Showing posts with label special. Show all posts
Showing posts with label special. Show all posts

Tuesday, May 21, 2013

How to Help

One of my nieces is known in our family for her love of candy.  We laugh when we think back to the year when she was two and whenever anyone asked her what she wanted for Christmas she simply said, "Candy."  No amount of prompting or urging could convince her to expand her Wish List that year; over and over, she insisted in her well-articulated, tiny voice that all she wanted was candy.  She was as clear as I'd ever seen a person be about what she thought would make her happy that holiday season, and she savored every bit of candy that she got as a gift.

I saw a little girl eating a big sucker today and thought about my niece and her quest for candy, which, thankfully for her parents' dental bills, has tapered off over the past decade or so.  I thought about just how incredibly happy a kid can be with something as simple as a single piece of candy.  Hell, I thought, sometimes a piece of candy makes me happy, too, especially if it comes in the form of a gift from someone.  


I like to give gifts to people, and I put a good bit of effort into trying to think of a gift that is special for each recipient.  One of the things that I think is the most fun to give is a gift for a new baby.  A thought that strikes me, though, every time I am giving a baby gift is that it's kind of ironic that giving such a gift to the new parents generates work for them, based on social obligations: after they receive the gift, they expect and/or are generally expected to write a thank-you note, which, as anyone who has ever been a new parent knows, is one of the many things for which they really don't have time at that stage of their lives.

Many times when I've been wrapping the baby gift I've considered including a note with the gift to tell the new parents that they are off the hook for writing a follow-up thank-you note, which perhaps they would appreciate as kind of a "cherry on top" type of bonus to the actual gift.  That way, receiving the gift does not create an additional duty for the probably already overworked parents.  



When someone has cancer or another serious illness, people are often eager to do something to help out.  Having been on both the receiving end of that equation as well as the "What can I do to help?" end, there are a few things that I have learned about supporting individuals in need, the most important of which is probably this:  Don't just ask the person or the family if they need anything; ask them what they need.  

Admitting that help is needed can be really hard, and so it's best not to wait for them to ask for assistance.  Assume that they need help - and ask what kind they need.  In some cases, it may even be a good idea to think of specific things to offer, like doing their laundry or their grocery shopping, providing meals, babysitting, pet sitting, etc.  One friend of mine paid for a house cleaning service to go to the home of someone she knew while that person was in the hospital; another one sent her husband over to that house to cut the grass - one less thing for that family to worry about.  There are lots of things that can be done to take stress off the family and to allow them more time to do whatever needs to be done to care for the person who is ill - or just to spend time together instead of running errands or cooking.  If the person who is sick and/or the family say they don't need anything, I recommend respecting their wishes but checking back often to see if that changes.  Sometimes people are too proud to ask or they can't think of anything at that time - but situations can change in an instant and the need for help can arise overnight.  Sometimes it's good to establish contact with a member of the extended family - or a close friend or neighbor - and let them know you are willing to help.  One of my parents' neighbors saw me pulling out of the driveway of their house early one morning when my dad was sick and flagged me down to exchange cell phone numbers with me.  Later, after Dad had been taken to the hospital by ambulance in the early hours one morning, that neighbor texted me to say she had heard the sirens and would be happy to walk my mom's dogs or whatever else we needed.  

Another thing that can be good to do is just to let the person or the family know that they are being thought of, especially if whatever you do to convey that message comes with no strings attached, like the "No Thank-you Note Policy" for the baby gift.  There are many different ways to go about doing this, ranging from texting or mailing a note to that effect (adding "no response required" if appropriate) to sending an anonymous gift or card.  

Or here's another idea (and this brings the topic back around to ... CANDY!):  Sugarwish!



As their banner says, the webiste www.sugarwish.com offers an easy way to send a "sweet" thought by allowing the customer to purchase a gift card (actually an e-card) that will be sent to a recipient who then uses that to select their favorite candies from the choices on the website.  Once they've made their selection, the candy is shipped to their house.  And here's the potential bonus: it can be done anonymously, which will eliminate the thank-you note obligation on the part of the recipient.

SWEET!


When my dad was sick, I came across a website with a program similar to the concept behind Sugarwish; the idea, shared by cancer patient Jerry Kline in his blog, was that a pager (also known as a beeper) could be purchased and given to the person who is sick, with the phone number given out to any interested parties so that anytime someone prays for or thinks about the sick person they can call the number of the pager and enter "777" or their zip code followed by the "#" key to indicate their intent to that person, without requiring any response on his/her part.  I found the concept of the Prayer Pager to be brilliant; it allows people to send a message to let the person who is sick know they are being thought of, at any time of the day or night.  The pager can be turned off if the person wishes not to be disturbed during a certain time, and a page does not obligate the person to do anything in return.    


After reading what Jerry had to say about the program, I contacted the program administrator and asked if I could sign up for my dad.  Unfortunately, though, the program had run out of funding and was no longer being offered.

