Hidden Truths

 Chuck had lost weight, his hands turned a pale yellow,
His feet and skin began peeling. 

His intestinal gas was so horrid smelling,

My father would spray the bathroom after wards.

And we, as a family, would snicker under our breath.

Even Chuck himself, would smile,

Though somewhat embarrassed.

It was 1988 and we lived in Fort Wayne, Indiana,

  His symptoms were getting worse; he looked like death.
Doctors had no idea what was going on.
We went to see so many specialists, 

Mostly in the "big city" of Indianapolis.
 Then we got some strange answers.
He had contracted a rare allergy, triggered into action

by one of the millions of viruses roaming our earth. 

Most commonly referred to as Celiac Sprue Disease.       

On came the nutritionists and dietitians.

On came his very special diet.

No Wheat, Rye, Oats, or Barley.

Equating to NO Pizza, NO Cookies,

And definitely NO Homemade Apple Pie.

For the most part he came around to normal.

Healthy, Happy, and Back to work.

Given a clean bill of health as long as he followed the diet.

We ordered his flours from a place in Seattle, 

and cooking creatively became our number one pastime.

We had two sets of pans, utensils, and even a double oven.

Thanksgiving was a real challenge with two Turkeys.

One with regular stuffing, one with rice stuffing.

We made regular decorated Christmas cookies, 

and some made from Corn Flakes sprinkled with colored sugars.  

A year or two passed; he and the kids managed to cook, and stay healthy.

I worked at my career,  and traveled too much.

Chuck continued the work he loved, as a master carpenter.

Then he had another stomach attack.

At first we thought he just had the flu, 

And the hospital said he "was just constipated."

We had just moved to Indianapolis, so we found a new doctor.

The appointments to specialists followed, 

Until we arrived at the gastroenterologist.

He ordered CT scans, and MRI's, and numerous other tests.

It was determined to be a cyst in his pancreas.

"Just stay off the dairy products," they said.

We  looked at each other questioning this advice. 

What's left but proteins, fruits, and some carbs to eat.

New diets from the dietitians, followed by lists of Dos and Don'ts.

His health instantly improved, and all was right with our world.

Again we were back on the right track, or so we thought.

It was November, 1990.  Only 5 months had passed since my transfer.

New house, new friends, new schools, new job for Chuck.

I was already overwhelmed, and now a new diagnosis,

A new diet regime to put into place.

And the Holidays were right around the corner. 

It was to be the first Christmas that we would be all together as a family, 

ON the actual DAY of Christmas, December 25th.

It had to be just right and very special.

We planned, shopped, cooked, and baked.

Then the day came, and we knew we were truly blessed.

Laughter, stories and pictures of old times.

A meal inhaled by my older boys, and Chuck with his "specialties."

Everyone left with a full stomach, a full trunk of gifts,

and a heart overflowing with memories, old and new.

And of course with my luck, the pictures didn't turn out.

On December 27th, we were at the hospital again.

This was to be the "visit of truth," as I refer to it.

More tests; "Did he eat anything he shouldn't have?"

"No, we are very careful about that." I said through the tears.

"Please find out what is REALLY wrong with him, PLEASE, "

I remember begging, maybe a little screaming, at the doctors.

It didn't take but a few days for them to tell us.

The "cyst" had grown larger, 

BUT all the other tests were perfectly normal,

and he was not in any pain whatsoever.

To them, as well as us, it was a scary mystery.

They wanted to take part of the "cyst" out to biopsy.

That couldn't be done until January,

The surgeon was on vacation.

Not to worry they kept saying, he is doing fine.

"FINE?", I remember screaming, 

"not knowing, is NOT fine."

So we went home, until the surgeon came back from vacation.

Our appointment with the surgeon was on January 13th.

Can't remember if that was a Friday. 

I was numb and terrified, but locked it away, were no one could see.

Chuck seemed to be "acting" like his old self. 

Smiling, talking, joking with others around him.

In with the surgeon, it wasn't long before I exploded.

"How do you KNOW it isn't cancer?"

The highly regarded surgeon said calmly,

"Because he has no symptoms, and it doesn't look like cancer."

He turned away as he said,"But the biopsy will tell us just what it is."

Surgery was scheduled for an agonizing week later.

The hospital was a buzz of activity, at 6:30 in the morning. 

