Thanksgiving Memories

I know how hard it is to have Thanksgiving without your Mom around. Today I put the CD of my Mom's songs in and listened to her voice singing the words she wrote. It was magical. We will always have the memories. Moms and Thanksgiving just seem to go together.

Since I had two, I'm gonna share a few.

My favorite memory of Paula, (my Step-Mom), was how Thanksgiving seemed to be the holiday made just for her. I LOVED to get to set the table for it. She LOVED to cook and we always had her FAMOUS green tomato pickles on Turkey-day. She introduced me to cranberry sauce that DIDN'T come out of a can. She always set the table with her beautiful brown and white expensive china on thanksgiving and it was a very formal affair. We had fruit salad with marshmellows and sour cream and cucumbers in sour cream and amazing stuffing/dressing with little green apples cut up in it. Her turkey was always juicy and never dry and her gravy was phenominal. Her mashed potatoes were made from red potatoes with a few of the skins left in and a scoop of sour cream, plenty of butter and parsely. I think I got to cook with her as much or more than most of you. I learned a few of her secrets.

On Sunday I watched an old episode of The Lawrence Welk Show. It was an old Thanksgiving special. Two of the songs Mama loved and sang often were featured. Sammy watched it with me and I told him his Gran loved those songs. They were "Bless This House" and "My Cup Runneth Over with Love". They were back to back and when the next song started Sam asked if my Mom loved that one too. So cute. Mom was, in my mind, an individual who knew how to express gratitude. She often played and sang those songs and many others that expressed to God and the mortals in her life her gratitude to them. Her fruit salad was amazing too! Green apples, mandarine oranges, pomegranites and whipped cream. Yum! Sierra says I have to make two. One with cream and one without, for her and the other healthy minded people in my fam. party poopers.

Mom used to cook thanksgiving dinners with several different birds. Not just a turkey. I think because Ben went hunting...there was goose, duck and morning doves. That was my favorite T-day of all time!

Ren Lyman's Life in Pictures

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6JEiFZ7Ag6o

Laughing Through the Grief and the Nightmares

I wrote this sometime in September and October. I'm slow to post. I guess I'm just now healing enough to share. Part of the healing IS sharing. So here are some more thoughts:

About September 1st

My siblings and I are all getting pretty good at death. Ren is our third sibling to die in less than two years. We cry and we laugh at the memories and at our own awkward mourning and bumbling with words as much as we shed tears. Someone told me that when you mourn your brain doesn’t work well. Holly and I agreed that between the two of us, we had half a brain.

Because there isn’t enough drama and excitement in our family, Sandra broke her arm the night before the funeral. She was outside with her little four-year-old granddaughter. Little Annah climbed on her back and she fell and pain shot through her body. We all helped her across the street to the hospital. What a funny sight that must have been but we were all so worried about her and she was in such pain. We all sat around the hospital while she was examined and had some more time to visit. She was taken care of, her arm set and given some serious pain medication. This made for some especially funny moments. Kathy and I laughed at how off tune she sang when she and Kathy did the backup singing for Alyssa’s song. She didn’t seem to notice or even care. Her arm was in a sling and she just sang as if she was on key, but she wasn’t.

Later on the next day when we were cleaning Holly’s house and Sandra was “chillin” on the recliner, she said to Mary, “Mary, I want to be a better brother to Luke.”
Mary replied, “Good Luck on that”.

Mary and I burst out laughing and it took Sandra about ten minutes to figure out what we were laughing about. Laughing felt so good.

Poor Sandra. She was in serious pain...and on serious meds. Today is her b-day. Please stay healthy sis.

October 1, 2010

I’m driving through the desert where Ren took his life. He took this same road. It is beautiful. It is early in the morning and the light is rosey and the autumn colors are glowing. Deserts get fall too you know. Ren didn’t see the beauty. Couldn’t.

October 11, 2010

Yesterday was Ren’s birthday. He would have been 43. I talked about him in Gospel Doctrine. I told the anthill story.
I’m considering writing a grant to fund the last quarter of my practicum and spend that time doing research on suicides in down winder communities.

