The smell of Spring

There was as seamless moment etched into our hearts where we went from despair to hope. It was on a spring day last March following the hardest and longest week of our lives. A week so dark and so scary that we are forever changed. You cannot go back from facing the reality that you are losing a parent. You become a new version of yourself. The trouble with moving from despair to hope, is that often times you are so fixated on the hope you have so desperately been seeking that you never really re-enter the despair, to say goodbye and find closure.

They say that smell is one of the strongest triggers for memory. And as the spring air starts to blow into Chicago, I am almost taken aback by the return of memories I've wished to forget. As I awoke yesterday morning, I had a random, yet strong memory of walking down the long hall on the 9th floor ICU of Northwestern Memorial Hospital. Bringing friends and family to see my dad, reminding me of a living wake. The bright florescent lights, the medical staff avoiding eye contact with grieving and frightened family members, or even worse, giving you the look of sympathy, the smell of the antibacterial lotion and the sounds of the predictable beats on the machines and the sound of my dad's breathing machine, in . . . and out . . . in . . and out. In that moment early yesterday morning, I was overcome with my own fear again. Knowing cognitively that we have moved beyond the pain to the healing but also paying homage to my loss that week in March that still lives very deeply in my heart.

In this past year I have had friends who have lost parents. And I often feel some form of survivor's guilt. Why does my child get to have her grandpa and not my friends? Why do I get move back into the every day with my dad? Why do I get the luxury of forgetting?

I was listening to a Leonard Cohen song this morning that many of you may know, Hallelujah. And I love his description of Hallelujah.

"And it's not a cry that you hear at night. It's not somebody who's seen the light. It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah."

For me, it really sums up the feelings on the last year. A broken hallelujah. So thankful for God's healing and for our embracing community. And still so raw. As spring comes I'm reminded of new life and the chance of new life my dad has been given. Hallelujah.

-Barbara

Celebration

Pentecost Sunday.
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Holy Spirit
Rushing Wind
Present Among Us

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Celebration. Intervention. Miracle.

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This past Sunday my dad returned to church and shared a Word of Witness. He was honored by applause, hugs and prayer. We continue to be enveloped in love and kindness.

As Acts 2 was so beautifully read during the service, I felt some of the fear & pain lifted. As if driving away and looking at those days becoming smaller and smaller in my rear view mirror.

I remember so clearly the day that my dad's prognosis moved from critical to recovery.

Sunday was another memorable day of moving from recovery to celebration.

Praise God.

*Enjoy some photos of the celebration below. Thank you to Hal and Nathan for taking the photos.

-Barbara

Happy Anniversary

Society and Hallmark make a big deal about certain anniversaries such as those ending with a five or ten.

Last year Dwight and I celebrated our 40th Wedding Anniversary. We had a quiet dinner and a movie...rather low key.

This year, however, on our 41st anniversary, we have a lot to celebrate!

A little over two months ago, the idea of our anniversary seemed to be in doubt. We really had to live our vows of "for better or worse" in a real way during those difficult days. God gave us the best gift we could ever have...each other!!!

Happy 41st Anniversary, Dwight!

Love,

Sue

Stormy Lake

There are moments in grieving where the loss of a loved one comes in full force when you least expect it. It's not always on the anniversaries or birthdays but when you see something that reminds you of them or hear a song that reminds you of them. I'll never forget what my grandma would always say when I'd call her on my grandpa's birthday "Today is not any different than any other day, Barbara. Every day you miss the person you lost. You keep walking, you just walk with a limp."

And like grieving, our celebration comes in unexpected moments.

This weekend, the Cederberg and Nordlund families headed up to Stormy Lake for a weekend together. This is an annual tradition where my parents give us the cabin to celebrate the first weekend of summer.

Before we left to come back to Chicago, I was in my parent's room and opened my dad's closet and saw his shirts, his hats, his dvds that he's lovingly put together for special events. And I was overcome with joy. I was again reminded, in such a raw way, that my dad came out of horrible circumstance. This is a complex feeling because I know that other loved ones have not been as fortunate to have their parents survive difficult health issues.

