It's Just A Step

I've been wanting to write this for a while. Then (stupid) Daulton wrote about it and rained on my parade. Except I can't get it off my mind. So I'm writing it. Too bad for you, Daulton.  You'll have to suck it up and read what I have to say about it. So there!


FYI Daulton will soon be my daughter-in-law, so she needs to get used to being bossed around by me anyhow...HA!


So...


This blog is about a woman. Just an ordinary woman who lives in Provo. My friend, Korby, lost her mother a few years ago to breast cancer. I guess that's not exceptional in and of itself. There are many, many people walking this planet who have been touched by cancer.  It's what she did about it that makes her extra-ordinary.


I didn't know Korby at that time. I didn't know Daulton. I didn't get to meet Korby's mom. Yet, she has impacted my life. Not in some in-your-face-sort-of-way, but through the stories that Korby shares. I glimpse the love of music that she endowed upon Daulton and her sister Shea.  This is the way I get to see a glimmer of Sue.


But, this isn't about Sue. It's about Korby. When I got to know Daulton, I soon heard about the fund raising dinner that her mother was putting on in hopes to raise some money to attend the Susan G. Komen 3-Day. 


I didn't know what the Susan G. Komen foundation was, but I (somewhat lackadaisically) went along with the event. I donated a couple of pictures I create to help with her raffle that year and went to attend the dinner not really knowing what to expect.


Korby presents a video of pictures from the previous years' walk. That's when I was hooked. This is no ordinary stroll through the park. These people cover 60 miles in the three days. Yep. That's right SIX-TY miles. And there were THOUSANDS of people in attendance.


I have seen pictures of the swollen, bleeding feet after the walk. I have heard Korby tell stories that bring me to tears. I can't believe the dedication and love that Korby must possess in order to complete the walk. Rain, sunshine, illness, stress, sore muscles, blistered feet. It doesn't matter. She's there. And she does it.


I admire Korby for this. She doesn't wave a banner expressing her accomplishment. Instead, she quietly has raised over $50,000 for the cure. And she does it even though her mother isn't here to reap the benefits. She does it because it matters.


Korby started out with just a step. Her journey didn't start with "the walk". It began with an idea. She had a desire. This desire stemmed from a small inkling that she might be able to make a difference.  


The reason that there even is a 3-walk for the cure is because another ordinary woman promised her sister that she would do everything in her power to cure breast cancer.  According to the website, they have raised over 1.9 BILLION dollars. Dollars that are dedicated to the fight against breast cancer. That's pretty cool. That means that there are a number of men and women out there that had an idea that led to an inkling that they, too, might make a difference.


Many, many of these people don't have breast cancer. Many, many of them never will. They either know someone personally, or know someone-who-knows-someone who has had breast cancer and was cured, is currently fighting it ... or has lost the battle. Whatever the reason, these people walk because it matters.


Makes me wonder, what if we all followed our "inkling"?  It doesn't have to be something as involved as attending a walk, sponsoring a walk, or raising billions of dollars.  What if it's something as simple as holding the door for a frazzled mother at your local convenience store, or raking the leaves for your elderly neighbor? What if you made a promise to your sister and that promise has prevented millions of people from having to go through the struggle you witnessed your sister experience?


It all begins somewhere. Just take a step. And start changing your world.

The Price Of Freedom

My husband was in the Navy. He served from 1982 through the end of 1985. I know there are thousands of service members, and I know there are a million of stories that they share. But, I married him and we lived OUR story.

Mark doesn't talk about the service. He's not ashamed or anything silly like that. In fact, it's the exact opposite. He's proud. He did the right thing at a time in his life when the right thing was hard for him to do. He signed up with a friend of his by the name of Randy Christmas. They joined up on the "buddy system".  He was guaranteed to serve with Randy and he was also guaranteed to serve on the West Coast.  He was stationed in Virginia (East Coast) and Randy was on the West Coast. So much for promises.

