Happy Birthday, Rich.

It has been almost one year since my last entry on this blog....it started as a case of "writers block" that wouldn't seem to go away.  Then in April, our lives took a huge turn and we are still working to establish some sense of normal.

In the matter of one month we lost three very important people in our lives.  My wonderful uncle, David Tacia, died very unexpectedly from  cardiac arrest.  Two weeks later, my mother, Eleanor Mosley died from complications from a broken hip and a broken heart from losing her much adored little brother.

Two weeks prior to my Uncle David dying, Matt and I were sitting in our living room, drinking coffee.  Matt had just gotten laid off from his job at the hospital and we were planning what we were going to get accomplished while he was jobless.  My phone rang and it was my son Luke, calling to tell me that his dad, Rich, had been killed in a car accident that morning on his way to work.  Could Matt and I please come to Kalamazoo as soon as we could.

Matt quickly threw our large suitcase on the bed, we added our clothes and various miscellaneous items and headed to Kalamazoo within the hour.  After we arrived we learned that Rich was sitting at a red light in Schoolcraft.  He was hit and killed by a man in a car traveling at a high rate of speed.  The days that followed were a blur.  Trying to comprehend how life can change so quickly, plan a funeral and watch my son attempt to deal with the loss of his father, while dealing with the loss of my son's father was difficult, to say the least.

Richard W. Simmons, Jr. and I were married in 1991.  Although our marriage ended in divorce we somehow managed to come out as friends.  We spoke on the phone frequently and even traveled together to Kansas City to see Luke for his birthday when he was living there.

We shared the bond of deep love for our son and we cared about each other too.  We spend 20 years together and knew each other well.

Rich was the brother of Lori, who I worked with when I was a manger for Wendy's Old Fashioned Hamburgers.  Upon getting to know Rich, one thing was apparent.  Rich loved farming and he loved John Deere.

 In fact, he worked for a John Deere dealership called Finnermans.  He drove their semi and delivered their equipment.  There was no better job in this world for Rich, whom I fondly called a "Spectator Farmer."  He didn't want to farm himself, he just wanted to watch everyone else do it.  And delivering equipment to all of the big farmers in the area was a great way to accomplish this.  He always knew who was planting, harvesting and who had a new center pivot, tractor or combine.  At Rich's funeral, his dad, Dick said that Rich always loved things that were "green with yellow wheels."

 A ten minute trip with Rich could turn into an hour and a half if he thought there was something in the farming world he had to see.  He faithfully read the Farmers Advance every week and watched the US Farm Report on television every Saturday morning.  As our relationship grew I knew that Rich really liked me the day he presented me with my very own John Deere tractor key.  I put it on my key ring right away as I knew that was a very special token of affection coming from Rich.  A little over a year after we met Rich and I got married.  It was a rainy fall day in October.  The rain was good as all of his farmer friends we able to attend because they were unable to work in the fields due to the weather.  And of course, under his tux jacket, Rich sported a pair of John Deere suspenders.

October 3, 1993 our son, Luke was born.

 It was only natural that when Luke could talk, he would declare that "farming is my life."  He was a great companion for his father.  They would go out together, riding around and keeping track of all the agricultural goings on in the area.

 They would spend hours at Lennie Jaworski's operation (a "big time" farmer in Vicksburg) discussing crops and inspecting equipment.  The Centerville fair was always the highpoint of the early fall as they had a spectacular display of combines and tractors. (Rich no longer worked for them as he got a job with Consumers Concrete after Luke was born. Although he hated to give up his work at Finnermans,  he wanted to work closer to home.)  Luke joined 4H has soon as he was able and raised pigs just like his dad did.

 Farming was always the tie that bound them to each other and also to Rich's dad, Dick and Luke's Uncle Joe.  The four of them even traveled together to the John Deere headquarters to watch a tractor for Joe's work at the MSU Farm being built.  When Luke graduated from High School,  the "Little H" John Deere tractor that has been in the Simmons family for many years sat out in the front yard during the party.

