There's A New Girl in Town!

5:55 AM
My girl was out of bed before me...in the bathroom...not normal operating procedure.
The door to my room opens and she's standing there, a look of distress on her morning face.
"I don't feel good. I think it might be today.  I wish Danny were here." Again, labor arrives early in the morning.

I spring out of bed. "What can I do?"

Again, "I wish Danny was here."

She decides to take a shower. She just wants to shower, put a little make-up on, feel human, be ready for the photo opp' that is surely ahead.  But then, she's overcome by pain and collapses to the bathroom floor in a fetal heap.  The wave passes and she's up, into the shower. But there will be no shampoo. There's no time. And all the while, our little Ru sleeps, blissfully unaware of what is happening outside her bedroom door.  I text Ommie Sandy:

 "CAN YOU COME NOW?"

I gather  clothes,  load the car.  Did yesterday have to be the day the city dug up the driveway to replace it with smooth new concrete? Drat. I back the car into the next door neighbor's  driveway.
I gingerly help my girl get dressed.  She winces, "Where is Sandy?"

"'On her way" And knowing that's true, but hoping she's going to drive up any second.

She stands by Ru's door.  "I have to tell her we're going." She opens it quietly and walks to her bed and little eyes flutter open.   She crawls into the bed and little girl reaches to her Momma's belly-"oh! don't touch baby, momma's tummy is sore." She pulls back her hand and  they lie face to face. Amanda says that baby sister is probably coming today and Momma has to go to the hospital...and Ruby bursts into a flood of tears.

"But Daddy isn't home. We prayed for Daddy to be here."

And Momma soothes her little chick..."I know...I wanted him to be here, too, but it will be okay."

Ommie Sandy arrives and takes charge of our little Ru as  we make our exit.  The 6 mile drive begins and time is of the essence.  We traverse the streets of Long Beach and I am grateful it is still  early and there is little traffic. It is just after 7 am. I am urged to drive faster and I respond accordingly- we are nearly there. Flashback- the urgency of her pleas remind me of another drive to the hospital, 33 years earlier, when I implored her father to drive faster, and to avoid any bumps in the road.  Deja-vu.

She repeatedly voices, "I wish Danny were here."  And I know he wishes the same. He has been in Texas for over a week, getting crucial training to fly a new plane so that he can provide for his growing family. We had prayed that he would return in time to share in the birth of their new girl, but clearly this was not to be.  This is hard for all of them, I know, but I pause to be  thankful for this man who loves this little family so much and who is a faithful husband, father and provider to his precious girls. At this point all he knows is that we are en route to the hospital. I have been entrusted with this sacred responsibility and  am honored to take it on.

I pull into the hospital drive and up to the curb and she is suddenly frantic-she cannot wait.  I jump out, run in and tell the guard I need a wheel chair "right now!"-that my daughter is ready to give birth.  He looks for a chair and there is none. I go back to the car and the urgency has intensified. I return to the guard..."I need help, NOW!"

I return to the car and assure my girl that help is on the way. And within seconds, two beautiful nurses were there with a chair-and summoning a doctor. A birth is imminent.  A cursory exam is done curbside and the decision is made to transport her immediately upstairs. There is time.

Sweet nurses assist her out of the car and I jump back in to park the car.   I turn into an ER-ONLY lot, I ask for permission-"this is a bit of an emergency" and permission is granted. It is 7:15 AM.   Within 5 minutes I have parked,  gathered a mountain of belongings and arrive on the second floor where I am instantly  directed to a room where my only child is about to deliver her second baby girl.

An IV is being inserted and the words "10 centimeters" are voiced.  There is no time for an epidural. It is time.  An unknown doctor enters the room, young and fresh out of med school no doubt. But, she is up for the task and the work begins. Precious nurses encourage Amanda to breathe through the pain. Cameras are in hand  and the hard work begins.

At one point, Amanda prays aloud, through the pain, and one of the nurses does something so remarkable and so brave and so good. She asks Amanda, "Are we praying to Jesus?"

"oh, yes, we are."

