Fevers, Flights, and a Funeral

Simply put, this past week was absolutely insane. Actually, it began late last week when Emerson had a temp of 102.5 on Thursday night. He was obviously not feeling well since he refused to eat anything (nothing for nearly three days!) and did not sleep well. Friday, I stayed home to monitor him and make sure things didn't get any worse, but after two full days of watching a sick kid on my own I was about to jump off our balcony. Thankfully, life was made a bit simpler by ordering pizza for dinner. But of course, fevers of our own kindly followed suit, and I spent the first couple days of the work week having chills, hot flashes, dizzy spells, and the worst sore throat I can remember since high school.

Then on Monday afternoon, I received a phone call that an old high school friend had died over the weekend. Mark struggled with epilepsy throughout his life, and it appears he suffered a massive seizure in his sleep on Sunday night. After the teary phone call, I asked Andrea, his sister, to keep me posted on the details and then made some phone calls of my own to notify some other friends of the news.

Tuesday, I took Emerson to the doctor just to make sure that whatever he had and gave to me wasn't strep (thankfully, we both tested negative). Then that night, Andrea called back to ask if I could officiate the entire funeral ceremony (I've spoken at two funerals before but never organized the entire thing). The Zonnevelds had never been connected with a church and felt really uncomfortable with a complete stranger involved with the service, so they asked me to officiate since I had been such a spiritual influence in Mark's life. I gladly accepted and quickly (a little too quickly it seems) bought tickets for a flight to Atlanta on Saturday morning.

On Wednesday, I was still really sick, but in addition to work, an unusually busy work schedule for Amber (we swapped Emerson in the middle of the day and I took him home on the bus), and a number of other to-do things that had to get done (the grass still needs mowed!), I now had to begin gathering thoughts on a eulogy. Thursday, I watched Emerson, worked on details for our summer vacation, and discussed details for the funeral with Andrea and her Uncle Rob. Things were finally starting to shape up. Then off to the salon to get my first really short haircut in 3 years.

On Friday night, I finished my draft on my actual message and figured I'd have to make time on the flight to give thought to my opening prayer and benediction. After Emerson went to bed, I went to print off my flight ticket to discover that somehow I managed to book a flight not for the weekend but for March 2011 (@*%#!!!!). Seriously, I'm not sure how that happened, but I immediately called Delta to see if I could get my flight switched. The guy told me I should call Expedia first (since I bought my tix through them), and then explained that if I were to switch my flight to the times I wanted it would cost about $400 more than the $300 I had already shelled out, and if I were to take one flight later it would still cost me $300 more. So, I called Expedia and after being on hold for a very long time, they told me I could get a flight for Saturday morning (not the flight I wanted but good enough) for an extra $129. So, I gave them my credit card number, received my new itinerary from Expedia, and went off to bed.

Saturday morning, I got up at 5:30AM, and I knew something was fishy when I couldn't print off my e-ticket (I had not been given a Delta confirmation code...). I went to the airport with my new Expedia itinerary (for a flight supposed to leave at 7:50), and the lady at the Delta desk tells me I'm not in their system and they only have a record that I inquired into the flight with the Delta guy from last night. Baffled as I was, I show the supervisor my receipt from Expedia, and after 10-15 minutes of going around, the supervisor says, "Well the flight has plenty of seats--but its now delayed for 9:15--but you didn't pay for this ticket." I insist that I gave the man from Expedia my credit card and paid extra to get my flights changed. The Supervisor finally prints off a ticket that has bold letters written on it: TICKET COUPON REQUIRED and attaches what obviously is whatever a ticket coupon is (I assume details regarding my switched flights??) and tells me that I did not pay for this ticket.

Upon arriving in Atlanta around 11:15 (at least the delay gave me good time to work on the funeral details!), I'm greeted with an "urgent" cell phone message from a supervisor at Expedia detailing to me that whatever the guy did for me the night before in transferring my tickets was not allowed since I had already been issued a ticket (which doesn't make sense since I didn't get my ticket until I got to the airport) and that I would have to work out my ticket situation with someone at the Delta counter at the airport. In short, I had no idea if I had a ticket to get home. Of course, I was happy enough that I had made it down there on time!

At this point, my first priority is to be there for the family and then to perform a funeral. When I got to Mark's parents' house, they greeted me with great bear hugs and tears. It is a bittersweet moment to mourn the loss of a friend, yet at the same time, feel so honored that people are so appreciative of your mere presence (It also changes the way you hug your own child after you hug the father of the person you're doing a funeral for). There were also relatives who had flown in from Germany, Holland, and China, and old friends from Illinois, all who welcomed me and treated me as part of the family (and while I was there it was not at all uncommon for table conversation to move seamlessly from English to Dutch to German (amazing!)). It was such a rich and profound moment--we were on holy ground--and it had never been more real to me that my calling right now was to be the body of Jesus to these people simply by being there, offering a sympathetic touch, a kind word, and a mournful tear.

