Dear Natalie

Thursday the 1st was Madelaine's last day here.  We ran some errands, saw The Help (loved it) and then she finished getting ready.  When we finally went to bed, I could not sleep.  There were too many anxious thoughts to unravel, too many rabbit trails racing off in different directions inside my head.  I waited in the dark for sleep to come, but instead the phone rang at midnight.  It was my dear cousin's retirement home calling.  Natalie had been found on the floor of her apartment, she appeared to have had a stroke and they were taking her to Stanford Hospital.  Two hours later the doctor called to report that yes, she had had a stroke, and that it was severe.  I packed a bag and waited for dawn.  I took Madelaine to the bus station and waved her off into the sunrise, and then drove west to Natalie.

 

Stanford Hospital is huge. It took a long time to find which ICU she was in, but eventually I found myself by her bedside.  I was there for two days, holding her hand, wishing that the news was better, wishing that this was all a dream.  Finally, when we stepped out for a few minutes on Saturday evening, she passed from this world to the next.  I will miss her so much.

 

We spent a week with Natalie in Oregon every year for the last thirteen years.  She had never married or had children, so she enjoyed the chance to play grandmother for a week.  She loved seeing the kids splashing in the pool, swinging on the swings, playing shuffleboard.  In the last few years, she and I have made sure we had an afternoon to ourselves, sipping lattes and talking about things.  She was worried about having a stroke, surviving and not being independent anymore.  She was worried about being a burden.  I hope I was able to reassure her that whatever happened, we would be there and it would all be okay.   

 

And all is okay, despite the gaping hole of grief that has been ripped open once again.  We are working to clear out her apartment, and thanks to the loving help of my friend Marcia and my son Zack, we are done going down to Palo Alto.  It is a solemn and yet sacred thing to go through someone's belongings, to determine what needs to happen to all that is left behind.  Natalie had been getting rid of things bit by bit for years, so the job, while big, could have been a lot bigger.  In every corner I find reminders of her love for us:  a birthday card, a note she saved, pictures of our trips to Oregon, to name a few.

Natalie was a kind, generous, brilliant woman, and I am so grateful to have had the gift of her love and friendship for so many years.

Natalie Anne Cobby

3-31-27 to 9-3-11

Eternal rest grant unto Natalie, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon her.  Amen.

A gift of grace

Shortly after we arrived in Cannon Beach for our vacation, my friend Angela came to our room bearing a gift. Little did I know what beauty was wrapped in that simple brown paper.

We only see each other for a week each summer at the conference center, and yet she has prayed for us through my mom's illness and reached out to our family in many thoughtful ways.

But this quilt...oh my! Part of the gift is knowing that the fabric choice and piecing and careful stitching are bathed in prayer. This is a gift of grace to me.

There's no way around the fact that the last two years have been difficult ones, and the last nine months particularly so. Amidst it all, though, there are kind friends, generous gifts and quilted beauty. It really does make a difference.

Thank you, Angela.  Your friendship is a gift to us.

Traveling like us....

What is a family to do when they have seven seats, seven family members, and loads of stuff to pack?

We've used a roof bag for years, but this year that was not enough. We needed sleeping bags for our stop in Eugene, and we had extra luggage because we were sending one son off on a second week of vacation after we were done at the beach.

Fortunately for us, our friend Mike has designed the perfect solution.

Meet the AeroPACK:







From the website:

"I discovered that roof mount carriers (boxes, racks and bags) are a pain to load, rob mileage, and can take up a lot of garage space. I felt there had to be a better way, so I developed AeroPACK. It mounts out of the wind stream, is fast to put on and take off, the aerodynamic design improves air flow, and it folds flat for easy storage.

AeroPACK is a new class of cargo carrier that is easy to use, rugged, fits all types of cars and vans and saves fuel. Customers say it is ideal to carry camping gear, sports equipment, luggage and other soft gear. It is flexible to fit on sedans, minivans, hatch backs, wagons, vans and even the Prius! If you have a compact car or just need more room for your gear, AeroPACK is the answer."