And she proceeds with, "then, let's pray.  All activity ceased and  everyone in the room closed eyes and dropped their heads while this precious and courageous young woman petitioned heaven for the safe arrival of,  and blessing on our sweet baby girl.  It was a moment of awe that I will never forget.

And moments later, and I do mean moments, our little Minnie Eloise, was born at 7:34 AM-nineteen minutes from the time we pulled up to the curb at the hospital! And she is perfect!  They immediately placed her on Amanda's chest and left them to bond together.  I cut the cord!
                                         And then I held her as her
Momma slept briefly.  What a privilege and what bliss!

I think she's pretty spectacular. And I'm not the only one.  I'm thinkin' we're gonna  keep her.

Ru meets Minnie for the first time!

Grateful and blessed.

Grief Exposed

"What is central to your life is peripheral to others." Author and radio personality Dennis Prager said it at a lecture the husband and I attended earlier this year. I jotted it down in a little journal I carry in my purse, thinking it was true and that I would want to remember it down the road.

Down the road I am. Pacific Coast Highway, Hermosa Beach, just South of Pier Avenue to be specific, and it hits me like a ton of steel: the world is carrying on, completely unaware that a huge part of me has disintegrated into thin air. There is a hole in me you could drive a hummer through, yet no one around me notices. The oxymoronic invisible hole that is me, or more accurately, what used to be me. This event, through which everything else is now filtered, is unknown to the masses I rub elbows with as I move through the days and nights since that day.

Mother's Day. Ironic, yes? Just hours after her four children gathered around her hospital bed, the one who carried me in her body, gave me life, pushed me into the world and gave me my beginnings, left this world. She, who had been with me from the very beginning, an anchor of sorts, gracefully slipped from this life to the next.

We met with a kind doctor. A man with warm eyes and a caring heart. He told us what we long suspected but hadn't spoken; that her body was telling us what she wanted and that it was time to think about what her wishes were. We decided it was time, to let go. After more than two weeks of ventilators, dialysis machines and round the clock 24 hour one on one nursing care, it was time. She was tired. The evidence was clear. There was no going back to the life she had once had.

We returned to her room. Tubes were disconnected. Machines shut down. Medications stopped. The room that had relentlessly hummed with beeps and gurgles and flashing numbers grew mournfully silent. A curtain was drawn. We removed our gowns and masks. We touched her skin to skin...massaged her feet and arms and hands with warm lotion. We played her favorite songs and we prayed. We bid her farewell and urged her to her to look for Poppa. We knew he'd be waiting for her. For Jesus, who saved her. For her own dear Mother and sisters and brothers and friends who had gone ahead of her.

She slipped away quickly, painlessly and gently. We said our good byes. And there was peace, trusting that the satisfaction she always yearned for and never quite found on this planet was finally hers. That was over a month ago. And, I am still paralyzed.

I did not expect this depth of sorrow. I really thought there would be a greater sense of serenity, more relief that her battle was over. I did not expect to feel so adrift-the proverbial ship without an anchor. Whatever her issues, she grounded me in a way no one else ever could. She was ever present in my life. My only remaining parent, and now she is gone. There is an enormous void I was not prepared for.

This is going to be a long journey and I've only just begun.

My Girl

It was the spring of 1979 and I was on board Amtrak’s train, The Capital Limited, en route from Washington, DC to Chicago. I had just endured a long week of training at the Xerox Training Center, in Leesburg, Virginia. It had been a challenging week with new co-workers from all over the country. We’d worked long hours and I was pretty overwhelmed with all the new knowledge I’d taken in, but excited to be on my way home to begin my new job as an Amtrak Sales Representative.

My co-worker and I had boarded the overnight train to Chicago, where we’d change trains to the Southwest Limited, continuing on to Los Angeles the next day. We’d been on the train a few hours and decided to meet in the dining room for dinner. The diner was full, so we were standing in a hallway, waiting for a table to open up, when the aroma of food cooking invaded my senses and an overwhelming wave of nausea engulfed me.