I had a horrific dream in which Liz and I were at the base of a big building in a metropolis. There was a baby on the roof and he was toddling around and running away from his dad who was chasing him. We were so worried he would fall and we both were trying to help. We ran to the other side of the building and there was a big group of people who were watching from that side. We looked up and we couldn’t see him anywhere and people were asking what happened and if he fell or not. Then all of the sudden I saw him come down and he was falling so fast I couldn’t do anything about it and he landed right in front of me and I heard the thud and crunch of his bones and saw his little white face and his dark hair and then I woke up.

It was 5:55 in the morning.

I lay there breathing in a panic. I was so relieved it was a dream. Then I remembered Ren’s death. That baby was my brother. He was the first baby I ever knew. I lay there under the quilt. The darkness caved in on me. Doug was out of town and I was alone. I knew I wouldn’t go back to sleep. I didn’t try. I got up and opened my laptop and logged onto the internet. I missed my brother. I looked up the video I had uploaded to youtube. It was the montogue video of his life. One of the first pictures I saw was the photo of Mom holding Liz and Ren. He was only a few weeks old. It was the same face as the baby in my dream.

Thoughts About the Suicide of my Brother...

August 8, 2010

I can’t begin to put down on paper the last few days. I keep wondering how I’m supposed to handle this and then I realize that mercifully, I am beside myself. I feel like I’m on the outside looking in. Even the words seems strange. I say them and they are just too unreal.

The Spirit told me I needed to be to Ren what Kathy was to Ben. I felt that so strongly as I was driving home from Ben’s funeral last year. Kathy took care of Ben in the final stages of his battle with cancer. The problem was, Ren’s alcoholism was a much more subtle disease. There was no way to fight it. I tried what I knew to do. I feel like I failed.

Holly told me this morning that for the last few years Ren was surrounded by demons. One in particular has been on him continually.

August 14, 2010

It is all over. I am at Lake Powell with Doug and the kids and Dave and Susan’s family. I feel so guilty for simply being alive, let alone doing something I know Ren would have loved. But my role needs to be wife and mother too. I really don’t want to be here. I would so much rather be in Delta, going to Curly’s, the ballfield and everywhere else Ren spent time just so I could figure out what happened to him. Get some serious answers. I wish I could relive the last few weeks. I knew I needed to come visit him. I told Jeannie that before I got the phone call. Oh @#*^. I am so mad at him. At myself. At everyone. But I’m okay too.

Ren didn’t open up to people. Dad helped hundred with alcoholism yet his own son died of the disease.

August 14, 2010

Today is Matt’s birthday. I need to be a better sister to him. What if he died? I don’t even know him very well. I know Robin Better. This last week has done nothing but help me see how little I really knew Ren. I am so ashamed that I never even went to one of his ballgames. All of my brothers and sisters are saying that I was the one who was close to him and the pathetic thing about that is that when compared to the rest of them, it is true – but I wasn’t very close to him. It isn’t saying a whole lot.

Don’t ask “Why” Questions

It is easy to look around at others. I look at youth who have been blessed with loving families and parents that protected their children from abuse and stayed together and wonder why my brother got the shaft.

I wore one of Ren’s t-shirts for several days after his death. I was so sorry for not understanding just how much emotional pain he was in. Putting on his shirt felt symbolic of attempting to understand his pain.

His friends don’t understand the perspective his family has. They seem to want to blame someone. His best friend is a policeman who is in charge of finding missing people. There have been dozens of suicides in the last few years in our home town. Justin once said to Ren, “You wouldn’t do that to me would you? I would be the one to have to look for you.”

Ren promised that he would’t be added, “If I did, you wouldn’t find me.”

It took the search and rescue team 2 days to find my brother.

I texted him a message a few days before his death. I wrote, “Whazzup?” He texted back, “I don’t feel like talking.” I texted back, “I love you.”
The last thing I said to him was, “I love you.”
I’m so glad I sent that text.

But…

I wish so badly I had just called him and asked him what was wrong. I wish I could have helped him somehow. I knew I needed to talk to him. I will never again let someone get away with, “I don’t feel like talking right now.” I think that old adage, “When you don’t feel like praying is when you need to pray the most”
Also applies to discouraged people. When they don’t feel like talking is when they need to talk. But I didn’t call him and ask what was wrong. Instead, I sent my love in a text and gave a talk at his funeral.