We got married and off he went to Virginia without me. I followed a few months later with everything we owned packed in the back of a mustang. We set up home and off he went on a cruise. It was a time of no cell phones, no personal computers with email and internet. We had no house phone. It wasn't as though he could call from a pile of tin floating in the Atlantic ocean, anyway. I wrote him every single day. I sometimes wrote him two or three times a day. It was hard.

Mark was gone when I found out I was pregnant with Tyson. He was gone on birthdays, anniversary's, holidays. He wasn't there when someone threw a rock through my kitchen window in the middle of the night. He couldn't come to my rescue when some weird-o followed me home from the beach (we lived across the street from the beach) and tried to break into the apartment and I had to grab a shot gun and snuck out my bedroom window to run to the pay phone to call the cops.

Two hurricanes struck in the time we lived there. When I was evacuated with the first one, I had no car and didn't know where to go. We didn't have a phone and I didn't know anyone in Virginia to call anyhow. So I promptly hid under the bed. Don't ask me how I thought that would help. But, that's what I did. I cried all night. The waters flooded up to the edge of my windows, but didn't come into my apartment.  The second hurricane he was home. We got a knock on the door from one of his shipmates. He had to go to the ship. When a hurricane is eminent, the ships pull out of port so they don't bang against the docks and cause damage to either the ship or the dock. We had Tyson, and this time I followed the evacuation orders. We were put in a gymnasium of a school. There was no food. No water. It was terrifying. I watched the skies turn black and watched winds whip trees into formations that aren't natural.

Mark was a boiler technician on the U.S.S. Canisteo. He worked in unbelievable heat. He worked hard. When you are in the service, there isn't "thinking for yourself". He was told when he could sleep, eat, work. There wasn't much free time. He was told when he had to cut his hair and how short it was to be. He was told how to dress, when he was allowed to have facial hair, and how to make his bed. He slept on a bunk in a room filled with other sailors (gross).  He had to strap himself in the bunk to keep from being thrown out by the pitch of the ship. The price of our freedom came at the cost of his freedom.

It wasn't all gloom and doom. He saw places that he would have never been able to see. He had experiences that will be told for years. He fished off the end of the boat and caught sharks. He passed the equator and crossed the North Pole.

We were so lucky to serve in peace time. He experienced a few times when the ship went to battle status, but they did not engage. He served his country and was prepared to go to war or follow the steps commanded by the "powers that be".

The slogan for the ship was "If freedom were easy we wouldn't be here." Our service members give their all to our country.  And in turn, they serve each of us and I'm grateful that my husband is a part of this group of men who gave their all.

Time Is On Your Side

I remember being young.  It really wasn't THAT long ago. I remember the fashions, the music (ESPECIALLY) the music. I can still recall the vehicles that were on the road and the "special effects" that were so AWESOME in the movie theater.  Jaws was SUPER scary.  ET was phenomenal and Star Wars was the COOLEST MOVIE EVER.  I rocked the Farrah hair and light blue eye shadow.

I now live with my kids making fun of my Farrah hair, my clothes, my movies.  Sigh.  At least they still like my music.  (I think 80's rock will forever rule the airwaves.)

I think about all I have experienced.  Some of what I went through, I really don't care to recall.  I don't necessarily speak of all I have experienced. There really isn't much to gain from recalling the ick in my life. But, I did it. I survived. I grew. I blossomed. I'm proud.

There are things I wish I could have done. I wish I had set myself up better financially. I wish I had gone to college young and without 4 kids ... I wish I had dabbled in photography at a young age ... I wish I could go to Europe and see all the art ... I wish I had been able to get a piano earlier and had kept playing ... I wish I had gotten braces YEARS ago. Yep ... I have wished.  I have wanted different.  Sometimes I even hoped for more.  I'm not unhappy with what I have. I have a life to envy. I am talented, strong, independent and I really am a great Mom. I know this.  No, my wishes aren't regrets, they're just wishes.