I made an immediate u-turn and bolted back to the sleeper car and my Roomette, as they were called in those days. I flung open the door, opened the toilet and immediately vomited into a stainless steel receptacle.

I knew, in that instant , that I was pregnant. I who hadn’t thrown up in over a decade, knew with certainty that this was not some 24 hour bug. I returned to the dining room with this amazing piece of knowledge in my head, ate a light dinner and returned to my room where I pulled down my bed and settled in for a night of dreams of the life to come.

We arrived in Chicago the next day and with a layover ahead, I headed to the Sears Tower, where I found a book store and purchased a book of names, which provided hours of reading between Chicago and Los Angeles. My mind was spinning in a million directions. I was excited. I was surprised. I was nervous. I anticipated telling Mike he was going to be a Daddy. There were no cell phones, and no way to share this life changing information with anyone that mattered. So, as Mary did, I treasured it in my heart, contemplating the knowledge that I was going to be a mother. Bliss.

My whole life, to that point, I dreamed of and planned on becoming a mother, ideally to five little ones. It was not negotiable. It was who I was. When I married a man who had two half-grown children, I thought for a while that they would fill that place in my heart. But the moment I knew that I had a baby growing in me, it was as if my most fervent dream had finally come true. I was going to have a baby to love and care for. My own. Flesh of my flesh.

That was a long time ago. And, 32 years ago, today, after nine months of relentless nausea, vomiting and anticipation, I gave birth to a 9 lb. 2 ½ oz. baby girl. My girl. Amanda Ann. She, with her transluscent skin and reddish hair, round face and rolls of flesh--could she be mine? I expected a sickly little thing, the result of my incessant throwing up. But, this was a specimen of health, a beautiful, “fluffy” baby girl, sucking her thumb contentedly in the delivery room.

The first night at home, her Dad was down with the flu. My mom had offered to come over to help, but, I declined, feeling confident that I could handle it. By 9 that evening I was on the phone in tears, unable to comfort her or stop her crying. My mom, the original baby whisperer, came to the rescue and helped us through that first night.

Within a week, our girl was sleeping through the night. But, that first week, I remember getting up alone in the wee hours one night, holding her in my arms. I was in our kitchen, leaning against the back door and holding her in my arms, overwhelmed with emotion and in awe of the love I felt for this little one who had done absolutely nothing to earn it. I realized in that moment what “Mother Love” was. And, in that moment, I also realized how much my own mother loved me.

Fast forward 32 years. Today, Amanda Ann Mandish is Amanda Ann Green, wife to Daniel, Mother to Ruby and a daughter loved beyond description. To say those 32 years flew by isn’t too far off base. To say that every year has been a blessing is dead on.

She has grown into a woman of excellence- a Proverbs 31 woman, in progress. She is a young woman who loves Jesus and works to serve Him in her daily life. She is a wife who honors her husband- he who knows she can be trusted and supports his dreams and plans for their family. She has a heart full of compassion and opens her hand to those in need…a friend who is concerned and also propelled to action. She is a loving and firm mother to the most beautiful child I know. She works hard and has created a beautiful home for her family. She exercises hospitality and looks for ways to stretch her resources. She is even learning to cook! She exudes a beauty that comes from not just a lovely appearance but an attitude that smiles at the future and works through the challenges of life.

She has been a blessing so great. As a young girl, I hoped to have five children, but, Amanda is my only child. I have often kiddingly remarked that, “when the first one is perfect, you can stop.” Reality is, that although I would have welcomed the blessing of more children, it just didn’t work out that way. Even so, there are no regrets. My girl--she erased all the possible regrets. I could not have asked for a better daughter, a sweeter spirit, a kinder, more loving girl to call my one and only.

Today she is my daughter and my friend. She is beautiful, inside and out. Today I celebrate her existence. Her kindness. Her generosity. Her heart. This grateful heart is full to the brim when I view you and the woman you have become. There are not enough words to express how blessed I am to be your mom. Happy Birthday to My Girl. I could not love you more.

“Charm is deceitful and beauty is vain, but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised. “ Proverbs 31:30