Since then, though, I have come across a website that offers something similar to the program Jerry used; it's called Pager Prayer.


I guess the point of all this is that there are things that can be done to help an individual who is sick and/or his or her family and that sometimes even the little things can be helpful and meaningful in such a situation.

Wednesday, May 1, 2013

Bittersweet


Following is a guest post written by my sister Nancy:


Bittersweet...

I've often heard that word but have never felt that I had an appropriate time in my life to use it, until 6 weeks ago. 


Giving birth on March 24, 2013, to my firstborn was hands down both the most amazing and the scariest thing I have ever experienced.  I had envisioned the moment of his birth in my head many times over the previous 9 months and it always played out perfectly, except for one crucial part ... my dad wasn't present.

The day I found out I was pregnant, even with as much excitement as I felt, I remember thinking to myself, "This sucks - it's so unfair that my dad won't be here or ever know his 7th grandchild."  I tried not to let myself dwell too much on that fact over the months ahead, but always in the back of my thoughts I felt very bitter.

On the day of my son's birth, I tried to keep it together so as not to make the special day sad, even though Dad wasn't there, but to make sure it was memorable.  I grasped tightly to one of my dad's handkerchiefs (or "hankies," as he called them) during my entire labor process.  I kept hearing my oldest sister saying to me "Remember this, remember this!" and I wanted to focus on especially that.  My whole life I strived to make my dad proud of me and he always told me that he was, and I know without a doubt that he was with all of us in that delivery room that day at the exact moment of my child's birth and that he was so proud of me, my mom, and my sisters knowing that life really does go on - just not always the way we envisioned that it would.  There was complete joy and happiness, and there were big smiles again in our lives and yet another legacy to carry on the family name. 

The nurses allowed Nancy to wear her Brain Cancer Awareness bracelet during the entire labor and delivery process.

I look forward to having Crosby's aunts, uncles, cousins, and Gran-Gran telling detailed stories in honor of his Gramps so that my son will know my dad.  I've decided that I'm not going to waste precious time being mad or even bitter that Dad wasn't physically there for that big moment in my life; instead I will embrace the fact of all the people I love most on this earth were by my side. 

Bittersweet...


Wednesday, December 5, 2012

Moments

I think most people only have a handful of times in their lives when something is happening and they realize in that moment that they are going to remember it for the rest of their lives.  Our other memories, things we think about after the event has come and gone - they come back to us unexpectedly, out of the blue, without our having consciously collected them along the way. But the ones that we know will stay with us as they are occurring are extra special, because we get to live them live in real time and in memory. 

As hard as it is to think back on the time when my dad was sick, I realize that the fact that we were aware of the risk (probability) that his time was limited allowed us to pull in those memories while we were focusing on the specialness of that time. Some of the time, I was functioning in the moment, but I was also deliberately hoarding memories of what was going on. I wasn't trying to hold onto those things because I thought Dad wouldn't be around much longer, though; usually I was logging those moments because I thought he would beat the damn cancer and we would be able to look back and think this is how we made it!!  And even though it turned out we didn't, at least we were afforded those memories, both the good and the difficult, to remind us of the fierceness of our love for one another. 


I dealt with my dad's illness with staunch denial of the fact that the devastating prognosis could apply to us, and, looking back, I think it turned out to be for the better that I wasn't aware of many of the last times I'd have with my dad because of that denial.

In going through life, we tend to think we will always have more time, which leads us to think that it's ok to rush around, to put things other than our loved ones first, and to worry about the past and the future instead of letting everything else fade away and just appreciating the simple physical presence of those we love.  Hearing the words "brain cancer" allowed me to stop all of that and to recognize that I needed to just be with my dad and the rest of my family, even though I didn't let myself think that there wouldn't be many more opportunities to do that same thing.   

And afterwards, I had to see not just that I'd been wrong in thinking the prognosis was wrong, but I also had to realize another hard thing as part of the grief: when the dust starts to settle after the first time you lose someone that you truly love, in the darkness it hits you that your days together with everyone else that matters to you are numbered as well.  And somewhere along the way in dealing with the horror of that realization, you may see the importance of paying attention, of stopping to smell the roses, of committing the moments to memory, because doing so is one of the few things that may possibly help to ease the deep aching when we do have to come to find out that the lasts were just that.

All the inconveniences, the irritation, the stressing out over things, the wishing for things that don't really matter at all seem so insignificant, so stupid, and in some cases so selfish when we put it into perspective.  At some point, for all of us, it will be too late.  We have to do our best to capture those moments now, before they actually become lasts, before there is no hope of recapturing them, before the regrets set in and that's all that we have left.

I still have moments when I don't believe it really happened or that he's really gone, even now, 23 months later.  Damn I miss him. 

What I wouldn't give to see this smiling face again //
"There are no goodbyes for us.  Wherever you are,
you will always be in my heart."  ~Mahatma Gandhi