I have watched my kids go through some tough things. It makes me incredibly sad. Taylor Swift has a song called "Never Grow Up".  She talks about a time when "Nobody hurt you. Nobody broke your heart."  I wish I could give that to my kids. I want to line up the people that hurt them and smack them good and hard upside the head.  That would be TOTALLY AWESOME.

Instead, I try to understand something that isn't understandable. I try to soothe pain that is not sootheable, I try to fix what cannot be fixed, to mend something that should have never been broken.  Yet, I will never truly succeed in my efforts. The strength and power to overcome these things are built within them.

So, I tell them the lame words "hang in there".  Maybe what they don't know is that time is on their side. They have so much ahead of them that they get to experience. Don't waste time on wishes. Spend time accomplishing wishes. Knock your dreams out of the park and get out there and grab some more.

No, I'm not old (yet) but my time of wishes is more behind me than in front of me. That's not all bad. I find my wishes are more focused on my kids. My wish for Tyson is that his family stays strong and healthy. That he will know pure joy as his family grows.

My wish for both my older boys is to be able to rid themselves of the demons that haunt them. To know that they could not control the decisions that their friends faced. I wish I could erase the pain for them.

My wish for Goose is always to be the man I know he keeps locked inside. To always be honorable and strong, yet to make sure to look at the other side of the story and remember that most people are just trying to do their best.

My wish for Tanna would be to find peace in her life. To make peace with loved ones and to remember what she is made of. To not let the circumstances of her past rule her future.

My wish for Shelby would be to be vulnerable. To let her emotions show on the outside as they rumble around her inside. That she will find peace in the knowledge that some day the time will come when a boy will hear the song of her heart. And it's a great song.

My wish for Jaden would be the greatest of all wishes. He has the most time. His path in life hasn't be scarred with the pits and valleys of growing up. I wish for him to take advantage of the opportunities he can't even see yet.

Just as my past is my own, my future is my own. I hold the keys. I didn't get braces young, but I got them and I love my smile. I'll get a camera and dabble in photography now. I'll probably never be great, but I know I'll be good. I may never get to Europe to see the art, but I see as many plays, museums, art shows that I can find here in Utah and am inspired. I'll traipse through the rest of my life barefoot and full of wishes and hopes. Time is on my side.

I Am

I make sweatshirts for my family each year for Christmas.  The tradition began 4 years ago when we had absolutely NO money for gifts, so I came up with the idea to make the kids a sweatshirt. I did. They were a hit.  The tradition began and I spend many hours developing a design that will "one-up" the year before.  I mull over my ideas for several months before I decide what I want on the sweatshirts.  The story for last years' shirts goes as follows:


Goose is a wildland firefighter.  Not only is he a wildland firefighter, but he is a Lonepeak Hotshot. Goose worked for this. He worked hard. Goose had spent a few years wandering around Provo not sure what he was going to do when he "grew up".  He was working at laying concrete flooring. He worked in the weather and worked for a company that didn't value him or his work ethics. He spent the winter either working in the cold or collecting unemployment because the company didn't have enough work to keep him busy. He was a lost soul. He was unsure of what he wanted and lacked the confidence to pursue anything more than what he had.  He was driving me crazy. He had no money, and his future seemed hopeless.  I called Goose one day and told him that I was putting him in school. I told him that he was going to be a wildland firefighter, that he could change the degree if he wanted to, but he had to know exactly what he wanted to do and that he wasn't allowed to drop out for any reason. He agreed and his future began.


Goose rocked school. The family spent countless hours quizzing him, testing him, helping him research and typing up endless quizzes and papers for him to study. We each held our breath on test days, sometimes waiting up late so he could call after class and let us know how the testing went.  We counted out push-ups and sit-ups. We timed runs. We each gave heart and soul to the success of Goose. Graduation came and he graduated with a solid A-.  As the saying goes, the crowd went wild.


Alas, our joy was short lived as the struggle to find work began, and Goose was consistently passed up for employment. It made me physically sick. I don't do well when my kids are disappointed/hurt. We worked and worked at finding him employment, but to no avail. He just wasn't going to be hired.