At the time Rich died, he was once again working for Finnermans, which had grown into a very large John Deere dealership and was called Greenmark Equipment.  I don't think anyone really loved their job more than Rich did.  He drove their semi truck and once again was delivering John Deere tractors and combines to some of the largest farms in Southwest Michigan.

 He took great pride in his work and we often talked about his job and how happy he was to have it back.  Luke moved back to the Kalamazoo area and would often stop in to see his dad or have lunch with him at work.  Rich was truly living the dream by being involved with the farming world that he loved so much.  Greenmark bought Rich's semi with a tractor on the back and parked it in the church parking lot during the funeral.  Rich arrived at Heavens gate in a fresh work uniform as that is what Luke chose to have him buried in.

One night before the funeral,  Luke was telling us how badly he wanted a sign that his dad was okay.  The accident was a terrible one and it was very hard for everyone to think about.  Rich had a very strong faith and we knew that he was in heaven.  But to Luke it was very important that he get a sign from his dad that he was not suffering.  I told Luke that he would have to be patient but I was sure that someday, somehow, Rich would send that sign to Luke.  I asked Rich to make it as soon as he could because it was so hard to see Luke struggle the way that he was.

Rich's visitation was planned for a Sunday afternoon.  On Saturday, we were at Rich's sister, Ann's home.  We were making an attempt at normalcy watching her daughter, Kealey get ready for the prom.  All of Lukes cousins were there also (except for Phillip who was serving in Afghanistan) and they took him out for a ride and to get some ice cream.  Rich's sisters, Phyllis and Diane, Diane's husband Jerome and Rich's brother Joe went for a ride to the site of the accident and to leave some flowers.  They arrived back at Ann's house before Luke and his cousins did.  Luke's Uncle Jerome asked me if he could talk to me in private.  We went into another room and Jerome told me that when they got to the accident site, they had found a few things of Rich's.  Some contents of his wallet were scattered about in the median close to where the accident happened.  They found his partially burned social security card and a few other things that they had put into a bag for me to give to Luke when I thought he was ready.  Then Jerome said that he had walked several feet away and was looking in the grass.  He said "I found this, do you think it belonged to Rich?".  He held out his hand, and in it was a John Deere key.  It was exactly like the one he had given me over twenty years ago.  It was just like the ones he always had in his car.  Of course it was Rich's and Jerome found it in the grass, in the median of 131 just like Rich wanted him too.  I told Jerome the significance of what he had found.  I told him that he had found the sign that Rich had sent to his son to let him know that he was okay.  The key was scratched and beat up but it was whole, just like Rich was in heaven.  I told Jerome that he had to give it to Luke when He got home.  Then I thanked Rich for being so prompt in taking care of that.  Rich was always quick to act on matters of importance and this time he came through just like I knew he would.

I was there when Jerome gave Luke the key.  By the look of pure relief on Lukes face, I knew that it would give him the peace he needed to get through the next few days and the next several years.  We promptly took it to a jewelry store where they sautered a jump ring on the key.  We bought a silver chain and Luke wears it around his neck as a constant reminder that his dad, like the key, is whole, is close by and watching over him everyday.

Rich's funeral and visitation were beautiful.  The Simmons family, Luke and I were shown a lot of love and support by many friends and family members.  Rich was laid to rest on May 5th at Maple Grove Cemetery with the soil from his families farm scattered over him.

The road since Rich's death has been bumpy for Luke, Rich's family, and for me too.  I miss him every day and can't count how many times I go to call him to talk about our son.  We made it through the holidays without him, and today, we are thinking of him and missing him on his birthday.  Happy Birthday, Richie Simmons.  We love you and miss you more than you could know.    I hope you can take a minute out of your busy day in Heaven to have a piece of cake.

It's a Dogs Life

"When there is a dog in your life there is always a reason to laugh."

I love dogs.  All dogs.  Big ones, little ones, even the ugly ones (if there is such a thing).  I am always (trying to) making my dogs pose for pictures and have wasted my entire morning doing just that.  I got a new lens for my camera and since it is too cold to go out and find something to take photographs of, my dogs have become my models.