The funeral was just wonderful [more on that in another post as this one is already quite long!], and I was in awe of how many people were there. Aside from family and close friends, dozens of coworkers of Mark attended as well as scores of parents and children who had been in one of Carla's (Mark's mom) elementary school classes. It truly was a diverse mix of people, and yet as various members of Mark's family shared memories and I spoke, an amazing sense of camaraderie and unity of spirit could be sensed. These people had gathered to remember a person they loved and to show their love to a hurting family. Everyone afterward was truly appreciative of what I had said, and I was just thankful to be a part of this special moment, despite how unfortunate it was.

I didn't get around to calling Expedia again until around 6PM (and checked one-way flights on someone's IPhone if it came down to just getting an altogether new itinerary to get home). Still at this point, the Expedia website and their phone tree are reading my itinerary as if my flight tomorrow is a "go." Then, the lady from Expedia proceeds to also read through my itinerary but explains that I must work out my ticket with the Delta counter. Since her explanation still did not tell me whether or not I actually still had a ticket for Sunday morning, I finally said, "So are you telling me that I have a confirmed ticket for tomorrow morning or not." After being on hold for a good while (she obviously needed to confer with her supervisor!), I was given a Delta confirmation of my flight itinerary.

So, by this point, I'm happy that at least I'm in Delta's system which is more than I could say the flight before. Then, I get an email from Delta confirming my flight and they have me on a different flight than what Expedia had told me ten minutes before. I went with Delta's information, printed off all the material from their website that showed I had a flight with them, and headed off to the airport Sunday morning. I can tell you I was more nervous going up to the Delta ticket counter than I was preaching at the funeral! Thankfully, I got my ticket, again with big words: TICKET COUPON REQUIRED. But the lady didn't staple anything onto my ticket. Through security and on to the gate, and let's just see what happens. The guy scanning tickets at the gate asked, me if I had a ticket coupon, and I tell him, "This is all the lady gave me." He shakes his head and types on half a dozen different windows on his computer screen and out comes an identical ticket with no big words typed on it. Finally, home free. And despite the fiasco, at least I got a couple extra packages of Delta's tasty gingerbread cookies from the nice flight hostess!

Communicating With a One Year-Old

We've been absolutely amazed at how much Emerson is really developing an understanding of communication/language over the past couple months. No doubt, for months now he has found ways to tell us what he wants by fussing and staring at an object (when he's hungry or thirsty), reaching out for us (when he wants to be held), squirming (when he wants down), having a trantrum or pushing on us (when he wants our attention or wants to wake us up. If we're at the computer, he'll even turn our swivel chair!), or making one of his many facial expressions (to show he's frustrated, upset, got hurt, etc).

No however, its really clear he understands a lot of the things we are saying and has figured out that the use of words and signs is a real productive way to tell us what he wants too. Over the past few weeks, I can't remember how many times, I've pointed at something and said, "Can you bring ___ to Daddy?" and he does it. One of the blessings of this kind of communication is that he becomes a little helper and (at least a little) less of a deterrent when doing a chore. For instance, he loves it when I sweep the floor, and now he's been assigned to carry the dustpan from room to room and hand it to me when I'm ready. But he still loves to walk right through my pile of dirt too :).

There seem to be so many terms he's grasping that there's no way I could list them all. He clearly knows what shoes are and will sometimes even go pick his up and bring them to you when he knows its time to go. He knows what "outside" means, or at least, he knows it means doing one of the things he absolutely loves to do (and these days, we can rarely get him back in without him screaming bloody murder!). On the other hand, "Night-night" is one of the words he dreads (I can hear him yelling upstairs as I type!). And when I'm pretty sure he just did his business in his diaper, I ask, "Emerson did you stinky?"--typically, when the answer's yes, he'll contort his face and wrinkle his nose (although, this morning he had a "guilty as charged" look and just laughed at me).

As for the sign language he's finally managed to incorporate, he now signs "more," "please" (this is one's quite an accomplishment since before when we'd ask him to say please, he would just get even madder, as if to say, "You know what I want, now just give it to me!! Sometimes, its really cute when he says please, and he signs it with both hands, as if to say, "Yes!!! I'll do anything for a saltine cracker!"), "milk," "ball" (which looks a lot like "more"), "hat," "eat," "finish" (all done), and of all things, "toothbrush" (one of our babysitters got him a book with a number of signs, and somehow this one caught on when others didn't!). He signs toothbrush now every morning when we're in the bathroom, so we finally gave him one of his own (without any paste, of course) and he clearly knows how to use it (and it doubles as a teether!).

