Tell Them: Take the Time to Listen to Extraordinary Lives

“As we age, our stories become the threads that stitch generations together — reminders that a life well-lived is never lost if it is told and heard.” 

Life isn’t fair. But no one ever said it would be. However, as I sit here in the hospital with my ailing father, surrounded by other patients around his age in varying states of decline, I am profoundly reminded of that simple fact. Life is just not fair. 

As my father has aged, I’ve noticed people talk to him differently. Not as an elder or a peer, but as more of a child.

2x heart attack survivor

 I’m sure I am guilty of doing that too, back in the day with my grandmas. 

I first noticed this change in tone with my mom, who, after an aneurysm and two brain surgeries plus cancer, slowly became “not all there.” And I understand when someone’s mental and physical state is in decline, the conversation has to be simpler. But I remember at one point looking into my mom’s eyes and I could tell she knew – she knew – how they were talking to her. And I could tell she didn't like it one bit.

wild and crazy guy

Personally, I try to use humor, which my dad has a lot of. He can’t hear worth shit, so the whole hospital floor might hear me yell, “You wanna go raise hell in the halls and flirt with the nurses?” when he’s getting antsy and needs to get up and walk. He seems to respond better to humor and sarcasm (and I am my father’s daughter.) Again, I don’t necessarily fault people who talk to him like a child – I know at times it’s necessary and it’s kind of the default when you’re talking to someone who may not quite be 100% there for whatever reason. It’s just an observation. 

I do think though, that sometimes, even often, we unintentionally forget that these humans, living in their battered and war-torn bodies – reflect a LIFETIME of experiences. Adventures. Challenges. Accomplishments. Heartbreak. They’ve seen and done things we can’t even imagine. And as they age, and struggle with technology or have trouble remembering things, we FORGET – WE forget – that THEY are the OGs. THEY are the GOATS. They drive too slowly. Welp, they lived in an age when they didn’t have cars. They have trouble using a mobile phone. Hell, they would call the operator who would patch them through to whomever then needed to talk to. They’re always reminiscing about “the good old days.” Well, now can you blame them????

My grandpa, Reo, and my dad

It's FASCINATING to sit down with someone who has seen and done things we will never see or do. Who has lived what we may call “a simple life," when in fact they have most likely worked harder and longer than we ever have. Who have stories that, when you look at someone in their later years, seem implausible and you suddenly realize that at one time, they were in fact young. That everything you have seen, they have seen tenfold. Wars. National tragedies. Hard financial times. Major historic moments. New technologies. (Hell, my kids can’t believe we didn’t have a microwave until I was 13.) 

And if you do take the time to listen, you’ll realize that the individual in front of you with this aging brain many times has the most amazing memory. 

1st Lt. USAF, 1954.

My dad still knows his service number from the Air Force back in the 50s. He can rattle it off like his address. Can he tell me his current address? Sometimes. Not often. But that seven-digit number? Ask him anytime, anywhere. 

He knows his childhood dog’s name (Brownie) and the calf they kept in the back yard (Senator.) If he notices you’re left-handed, he’ll tell you about the time his teacher repeatedly made him switch to his right hand to write (the Palmer method), and how his mom (my grandma) went to the school to tell her to knock it off, he’s left-handed. 

My dad's behind the cow. 

He loves telling the story of how the milkman got in trouble for delivering milk without the cream on top, when it was my dad who was siphoning the cream from the bottles as they sat on the porch. He talks about how his dad, Reo, struggled with his health after being gassed in WW1.

Honeymoon hunk.

I love hearing how he met my mom at a single’s dance and fell asleep on their first date. That the lullaby he sang to me when I was a baby was, in fact, a fraternity song. (I thought it was about a kitty, but it was about a Kappa Alpha Theta.) 

50+ years of marriage.

I was lamenting to a dear friend and coworker that what I hated the most about my dad being in the hospital was that no one knew who he REALLY was. Like, there’s so much more to him than they see lying in that bed or chair. SO MUCH MORE. His reply to me was, “Well, tell them.” 

So I did. 

And in sharing short tidbits about things my dad has seen and done, I feel like those who were caring for him saw him in a new light, a new respect, perhaps. And between his 94 years and their 20 or 30, they found commonalities. 

CAT exec

The nurse who used to work at Caterpillar (my dad was career CAT – 40 years) and listened to him tell stories of how CAT used to be.

Someone who had relatives Shelbyville, where he was born and raised on a farm.

Restore's unofficial electrician

A CNA who had experience with the agencies where he volunteered daily – Habitat for Humanity ReStore and Midwest Food Bank. 

I am grateful to that friend who sensed my despair and presented me with a simple solution: tell them. And I am grateful for the healthcare workers who took the time out of their incredibly busy shifts to listen, ask questions, and see him not as a sick, old man, but as an extraordinary human being whose current state of body and mind reflects 94 years of an extraordinary life. 

