Five Things I Wish I Could Tell Ed Today

If I could see Ed again for a few minutes, these are the five things I would tell him.

1.  Everyone is okay. Yes, we miss you like hell. But we have learned to deal with the sadness better and we    are actually doing okay!

2.  You're a Great Grandfather! You have a great grandson and he is wonderful. He would have loved to sit in your lap and you would love to hold him!

3.  We all love you. We never told you enough while you were here.

4.  We know you are in Heaven. I have no doubt in mind where you are and that you are in eternal peace and happiness!

5.  We will see you again. As sad as it was to watch you go, we know you are safe and that you are waiting for us.

Where to go?

A friend forwarded this poem to me. It reminds me of all the pills Ed had to take. They were all different colors, sizes, and shapes. They each had a job to do, and up until just a few weeks before he died, Ed knew which pills to take, how many, and at what time. I am not sure he, or I for that matter, knew exactly what each pill did.

Every weekend, when I went to visit Mama and Ed, I put together the pill box for the upcoming week. It could be quiet confusing trying to figure out which pills were taken in the morning, which ones at noon, which ones at dinner time, and then sometimes there was one or two to take at bedtime. There were also multiples of certain pills...maybe two in the morning, three in the evening. Whew!

I finally decided instead of going by a list, I would take a picture. The picture was attached to the side of the fridge with a magnet, and the list came down each weekend to lay on the table to use as a guide to fill the pill box. As long as he was able, he sat at the table with me and 'helped'. 

At one point, Mama felt like Ed didn't always know what he was talking about. His speech was increasingly hard to understand and he sometimes switched words about without meaning to. This one particular evening, Ed somehow made Mama understand that he missed a pill. She told him no, that all the pills were in the box for that day, and that he had taken each one. No, he shook his head. He held up one finger. One missing. No, Mama said. Up goes the finger. One missing, he insisted. Mama was aggravated with him and I suppose they went to bed a little perturbed with one another. Ed was convinced he had missed a pill. Mama was convinced he had not. She even had me on the phone with him telling him I was sure I made up the pill box correctly.

The next morning, after breakfast, Mama was sweeping the kitchen floor and under the kitchen table was a pill.  Ed had a look of satisfaction on his face.

SPECIAL POEM FOR OLDER FOLKS

A row of bottles on my shelf

Caused me to analyze myself.

One yellow pill I have to pop

Goes to my heart so it won't stop.

A little white one that I take

Goes to my hands so they won't shake.

The blue ones that I use a lot

Tell me I'm happy when I'm not.

The purple pill goes to my brain

And tells me that I have no pain.

The capsules tell me not to wheeze

Or cough or choke or even sneeze..

The red ones, smallest of them all

Go to my blood so I won't fall.

The orange ones, very big and bright

Prevent my leg cramps in the night.

Such an array of brilliant pills

Helping to cure all kinds of ills.

But what I'd really like to know........ ....

Is what tells each one where to go!

Thinking about Krista and her Numbers

When Ed was diagnosed with a GBM (glioblastoma multiforme), I immediately began doing research on the internet. I was happy to find information regarding the disease, but not so happy to see the treatment options, the side effects of treatment, the statistics for survival.

While doing this research, I came across several blogs created by other persons with GBM. The one which I most connected with was the one by a woman named Krista.

The things that drew me to Krista and her story was the fact she was a woman, mother, Christian, and at the point I 'met' her, she had been declared 'cured' for over three years. In Krista's blog, she marked milestones by the months. Sometimes her blog title was a number...and that number might stand for how many months she was cancer free or how many times she had been to the doctor that week.

It was fun getting to have an inside look at Krista's family life and her medical life. She shared the good, the bad, the ugly and the pretty. She drew the perfect picture of how a person with a horrific disease can overcome, continue with life, and be filled with hope. 

What fascinated me most about Krista and her blog, was the fact that she had connected with a doctor that tried everything, stuff Ed's doctor doesn't seem to know or try.

Checking in with Krista, via her blog, became a weekly activity that I looked forward. Seeing that number show up as a title...and knowing it was more months that she was celebrating cancer free.

Until recently.

Krista's brain tumor didn't come back. Not exactly. But what it did do, was relocate to her spine. Earlier this year, after a most brave and heroic battle, Krista died. 

