Thanksgiving That Almost Wasn't

This year our Thanksgiving celebrations were fraught with adventure... and disease.  Let me paint you a picture using my words.

The week or two leading up to Thanksgiving:

The Hubs - Began experiencing olfactory hallucinations (smelling things that aren't there) due to extreme fatigue, or schizophrenia.... the jury is still out on the cause.

Me - Contracted pneumonia.

Ms. Els - Managed to start into a nice hacking cough - viral - that made me question just how unconditional a mother's love really is.

Cadie Lu - Came screaming to us at 9:00 p.m. on a Saturday saying her ear was exploding.  After a very loving Instacare visit she was diagnosed with a double ear infection.

Joely - Tested the waters with croup, but didn't feel miserable enough.  Recovered from that and then decided to follow Cadie Lu's example, only do her one better, and woke up screaming at 3:30 a.m. Thanksgiving morning saying his ear was exploding.  Double ear infection.

Jabes - In the tradition of being the youngest and needing to be heard, went all out.  Began the downhill slide with croup which he then followed with a double ear infection, sinus infection, and pink eye.

It was awesome!

You know things aren't going well when your brother who is dying of cancer sends you a text asking if he can do anything for you. 

So, because of all this delightful mischief going on, and the fact that people were busy caring for my children rather than making dinner plans, Thanksgiving was kind of a thrown together affair.

This year was a "Ridges" year with my family.  I should have known things weren't going to be all buttery roles and turkey coma when mother announced she wasn't going to make mashed potatoes, or homemade stuffing.

WHAT?

Instead she was going to have my dad dig up some potatoes out of the garden, slap them on a baking sheet and do baked potatoes.

And she'd be making Stove Top. 

I'm tearing up just remembering it. 

The day before Thanksgiving:

My sister Emily arrives from St. George.  It's her 27th birthday.  She ditches her kids and hub with her in-laws and comes to mom's house to save us from ourselves.  Fulfills all her birthday dreams by making lots of pies and rolls.  I lay on the couch, near death, and watch.

Dad gives me a ham to cook for dinner tomorrow.  What the ham?  But then I remember that I pretty much love pig in all it's forms, so I took it home to cook.

Thanksgiving Day:

The day begins with a gentle awakening by Joely screaming his head off at 3:30 a.m.  We never go back to bed.  We wait until 9:00 a.m. when Instacare opens. 

While waiting mom calls to let me know that the turkey is still frozen.  Looks like it's gonna be ham tonight.

In-laws call inviting us to lunch.  We jump at the chance.  They have turkey and homemade stuffing.  Woot woot!  It's our one shot at a real dinner.

The Hubs takes Ms. Els, and Cadie Lu to his parent's house while him and Joely go to the doctor.  Jabes is napping.

During this time I realize I haven't showered for like 3 days and that I really don't have time for pneumonia.  Have a stern talk with myself about bucking up and getting better.  Not sure if it's going to work... I can be stubborn.

On the way to in-laws I drop ham back to parents to cook it their darn selves!  I make my mom come get the ham from me at the curb in order to avoid all the stairs.  While handing her the ham out the window I make a gentle, subtle ploy for mashed potatoes.  I mean, if we can't have turkey then can we at least mash up the taters?

During said plea Dad comes out to return a book he'd borrowed from me.  Mom mentions my potato wishes.  Dad's reply, "There will be potatoes.  You can do whatever you want with them."  I believe he's deep in mourning over the turkey and can't be kind at that moment.  So I tell my mom that if she'll just put a potato on my plate I'll wet it with my tears and mash it with the moisture from them.  Also, tears are salty, so I won't need salt.

She accuses me of being dramatic.

As I drive away I yell out the window, "Oh, and I sure can't wait for that Stove Top!  I've been waiting an entire year for that!"

Off to lunch at my in-laws.  But first, I must fall asleep on their couch for an hour.  Glorious.

In-laws have turkey, homemade stuffing, but alas, something is missing.  No potatoes - mashed or otherwise - adorn their table.  What's happening?  Are we embarking on the Great American Potato Famine?

Fast forward to 4:00 p.m., arrival at my parent's house.  What is that I smell?  Did we have a turkey miracle occur?  Indeed we did.  They have somehow salvaged the bird.  We have turkey and ham.  Happy, happy day! 

Dad's mood is greatly improved while carving meat.

And then, I hear the heartwarming sound of my mom mashing potatoes!  Sweet heaven.  But, wait, something is wrong.  I wander into the kitchen to find that my mom - in a totally typical moment of experimentation - has put the potatoes in a blender to "mash" them.  Can you say potato soup?