So, I’m telling you, as my wise friend told me, “Tell them.” It matters. We all matter, but especially those who have been here much, much longer than us. 

“To sit with an elder and listen is to honor a life well-lived and a lesson still being given.”

P.S. Dad is now home and resting comfortably. He's still funny, sarcastic and extraordinary.

Why July 2 is the Sweet Spot of Summer

I have decided that tomorrow, Saturday, July 2, is the unofficial best day of summer. 

I'll tell you why, but it may take a minute to get there. Hang with me.

Recently, I came to a personal realization about weekends. The best part of the weekend is, in my opinion, from about 7 pm on Friday until 7 pm on Saturday. 

Why, you ask? Here's my reasoning, based on a regular, 8-5, M-F work schedule.

So at 7 pm on Friday, I have a whole evening plus two days of weekend ahead of me. By 7 pm, I'm doing whatever it is I'm going to do on a Friday night, celebrating the end of a work week in any fashion I see fit. I'm looking forward to Saturday, and not even thinking about Monday. 

On Saturday, I have the promise of a whole day ahead of me - this is the weekend sweet spot. It's not until about 7 pm on Saturday that the weekend vibe starts to wane ever-so-slightly. The next day is Sunday, which means at some point during that day I'll have to start planning for the work week, whether that's doing laundry or grocery shopping or thinking about weeknight dinners or checking my schedule of upcoming meetings and to-dos. It's still a nice day, but by 7 pm that night, the initial thrill of the weekend, my friends, is gone. 

It's the same thing when it comes to summer. June, to me, is like a month of Thursdays. I'm kind of still getting used to the fact that the days are longer and warmer and that I'm able to come out of hibernation and spend more time doing outdoor things rather than sitting around wishing the weather would f*cking warm up already. 

July is the weekend of summer - well, most of it, anyway. July USED to be the weekend, before they moved the start of school up to the middle of August, sometimes earlier. That's a load of crap in my opinion. Kids should have their summer and not start school until after Labor Day. I know there are a zillion reasons why this isn't the way anymore, but there's something about three months of summer that just feels, well, deserved.

Now, July is my absolute favoritest month in the world because both my sons were born in July. Early July means Wimbledon and that means my oldest son's birthday, which was exactly what I was watching in the hospital while waiting to give birth to him. Late July is my younger son's birthday, so it's like a Sunday when you don't have to work on Monday, if that makes sense. 

But I digress. 

July is like being right smack in the middle of the weekend. In July, you're not even thinking about it being cold, or having to go back to school, or Christmas. There's a change in attitude. People are just a little more laid back; a little more casual. We're taking an extra few minutes to have coffee on the patio in the morning, or taking walks at 8:00 at night when it's still light out. We're getting on bikes, hopping into kayaks, jumping in pools and running through sprinklers. July is the sweet, smoky smell of the neighbor's grill, a whiff of freshly-mowed grass and the ever-present scent of sunscreen on your children. It's BLTs with fresh tomatoes from your garden and an inevitable loaf of zucchini bread from a neighbor's too-bountiful harvest. 

But if I'm going to drill down July, there is a sweet spot, in my opinion - and it's July 2. Here's why. 

So if June is Thursdays, July is the weekend, but after July 4, even though it's technically the height of summer, I still feel like I'm on the downside of it. Back-to-school sales start ridiculously early. Most vacations are in July since August is such a transitional month nowadays. We're always looking forward just a little too far once July appears on the calendar. 

July 2 is when summer seems like it will last forever, and grocery stores are yelling at you to buy their hot dogs and hamburgers and watermelon and potato salad and everyone's flying their flags and nobody's tired of going to the pool and even though it's hot we're all not saying the stuff we say in August like, "Boy, I can't wait for fall!" 

We're still infatuated with summer on July 2. Just like we're infatuated with the weekend on Saturday morning. 

So tomorrow, I hope you'll take full advantage of what is, in my opinion, the sweet spot of summer. While we still have a lot of the season left, from here on out it will all go by in the blink of a weekend. 

The Warrior

Have you ever known that one person who seemingly has it all? Great looks, winning smile, hilarious, talented, always positive, tons of friends, awesome husband, adorable kids ..... ugggghhh.

I first admired her from afar. She was that crazy mom who came sprinting up to the elementary school to pick up her kid just as the bell rang - usually wearing spandex workout capris, a tank top with some inspirational workout saying on it and a brightly colored bandana covering her vibrant auburn hair - yes, always the bandana. Her constant smile and laugh was infectious, and when her son ran up to meet her, it was apparent that this was probably the best moment of her whole day.

I was intimidated and envious - and I wished I could be her friend.

