s probably tiresome for some to hear of my grief…and that’s OK. As a physician, I try to walk the balance between (metaphorically) tearing the bandage off every 5 minutes to see how the wound is doing versus covering it up and pretending it’s not there.
     Thanks for listening to my ramblings; writing this has been therapeutic for me. God bless you and I hope you have a Happy Thanksgiving!
     Written by Carter
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Mowing, Jobs, Cowboys, General Sherman

Here are some random thoughts I’ve been having lately.
MOWING
     Ashton died January 28, 2014. That summer, I did not have the energy or motivation to plant our garden or mow our yard. In the fall, our pigweeds were about 18 inches tall and grew thick in our backyard. A well-meaning acquaintance…who didn’t know about Ashton’s death…offered to mow them for us. In the conversation, he said, “There’s no excuse for letting your weeds get that high!” I didn’t feel like then was the time to say, “Well, let me tell you what’s going on in my life right now.” I didn’t even have the energy to do that. I didn’t have the energy to even care that our yard was crowded with weeds. We hired him to mow our yard that year. I very much appreciate his help in keeping our grass (and weeds) mowed down.
     Last year, I was able to plant a small garden. It was healing for me to participate with God in helping some of His creations grow. I still didn’t feel like mowing, though. The same acquaintance mowed last year.
     This year, we hired a young man to mow in the spring. We finally repaired our DR Trimmer and I was amazed that I had the energy and motivation to mow our yard several times this summer and fall! It DOES make our yard look better! It was healing to get out and physically exert myself!
THAT’S MY JOB!
     One of my patients has been on dialysis for the past several years. I was impressed with how optimistic he is, despite having the spend most of three days per week at the dialysis center…and the rest of those days, he is quite exhausted. He is a man who is accustomed to working physically hard during his lifetime. It was difficult for him to not be able to do that anymore. I asked him how he kept his positive outlook. His response touched me deeply. He said, “As a younger, healthier man, I would go to work every day to earn a living for my family. Now I look at dialysis as my ‘job.’ That’s just what I do on those three days every week.” That has helped him keep a positive attitude during this difficult time. He tries to be cheerful with the staff and other dialysis patients when he has dialysis. That was a lesson for me. For now, one of my main jobs is to grieve and to heal…and that is HARD and exhausting work!
COWBOYS
     I have a couple of patients that are “cowboys.” They are quite independent and self sufficient. They are both very large and powerful older men.
     One of these “cowboys” said that going to psychiatrists was “dumb.” “All you have to do is look at your life like a tree. Mentally go down to the ‘trunk’ of your life and see what ‘branches’ you have taken and where those decisions have led you.” He said that was very healing as he dealt with trials in his life. That sounds like a great idea and is something I plan to do.
     The other one came by the office when he heard that Ashton had died. He asked my receptionist if he could speak to me about a non-medical matter for just a minute. When I came to the waiting room, he had tears in his eyes and gave me a huge bear hug and pat on the back and told me how sorry he was for my loss. At a later visit, however, he advised me to not be “too sensitive” about what happens to me in my life.
     I’ve been thinking about these two men: are “cowboys” part of the solution? or are they part of the problem (by insisting on fixing all their own problems)? or both? or neither? I don’t have an answer to that, but it was an interesting thought experiment for me.
GENERAL SHERMAN
     I spoke recently to a friend about the effects of mental illness on those around them. About 30 years ago, his brother developed mental illness and started hearing voices that told him to kill his parents…which, tragically, he did. His brother has been institutionalized since then. This friend commented, “Mental illness is devastating…to the person afflicted by it and by those who love them!”
     For some reason, I thought of Major General William Tecumseh Sherman’s “March to the Sea” during the American Civil War. As he marched, he and his men conducted a “scorched earth” approach to break the military, economic and psychological will of the Confederate people. They lived off the land by taking from its inhabitants their crops and animals, often burning what was left behind. Of course, this is not a “perfect” analogy, but I am amazed that yes, mental illness is devastating to all involved…sometimes for several generations.
     My maternal grandfather suffered from bipolar disorder. He and my grandmother had eight children together. He had several “psychotic breaks,” where he lost touch with reality. The culminating “break” was when he tried to drown my grandmother in the bathtub. I don’t know what delusional thoughts he was having as he carried out this attempt. Fortunately, Grandmother escaped. She filed for divorce and raised her children on her own for a time, then married a widow who also had children. The resultant “blended family” was fraught with many challenges. Many scars were left on the survivors of Grandpa’s mental illness. I think I only saw Grandpa three times before he died; I didn’t get to know him very well at all. Mental illness often has a strong genetic component, and several of Grandpa’s descendants (including Ashton) have suffered from mental illness.
Written by Carter
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Healing Loaves of Love 