I thought since I had all of these pictures I just took of the boys I would do a blog post dedicated to them.  Right now we have five dogs in our house.  Which, even for a dog lover like me, is too many.  Especially when they are all in need of attention at one time.  Especially since one wants to go in and out constantly.  And two bark non stop at everything that moves indoors and outdoors, real or imagined.   Only three are truly ours, but I love them all just the same, even if they happen to be driving me crazy on this particular day.

This is Winston, fondly known as Win.

 Winston is about to celebrate his 13th birthday.  He came into our lives when Luke was in first grade.   He is Poodle Terrier mix.  The advantage to this is that he doesn't shed.  He is also tenacious and barks at everything. When he was a puppy someone asked me if he was a Rottweiler.  I don't know why they asked that, but ever since then he thinks he is bigger and tougher than he really is.  Even though he is a senior, he is still fit and very feisty.

 We often have to bring him down a notch by reminding him that his birth father was a Poodle.  He normally resides with his dad (my previous husband, Rich) in Kalamazoo.  Since Rich works pretty much all the time, he is here to hang out with his brothers and get caught up on his vet care.

He is sweet and loving and rides well in the car.  He also hates it when snowballs get caught in his paws and licks the couch all the time.

This is my beloved Trapper.

He is my 7 year old Black Lab.  When Luke was in middle school he wanted a lab in the worst way.  I, of course, said no.  We had a dog (imagine that, just one) and besides, Labs were too big and they shed too much.  We would never get one.  Then we got one.  

My friend, Suzie's Chocolate Lab, Rusty, fathered twelve black and chocolate babies.  We went to "look" and of course came home with this adorable eight pound ball of absolute cuteness.  And, because moms are always the ones to take care of the dogs, despite the multitude of promises from the kids who wanted them, Trapper became my dog.  He has been my best friend and confident through out all of the trials and tribulations of the last three or four years. He was also there to celebrate all the happiness that I found along the way.   And, of course when I moved to Oscoda, there was no question that he was coming.

I love him.

And then, of course, there is Nolan

 Nolan Francis Budrow came to live with Matt and I when we were still in Kalamazoo.  At that time, I shared custody of Winston and Trapper and Matt thought it would be nice if we had a dog of our own.  So we went to the SPCA to take a look.  When we got to the last cage, there he was.  Imprisioned with a hyperactive Jack Russell named Cindy Lou Who.  She was jumping up and down trying to get our attention while he sat there silently imploring us with his eyes to get him out of there.  This was obviously no place for a dog like him.  So, we bought him home.

 Nolan is a Chihuahua/Skipperke mix who was named after Francie Nolan, a character in my favorite book, "A Tree Grows in Brooklyn."   Nolan is the biggest character we have ever met.

He barks too much, for no good reason, is very defiant, loves Elton John and all things sparkly.  He makes us laugh everyday.  

The next dog to come into our lives was Saber.  Sabe's, Big Saber, Saberlicious. 

 Before he knew that he would work for the railroad, Luke rescued Saber.  He was living with a family that loved him, but with many kids he had become rather neglected and they couldn't keep up with an ear infection that wouldn't go away.  So, Luke went to see him.  Luke wasn't sure about taking him and his shoebox full of problems.  As he was trying to think of a way to get out of it, Saber came up to Luke and leaned on his legs, like German Shepherds do.  Then Saber looked up at him with those big brown eyes, and Luke made up his mind.   He has been an adored part of this family ever since.

 After the proper vet care (although those darn ears will never get completely better) and a good diet, Saber is beautiful, inside and out.  He weighs 120 pounds, but is a gentle soul.  He is dignified, majestic and truly never does anything he isn't supposed to.  And whenever we go away, he is in charge.

He is staying with us until the day comes that Luke is able to have Saber with him.  So even though he is here temporarily, he will always have a home here for as long as he needs one and has a permanent part of our hearts.