Parents are knit into their children''s character through the years of caring for their children. But I also saw this weekend, how my dad is knit into Stormy Lake with his silly parking meters and yes, fake people.

You would think that every moment would be a reminder of this joy but if there is one thing I have learned through this process it's that my heart and my head don't always connect with one another. My head knows of the amazing healing that has been given to my dad's body but my heart remains protected, slowly unfolding the relief and joy.

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This coming Sunday, May 31st, my dad will be sharing his story during the 10:30 worship service at their home church, Winnekta Covenant, and you are welcome to join us if you'd like.

***

Many of you continue to ask how my dad is doing. Thank you for your continued interest and support.

To paint the picture, my mom and dad's week events have included:

a trip to New Buffalo, Michigan to celebrate an anniversary with friends

water areobics at Galter Life Center

a trip to Milwaukke to see a Brewers game and a dinner at their favorite German restaurant

a visit to Gurnee to see my sister and my niece Klara

(and many other things I'm sure)

Two months ago to date, we sat with the reality that my dad may never wake up.

God's graces are bigger than we could ever imagine and "is sufficient for me".

-Barbara

Check out a headline on the front page of the Covenant website by clicking here : )

If you are visiting our blog from the Covenant website, feel free to read archived entries by scrolling down on the right column and clicking on March.

M.I.A.

My dad just finished the scope and the ulcer is gone.

Praise God!

Tuesday

This morning my dad will be having a scope to see if the ulcer has healed. Please send your prayers as this is something that will hopefully be giving this family positive results and a huge sigh of relief.

-Barbara

Sandwich.

I'd like to think that I'm too young to be in the "sandwich generation" but often times during the critical days and weeks of my dad's illness, I felt like I needed to be both a mother to my daughter and a daughter to my mother.

There were the quiet and private moments where I would just come home from a day at the hospital and weep. For my fear to hope and my sense of feeling defeated and overwhelmed.

You learn a lot about people in times of crisis. You see both best and worst moments surrounded while on the roller coaster. I'll never forget March 25th. It was the night following the news of my dad's eeg report. Nathan, Sanne and I stayed at the hotel with my mom that night. We left the hospital like zombies, feeling like one foot was in total devestation. That night,we had conversation that I never want to have to face again thinking about the reality of my dad's prognosis. We dug into the deepest parts of our hearts.

And as I sat at that corner booth, facing my mom, I looked at her in a way I never had before. As a wife. As someone who loved her husband with the whole of her heart. I saw that heart breaking. Thinking of what could be her future and loving my dad so much . . . for the little and the big things that make a marriage.

Today is mother's day and I think of my mom today. In words I'm only ready to put down in writing but don't have the strength to say aloud. My mother, during this time of total fear, was

authentic

kind

gracious

faithful

nurturing

scared

and living out her wedding vows with her heart

I am turning thirty this year and a little over two years ago became a mother myself. During this time I have learned much more about my mom through my own experiences. Relating on a different level. Starting to uncover the sacrifices she made to keep me happy and healthy.

My dad is incredibly strong, motivated, faithful, loving. But today, I celebrate my mom. Who has stood by my dad's side. A true testament to me.

Love you, Mom.

- Barbara

Paying it forward

Getting in the car in the early morning . . . grabbing some coffee and setting up to greet friends and family in support of my dad . . .

It felt a lot like our time in the ICU but with celebration rather than fear. Thank you to all who came today to donate their time, their blood, their baked goods, their well wishes and hugs. We left church this afternon feeling filled with your kindness and reminded of your incredible support.

Please enjoy the little photo show below.

Blood Drive Tomorrow!

There's still time to sign up if you're interested. We've, unfortunately, had quite a few cancellations in the last few days so there are many slots available.

Thanks!

Updates

This week has been a busy one for my dad with rehab and tests. He had an ultrasound at NMH yesterday and the results are fine. They believe he had a gall stone which was causing the levels to heighten. He will meet in June to find out more about their findings on his fatty liver.