November 5, 2016

I have a good friend who is a bread maker extraordinaire. Her mother was a bread maker. Susan used to make bread every Monday for her family when she had children at home. Her oldest daughter got emotional once when she talked about ‘bread day’ in their home. She loved her family by making bread for them.  She told me once:

“We’re not making bread, we’re making memories.” I’ve never forgotten that.

Susan has a bread recipe that is, what I consider, the perfect bread recipe. A few years ago, she shared it with me and it is our family’s favorite.

I, too, am a  bread maker. My mother was a bread maker. I also used to make bread for my family. Making bread was something I loved doing. It was also a stress reliever for me. Making bread took me into another world for a few hours. My family loved it, Ashton loved it, and I loved making it for them. The smell of bread baking in our home is a sweet, comforting memory I have of my childhood. I have a sign above my stove that says, “Cooking is Love Made Visible”. Carter bought that sign for me. He knew that’s how I loved my family.

Recently, my friends, Susan and Shevonne, opened up a little country store in St. David called, The Country Coop. A few weeks ago Susan asked if I would like to make bread for them to sell there on the weekends. I told her I would do it. But, inwardly, I was reluctant. I hadn’t made bread for a long time. I didn’t have the energy. My heart wasn’t in it. It wasn’t fun anymore. But I love their little store and I felt honored to be asked by the best bread maker around to make bread for her store. There was no question what recipe I would use. I would make that amazing potato bread of hers. I love the name of her bread recipe.

She calls it, “Love Loaves”.

I told her about a problem I’ve had getting my loaves of bread to brown evenly so she brought over her mother’s loaf pans for me to try. She said, “These pans brown perfectly, every time.” When I first saw them, I was repulsed by them. They were black and scary looking. They weren’t ‘pretty’. I was reluctant to use them. And I didn’t the first weekend I made the bread. I used my pans and I had that same problem of the loaves not browning as well as I would like them to. This weekend I decided to try her mother’s pans. I made 20 loaves of bread in those pans and they turned out beautifully browned! I should have taken a picture. THEY WERE BEAUTIFUL!!

I studied those pans that I called ‘scary’. They were actually beautifully seasoned works of art! There was a story of love baked into each pan, passed down from mother to daughter.  How is it that something so beautiful could come from a pan that worn and old? Why wouldn’t my shiny, pretty pans produce a beautiful loaf of bread?

It’s the seasoning.

It has to be. The years of grease and heat and use. The layers of it all….over and over again….that don’t wash off. It is the seasoning.

Am I being seasoned? Does God have a beautiful outcome in store for me someday?

How does it happen that little white loaves of potato bread, sitting on my counter, wrapped and ready to sell can help to heal me? How does that happen? Well, it happened.

Healing comes in ways I would never expect.

I loved the making of it all. I remembered the happiness I used to find in the making. I was reminded that the perfectionist in me comes out when I make bread. Having that one perfect loaf sitting on my cooling rack thrills me. And the fact that I used those precious pans….all those years of love already baked in.

I plan to keep making that bread for The Country Coop if at all possible. If you happen to go there and if you happen to buy one of those “Love Loaves”,  remember how healing they have been for me, the love that goes into the making, and Grandma Preston’s sweetly seasoned pans. There’s a love story, and some sweet memories in every beautiful loaf.

By the way…. My word for this holiday season is LOVE. For many, many reasons. It just fits.

Thank you Susan and Shevonne. I like to believe you opened up The Coop just for me.

The Country Coop is open every Thursday, Friday and Saturday at 9:00 am. – 561 Lee Street on Highway 80 in St David.

Written by Faye

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Some Measure of Closure

Glennon Doyle Melton said, “Writing about dark and scary things makes them less dark and scary.”
I wrote today about the day Ashton died, January 28, 2014: the events, thoughts, feelings and physical senses I experienced on that “watershed” day. These are very tender and personal feelings and thoughts…so I won’t be sharing them on my blog. I just wanted to mention in my blog what I wrote about today.
Please pray for us as we are striving to bring some measure of closure to this indescribably painful and difficult day in our lives.
Written by Carter