Enter Brett. Brett is a friend of ours. He is a wildland firefighter and was hired to work on a crew in Salt Lake. As fate would have it, there was a member on Brett's crew that was moving to another crew which left an opening on Dromedary. Brett told his boss about Goose, the boss called Goose. We got the job.


When you certify to be a Wildland firefighter, you receive a Red Card. When Goose earned his Red Card, he came to the house, walked up to me and handed me his Red Card and said, "Here's your card Mom, you earned it."


That was my "light bulb" moment. Right then, I realized how our family is not made up of individuals. We are who we are because we support each other and believe in each other. It is this support system that we each rely on when we face tough times. And we as a family form a bond together that cannot be penetrated.


Each of us are part of a fraction that make a whole.  Because Shelby dances, I am a dancer. Because I create, we all create. We not only share the good, but the heartache as well. If there is loss, disappointment, pain...we each share that as well.

So, I made shirts. I used words that I have heard describe a family member at one time or another. I am a whole person because Mark, Tyson, Diana, Goose, Tanna, Shelby, Jaden, Hailey, Bill and my soon-to-be-daughter-in-law Daulton make it so. We are Deason. And I say that with pride.

(The shirt front.)

(The shirt back.)

The DNA Of My Heart

I remember when Keith died.  I remember the day his whole body died, but mostly I remember the day his brain died.  I remember what I was wearing.  I remember where I was exactly.  I remember the dog under my feet.  I remember the sound of the phone ringing, the smells in my house and the noises outside.  They are forever locked in my mind.  They aren't vivid and bright images.  More like that after image you get when you look at something and then close your eyes and can still see the negative for a fleeting moment.

That effect makes it seem surreal to me.  Almost like I saw the events unfold through someone else's eyes.

The days following that phone call have a buzz to them.  I have bits of memory.  Pieces of images that float up out of my heart.  Some memory.  Not alot.  I spent countless hours and what energy I could muster to focus on giving Keith a funeral that would make my boys proud.

We did, you know.  We sent him off in the best way we could.  There were no regrets.  We told stories of Keith.  We laughed about all the quirky habits he had.  We shared happiness and joy in the knowledge that he was ours and that we loved him.  The day of the funeral was a beautiful gathering.  The church was packed.  Standing room only.  It was filled with love.  I've always found funerals to be such a contradiction.  You are so sad at the passing of someone dear to your heart, but it's such a reunion to see so many friends and loved one's together sharing a common bond.  I remember Laurie calling me to check on me after the funeral was over.  I think she expected tears, but at that moment I was filled with such joy.  We had several kids here and we were watching a slideshow of pictures of Keith and we were laughing and sharing stories with each other.  It was a brief respite from the bone crushing pain that we had all experienced.

I loved that boy.  I loved him like my own.  Sometimes I drive down the street and I see someone walking with a ball cap on and I catch my breath - and then I remember. I still can't talk about it without crying.  I still can't listen to my kids tell stories of him.  It is still so hard. I miss him in the silences between every heart beat.

Keith wasn't my own.  It has been argued that I don't "really" know what it's like to lose a son.  Maybe those people are right. I haven't lost Tyson, Goose or Jaden.  I lost Keith.  I can testify that it's pain that takes hold and never, never goes away.  You just work around it.  And when it's too much to bear, well you bear it anyhow because there really isn't anyone who knows enough to share the agony with them.  The pain and the loss is so personal.

I have many, many, many kids that call me "Mom." I like to think that they view me with that kind of love, but regardless, I love with them with every inch of my being. I celebrate their victories and secretly cry at their pain.  Not many of them know this. I think I would freak them out.  Keith was most certainly one of those kids.  If you were to check the DNA from Tyson, Goose, Tanna, Shelby or Jaden you'll get a perfect match.  To match it with all my other kids...take the DNA from my heart.

Yeah...What She Said....