Next Tuesday is his upperendoscopy that will tell us more about the healing of his ulcer. Please say some prayers for this. My dad had a bad experience during the last scope so I also ask for prayers that he doesn't feel anxiety going into this procedure.

Also, if you are still interested in signing up for the blood drive we still have slots we need to fill. You can either sign up by following the instructions on the right hand side of the blog or you can email me at barbaranordlund@gmail.com and I can help you sign up.

Thanks!
Barbara

Milestone

Today was my dad's last day with the home health nurse and physical therapist. He works out each day at Galter now with a new physical therapist who is part of the rehabilitation department. I think my dad really enjoys this because it's a way for him to be able to continue to stretch himself and regain strength.

One of many things I've learned about my dad through this whole experience is his drive. I've always known that my dad has determination but these are far greater obstacles and he has gone through each one while already stretching for the next goal. I truly believe that this was part of the reason he was able to get through such trauma. As his family, this characteristic is such a gift to us because with each day he continues to improve.

- Barbara

Friday

Northwestern received my dad's blood results today and they found that his liver enzymes are very high. They will be doing an ultrasound on Tuesday morning to look into it further.

I have to be completely honest here, thinking about this makes me weak. It brings things flooding back to the surface . . . the panic, the unknown. And while I cognitively know that we are not sitting in the ICU waiting room, just the thought of a potential speed bump or road block in the recovery makes me feel like I'm right back there.

Please pray for:
Positive results
The enzyme levels to come down
Good communication to us from the medical staff

On a positive note my dad feels really good. Getting better each day in terms of strength and energy. His bedsore has healed which now allows him to sit in chairs and not only have the option of lying on the couch. This does wonders for mental health, I'm sure.

Thanks for your continued support and prayer.

-Barbara

To walk along side

I've recently learned that there are some phrases that we use in church culture that may be unique to this culture. It reminds me of meeting Nathan (who is from Oregon) and realizing that some things are just unique to the Midwest . . . who knew that not everyone knows not to take a shower during a thunderstorm?!

Recently someone questioned what "walking along side" really means. I didn't even realize that it may seem like a strange phrase. It's one I love though because it's a great visual image of support, of "meeting someone where they are at" and then being along side them as they process something, be it joyous or difficult.

Yesterday my dad had a really great day. He felt less fatigued and optimistic. His friend/neighbor and a member of their church, Dave, popped by and my dad walked around the block with him two times (and said he could have done even more)! I love this because it is both figuratively and literally a living out of the term "walking along side".

Last night we headed to my parents house and enjoyed pizza together. My dad was showing Sanne some of his physical therapy exercises and my dad and Sanne began to walk on their toes together. Again, a visual image.

My dad went in yesterday for a check-up with the endocrinologist at Northwestern. What a vast difference for him from last time he was there. My mom and dad went out to lunch, then walked over to the doctor. Something that 6 weeks ago was no big deal, 5 weeks ago was unimaginable . . . now is such a blessing to this family.

He will have another scope in two weeks so the doctors can get another look at the ulcer and see how it's healing. Please say prayers for us as we await these results.

Thank you for your continued "walking along side" us . . .whether it's prayers, cards, meals, phone calls, signing up for the blood drive, visits, etc . . . we are so thankful for your presence on our journey. Along with God's unfailing love and grace, your support gives us our endurance to continue.

-Barbara

Speak to Me

I recently began reading a book called "Called to Be Human - Letters to my children on living a Christian life" by Michael Jinkins, a theologian and Presbyterian minister.

He was writing to his daughter, now an adult, about the night before her open heart surgery, when she was seven years old. In recent weeks I have thought about my faith through this journey and my one foot in hope, one in despair. The following excerpt spoke to what I have been feeling. "The spirit rejoices in hearing what it already knows"

From Called to Be Human -

"You had gotten ready for bed that night, and I was preparing to curl up on the cot the nurses had brought into your room for me to sleep on. I invited you to join me for my evening prayers before going to sleep. You prayed with me and had been quietly listening as I prayed from the Book of Common Prayer a prayer titled 'For Those We Love.' The prayer goes like this: 'Almighty God, we entrust all who are dear to us to thy never-failing care and love, for this life and the life to come; knowing that thou art doing for them better things than we can desire or pray for; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen'

As soon as I finished this prayer, you reached over and squeezed my hand, and asked me, 'Daddy, were you putting me in God's hands?'