Memories of Melvin Anderson Lyman M.D. (My Dad)

My earliest memories of Dad include waiting and watching for him to come home. When I finally saw the white cloud billowing up behind his vehicle on the dirt road, I knew he was on his way. At that point I would run to the back door to await his arrival. When he opened the door, I would jump out and “scare” him. He would pick me up and toss me and hug me and then we would settle into our evening ritual of reading the illustrated Book of Mormon. I loved this time with Daddy. Lizzie and Rennie and I would vie for the best place. It wasn’t difficult to get cozy and be near to Dad. His body was so large that three children seemed to not be much of a problem. Daddy often fell asleep on the couch and we all curled up around him and dozed with him. We felt so safe when he was home.

I remember not feeling safe and knowing I would be if I was with Daddy. Mom was in the hospital and often, Daddy would take us with him rather than leave us. When I was about five years old, I saw his car leaving without me! He must have been called into the office because I didn’t realize he was leaving until I saw his car heading down the dirt road into town. I ran after it calling to him and I remember getting as far as the turn of the road and realizing I had never gone that far so I might as well go the rest of the way. Sandra told me I walked all the way into Dad’s office when I was five. I believe it was on this occasion.

Dad loved corn on the cob. He loved working in the garden and we all loved being in it with him. He always made us work along side him. He taught a strong work ethic in both his example and his expectations. He was never idle. If he wasn’t working in town at the hospital or office or “Missionarying” (as he liked to call it), he was working on the farm. If he was resting on the couch, he was sleeping. He never just sat around and watched television, with the exception of M*A*S*H and Perry Mason at night. He often had one or two children on his lap as he did farm work on the tractor. He often woke in the middle of the night to deliver babies and to change the water when it was our turn to irrigate crops. I heard it once said that he had a farm to raise children, not crops. He did it well. We all worked. We fed cattle, drove tractors, burned weeds in the ditches with a blow torch attached by a long black hose to a propane tank.

I once complained to Dad that it wasn’t fair that my brothers had all the interesting chores and I was expected to do housework. I’m not sure it was a good idea to tell him that. He never again hesitated to give me a difficult outside chore. I shoveled lots of manure and hay.

Dad didn’t just work hard, he played hard too. He loved to waterski and was pretty good at it. We always had a boat, even if it was an older model. The key hung on a rack and when I was a teen I used the boat like other kids used the family car. I loved to waterski. Dad promised to teach me how when I was 12. I will never forget waiting for him to come home from work that day. He had promised me when he took me to school that morning that when he came home that evening, he would teach me to ski. I waited and waited. I believe a woman had gone into labor, but Dad did not break his word. When he got home, I could see how tired he was, but in my selfish 12 year old mind, I reminded him of his promise. The key came down from it’s hook and we were off. I will never forget the feeling of skiing for the first time. I was flying. My Daddy took the time to teach me how to fly!

Which reminds me of his airplane and the many adventures we had in it. One day just he and I were flying. I was in the co-pilot’s seat. He asked me if I wanted to fly. I said, “Okay”. He let go of the steering wheel and leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. I WAS THE PILOT!!! It was a great feeling of power. Dad knew how to teach children that their personal power was their own, but he was still close enough to help if we "messed up".

Kind of like my relationship with my Heavenly Father.

Thanks for teaching me Dad. Thanks for being you and loving me!

Little Boys and Bears in Alaska

November 06, 2010
This morning I dragged (drug?) myself out of bed and hopped in the shower and got all ready to go to church. I also hollered for the boys to get up and get going. A few minutes before it was time to go Dougie Junior came into my room and announced we had an hour extra because of daylights savings time.

woot woot!

So we totally forgetting about Fast Sunday and I promptly pulled out the griddle and made chocolate chip pancakes for the boys.

I had half a banana. My tummy still isn't up to par.

Then I was looking through an old journal and I came across this little piece of writing:

To My Boys:

"Living in Alaska has taught us some important lessons. There are wild animals living close to where humans live. Mother bears are very protective of their bear cubs. They teach their cubs to eat healthy food. Bear cubs use their noses to figure out where food is. Sometimes they smell something yummy coming from humans. Like if a family is out camping and they leave stuff open. Or if a family leaves their garbage out. The other day a man came home and found a bear rummaging around in his kitchen. The bear was pulling food out of the fridge and eating it. The man had to shoot the bear and kill it. Human food is not good for bears. It's not good for them because of the high level of salt and fat.