Before Saber came to stay with us, Matt and I decided that we would love to have a German Shepherd of our very own.  We rescued Diego, a senior, from the Southwest Michigan German Shepherd Rescue in Augusta.  Kristen does an awesome job of finding homes for GSD's that are in shelters and abandoned.   Unfortunately, after we brought Diego home to live with us, we found out that he was very sick.  This wasn't evident when we got him.  Kristen, Matt, and I were devastated when shortly after we got him, we had to euthanize him due to the severity of his illness.  Not long after that my friend Bobbi called, as she heard that another friend, Jamie, had a German Shepherd that needed a home.

We went to meet him and that is how Rudy became part of our family.  His owner apparently had to move and couldn't take him along.  He left him at his dad's home, who tied him outside without food or water.  Probably starving, Rudy killed and ate a chicken.  That prompted a call to the police and Rudy was going to be shot if someone didn't come and get him.  Rudy's hero, Jamie, and her brother went out and got him and saved his life.

He has been with us almost a year.  I believe that Diego sent him to us because he couldn't stay, but knew Rudy needed us.  A very smart dog and quick learner, Rudy has mastered his manners.  The hair that was gone from the chain rubbing around his neck grew back, and he is absolutely beautiful.  Probably because of his past, Rudy is very needy and his nickname is "Needy Ned."

 He always tries to lay in your lap and nudges your hand so you will pet him.  He promptly puts himself to bed in his crate every night at ten o'clock.   Although he loves everybody, he is especially fond of his dad.

So, these are my boys.  As I type they are all laying around me.  And if I get up to get another cup of coffee, they will all get up and follow me out to the kitchen.   If I go into the bathroom, they will all get up and follow me.  If I take a shower, they will lay on the bathroom floor until I am done. They get on the bed when they are not supposed to and leave hair on our pillows.  They shed constantly.  They are always ecstatic when we come through the door, if it is one time or one hundred.  They love us more than anything and they love us if we are having a good day or a bad one.  They are always available for a hug and their warm fuzzy heads have absorbed many a tear.   They keep us company when Matt and I are home alone.  They work hard to keep us safe.  They make us laugh and drive us crazy.  We love them. They are our dogs.

A New Normal

I am sitting here, at my computer, a cup of coffee nearby.  Christmas music is on the radio in the background.  My three loyal companions are laying around my feet.  To them it is just another day.  Matt is on his way to Alpena, taking my restless parents back to where they are most comfortable.  Soon I will have to get ready to go to work.  My first shift in as an Emergency Room nurse on Christmas day.

Last week I called my mother to tell her that Matt and I would be there for lunch on Christmas eve.  I thought we would go, eat with them and then my parents could open their gifts.  Matt and I would come home and have our Christmas, since I had to work the next day.  Before I could lay out the plans to my mother she asked me "are you coming to get us and take us to your house for Christmas?".  Taken aback, as that was not my plan, I paused for a moment.  "That's what you did last year" she said.  Then she added, "we really enjoyed it."  Well, what was I to say to that?  "No, I wasn't planning on having you here?"  So, I said, "of course, we will be there to get you and we can have dinner at our house."  And, then, as I always do, I speak before really thinking.  "You can spend the night and we can take you back Christmas morning."  My mother actually sounded excited (which she doesn't much anymore) replied "we would like that."

So, it was settled.  I informed Matt of the change of plans.  And being the trooper he is, he smiled and said that would be great.  It isn't that we didn't want my parents here, quite the opposite.   We just both know how it is going to go.  He, being far more patient than I, can handle it much better.  Even though I vow to,  I always end up feeling short and then angry at myself for my lack of tolerance.

As dementia patients do, my parents live mostly in the past.  And not in my past, in their childhoods.  And nothing sets off my mothers long term memory better than a ride through the area she grew up in.  As we are driving through Ossineke, Spruce, Lincon and Mikdo, my mother is reminiscing about life with a father who sheared sheep and an older brother who played football, and was, in her mind, the favorite of her parents.  Of course we have heard these stories many, many times and can pretty much recite them along with her word for word.  Not to be outdone, my dad throws in a story about growing up in Pennsylvania.  But as his dementia progresses he gets stuck on the same story and by the time we reach home we have heard the very same tale about his father working in the coal mines five times.  And, they both tell their stories in stereo.  So everyone is talking and no one is really listening.

