A Merry Christmas . . .

. . . and today will be the Christmas I will remember for the rest of my life.

Today, my mother received the greatest gift. She no longer feels the pain of cancer. She no longer needs to suffer from her stroke type symtoms that she's had for over 20 years. No more medications. No more pain patches. No feelings of helplessness nor lack of energy. This morning at 10:10 she received her final and long awaited rest. At the young age of 59. She was able to celebrate Christmas with her Lord.

I am sitting here in her house. Actually, I am in the recliner that I spent many nights these last few weeks by her hospice bed. The bed is now folded and out of the way. There are still meds and equipment sitting around the house. There is still the liquid "food" that we used to pump into her stomack through a tube.

Mom had tongue cancer. A tumor at the base of her tongue. She never touched a cigerett. Never had alcohol that I knew of. But for some reason the cancer decided to show up there making swallowing food and meds impossible.

Death is a funny thing. Well, you know. It has a strange effect on us. We sat here and watched cancer take another victum, slowly but surely. And yet I sit here in this dim room in disbelief. Part of me wants to think she is just in the bathroom or she just stepped out for some shopping. But reality speaks louder. She IS gone. We wished and prayed that her home-going would be soon because of the pain that she was in. But now that the day is here . . . it is hard to believe . . . or accept.

In the empty halls echo her voice. Sometimes the young engergitic voice full of love and joy. Other times the weak, labored one in need but no less fill with love and joy.

I said to my wife this morning, "I have said, 'I love you, mom' so many times in my life. And countless times in the last few weeks. But when I heard that she was gone . . . I wondered if she knew. I wanted to tell her one more time . . . two or three more . . . as many times it took for her to have no doubt that her eldest son loved her." I guess it was this morning that I realized that you can't say those words enough. You can't spend too much time. You can't hug too much. No matter how much I did I wished I could do more. I can rest easy tonight knowing that my mom knew, beyond any shadow of any doubt, that I loved her. But I still would love to tell her again.

Now what! I look at my dad who stuck with mom through the wild journey. I see dreams and plans that now have been altered or cancelled. He is relieved that we are at the end. He is sad. He is tired. He is exhausted. He is lonely. He is lost. He is grateful for family. He is blessed by God's timing and faithfulness. But he is at a loss. He knows what he has to do for the calling hours and funeral. But what then. He has forgotten, I am sure, what real life is like. He's dealt with mom's latest sickness for about 3 years. Recently he was hardly ever able to leave the room let alone the house for any length of time. It doesn't help that he is an "on-the-go" type of person. He always has some project going. Perhaps that will be what keeps him going. His business will sustain him through this loss.

I realize that these thoughts are rambling and scattered. I also realize that these times of typing are mostly for myself. I am not sure of too many people who read this. But I had to write something. To organize some of my thoughts so I don't loose track of any of them. Things are so fresh. Overwhelmingly fresh. Perhaps I should wait it out before I think too much. Who knows. Like I said, death is a funny thing. It brings life into perpective. Slowly but surely. But ever so surely.

So I close in order to sleep. Tommorrow we meet with the funeral director to make final decisions. And then . . . we wait. There is more to say but I just can't find the words. Good night.

Here's to you, mom. I love you very, very much.

Sharon Lucille (Beach) Falke
July 4, 1947-December 25, 2006

She leaves behind a husband, Glen; two sons and their wives, Jeffrey & Amy and Richard and Christine; 5 grandchildren, Caleb, Jessi, Drew, Seth, and Luke. 4 living siblings and one brother in heaven, Nancy, Steve, Brad, Kim, and Robyn, her parents (still living) Richard & S. Lucille; and many, many friends and realitives who love her very, very much!

Art . . .

. . . is either plagiarism or revolution.


- Paul Gauguin

For what it's worth.

Take it . . .

A New Approach . . .

The following is a story. It could be used allegorically or it could be just that . . . a story. Comments are welcome.

Today I recalibrate. I looked around and got a new understanding of my situation. I found a new perspective that gave me better incite into my life.

I am not building a building or monument. I am not a painter nor do I decorate. But I do have a scaffold. I have a scaffold because that is what I build. Every season. Every year. Every so often. I add more. Higher or stronger. I build my scaffold.