Luckily she realizes what's happening and only puts in half the potatoes.  Then, in another typical moment, she attempts to salvage the potatoes.  She hand mashes the other half and then stirs the soupy potatoes into the hand mashed potatoes.  We all wait to see how this is going to go.

Glue.

That's how it went.  I casually and non-judgementally mention that the potatoes schlopping out of the blender have a rather gluey quality to them.

Let's just say that when Thanksgiving dinner was over we still had a bowl full of glue sitting in the center of the table.  Okay, that's not totally fair, my bro-in-law Marty ate a bunch.  He apparently likes the taste of horse hooves in his festivities.  Nasty.

The good news is that there was pie.  Lots and lots of hip hugging pie.  All sugary and delicious in it's homemade crust.  And whipping cream.  Real whipping cream.

All in all, as my brother said, I'll never forget this Thanksgiving.

The Thanksgiving that almost wasn't!

Service Makes a Difference!

Hello dear readers!

 

Many of you are friends with me on Facebook, or are friends with my family, and have already gotten word about a service project my sister put together.   If you've already seen this info please feel free to close this page and come back to visit when I post something new.  But if not, please, please read this letter from my sister.

 

I just want to add that having spent time at Huntsman Cancer Institute with my brother I have seen first hand what suffering looks like.  You can't possibly imagine unless you've been there.  These small things will make a difference.

 

Also, cancer makes people feel hopeless and powerless.  You are at the mercy of the disease.  This is a way for our family to try to give comfort and also honor our brother, Ben, and the battle he's fought so valiantly.

 

Thanks!

Aspen

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

Dear family members,

With the Christmas season approaching, I have been trying to come up with a way we can incorporate some service into our celebration.   I have been wracking my brain, wondering what we could do. And then the idea hit me this morning. 
 

Gather items to donate to the Huntsman Cancer Institute.
 

My sweet brother has spent a lot of time in hospitals, including Huntsman, during his cancer battle. We know that it can be a sad and lonely place, and that not everyone has the amazing support that my brother has in his incredible wife, Sara. I wanted to do something to help other patients fighting cancer. So I started doing some research, and have decided I want to make "Essential Totes" for patients that are on an extended stay. 
 

This is where I ask for the support of all of my family, friends and even strangers. I will gather donations from now until mid-December. (DECEMBER 10) We will then assemble and deliver the items as we get closer to Christmas. 

 

If you feel like you could help out, PLEASE do. 

 

We have seen the incredible suffering that cancer patients go through first-hand. We have seen the ones that are lonely as well, and it is heart breaking. If you would prefer to donate money, I can use that to buy supplies as well. I can take checks, cash or PayPal.

I know that things are tight around Christmas...I have 4 kids, I get it...but if you could find any wiggle room to give, it would mean a great deal to us. I plan on including a note in each bag saying that these are dedicated to Ben...the strongest person I've ever known.

Thank you in advance!

Camille

 

Please see Camille's blog for a list of needs, a button to donate through PayPayl, and also some FAQs: 
 

http://martyandcamille.blogspot.com 

 

(You can also link to her blog from mine ------> "Davis Family")

 

The Crud

For the past three weeks my little family has been fighting some super bug that will not die.  We all (meaning my sisters and our families) shared it mid-October during a staycation.  Then we went our separate ways to huddle in our homes and fight the good fight.  We're losing!

This past week it was finally my turn to take it on.

Woo-Eee!

This inspired me to write a list entitled: 

Signs that this illness is more than the sniffles.

In no particular order....

You willingly invite over your mom/mother-in-law/neighbor to help you out with the kids and do not even glance around your house to see how messy it is.

You seriously consider using overnight maxi pads as diapers to avoid the strenuous walk to the bathroom.

You are incapable of reading a book.  The brain power required to follow a plot line eludes you.

Your fever is so high that the soles of your feet feel as though you just completed a hot coals challenge.

You think about sneaking hits off the antibiotic your baby is on.

When people ask you a question it takes you a minute to literally crank your brain back to life and find an answer for them.

Even though for three days now you've had a fever, fever sweats, and soaked sheets you don't bother to change them.  The effort to change the bed may result in another fever spike, thus voiding your work.

Your hands shake while texting.

You notice that your legs have gotten quite hairy, but see it as nature's way of keeping you warm.

You find yourself watching Justin Beiber: Never Say Never and admiring the boy's work ethic.

I pray that all my dear readers will be able to avoid finding themselves in such dire straits.

Welcome to winter!

The Club

I've talked to a lot of people lately who want to know how my brother is doing and how my family is handling things.  People have amazed me with their kindness.  We've had impromptu meals dropped off, our drive-way shoveled, our leaves raked, notes in the mail, yummy treats.