As sad as that is, I can tell you this, Krista was an angel on earth. To her children, her husband, and her followers. Her story is one that she wanted to share.

If you have time, and want to see true inspiration and bravery, please go to this site and read some of Krista's blog. ( http://onkristasmind.blogspot.com/ ) .  Her husband still posts little updates about himself and the children. I am sure they are having a tough time adjusting to her being gone, but doing this small thing probably helps him.

Ed is a Great-Grandpa!

Greyson...having sweet dreams!

Ed is a great-grandpa!

His granddaughter, Amber, gave birth to Greyson on Wednesday, March 23, 2011. Only a few days more and he would have been born on Ed's birthday...but he was ready to come out!

Ed was a great dad and grandfather, and he would have made a super great-grandpa too.

It's sad he isn't here to share the joy with us, but I know he knows all about Greyson and he is rejoicing in heaven!

Forever Smiling

Ed's Famous Smile

I am so happy to report, Ed's smile is forever. He is in heaven, walking around with Jesus, talking about the things men like to talk about.

Some people called Ed 'Smiley'. It fits.

There were a few times I can remember Ed not smiling. Such as, when Bo was five, he was diagnosed with Rocky Mountain Tick Fever, I came home from school and Ed was crying. That was the first time. I was so bewildered.

The second time I saw Ed cry, was when me and Chuck were seperated for a few weeks, and Ed met me at the kids daycare. I told him I didn't think I could go through with it (divorce), and Ed cried with me. I think that might have been the first time he hugged me. (Yes, I was 31 years old.)

The next time I saw Ed cry, someone had hurt his feelings terribly. I didn't actually see him cry, but I heard it on the phone.

I saw tears again when Dr. Wolpert told Ed, and us, his family, that he had a brain tumor that would he would probably die from. But his tears came after ours, so I know it saddened him to see us so sad.

The last time I saw Ed cry, was after he'd been through numourous chemo and radiation treatments, and was told his tumor had grown back and that treatment was over, and we broke the news to Mama.

From that time on, we did everything we could to just make Ed comfortable and help him live the rest of his life in peace.

For all the tears I saw Ed shed in my lifetime, I saw a hundred fold in smiles and laughter.

He suffered tremendously the last two and half years of his life, but he never complained and didn't cry or show sadness unless he saw it on our faces first. 

I am very fortunate. When I remember Ed, I do not see tears in his eyes, I see a twinkle. I do not see his lips turned down at the corners, I see a smile. I do not hear sobs, I hear laughter. I see him whole, healthy and vigourous as he strolls down the streets of gold, walking with Jesus.

A New Year

Today is New Year Day. We begin a new year and leave the old one behind. And though the calendar year changes, my family is still in our first year of 'firsts' since Ed passed back at Easter.

We had our first Christmas without Ed. Last Christmas, we practically had to beg Mama for her and Ed to go to my brother's for our family Christmas party, for we feared (and rightfully so), that it could be his last Christmas. Mama felt like he wasn't up to it, that we shouldn't take him out. But we convinced her to let us take him. The boys carried him up the stairs while he was still seated in his wheelchair, and it all worked out wonderfully. Perhaps we were being selfish...in wanting to have this 'Last Christmas' with him and making precious memories. I think it did tax him; that he was quite ready to go home and rest after the party, but I do feel that he enjoyed being with us all and laughing, eating, playing games and laughing some more.

This year, not only was Ed not present, neither was Mama. She didn't want to attend. She has her reasons. Reasons none of us will probably ever understand.

We had our Christmas party, and my brother Bo stated, 'Pops will be there', ( at the party ). And I feel like he was in spirit. We didn't sit and wring our hands, we didn't cry, honestly, we didn't talk much about Ed. I think we were afraid we would start crying and being sad, and we didn't want to be sad. Ed was there with us. As he will be with us every holiday from here on out.

He  is with us as we begin our new year. He 'll be with us on our birthdays and each holiday. He was not a big partier or big story teller, but instead, he was the quiet calmness at all our little parties and the best listener. 

He would want us to be happy, to go on with our lives, and to learn something from his life and his death. He would want us to celebrate, to love one another, and to listen to one another. 

Happy New Year!

Christmas 2009 - Ed celebrating with his family!