I discovered that as a fitness instructor, she was vigilant about having a healthy body - not a skinny body - but a healthy, strong body, and wanted nothing more than to wrangle others into jumping on the exercise bandwagon with her. I saw friends and admirers flood her Facebook page with comments when she announced the next time she'd be teaching, and her after-class selfies dripped with genuine praise for her students for "crushing it" once again.

She chose a vegetarian lifestyle, which may have been somewhat of a point of contention with her husband, who is maybe not quite as health-conscious as she. But in a style that is true to them as a couple, they poked fun at it by creating a hilarious video called, "My Wife's a Vegetarian" - her husband on guitar and both of them on vocals - it's probably out there on YouTube somewhere.

As I got to know her better, I realized that this woman has a HUGE circle of friends - and not just fair-weather friends. Real friends - like from childhood, high school, college ... all over the United States - and they all adore her. She is quick to love them back; in fact, I've never met anyone who is so filled with love for her husband, her children, her family and her friends. Her gift is her love, which is evident for anyone close to her. She will tear up talking about her magnificent husband, her kids who are growing up way too fast, her incredibly supportive parents and her veritable treasure trove of friends.

All that said, somehow, some way, I got this amazing woman to be my friend - and finally realized what all the fuss was about. She DOES have it all. Great looks, winning smile, hilarious, talented, always positive, tons of friends, awesome husband, adorable kids ...

And cancer. She also has cancer.

It was no secret she was a survivor of breast cancer - every year she celebrated her cancerversary - the fifth year being the big one - and she was an avid participant in Race for the Cure - the running part, of course - did I mention she's a runner? Surviving cancer got her into fitness. Surviving cancer caused her to change her eating habits. Surviving cancer made her realize even moreso what was really important. Surviving cancer made her outlook on life such that she considered every single day a gift.

She was told years ago that she was at her one child max. Ten years after her son was born, she went to CVS and bought a six pack of beer and a pregnancy test - and eight months later, a beautiful, free-spirited replica of her came into this world. In my mind, it was because the universe realized that the world needs more people like her - so they made one.

We laughed at the fact that she was "starting over" - having kids 10-plus years apart. We adored the spunkiness of her daughter - "just like her", her mother proclaimed - and the baby pictures prove it. We were envious at how she so quickly reclaimed her post-baby body. True to form, the woman went through pregnancy and those baby years like it was a walk in the park - now, we all know it wasn't, but you know what I mean. She did it all like a warrior.

A warrior.

She did everything like a warrior.

She does everything like a warrior.

The cancer is back, and she's a motherf*cking warrior.

She continued to teach the fitness classes despite the chemotherapy. She lost her hair and dyed it red. She takes bets on how much fluid will be drained from her swollen tummy. Her posts about her progress are blunt and full of her unique humor: "My liver is being an asshole but if I can get it to cooperate I'll be the mayor of healthytown!" She is fighting, reminding me of one of her favorite phrases of recent years - "Nevertheless, she persisted."

Never in my life have I known someone as inspirational, as vigilant, as strong and as superhumanly powerful as this woman I am so incredibly humbled to call my friend. She is the epitome of a true warrior - and as her friend, I am so privileged to be a part of her extensive, worldwide army that has been assembling itself since the day she was born. I have never seen a more supportive, generous, caring "tribe" - as she calls us all - who I honestly think would do ANYTHING for her. I know I would, and I do not have the longevity that most of her friends have with her.

I know at times she feels weak. At times she's so tired. If she only knew that even when she feels tired and weak, she is still stronger than so many of us. I KNOW she knows that when she feels tired and weak, she still has us - her army - her tribe - supporting her, loving her and STILL being inspired by her every single day.

Here's the thing. You cannot have someone like her walking this earth without acknowledging her amazingness - in fact, we should be shouting it from the rooftops. She should be on a poster somewhere with an arrow pointing to her that says, "WE NEED MORE PEOPLE LIKE THIS." There needs to be a "How to be a Warrior" class - and she needs to teach it.

Make no mistake, here - she was a warrior before cancer, but she's in the fight of her life right now, and I think every member of her tribe feels helpless. We can stand by her side with our arrows and swords, but in the end it is the lead warrior who does the most fighting - it is her battle. If forming a circle around her to shelter her from the blows of this disease would keep her safe, we'd do it. If finding some way to defeat this enemy for her was within our powers, we'd have done it yesterday. If there was a way to bottle her strength, spirit and determination and give it out as a cure, we'd do it tomorrow.

We'd do it - for our warrior.

Update: Our Warrior, Amy Poirier Bjornstad, passed peacefully at home surrounded by her loved ones on Tuesday, March 27th, three days after this post was written. Rest now, my love.

Help a warrior; be a warrior. Give to the Jimmy V Foundation and let's get a victory over cancer.