To get more information, or to order your AeroPACK, contact Mike at their website. We love the pack, we love Mike, and we recommend both to you.

And maybe one of these days we can enjoy the aerodynamic benefits of the AeroPACK by getting rid of the roof bag. Probably not soon, but someday.

People I love

Vacation gratitude

We left for our annual dream vacation on July 31. We headed to the spectacular Oregon coast, to the promise of fellowship with friends who have crossed decades of our lives, and to the relaxation that comes from waves crashing and people making your bed every morning and cooking your dinner every night. It is a trip we anticipate all year long. In January, when dedicated teachers question their calling and wonder if teaching English in China (Bangladesh, Cuba) would be a better fit, my husband starts counting the days to Cannon Beach. Somehow knowing that the sea salt air is waiting for us helps.

But this year my mother is ill. Just a few weeks before our trip, she was in the hospital, holding my hand as she slept. She was in pain, she was pale, she looked so vulnerable. How could I leave her? I received plenty of solicited and unsolicited advice on how important it was for us to have time away in preparation for the demanding days ahead. And, knowing my mother, she would muster up her remaining strength and wallop me across the head with a blunt object if we did not go on our vacation. So, staying home was not an option.

But what would she need while we were gone? What should we set up for her? I had no idea, and I realized I just needed to wait until right before we left. Finally it became clear that she was healing from her surgery, gaining some strength, and would not need medical assistance. The final decision was for dear friends to water the plants, take care of all the animals, and bring Mom the mail. They, too, have five children who adore Grandma Jean, so I knew she would have children visiting, my friend-like-a-sister to talk with, and the eyes of caring adults to evaluate if any changes occurred.

Still it was difficult to leave. I didn't, in my gut, think she would die while we were gone. I am not really sure why it was so difficult, but I grappled in my prayers about it all. Finally, in a moment of surrender, I acknowledged that all I felt capable of doing was leaving town as an act of obedience. I couldn't promise not to worry. I couldn't do anything but leave.

I kissed Mom goodbye in the pitch black of the early morning hours as children stumbled out of bed and headed for the van. Packed with flip flops and sweatshirts, skim boards and beach towels, stacks of books and cameras and memories of previous summer trips, we drove off. The miles clicked by and the sun rose and we sang favorite songs and we ate our once-a-year treat of color-your-milk cereals. Bruce Hornsby played with his spider fingers, the milk turned pink, we caught the first glimpse of Mt. Shasta, we crossed the border and saw the metal cow sculpture, and finally, at last, I felt my incoherent worries fade away. Any questions I had about leaving were answered (or would go unanswered) and all I had to do was look ahead to ocean breezes and long walks and salt water taffy and stacks of books.

By the time we arrived at the beach house with the purple door, our favorite beach house ever, I knew I was on vacation and I knew it was a good thing.

The next day we made our way up the road to the conference center that would be our home for a week, waving to friends as they pulled in from Utah, Portland, Missouri, Nebraska, Washington and Canada. Conversations from years past picked up like no time was lost. Children disappeared into carpet ball games, bonfires on the beach, giggles with friends. Grown-ups napped without guilt, brewed espresso in their room with the ocean view, read book after book after book, and walked to the rock and back as many times as possible. We shared our stories, compared book lists, made sand castles, and laughed and laughed and laughed some more.

There is no way around it: this vacation was a gift. I couldn't choose to go; I really had to be cornered into it. But once we were moving north, once the surrender was made, I could see it for the perfectly timed, carefully crafted, much needed respite that it was. I am so grateful.

Gratitude stats:

15 meals X 6 = 90 meals
7 days of beds made X 6 = 42
5 trips to Haystack Rock and back
2 trips with children to Bruce's Candy Kitchen
8 nights of sleep with the waves crashing and the breeze blowing
8 friends listening as spiritual autobiographies were shared
4 happy children
2 rested and happy adults
3 books read
2 visits at the house with the purple door
Countless joy at how well Mom did while we were gone. Happy, healthy, cared for.

166 more bits of gratitude
(numbers 101 to 266)