Shelby wrote on her blog last night.  shelbydeason.blogspot.com

I had an inkling it was for Tanna.  It was hard for me to read.  Bawled like a baby.  I'm babysitting Bill, I was crying so hard it upset him and we were both howling.  It was awful.  I'm mad at her for writing it. I'm mad that I have to feel what I'm feeling.  I'm mad that it hurts so much to love someone.  I'm mad that it's hard to mend wounds and heal the hurts that are in a family.  I'm mad that we hurt people that we love so very much.

I'm mad. I'm mad. I'm mad.  And...I miss her too, Shelby.

The House That Built Me

The first time I heard this song I teared up. It's a pretty song sung by a pretty girl with a pretty voice. It struck a chord deep inside me and stuck.  It's on my Ipod and I sing it ferociously each time it plays. At times, I repeat and repeat and repeat and repeat the song.  I like it that much.

It makes me think of MY home.  I want to believe it's how my kids will feel whenever I become rich and famous and move on to the mansion that is waiting for me.  But until that day arrives, this is my home...our home. 

I remember the very first time I noticed this house. Tyson had a paper route and this house was one of the homes we delivered to.  The first time I saw it, I loved it.  I remember thinking that it was such a pretty house and I thought through the "if only's".  You know... "if only I had such a pretty house like that for my kids."  "If only I had such a large yard for them to play in."  "If only I had a garage to park my car in." If only...if only...if only.  

Time passed on and I found myself in the market to buy a home.  I looked and looked for a house that wasn't a "cookie cutter" home.  I wanted a home with a yard, in the boundaries of the school that my kids were attending.  Nothing struck me.  Then while out looking I passed this house and saw it was for sale.  Too good to be true.  Long story short, here I am.  In my "if only" home.

I have raised a family in this home. I have memories oozing from the pores of the walls surrounding me. There has been laughter and tears, hope and disappointment, life and death...and more love than any human has a right to.

There isn't a room in this home that I haven't brought to life with a vision.  I have painted, nailed, ripped carpet, refinished floors, refinished cabinets.  My family has helped immensely.  Sometimes with blood, sweat, and swearing, (Goose and Mark)...and at other times quite simply by staying out of the way.  : )

Sometimes I think of moving on and it's too hard to swallow.  The next owners won't till the garden or mow the lawn and think of the animals that are buried beneath.  They won't laugh when they remodel the upstairs bathroom because how will they know about my best friend, Laurie, falling through the floor while removing the oh-my-gosh-it's-so-ugly-wallpaper and ending up with one leg dangling in the garage and me beside her screaming like a crazy woman because I thought her leg was broken...and the kids all yelling "cool" and running to the garage to check out her leg and Mark coming to see what all the ruckus was about and then only shaking his head in dismay while walking away without lifting a hand to help.  

How will they know that the reason there are flowers painted on my back porch is because my dear friend Denise died and her favorite flowers were poppies and that I missed her so badly and the ache was so immense that I painted them as a reminder to always tell the people you love that you love them.

Or the reason I have a back flower bed is because Mark chained the dogs to the trees and how he and I fought about it because I knew they would kill all the grass around them (and they did) because they were ALWAYS running back and forth attempting to reach the kids.

Or that the hole in the stairway is from Ernie making a quick U-Turn on the stairs and slamming his butt into the wall with Shelby laughing hysterically on the phone while telling me the story while I envisioned a little hole only to come home to a gaping cavern in my wall.

It seems (at times) that I get in the way of my own happiness.  I have wasted time wanting more.  When Miranda sings "I got lost in this old world and forgotten who I am".  I think of these times.  I think of the wasted time lost in the "if only's".  I don't want to do that.  I want to embrace the life that I have. I want to remember the very moment when this house became mine.  I am the blood, sweat and tears in the corners of these rooms.  This home has sheltered me through heartache and sorrow, through times when it hurt too much to stand.  Yet in these walls this family has built laughter, strength, courage and hope. 

This is the house that built me.