Sometimes I rebuild after weakness or storm. I learn from mistakes. I reset the boards and strengthen the angles. I replace damage and square off the corners. Then . . . I continue to build.

You shake your head and say my work is in vain. I ask you for another board and politely disagree. There is so much to see. So much to learn. So many things to discover. And so I build.

And what do I see. Landscape. Trees and flowers. Hills and valleys. Fields and moors. I see deer, cows and horses. I see roads and buildings. Parks and playgrounds. Churches and prisons.

Most of all I see people. All types of people. Different shapes, sizes, and color. Different ages, experiences, and lifestyles. I learn from people. People have a lot to say if you ask the right questions. And as I am their student I learn to build. I learn to grow.

The more I ascend the more I understand. Like looking over a large jigsaw puzzle I can see how the pieces start to fit together. I start to understand flowers and trees. Hill and valleys. Fields and moors. I start to understand animals and also man-made things. And I start to understand people.

As I process all this understanding I become more clear about myself. About who I am. About why I build. About how I fit. And about how it isn't all about me and how I fit. It's about landscape. It's about people.

At the end of the day I find I am another level higher and a few more boards stronger. I find I am closer to the heavens. Closer to my God.

The building, my friend is not in vain. The more I build. The more I climb. The more I see. The more I experience God. The closer I get to him.

So hand me another board and a handful of nails. Join me as we climb. As we learn. As we build.

For what it's worth.

Take it . . .

It is better . . .

. . . to deserve honors and not have them than to have them and not to deserve them.

Mark Twain

For what's worth.

Take it . . .

The clock is ticking . . .

I am sitting here late at night and I should be sleeping. I will be soon I can tell. But I have been doing a lot of thinking lately.

About what?

About life.

And about . . . not life.

You see, to put it quite bluntly, my mom is dieing of cancer. I don't say that to be cold. I have and will continue to grieve. I love my mom. I will miss her. But there are somethings that makes you think when you are brought face to face with the end of life.

There is, of course the whole, "you don't know what you got until it's gone" side of things. We all have experienced that probablly too many times. With toys when we were kids, to friends, to cars, to jewelry, to pets . . . and the list goes on.

And as annoying as that is there is always the, "how is life going to continue and how is it going to be different."

But the two things that plague me the most, and I am not sure I will give this the time I'd like to tonight, are the "what if things were different" and "wow, our time on earth is quite short".

I will start with the latter.

I feel like I have raced to be a grown-up. Now that I've realized that I have attained that status I want to put on the breaks. Live is spinning too fast. Like I am on a big bike and now that I have figure out how to pedal hard I've looked up and found it is going at a break neck speed. I know we all have dealt with this . . . BUT THAT DOESN'T MAKE IT EASIER. I want to be different. I want to always remember to enjoy the ride. Take time for the people around me. To not take anything for granted. The problem is if you remember all that stuff . . . life still goes on and then . . . it ends. No matter how you live life it will eventually come to an end. So I am plagued with am I doing it right and who really knows and what different does it make. I know I am in God's family but I wonder if my perspective is correct at any given time (oh, that could open up a whole new can of worms.)

Then that leads to the retrospective. I have made a series of decisions in my life. We all have. Some good and some . . . well . . . not so good. As I look back on the road I have chosen I wonder were there some ziggs that I could have taken zaggs. And if I did where would I be? How would I be different? Would I be richer, happier, healthier, Godlier . . . and the list goes on. Then, once I ask myself the "what if" . . . what then! It doesn't do any good to play out the results in my mind because, as I look at my history as it happened, there is always a set of unknown variables. And that is, to me, in a word . . . annoying. I have heard it said, and I am sure I have said it before, "perhaps it is better that we don't know the outcome of the "what if". People only say that because there is no way of knowing. Like they say when you have the falling dream and you don't wake up before you hit bottom you will die. Who's going to test that theory out and how can we prove it.

It is only better if we don't know the "what if" because if we did know we either see how bad it would have been or realize how sad our life really is because of where we ended up. It is probably better to play the cards we've been dealt. To be joyous and content with what we have.

Easier said than done!

So if you have any incite . . . do tell. I need to sleep

For what it's worth!

Take it . . .