Thank you! 

Someday I hope to pass it forward.

One theme in my talks with others is often, "Do you think it's harder to lose someone suddenly, or to have had the past two years to get to this place?"

That's tough, because I've never lost someone suddenly.  Before this the only deaths in my life of people truly close to me were my grandparents.  And none of those was without some warning.  They were older, it was expected.

All I know is that for me, as painful and stressful as this process has been, I can look back on the past two years with no regrets. 

I don't have to wonder if the last thing I said to my brother was unkind.

I don't have to regret not calling him or spending more time together while I had it.

There is peace in knowing that no loose ends are left. We've said what needed to be said.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

If I could share what I've learned, and encourage others in the process, here is what I'd say:

Be kind, be patient, be forgiving.

Allow people their bad days, their ugly moments, and hope they'll do the same for you. 

Time is the key to close relationships.  Make TIME for people in your life. 

It doesn't matter how you look or what you wear, WHO you are and how you make others feel is what matters.

Friends may come and go, but family is forever.  Over the years your friendships will ebb and flow, but your family will be by your side.  They are your past, your present and your future.  Treat them as the precious gifts they are.  (This includes your children!)

It's okay to cry.  It's okay to show others how you feel.  Sometimes by sharing your grief, you make it lighter.  Sometimes by sharing your thoughts you help others.

Never, never, never assume that your offerings of service to others are too little, or too insignificant.  To the receiver any and all efforts feel huge and thoughtful.  Don't be afraid to serve.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

That said, two years is a long time to watch someone you love suffer. 

Their suffering, and imminent death, weaves it's way in the fabric of your life.  It hovers, an unwelcome guest, in all you do.  You don't plan vacations, you don't sign up to volunteer, you make back-up plans for holidays and birthdays.  You don't start projects or commitments.  When the phone rings your heart skips a beat.

You carry the grief with you constantly, waiting in the background until it's free to burst from it's confines.  Sometimes some of it leaks out and you think that maybe because you've been preparing for the loss that when it comes it won't hit you so hard.  But then you worry about just how hard it WILL hit you when the time comes.

So, I guess I still don't know.

What I do know is that this club - the club of people who've lost loved ones - is one I never wanted to belong too.  It's somehow crowded and lonely at the same time.

I pray you won't join any time soon!

Talkin' Cars

Hi peeps.

Another letter.

I wrote this back in May of this year (2012) before I knew for sure the outcome of this cancer battle.  Though the outcome is now sure, the sentiments written here are unchanged.

*************************************



Ben in Dec. 1997 in Moab.  One of his many, many rides
sporting one of many, many for sale signs!



 

Dear Ben,

Today Steve did the unimaginable.  We were on our way home from the family reunion when he pulled off the freeway and bought me a new car.  Seriously!  I was in shock for the majority of the transaction.  I understand that minivans aren't your cup of tea, and that you'd never drive one, but this beauty is top of the line, something I never thought I'd drive.

I grinned and grinned the whole way home!

The best part was that our car was trashed from our trip.  Four kids on the road for 10 hours total.  Crackers, chips, chocolate, soda pop, and probably a dirty diaper were wedged all over the place.  We just moved our luggage out of that filthy nasty beast, transferred it to our freshly detailed van, and drove away.  I still laugh thinking about it.  I almost left a $20 on the back seat for the poor fool who had to get it ready to sell.  But, I didn't.

I wanted to call you on the drive home and laugh with you about the shop boy who's gonna quit when he sees our old car.  I wanted to drive past your house and show it off.  But you're sick and tired.  Dad is there with you because he doesn't have four kids and made it home before us.  He showed you the picture I texted.

The next day I wanted to drive by and show you, but when I called you were sleeping.  Sleep is precious these days and I can't ask you to wake up when you finally have a chance to rest well.

I cried and cried and cried.

If you die who am I going to show my new cars to?  Who is going to scour the classifieds obsessively with me when I'm looking for something new to drive?  Who will make fun of me for driving a minivan?  Okay, Dad will still be there to mock me.  It's not quite the same though.

If you die I may never be able to sell this car.  It's the last one you'll have been around to talk with me about.  As it is I'm still feeling cheated out of the usual bonding experience.

It's kind of this thing we do.  Talking cars, buying cars, selling cars.  I know nothing about what's under the hood, even though in our family that's sacrilegious.  I've never had to know anything about that, I've always had you and Dad to rescue me and make it work again.  What I do know is that I like cars and I go through them like underwear.  That's normal in our family. 

And you're such a car snob.  Ha ha.  I love that you are!