With regard to words he now uses, or at least is trying to imitate, he often says "up," which can mean that he wants up onto the bed or couch, wants us to wake up and get out of bed to play, wants out of his highchair, wants picked up, or even that he wants to go downstairs. He learned "hop" from a kids video and even bounces up and down, but it often comes out as "bop." "Banana," which is one of his favorite foods is "ana." "Outside" sounds like "ow eye." "Hobbes" (his stuffed lion) is "opf." "Hat" is "at." From time to time, he even says "irt" (dirt), "og" (dog), and "ock" (rock) when we're outside and pointing out different things we see. Additionally, "mmmm" has become a regular when he takes a bite of something (even before he's had a chance to taste it!) , and he says "ahh" after he's had (refreshing) drink of water (and if you haven't seen this video, go to my facebook page or perhaps i'll have to post it here too). Then, of course, there are the many other "words" he uses when he wants us to do something, but we haven't been able to decipher those yet. And then there's the nonverbal communication, like the habit he's now gotten into, when we're taking a shower and we won't let him in, to throw things into the tub (his toys, my clean boxers, etc) out of protest.

Among other things, Emerson's memory is simply out of this world. If he has been someplace, he remembers whatever it was he liked about it. For instance, a few weeks ago, Amber's parents were in town and Beckie (Amber's mom) took E up and down the escalator while we were at Borders one day. This past Tuesday, I stopped by Borders to look for something, and Emerson darted straight for the escalators and that was all he wanted to do. At church, he knows exactly where the steps to the stage are and darts and heads for them every week. At home, all of a sudden, E will go up the stairs and into a particular room to find something as if he was thinking about the entire process from the very beginning. And he's figured out which cabinet door leads to the cereal boxes and has even managed to open them from time to time.

Every day is a new journey with new surprises and new frustrations as our kid is constantly on the move, which makes it exhausting and hard to get anything done (try planting flowers when your kid is either playing in the dirt, pulling off flower petals in an attempt to imitate you pulling weeds, or picking up garden tools that are likely to impale him and running in the opposite direction!). But no matter how badly we'd like to tie his legs up and duct tape his mouth some days, his cute face, smile, expressions, and many antics always make us laugh. Like my mom said, no matter what it is that kid is doing, you can't deny that he sure is cute!

C.S. Lewis Look Alike

So Amber got this on camera today and I just had to post it and make a comparison. And yes, I know a real update is in order since the school year is now down and I have "so much time" to blog.

Goodbye Eunice

This past Monday at 5AM, a dear friend of the family passed away. A portion of her obituary in the Journal & Courier newspaper reads:

“Eunice Lucille Klopfenstein, 92, of Lafayette, died Monday morning, March 22, 2010, in Lafayette…

From 1984 to 2006, she worked as a nanny and loved caring for children. She had previously worked for General Foods. During World War II, she worked at Brown Rubber plant, making cluster bombs for the war effort…

A member of Kossuth Street Baptist Church, she was the caretaker of the church nursery for over 43 years.”

She wasn’t just a nanny, she was my nanny. And I was one of several generations of children at KSBC that got hooked on animal crackers because of her. Tomorrow, my family and the members of the church where I was raised will lay her to rest. My brothers will be pallbearers. I, for my part, torn between attending the funeral and overwhelmed with the weight of responsibilities for school, work, church, and taking care of a child who just got over the flu, made the difficult decision to stay in Pittsburgh.

From 1984 to 2006, she spent time in my family’s home. We were, for all intensive purposes, her family. She washed our dishes, our laundry, our kitchen counters. For 16 of those years (until I went off to college), she had an indelible impact on my life, one I must admit, that is hard to trace because it is so buried under the dozens of cynical comments I made of her, bad experiences, and the honor and respect I never gave her. Thus, this blog is as much as a confession as it is a eulogy.

You see, as a teenager, there was a lot to laugh about when it came to Eunice. For one thing, her name was Eunice (or “Unit” to one of my brothers). She always wore the same outfit. I’m not kidding at all really. From the years working at General Foods, she had managed to accrue an entire wardrobe of light blue uniforms that kind of resembled nurse gowns but had huge side pockets (the kind of pockets that always had candy in them).

Oh, and she picked food out of our trash can. When I was younger, I remember her criticizing me for using more than one square of toilet paper at once. Her house was filled with clutter: I think she may have been the biggest packrat I’ve ever met.