Bears were meant to eat berries and salmon and moose. That is their diet in the wild. But nutrition isn't what is concerning. The biggest danger is that if bears eat close to where humans live, they could be shot and killed. What if a Mama bear didn't teach her cubs to stay away from humans? What if she taught them to eat from garbage cans?

Dougie, Joey and Christian, your little minds are hungry to learn. Just like your body needs fuel in it so you can run and jump and ride bikes and be strong...your brain also is growing all the time. What you put into your mind will determine how your brain grows.

Just like a mama bear may occasionally allow her cubs to eat a cheeto that a camper left behind in the woods, I think it is okay for you to OCCASSIONALLY watch Sponge Bob Square Pants. But watching dumb television shows all of the time won't let your brain grow the way it should.

A baby bear that eats from garbage cans could be killed. Little boys who fill their minds with passive entertainment could eventually die spiritually. Your brain makes pathways as it grows. If you are getting lots of information from reading books, the pathways in your brains will grow toward good knowledge. Your brain is really amazing. It wants to learn and be entertained. It used to be that the only way little children were entertained was by playing outside or reading.

When you play in the sun and use the muscles in your body - It actually helps your brain to create pathways of experiencing God's beautiful world. Reading will help a brain grow well too.

It would be easier, and may seem like more fun to sit around and watch television. It may seem harder to read, at first. After you get into it, you will find it is MORE fun than movies. Your imagination will create a better movie in your mind than Walt Disney could ever create."

From my Journal of May, 2008

After I read what I wrote in my journal to the boys. I turned off the television, (they had already plugged in a Veggie Tales movie in anticipation of getting ready for church an hour early and having time to "kill" before church). I took one of my favorite books of the bookcase and began reading. They protested but I told them, "Parents are in charge of the choices, kids are in charge of the decisions. You can decide not to listen, but if you don't sit still and be quiet while I read, you won't have television privileges after church".

We read the first chapter of "The Yearling".

Lost Idealism

My Aunt Mary Lou Bronson Salter Galer

Christian is reading Calvin and Hobbs outloud to me as I waste away. I am so sick. I feel like barfing constantly. I feel guilty about not being at work and letting down my clients yet it simply is NOT possible!!!

So sorry clients.

I was asked to speak at my Aunt's Funeral. Here is what I wrote about her:

Mary Lou’s Life can be summed up in three words:
Service, Family and Determination
Service:
Mary Lou lived a life of service through her chosen profession.
It isn’t always easy to be a wife, mother, sister, grandmother and social worker.
Cindy said, “It was hard to be a social worker. She took the time to have rapport with her clients.”
Mary Lou was a woman who knew service:
When I think of Aunt Marylou I think of strength. I think of feminine wisdom and power through service.
President Thomas S. Monson said,
“To find real happiness, we must seek for it in a focus outside ourselves. No one has learned the meaning of living until he has surrendered his ego to the service of his fellow man. Service to others is akin to duty, the fulfillment of which brings true joy. We do not live alone—in our city, our nation, or our world. There is no dividing line between our prosperity and our neighbor's wretchedness. 'Love thy neighbor' is more than a divine truth. It is a pattern for perfection."
Aunt Mary Lou inspired others through her work
Suzannah Lyman (great niece) said:

Aunt Marylou was the first person who really inspired me to want to be a social worker. I remember talking to her at some family function or another and she told me that being a social worker was a hard job but that the benefits and the joy of helping others made it all worth it. Although I am no longer pursuing that career, I am proud of the degree in social work that I do have and still wish to serve others in any way I can. Aunt Marylou was an example to me of following your dreams no matter the obstacles.