My dad is very comfortable in his little apartment at Turning Brook.  He has a routine that he knows and it is very hard on him when you take him out of it.   The problem lies in that my Mother loves to go out and very much enjoys leaving for a time.  Compound this by the fact that neither will do anything without the other, and my mother is the boss.  So, my dad has to come to my home when he really doesn't want to.  He won't sit, he paces, worries about the dogs getting hit by cars, and tells us that we leave too many lights on. He gets up and checks to see if his coat and hat are available because he wants to go "back to that place he lives."  My mom tells him over and over to sit down and be quiet.   But he won't.  He just walks around some more, checks on his coat and then tells us the story about his dad in the coal mine again.

So last night I suggested we go to the Christmas Eve Service at the Methodist Church.  It is the church that my parents attended for their entire married life and the one I grew up in.  I knew it was going to be a challenge with my dad.  But, I figured it would be a distraction for a while and I was really looking for something that made me feel like Christmas.  I had spent the last week feeling very melancholy about Luke and trying to be okay with the way things were now going to be.  My son is grown and my parents are like small children.  And the frustration was like a tight ball in my chest as I tried to tell my dad that we wouldn't be leaving for a while yet and he needed to take his coat off and sit down for a bit.

So we finally piled in the car and drove to the church.  My parents hadn't been there since we moved them to Kalamazoo almost three years ago.  I hadn't been there in I don't know how long.  As Luke's dad's family was in Kalamazoo, we didn't come to Oscoda for the holidays while he was growing up. My parent always drove down to see us.

As we walked into the church the first person I saw was Mr. Hunt.  He and his family are as much a memory of that church as the building itself.  He was in his choir robe.  I hadn't been to a church where the choir wore robes in a very long time.  My last church was not traditional and so it was nice to see the choir lined up waiting to walk in during the first song.  We all managed to get in and sit down in the last pew as "All Come all Ye Faithful" was being sung.  I was sitting next to my dad who was belting the song out with all his might.  I found myself with tears in my eyes as I looked around at the people who had been in this church since I was a little girl.  I looked up at the familiar structure, remembering all the times I did the same waiting for that long sermon to finally end when I was a kid.  Hanging from the beams were Christmas banners.  And they were the ones our youth group made  when I was in middle school.

And as we sang, I looked at the Advent tree and candle that were there every single season when I was growing up.

In fact, little had changed.  The pastor was different but the Christmas message was still the same.   I knew all the words to the carols that we had sung year there year after year.  And for that moment all was good.  And for that hour I felt more settled than I had in a long time.

After the service we went home and had dessert.  My dad, not liking to vary from his nine o'clock bed time turned down the sheets shortly after.  Soon the house was quiet.  I thought about all the Christmas Eves I spent growing up.  It was my favorite day.  And, I imagine, one day, it will be again.  Life changes and not always the way we want it to.  My parents dementia will progress and this is possibly the last year that they will be able to make the trip to my house. My mother is becoming more physically frail.  My dads dementia seems to be on the fast track lately.    I tried to think of that but admit that I still became impatient and a little angry when they weren't excited about their gifts.  Matt reminds me that they can't help it.  And, I know they can't. 

But last night at church was nice and my memories of my life growing up there are precious.  Merry Christmas to everyone there who is a huge part of my past.  Merry Christmas Matt, I love you and the new memories we are making.  Merry Christmas Luke, I love you and miss you.   Merry Christmas to all my friends who make my life so full.  

Merry Christmas Mom and Dad.

Thank you for a childhood full of warm and fuzzy Christmas memories. 

I'll Have a Blue Christmas Without You

When Luke was ten or twelve, or something like that, he wanted a Play Station 2 for Christmas.  So did his best buddy, Kyle.  That is all they talked about, thought about and dreamt about for months.  Luke would lay in bed at night before he went to sleep and pretend he was holding the controller and move his fingers really fast.  He was "practicing" he said, for when he got his PS2.  He even had pictures of it from the Sunday ads in the Kalamazoo Gazette taped to his bedroom door.