She was also a terrible driver (mind you, when I was in high school, and before I got my license and started picking up my brothers at school, she was almost 80 years old) and got in a couple wrecks with us in her car. And since she was so old and slow, all she could do when we were being ornery was yell and make empty threats (I have this vague memory from when I was a wee lad running through the house with her yells fading in the background).

Sometimes, she would fall asleep on the couch while doing laundry. One time, one of my brothers came home to find her that way and was afraid she was dead. And she had that nasty flab sagging from beneath her upper arm (you know, the kind that Mick Jagger was sporting at the 2006 Super Bowl halftime show).

All of these stories and attributes create quite the definition of “uncool” to a teenage boy.

But every story has another side.

She ate food from the trash because she lived through the Great Depression. My Grandma McCool told us stories of her eating lard sandwiches as a child. I don’t know what the Depression was like for Eunice, but it yielded a person who was incredibly frugal and knew how to save. Really, a number of my complaints about Eunice was simply my incredulity that one could conserve so much. And yet, she was no Scrooge either. Despite her low income, I often received gifts from her—for graduation, Christmas, and my wedding (they weren’t always the most extravagant gifts—like the $5 gift card she gave me to Ryan’s Steakhouse for Christmas!). And she was able to save by pinching away little by little, far more money than her mildly mentally-disabled daughter will need for the rest of her life. Perhaps part of my own frugality now is a result of her way of life.

And really, all the other complaints can be chalked up to the sheer fact that she was old. I mean, I’m already a pretty bad driver (as much as I proudly think I’m the best driver on the road), so I can’t imagine still driving at 85. And one day, as much as I don’t want to envision it, will have those nasty flabby arms too. Ugh. The great thing about Eunice is that she just wouldn’t stop living. I can’t imagine how bad it killed her inside to stop driving, to stop being able to come out to our house and feel useful. I remember picking her up at her house for church when I was back in Lafayette not long after that switch and I could see the sadness in her eyes. We all want to be useful, to do something that changes other people’s lives. Eunice did the little things that no one ever bothers to notice. She was faithful day after day after day to change poopy diapers (and I’m already pining for the day Emerson will be out of them!), fold clothes, and make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for us. And she kept doing it well into the “retirement years,” which most of us think are my years when I get to do what I want to do.

She truly was one of the great ones.

It is hard to say goodbye to Eunice—not because I was so close to her, but because we had already gone our separate ways several years ago. I went off to college, got married, and moved away. She, bless her soul, lost her memory—lost it before I ever got the courage to ask about her, about her life—and was moved into a nursing home. The one time—only ONE time! (or was it two? Regardless)—that I visited her in the home while back over Christmas, she no longer remembered my name. She remembered my parents and called all of us “Brandon” (my older brother, the one she probably had the most memories of…it’s the memories of orneriness that stick with you anyways). I guess that was the day I said goodbye, but I should have been saying hello so much more often.

Perhaps, though, that is the greatest lesson of all that I learned from Eunice: you never care for children because you expect them to give equal, reciprocal repayment of thanks and deeds. You just love them and hope they too will love the least of these when their time comes.

The Birthday Gift No One Wants

Well, for Emerson’s 1^st birthday, he was wonderfully gifted with a GI virus this week. Indeed, it turned out to be one of those gifts that keeps on giving, and he was benevolent enough to share it with his parents (as well as a babysitter and a friend that came over mid-week, so it seems). Given the evident two-day incubation period of said yuck-ness, it appears that E got the bug from the church potluck last Sunday. But really, considering the kid also manages to lick the bottom of my shoes and suck on the handle of grocery carts, I can never be sure!

Regardless, last Tuesday morning we had the privilege of being awakened to the sound of projectile vomiting (it went three feet!). And given that E was sleeping between us at the time, it was not a pretty sight. Thankfully (so I thought), his one year check-up was that day, so I figured our pediatrician could check him out, find out what was wrong, and that would be the end of that. Well, nothing was discovered, and to be honest I probably made matters worse by opting to go ahead with a new vaccine. Ugh. An hour later, I’m home and Emerson is delivering his first of many diarrhea-filled diapers over the next few days. We quickly decided to switch from cloth to disposable diapers for the week (a very wise choice, indeed).