I remember when you were about to turn 16 and I was worried that I'd have to share a car with you.  It was not going to be fun because you were kind of a bum and would have made sharing with me miserable.  But, I should have known better.  As your birthday drew near you announced with disdain that you'd never drive "that pile of crap" and I could have it.  You'd get a job and buy yourself something more respectable.

The funny thing is that I wasn't at all offended by that.  I was relieved.  I was happy to let you get the job and buy yourself the car, and I'd just keep driving what our parents provided for me. 

Only later did I find out you'd siphon gas out of my tank to fill up your car, or your motorcycle, or your ATV or whatever go-cart you were playing around with at the time. 

Clever!  Very, very clever!

You always took me for a ride in your new cars when you got them.  After I was married you'd come to my apartment or, later on, my house and give Steve and I both a ride.  After I had kids we'd buckle them in and take them along too.  Of course, after the kids were born we stopped doing 2000 mph down the freeway ramp, but that doesn't mean you didn't "show me what this baby can do".

So now I have this new van and I feel like something is off.  'Cause I haven't been able to give you a ride in it.  I haven't been able to wow you with the power sliding doors, back up camera, and more things than I know what to do with.  It's like the van hasn't been given its official send-off because you haven't been around to welcome it to the fold.

I'm kind of mad about that. 

~ Aspen

Another Letter

Friends,
I've decided to just post some of the letters I've written to Ben over the next few days.  It feels good to get my thoughts out and to share some of my memories and laughs with you.

Happy Reading,
Aspen

*******************************************

Dear Ben,

The kids and I drove past a diesel on the freeway today and like so many other times, the memories came flooding back.  Do you remember, of course you do, when Dad drove a big rig to haul around the ski grooming equipment that he sold?  Sometimes he'd let us ride along with him up to the ski resorts. 

We'd fight over who got the window seat because Dad would let us roll down the window on the freeway climbing Parley's Canyon and we'd stick our hands out the window.  The air was so strong and moving so fast that we couldn't hold our hands up and our arms would slap back against the door.  We thought it was so funny.

Now that I'm an adult and have driven Parley's Canyon more times than I can count, I realize that the diesel we were in was probably going about 20 miles an hour up that hill.  But to us it felt like light speed.

Do you remember the year that dad had us, along with Mom, take ski school while he was conducting business?  It was so much fun.  After that we went skiing whenever we could.  We were so young.  Mom and Dad would leave the little girls with a sitter and the four of us would hit the slopes.
 

Dad was a good skier.  You were good along with a healthy dose of crazed lunatic.  Mom and I were both a little more cautious.  Okay, Mom was probably scared.  Ha.  I just remember Dad hanging back with her a lot.  And when you'd get impatient and take off like a bat out of Hades, Dad would have me chase you down and stay with you at the bottom so that you wouldn't get on the lift and do another round before we could get you. 

I'd see you ahead of me, a blur of dark brown hair, dark coat and miniature skies, flying back and forth across the slope, snow flying behind you like a white cloud.  I'd do my best to keep up, calling your name the whole time, praying that I would be able to catch up without crashing.

My favorite memory is one time that Dad sent me after you and we were flying down a hill.  You were a ways ahead of me, surprisingly,  but still in sight.  But suddenly I lost sight of you as you went over the edge of a slight rise.  When I came up over the rise myself there were about ten people just laying scattered across the slope from one side to the other.  From what I could gather it was a ski school for adults and they had all crashed into a messy and long pile of limbs, skis and poles.  They all looked old to me, but I was maybe nine or ten at the time, so they probably weren't as old as I thought they were.  Still, in my young mind they were grandparents. 

You had obviously zigzagged your way through the group at lightning speed with no trouble at all, and they were all watching you.  I remember one person saying, "Wow".  They were pretty impressed with your skills. 

Then, as I entered the group, going way faster than I was comfortable with and doing my best not to fall, their attention was turned to me.  I zigzagged with my pulse pounding, watching my ski tips, holding my poles high in the air above my head so that I wouldn't nick one of them, and I heard it.  They began laughing.  One of them shouted encouragement to me, another said he hoped someday he could be like us kids, zipping down the slopes.  And when I broke through the group, still on my feet, still flying along, they started laughing and clapping. 

I wasn't able to turn around and wave or anything, my mind was laser focused on getting to you.  But I could hear their cheering as I continued to zoom along.  I was so proud of myself.  So proud that I kept up with you for once.  So proud, in fact, that my teeth froze from keeping my mouth open in a huge grin the rest of the way down.

My knees finally stopped shaking at the end of the hill when I saw you waiting for me by the lift, and as I came to a stop next to you I didn't cuss you out or tell you to slow down.  I just laughed with you and said, "That was cool!"

And it was.  It was super cool!

~ Aspen