I hadn't slept all night, and I didn't want to leave Chuck's side, 

so no coffee and donut for me.

I looked down at him. He looked at me.

He smiled that big old smile, I let the tears drift down my cheeks.

Such a picture of health, and happiness I thought,

except for all the stuff that was attached to him.

The nurses came and off he went, 

Telling me not to worry, and to not cry in my coffee,

A few hours passed.

The doctor broke the silence of the waiting room calling my name.

They would need to try "something else" tomorrow.

The entrance to the pancreas was blocked.

He turned away, oh so professionally, 

As I navigated my way down the hall with clouded eyes.

That night, "truth or dare night" as I refer to it,

Chuck told me to call my parents to be with me the next day.

I looked in his eyes , as I hung the phone back up,

"What are you not telling me? Why do you want them here?"

Would you tell me if something was very wrong?"

Calmly, and ever so quietly he said,

"I would never lie to you. I never have."

In my deepest gut there was a voice telling me

He couldn't, or wouldn't, say anymore. Conversation over.

I just picked up the phone and called them.

In the morning the atmosphere felt eerily different, 

 More "stuff" was wired to him.

Irritating. He's smiling; I'm shaking and smiling, 

determined not to cry before he was taken away,

brushing over my hand as he went by.

The nurse gave me a hug,

"Why all this attention I thought? Something is so wrong."

I could feel it in the air,  in the whispers of the nurses, 

and when my ears begun ringing as I fell to the floor.

I awoke with a cold rag on my head, and apple juice on a tray next to me.

The nurse came over and asked if I was better now.

"Yes. I just need to go to the waiting area." I weakly whispered. 

And in the waiting area all I did was wait, and wait, and wait.

For 6 hours I waited, then asked the nurse AGAIN for an update.

My parents had arrived and brought my 15 year old son.

The doctor arrived in a white garb covered in my husband's blood.

" Let's go somewhere and talk privately."

In a room filled with several comfy chairs, and screens to view xrays,

I finally learned the truth that had been hidden for the past years.

"Cancer comes in all forms and dimensions," I could here him say.

"In your husband's case none of the normal signs were there."

"What will we do now?" I tried to patiently ask.

I was crying so hard, I didn't even know he was holding me up.

"We'll try several treatments, and see if anything will work" he answered.

"Just go be with your family. It will be a while until he's in a room."

Hell, at that moment I didn't even know what day it was,

let alone what time it was.

The next moments are a blur to me as I walked towards my family.

"The cancer is everywhere, they could only make him as comfortable as possible."

My father took me in his arms and gently rocked me, rubbing my back. 

He gave me a handkerchief. One that I still have in my Bible today.

Sadly this memory of my late father, is one I often refer to

when times are hard for me, and my life needs a family to hold on to.

The truth had laid dormant inside this man, and no one knew it.

I often think we were naive in not asking more questions,

not demanding more answers, more tests.

We were tired of all that, I suppose, and accepted what they told us.

To this day doctors still insist, that Celiac Sprue Disease,

  (his allergy to grains that developed out of nowhere),

Had no influence on the cancer diagnosis.

And if you, or someone you know, has this disease,

Ask for more, much more, and still more

More answers,

Until you find the hidden truth.

TheTrue Meaning

Different countries have different holidays.
But there is one thing all holidays
around the globe have in common...
A celebration of their lives and culture.
Did it ever cross your mind as to how we measure up?

Let's start with the "Mother of all Holidays"...
Christmas, which is totally over rated in the USA.
AND misrepresented to our children.
What started out centuries ago
as a celebration of the birth of Christ,
has turned into a major
marketing blitz of gifts, decorations, and commercialism.
GIFT GIVING IS A CHOICE, NOT AN OBLIGATION.
The day dawns, and it's December 25Th.
Don't many of us spend money we don't have,
for our anxious children, and expectant families?
Yet so many in the world do without the basics,
food, shelter, clothes.

Commercialism... on your front yard in the form of
Snow globes, Snoopy adorned in a Santa hat,
and the ever popular Reindeer.
They don't have reindeer in Bethlehem...
So obviously they weren't there when Christ was born.
"Santa" brought them into the Christmas theme.

Look up Saint Nicholas in your book of saints,
or Father Christmas in your history books.
Then Google Thomas Nast,
Who was responsible for giving Santa his red suit.
A refresher course on the true meaning of Christmas.