I could hardly answer you for the knot in my throat. But I struggled to say, 'Yes. Tomorrow when the doctors take you into surgery, I am entrusting you to God who loves you even more than I do (though I can't imagine how that's possible!). I trust God will do better things for you than I can desire or pray for.'

I didn't know where the road would lead. I could not visualize what it would mean twenty-four hours later to stand next to you in the intensive care unit with you hooked up to a respirator and monitors and IVs and all sorts of other terrifying machines. I certainly couldn't imagine what it would mean to see you gradually return to health and eventually to possess healthy you had never known before. I just hoped, and the hope became a sort of solid trust, and the trust felt more like I was held than like something I was holding. It surely didn't feel like I knew for certain where the road would end. I didn't. I just trusted the One who walked with us. And I know - I know! - I didn't give myself that faith. Faith was given to me in a moment when I'm not sure I could have taken two more steps on my own."

I love that line "the trust felt more like I was held than like something I was holding." There is comfort for me in that "letting go".

-Barbara

Boot Camp

Heard a report from my mom yesterday that my dad did 10 push ups during his time with his physical therapist. Not even sure I could do 10 push ups . . .

On Tuesday my dad will head back to Northwestern to have a consultation regarding his ulcer. The hope is that it has been healing on it's own and that surgery will not be necessary. Please continue to pray that this is the case.

-Barbara

Update

Many of you have been asking how my dad is doing . . . thank you for your continued support and concern!

I have realized through your questions that we may not be doing a great job of expressing how my dad is doing now that he is home and recovering. I'll do my best to paint a picture of the extent of miraculous leaps he's been showing.

Let this not only be a list of prayer requests but prayers answered:

My dad has regained his appetite

Is sleeping mostly through the night with brief wake ups

His bed sore is healing and it is getting easier and easier to sit

He's able to walk down the block at a normal pace

My dad does not remember being in the emergency room or in ICU but his long-term and short-term memory are totally normal

He is continuing to adjust to the loss of vision in his left eye

He continues to be fatigued but is up and doing normal tasks more and more

He takes small car trips with my mom to run errands

And here are some true tell signs that he's on the mend:

He edited my niece's birthday video by putting it from camcorder to dvd

He's vacuuming (a sickness I've received from him)

Hope this helps you get a better sense of the incredible gift we've received.

-Barbara

May 9th

Thank you to all who have already signed up for the blood drive! No pressure to sign up if you're not interested we totally understand.

We do need to have a certain amount of donors to host the drive so to those of you who have said you're going to sign up, we just ask that you do so soon so that we are able to report these numbers to Lifesource.

Again, if you have any trouble signing up, please don't hesitate to email me: barbaranordlund@gmail.com

Thanks again!

Welcome Sign

Prior to my dad's illness, every time we came to my parents' home and rang their door bell we could almost guarantee that my dad will be the one to answer the door and with total enhusiam shout "Sanne!". (Sanne always feel so special at their home).

Since my dad's illness I have often thought of these times. When he was in his coma, that memory seemed miles away. In the last week, I've secretly hoped that my dad would be at the door but he has often times been exhausted and on the couch or in bed.

But today, as we came back from church and came in the house, I could hear him near the kitchen (where we enter the house), when the same enthusiam he once had. I can just tell that we're so close to recovery : )



Thanks!
-Barbara

1 month ago

It has been 1 month since my dad was sent by ambulance to the emergency room. I still remember the call. I did not think that he would be in there for a long time. I did not know that God would use him like he did. I am just amazed what God did. I am amazed of what you did: Prayers, calls ,cards and emails. This would not be possible without you and with out God. Mark and I are bringing Swedish pancakes this morning.We are so glad that we can do this after all that has happenend. Every time I look at my dad I am so amazed in what God, prayers and hope can do. Thank you. Christine