I had done extra work at flu shot clinics that year for money for Christmas.  Luke's dad and I decided that we would purchase the Play Station for him.  We bought it at Sams Club, I remember.  It had the actual Play Station, a couple of controllers, and a few starter games.  I knew how excited my boy would be on Christmas morning and couldn't wait to see his face when he came racing out of his bedroom and found it under the tree.

But after I thought about it for a while, I didn't want the gift to be from Santa.  After all, he hadn't given flu shots to 80 grown people who were all afraid of needles.  I did.  So it was decided that the Play Station would come from Mom and Dad.   Luke was playing Roller Hockey that year and was in need of some equipment.  Santa would buy the hockey stick, pants and jersey.

Feeling happy with my decision, I wrapped the Play Station and put a tag on it that read "to Mom and Dad From Andrea" as I knew that Luke would be snooping.  Sure enough, as soon as he spotted the large box under the tree, he immediately began to investigate.  He asked me what was in it and I said it was new pots and pans for Grandma and Grandpa.  And, just as I knew he would, he promptly forgot about the box.

Christmas Eve night I put my boy to bed and kissed him goodnight.  He was lying there, fingers flying over the imagined Play Station controller,  practicing for the next day.  He was sure his dream would come to fruition and he would be finally holding  a real one.   After Luke finally went to sleep, his Santa gifts were put out (unwrapped, following Simmons tradition), and his stocking was filled.

The next morning his dad and I were sitting in living room as we heard him start to stir.  Realizing it was Christmas morning, his feet hit the floor and he came bounding out of his room and stopped in front of the tree where his brand new hockey gear was set out.  It took a moment for it to register that Santa didn't bring him a Play Station and thought that perhaps he needed hockey shorts and a jersey more.  He stood there, not saying a word then turned and walked into the dining room.  I followed him out and found him standing there trying very hard not to cry.  I bent over and put my arm around him and asked "what's wrong?"  He looked up at me with tears in his big brown eyes and said "what kind of Santa gives a kid clothes?"

Oh, I felt terrible.  My poor little boy was trying so hard not to cry.  I quickly lead him over to the wrapped box of "pots and pans for Grandma" and tore that tag off to reveal a new tag underneath that read "To Luke from Mom and Dad."  It took him a minute to figure out what was going on, but then he quickly ripped the wrapping paper off the box to reveal the long awaited Play Station 2.  Taking a few precious seconds to call Kyle and confirm that he had also received one, Luke and his dad set it up.  Luke did end up spending a very Merry Christmas realizing that dreams do come true, even with a false start or two.

So, fast forward about ten years.  Luke is twenty and living in Kansas City and working for the railroad, which runs 24/7.  This means that he will not be home for Christmas.  And since I this is my year to work on Christmas Day, I won't be going to see him.   The very first time we will be apart on Christmas.  And for this reason I have been drinking too much coffee,  going through old pictures, and shedding a tear or ten.   Would I share a couple you ask?  Why yes, I would love to.

Here he is, probably about five.  

He loved to wear a suit.  

And when he wasn't wearing a suit.....

He was dressing like a police officer.  I believe that some of the clothing was interchangeable.

This was our first Christmas in our new house.  

We had a beautiful real tree for several years.  Finally when I decided to go with an artificial one, Luke declared that I had "ruined Christmas."  He soon got over it.

And of course the yearly pose with Chandler and Chelsea.

It would be hard to get them all in the same place at once now.

Here is one when he was five posing with "Cold Cal."                      

Look at him in that Carhartt.

  

This one is at a family Christmas party

 with my cousin Amy's kids, Katy and Derrick.

And this one of my sweet little boy....

I need more coffee.......