I do remember giving gifts that were sewn by hand,
Christmas only recipes given to neighbors,
and Carols sung as chores were done, and cookies baked.
Christmas cards were a staple of our holiday decor.
What happened to the tradition of
placing the manger in the creche on Christmas morning?
Heading off to Mass dressed in our very best;
Starched dresses, frilly socks and shiny shoes.

Church. It smelled of joy.
Poinsettias. Candles, and the smell of pine filled the air,
The tree of angels naming those who had left us.
Oh, and how wonderful the choir's voices rang out.
Silent Night, Hark the Herald Angels Sing,
and Away in a Manger.
Then it was back to home for family and feast,
Laughter and songs, telling of stories.
and the exchange of the simple gifts.

I once read in a magazine years ago,
that posed an interesting question to parents.
" Is it not possible that our children,
would find at least as much pleasure in receiving a gift,
if they knew that parents were responsible for Christmas,
and not a supernatural stranger?'

I do not claim to "Not Guilty"
when it comes to over doing the Holidays.
But thinking about it now gives me time to
reflect on the recent past, my childhood
and the holidays yet to come.
Serenity, prayer and preparation,
and celebrating the true meaning of Christmas,
just seems like a much better way to go.
God tells us it is never to late
to welcome change into our lives.
Getting a head start now is a great idea,
Then I can throw out all the catalogs,
Mute the TV during the Christmas commercials,
and avoid the aisles already displaying Holiday decor.
WooooHoooo....!

The Shape Of Memories

The electronic picture era is here to stay.
Downloading, uploading, scanning, cropping.
Digital cameras, digital frames.
Camera phones, camera phone videos, tagging photos.

No more film, no more VHS tape recordings.
No more negatives, slides, or projectors.
No more Polaroids, they faded anyway.

There once was a day we sat with family,
usually a holiday of some nature.
Uncle Bob would drag out a projector, the pull up screen.
The curtains were drawn, lights turned off,
We would sit around the screen waiting for the big reel to roll.
Some one would yell out, "There's Aunt Mame, God rest her soul."
And then a Santa with a big red bag would appear.
"We always knew it was you Dad!"
We were hushed because little ones were present in the room.

"Look at all those candles," Grandma would always shout.
"Don't know why you kept trying to put them all on that cake.
I could never blow them all out anyhow."
"Is that me Mom? I must have been only 6 then,
because sis is just a chubby baby," I would ask.
That was the birthday we got our first TV set.
We got a real black and white picture
of that historic family event.

"Oh no you filmed my 30Th birthday?" Mom would question.
" Gosh I look so worn out, and old in this.
When did you ever take it?"
"Obviously when you were having that drink in your hand
and were to busy to notice!" Uncle Bob laughs,
And everyone in the room joins in the giggles.
"There's Grandpa on that one Christmas.
Remember Dad you took us to Church, and Santa came
While Mom was taking a bath!"
Dad and Mom agree, "That sure was a special Christmas alright."
My Dad squeezes her hand, and gives her a peck on the cheek.
Family times we'll all remember,
as they warm our hearts of times long past.

When MY children were little, birthdays were grand events.
And the camera never stopped clicking away.
There once was a party when my son invited
the entire Kindergarten class, without my knowledge.
And the kids kept coming, and coming, and coming.
My girlfriend and I were getting out the lunch bags,
scrounging around for goodies to put in the 20 extra bags.
Our inside games, became outside games.
Pieces of cake became smaller,
and on paper plates with flowered borders.
We ran out of the Spider Man plates after piece number 8.
No child complained,
all the laughter confirmed how much fun was had by all.
I collapsed after the last child was picked up.
And the rolls of films went to the drugstore the next day.

Then there was another son's 11Th Birthday.
It had to be grand;
we were going through a tough time in our lives.
So I put on my "Think Originality" cap.
We came up with an awesome party plan.
11 kids were invited.
The party would last 1,100 minutes,
and we would do 11 things.
There was a scavenger hunt for 11 items.
We went to 7/11 to get 11 slushies, and rented 11 movies.
Actually ordered 11 pizzas,
Then an 11 minute hopping contest for 11 candy bars.
We had 11 different kinds of soda, and 11 grab bags.
Then I told eleven jokes, as they politely laughed, or groaned.
I think my son was a little humiliated at my lack of comedy skills.
And I went to bed at eleven o'clock,
knowing I had to cook 11 pancakes for eleven boys,
before they would be picked up at 11:11 am.
Again, many rolls of film were sent off the next day.
To be transformed into double copies, of paper memories.