It is at this point that I’m realizing the manifold convergence of things of which, just one would typically mess up the poor kids’ system: a growth spurt, daylight savings time (whoever came up with that surely did not ask parents how even one hour can completely wreck a child’s sleep schedule), a nasty GI virus, and now a vaccine. Nice. By Wednesday, we’re going through diapers right and left (our poor babysitter!) and Emerson’s completely lost his appetite. We were getting worried that he may be getting dehydrated by the evening and got even more concerned when he would wake up to our multisensory wake-up calls, which we decided to perform once it was determined we should try to force some fluids down his throat (If you wonder why your child refuses to drink Pedialite, try drinking some yourself!). Needless to say, we were surprised by how much hydration the kid had when he proceeded to gag on the fluids we gave him and transformed into a geyser. We now have a very frustrated, tired, crying baby (who is even more dehydrated) on our hands.

Thursday was full of even more fun when Amber and I woke up with the same symptoms as our son. How do you explain to your child that you’re sick too? It’s one thing to care for a sick kid; it’s another to do so when you’re sick yourself! While Amber went off to work (and trying to find subs for the rest of her jobs that day!) with bucket in hand (it reminded us of her first trimester. Hey, she even got to make use of it on the drive home!), I sat Emerson down on my lap and read him a few books. It was all going so well until I felt wetness in my lap and looked down to discover a huge puddle of E’s yuck-ness on my pants and on the floor. Can we say shower number two? And Emerson, you’re getting in with me! The day hit a climax when we went through three diapers in five minutes, and I decided it was time to take him back to the pediatrician and ensure he didn’t need a trip to the ER (thankfully, he didn’t although he did lose a half pound in two days, which keep in mind, is about 5% of his body weight!). I spent the rest of the night (and most of the afternoon actually) fully clothed under winter blankets in bed with chills and shivers plus a migraine.

Friday and Saturday included more of the same, so we made the wise choice of staying away from our friends for the weekend, but thankfully, things were beginning to get better. Although, we were getting pretty sick (no pun intended) of changing diapers. E’s not a fan of changing diapers to begin with, and the difficulty of the situation only compounds when there’s so much crap flying around to try to avoid, wipe up, prevent him from putting his hands into, all while pinning a boy down that would prefer to be naked. Finally on Sunday, Amber and I felt more like our normal selves and E showed signs of regaining his appetite but God only knows when his system will finally get straightened out (maybe we went back to cloth diapers a day too early…).

So, if we offended you by not showing up to your party this weekend, you should be glad, because we would’ve come with a gift you could neither return or place in a white elephant exchange. If we offended you by getting you sick, sorry Jamie and Kylie. And if I offended you by my bizarre and off-color desire to blog about diarrhea, well, stop being so Victorian, because it’s part of being human! I’ve often heard that what differentiates us from angels is that we have free will and have been offered grace for redemption (oh and Rob Bell notes we are sexual beings too). But we are also beings that puke, have bowel movements, and give us some pretty odorous smells from time to time. We are humans, not angels—and our God is OK with that. The Jesus that wept, mixing sweat with tears, tears with dirty hands, dirty hands as part of a body that probably rarely took a bath, most likely had his own share of GI viruses and puked on Mother Mary when she burped him. Indeed, he was probably a strong-will hellion who screamed at bedtime, threw his food on the floor, and cried when a toy was taken from him, because well, that’s just what kids do [there was an hour hiatus before I wrote that last sentence that I spent trying to convince my own screaming child to go to sleep].

Happy Birthday!

So tomorrow (the 14th) is E's birthday, but we decided to have his party last Sunday since we were so busy this weekend. So happy first birthday, our wonderful, cute, mischievous, fun-loving but also serious Son of a thousand facial expressions!

We love you so much, and you have been such an exhilarating addition to our lives as you embrace each moment and encounter even the inconsequential of things with a sense of wonder. You surprise us, make us laugh, humble us, and help us see how patient, loving, and gracious God is to us.

Ordinary Glory

Meteoric snowflakes

Become melting planks

in the eye, emitting epiphanies

of life’s deep mysteries,

And finding divine glory

in the so ordinary

Warm mug filled with chosen brew

Steam facial bath leaves its dew

Frosty windows from which we view:

The landscape morphs before the eyes

As night falls with overcast skies

To end the day we heave a sigh

Shoveling with new neighbors

Stuck cars asking for favors

A good laugh breaks the labor.

City canceled by Wonderland

Making space for Life again

For childish revelry and carpe diem.

Houses slouching speak their despair—

Death-cicles falling, Some roofs giving,

Gutters drooping, ceilings dripping,

By weight of snow, bushes caving—

With the forecast still foreboding

Just hoping for spring in the air

All Earth covered by blanket of white

‘Midst Lent, entombed in frozen night

We yearn to feel Sun’s warming light.

We feel a sorrow, feel death’s cost—

Yet Life beckons, though still no thaw

Like child in womb, Love is not lost

Our dreams and hopes haven’t come to naught

There’s joy, there’s grace—despite the frost