Thankful Like Crazy

Today is Thanksgiving.  Matt and I are heading to Turning Brook to eat dinner with my parents.  I am feeling a little unsettled because my boy is out in Kansas City for his first major holiday alone.  I wish I could be there, but it didn't work out that way.    I am so thankful that he has a wonderful job with healthcare and benefits.    I just wish we had large freight lines that run through this area.  I know how homesick he is, especially today.  And I miss him so much.  But with opportunities that are becoming available closer to home,  maybe next year will be different.

I love you Luke.  And I know I have said it a million times, but I am very proud of you.  I am thankful that I got to be your mother.  Hang in there.

So, while I am on the subject of being thankful, I might as well give you the rest of my list while I am at it.

It pretty much goes without saying that I am extremely thankful for this guy.  I mean who wouldn't be.  He is the love of my life, my best friend, and a really great man, all rolled into one.  I am grateful for this awesome life we are living together, and I wouldn't trade it for the world

Along with the great guy above, comes these two.  Matt's daughter Matte and his son, Jacob.  I am thankful for two wonderful step children and the opportunity to be part of their lives.  I love you both.

And what would a blog post about thankfulness be if I didn't mention my furry babies.  Saber, Luke's rescue German Shepherd.  The most gracious, dignified, loving dog I have ever met.  We love you and you have a home with us however long it takes for Luke to be able to have you with him. 

Trapper, we love you too.  You have been my best buddie through thick and thin over the last 6 years.  Thank you.  

Rudy, we are so glad you became part of our family.  I am extremely thankful to Jamie McGuire for rescuing this guy from that crazy man.  

And we can't forget our little Nolan.  You have made  us laugh ever since that day we spotted you at the SPCA when we were just there to "look".  Thank you for being the unique little guy you are.

Anyone who has a family member with dementia knows how difficult that can be.  The journey that started the day my mother got admitted to the hospital for a fall and I had to tell both my parents they were never going home again is one that I am grateful is behind us.  I am so thankful for everyone who helped us along the way.  I am extremely thankful for the wonderful people at Turning Brook.  Thank you for treating my parents like family.  And thank you too for taking such good care of them and always keeping me informed.  

And of course, I am thankful for my parents.  Thank your for always being there for me.  I am glad that I can be there for you now.

I am thankful for my old, new hometown of Oscoda.  Two years ago if you would have told me I was going to come back here to live I would have, of course, told you that you were crazy.  But here I am and I love this place more and more everyday.

I am so thankful for my old friend, Lake Huron.  I don't always appreciate it in the way that I should. But it is always there for me.  

 

I am also very thankful for Tammy.

  The very nice lady who works at the little store a few miles from my house.  I  so appreciate her cheerfully taking care of the plethora of lottery tickets that I bring in there on a weekly basis.  

I am also thankful for my beautiful home and a warm fire on a cold day.  I am grateful for my job that I am learning to love, and that scrubs are provided there.  I am thankful for my camera and how much  it has changed my life lately.  And I know I already mentioned him, but I am also thankful for my husband who faithfully pulls over whenever I ask him to so I can take a picture.  I am also thankful that he makes me toast and brings it to me while I am working on a post so I can get it done before we leave.

Crazy I know, but I am grateful for Facebook.  How else could I keep in touch with the friends, past and present, on a daily basis?   I am grateful to be part of so many peoples' lives and sharing happiness and trials just by logging on.  (and how else would I have known that David Lockhart married Donna Fritz.. and see pictures?).

I can't finish this without saying how grateful I am for the friends in my life.  The ones I have known forever, the ones I left behind in Kalamazoo, the old ones that I have rekindled friendships with, and the new ones who have helped me feel at home.  I am also thankful for family whom I count as friends too, and for the people I have know since I was a child, friends of my parents, who are now friends of mine.  For all of you, I am extremely grateful.

One thing I try to do when I write these posts is not use the same word over and over.  After reading through this, and seeing the word "thankful" many times, I realize that there is really no other word to substitute. I am thankful today and everyday for all the wonderful people and things in my life.  For all of you reading this I am thankful for your support and encouraging comments.  

  

Happy Thanksgiving.