Dozens of other birthdays are frozen, not just in memory,
but in a gazillion photos, and of course the gazillion negatives.
There was my daughters birthday date with her Dad, when she was 5.
He bought her a corsage, and she wore her best dress.
A little girl in pony tails and bows, grinning from ear to ear,
safely in the arms of her proud, smiling Daddy.
A picture that I will never forget taking, and never tire of looking at.

When my other daughter turned 16, we planned a secret adventure.
It was just her 2 best friends, and we were off to a secret destination.
It irritated her, thinking we would "totally embarrass" her.
There was a trip to the city, then a fun feast at Ed Debevic's Restaurant.
Then a giggling night, sharing stories, in a fancy hotel.
And shooting crazy pics in matching hot pink PJ's, and cowgirl hats.
The next day a trip to the pier, and a movie at the IMAX theater.
We even got a big "Thanks guys" after that one.

It overwhelms me to think of all the boxes in my closet,
in albums, in drawers and negatives EVERYWHERE.
New technology has developed ways to preserve,
but for me, not to "user friendly."
Sometimes I am fearful my memories will fail me.
There is an urgency to learn these new ways.
Making memorable times for my own family, and grandchildren.
For me it was special times in front of a projector screen,
For them it will be waiting, while a little chip is inserted into a TV.

For now, at this moment, I will live, play, and rest,
With my family, and our memories under my roof.
In an indescribable way, that brings comfort to my soul,
They are always close at hand,
To look at, to rub my fingertips over their faces,
and to remember with blurred vision,
that "Life has been Good"

When It Rains It Pours

The rain slashing against my windows woke me this morning.

Rain is one of those natural details that has two functions.
It can harm, but it is an essential part of the cycle of life.
In one short day, I was blessed to see both sides of rain's persona.

In 1996 rain flooded my town.
The bridges and roads were buried under water.
Many could not get to their jobs, and just turned around for home,
to face the task of cleaning a flooded basements.
I remember trying to drive to the main YMCA,
to get the kids to day camp, then on to work.
No such luck... the roads were flooded.
So we decided to stop at the bagel shop, then head home.
As we walked in, I noticed an elderly couple sitting on the curb.
On leaving the store, I asked if they were alright..
"Not at all," they said with tired voices.
"We took our granddaughter to the airport,
And have been up all night.
Then the highway shut down.
Many people gave us many directions.
We really don't even know where we are!
Or how we are ever going to find our way home."
So, I said. " Hop in the truck, and come home with us."
They looked at me like I was altogether half-baked.
"Listen," I said calmly,"this may last all day,
and I only live a few miles from here.
You can rest, call family, have some coffee and food.
Then when the roads open,
and we've pointed you in the right direction,
I'll bring you back here to your car. Sound good.?"
Nodding yes and smiling, we helped them into my Suburban.
During the few minutes drive to my home, they kept thanking us.
At home we settled them into recliners with blankets.
The gentleman fell asleep within minutes.
The woman called some friends, relaying her adventure thus far.
I made a pot of coffee, and the kids hot chocolate.
When my husband walked in the door,
He just shook his head and smiled, as our adventure was revealed.
We got out a map, to give our adopted friends.
Then mapped out some alternate routes to give them.
As the hours passed, calls were made and naps taken,
They were anxious to get on the road.
I handed them a box with sandwiches, and munchies.
They asked. " What do we owe you?"
I laughed and said," Look at my children.
You have allowed them to experience the meaning of kindness.
Up front and in person. I thank you for that."
They gave us all hugs, and we exchanged addresses.
My husband helped them out to our truck,
Reviewing directions all the while.
We stood on the porch, as they grinned, and waved goodbye.
Instantly, the kids asked when we could go visit them.
"Sometime after the weather improves." I laughed.
We never saw them again,
Only exchanged a Christmas card.
But often as it rains, I look back on that day.
It was a time when rain brought devastation.
For many of our close neighbors.
Fortunately for us, there was no flooded basement.
But it gave our family a chance to show our children,
how to open their hearts and practice kindness.
Especially when others are unaware they may need it.