Determination:
Thomas S. Monson said, “Death is one fact that no one can escape or deny. Because life is fragile and death inevitable, we must make the most of each day.”
Aunt Mary Lou lived her life to the fullest. Grandma and Grandpa lived in an old brick home with a porch on the front. They tore it down and built apartments there and Mary Lou came up to manage them. Mary Lou was trying so hard to be successful as a single mom. She had six children at the time. She was working as both a social worker and an apartment manager. She always had an earnest look on her face. She was determined. One day she decided her kids were going to have bikes for Christmas. She managed to buy bikes for them and put them in a shed. On Christmas Eve she went out to get them and she saw bike tires tracks and she knew they were gone. When she opened the door, sure enough, the bikes were gone. She went down to Grand Central and talked the owner into selling her six more bikes.
Aunt Mary Lou would do anything for her children.
She went back to school and got her degree in Social Work and was a brave social worker who confronted people who needed to be confronted and comforted those in need of comfort.
Not too long after Marylou got home from her mission she was riding her Indian pinto pony whose name was butterfly. Marylou was riding her and she bumped into a bees nest. The bees stung the pony so badly it died. Marylou was stung trying to save her pony.
Mary Lou had a great sense of humor. Once she was nursing George and Simon was staring and Mary Lou said, “Wanna try this?”
Family:
“Children of the same family, the same blood, with the same first associations and habits, have some means of enjoyment in their power, which no subsequent connections can supply...” ~Jane Austen, Mansfield Park, 1814
Sandra Olsen’s Memories: Aunt Mary Lou said once, “It is hard to grow up in a family of performers when you don’t perform much”, I told that to Aunt Ethel and she said, “what is she talking about? She performed as well as the rest of us”.
Simon said, “When Marylou was young she was absolutely gorgeous. (all of my sisters were). Men were crazy about them. Marylou could recite epic poems that seemed to go on forever. Hiawatha was completely memorized. She still remembered them and recited them to her children and grandchildren. All my sisters sang together in harmony. They sang all the songs of the thirties, forties and early fifties. They doted on me like crazy. They gave me a kitten once. They hid it under the covers of their bed. They were all in bed and they pulled beetle bomb (name of kitten) out and gave him to me. Dad would milk the cow and squirt milk into the kitten’s mouth. When I was little and home alone and scared, I would call Mary Lou.”
In the cookies of life, sisters are the chocolate chips. ~Author Unknown
Sister to sister we will always be,
A couple of nuts off the family tree.
~Author Unknown
Kathy said, “Aunt Mary Lou always had a smile, if not on her mouth, in her eyes, every time I saw her. I used to think she knew something funny about the world around us that I was missing. When I was a child she seemed to have a calm approach to any storm brewing around her. She always made me feel like I was an important person, even when I was little. I felt accepted by her even if I did something naughty. I loved going to her home, and I loved that it made my mom so happy to be around her. They had a very special relationship.”
When Sandra was a baby (she and Cindy were 2 days apart), Mom and Aunt Mary Lou went on a trip together. Mom couldn’t breast feed Sandra but for seven days Aunt Mary Lou did. Mary Lou and Mom were always close. Mary Lou would come to visit us wherever we were. She enjoyed our Mom and Mom enjoyed her. The conversations were always intellectual, sophisticated and kind. There was never any kind of sibling rivalry between them. They enjoyed sharing knowledge and their children.
Thomas S. Monson
“To understand the meaning of death, we must appreciate the purpose of life. The most glorious, comforting, and reassuring of all events of human history had taken place—the victory over death.”
Lollie’s thoughts: “Goodbye Sweet Aunt Marylou. Thanks for being you. You were an inspiration to your niece and fellow social worker. When I think of you, I think of feminine strength. Power through service comes to mind when I think of your face or feel of your spirit. I know you are with your Mama again...and mine. Here's a hug to all who love you.”

Kathy is giving the speech in my place. Cindy said she felt inspired to ask me. I think she was. I'm too sick to drive the 10 hours, (not to mention 3 sick kids), yet I still get to be a part of it all because I got to write the speech for Kath.

You know you are old when you think going to a funeral is a good time.

Yup. I'm old

and moldy.

sick as a dog...

I am sick.

Except why do they call it sick as a dog? Brinkley is never sick. He sleeps alot and never pushes himself tho...I could take a lesson from my pup.

There is sick, and then there is feeling like I do right now. I'm lying in bed next to my two sons who are also sick. The rule at our house is, if you are too sick to go to school, you can stay home and read or sleep. We are reading. We are taking turns reading Chicken Soup for the Teenager's Soul. First Drew, then Spenc, then me.

The plus side of being sick is that I effortlessly lost four pounds. Ah the silver lining of feeling like puking my guts out.

Plus I'm staying home from work...again. I really hate missing work. But I am so caught up in the challenges my clients are having, it is likely good. My professor told me the first step in getting past countertransference is recognizing that it is happening.

Now what???


Okay. I'm done blogging now.