Buckets of Hope Arrived

Third Book by Kat Crawford 

How exciting to receive the shipment of 

Buckets of Hope:

Recovery from Grief 

and Loss.

Yes, truly there is moving on after struggling with the changes in life. Not only the loss of my husband but the move from all I had known for twenty-four years, to a new residence in Oregon. Life has changed and you find many of those changes recorded in this, my third book. 

It is hard to believe that in 2009 I published my first book: 

Capsules of Hope: Survival Guide for Caregivers. 

My husband's journey through PMP (Pseudomyxoma Peritonei-cancer of the appendix) fueled the stories of his survival and my caregiving. Even today I wonder how we managed through those horrific days when doctors offered no treatment, no medication, and no hope. 

In 2017 I published:

Dew Drops of Hope: Help for Those Going Through Grief and Loss

My good friend Shirl Hart going through her own journey of grief after her husband of fifty-eights had died, encouraged me to write Dew Drops. I agreed to compile the book if she joined me, and she did. Together with other friends, we brought our stories of survival after a loss. 

All three books are available 

on Amazon.com 

Over the next few weeks, I will share stories of healing, of surviving, of finding hope while going through a major crisis. The stories are real-life glimpses into the lives of those who have been challenged and have witnessed the Hand of God at work in their lives. 

I remain Lionhearted in my everyday journey. 

Sneaky Grief

Husband and I on coffee date in Fremont

Grief is sneaky. There is no warning of when it will overtake you, no “heads up today will be a blue day,” or no banner that flies through the sky to say, “Don’t listen to the radio today, you’ll hear a song Husband sang often.”

Grief doesn’t come with labels. It doesn’t say, “That movie will touch a sore spot,” or “If you use that cup you’ll think of Husband.” It doesn’t tell you not to use a fragrance, no you spray it and then the tears come.

Grief happens. It doesn’t matter if it’s three months or three years. It still happens.

What do you do with grief that sneaks in to rob your joy?

I’ve tried to ignore the feelings. That doesn’t work. Feelings are real—might as well acknowledge them and do something.

I’ve tried shopping. That doesn’t work—I’m reminded more of the times when Husband talked to the clerks. “I better be good to my wife or she might not feed me. She’s threatened that a time or too.” Often I leave the store empty handed knowing the tears will blast through any minute.

I’ve tried sleeping—for me to sleep eleven hours straight usually means I’m trying to ignore the inevitable. I drag myself from bed feeling worse than if I’d slept only six hours.

Often I wait too many hours before I call a friend. “Hey, how are you?” I ask.

Is it terrible if I say I feel better when they have more problems?

Still Lionhearted, Kat 

Where Do We Learn the Art of Caregiving?

Mom, age 86, my caregiver through
breast cancer. Loving her rootbeer
and being able to hear TV clearly. 2010

Grudge no expense—

yield to no opposition—

forget fatigue—

till, by the strength of prayer and sacrifice,

the spirit of love shall have overcome.

~Marie Weston Chapman

Thousands of people attend college to become a caregiver. Not me, I learned the “art of caregiving” from my mom.

When my Uncle Larry’s wife died in a car accident, she left behind 5 children under the age of five. Mom left Dad and me in charge of my younger siblings and she drove a hundred miles south to stay with my uncle and help with his kids.

When a limb fell from a tree and hit my Uncle Tommy in the head no one expected him to live, but he did. He suffered massive brain damage. Mom volunteered to stay with Aunt Elnora and help Uncle Tommy recover—a real challenge for both my aunt and my mom. I remember Mom talking about how she helped teach him to count again—she played cards with him for hours.

When my grandfather struggled with emphysema, Mom often drove the hundred miles south and stayed with Grandma and Grandpa. My grandmother didn’t drive.  Mom helped with grocery shopping and doctors visits—she also became good company for both of them.

When mom didn’t have a relative to take care of, she often visited the shut-in up the road or sent plates of food and homemade bread to those who were too sick to take care of the family.  

And Dad, well that’s another story.

Still Lionhearted, Kat

WHO ARE YOU TEACHING TO DANCE?

The Sun Comes After the Rain
photo by Kat 2007

Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass.

It's about learning to dance in the rain.

“How do you keep going?” Toby asked me when I took care of Husband after hot pulp from a paper mill digester had spewed over his body. At the time, I didn’t think about it. I did the necessary—took care of two elementary aged girls, four-year-old son and of course, a man in horrendous pain.

“How do you keep going?” Laurie asked me twenty-three years later when Husband suffered a nervous breakdown. I answered her with a lot of screaming and yelling. Laurie had become my ear, my listener and walking buddy. Several times a week she picked me up, we drove to the river and walked the boardwalk. I bawled, complained, yelled, cried and finally wound down before Laurie drove me home. By the time I arrived home, I once again committed myself to love and take care of the man I didn’t understand.

“How do you keep going?” Debbie asked me ten years later when doctors diagnosed Husband with a rare cancer, pseudomyxoma peritonei, which originated in his appendix. I shrugged, knowing I wasn’t coping well, but hiding my fear and anxiety from family, friends and Husband.

The obvious answer to each question was, “I pray for wisdom and peace every day. I ask the Lord to give me the strength to get through the necessary and have enough energy left over to have fun.” But now I understand more than the obvious.

When Mom took care of me through six months of breast cancer treatment, I realized why I could keep going—because Mom did. From my childhood I'd watched her take care of others. She modeled the role of caregiver before me.

All of us are teaching others to laugh, live and love whether we know it or not.

Still Lionhearted, Kat 

IMPORTANT LETTERS BEHIND MY NAME

Nazarene Bible College, Colorado Springs, CO

God doesn't call the qualified, HE qualifies the called.

I’m a graduate with degrees. My college education consisted of two years of college courses teaching me to be the preacher’s best wife and three years of training as church pianist.

Mrs. G. B. Williamson and Nazarene Bible College honored me with a PW—Preachers Wife Certificate . Someplace I still have it, although it never hung on the wall. Those years of training served me well during our years of ministry. 

My apartment complex neighbors in Colorado Springs can attest to my earning every bit of my HPC—Hymn Playing Certificate. Every day I practiced for hours in our apartment complex. Four years later when our second church needed a pianist, Husband said, “You have the degree, you can do it.” And I did.

There are those other degrees I hold also. My PHT came with great honor when Husband graduated. I had worked at JC Penney, babysitting, teaching cake decorating and typing for five college students by the time he graduated. I earned every letter of my PHT—Put Hubby Through.

I think the hardest earned degree is one Husband said I earned—my DDSHK—Doctrine of Divinity from the School of Hard Knocks.

One of the toughest assignments arrived at my door when circumstances said, “To graduate from this SHK course, you will work 24/7, exercise the patience of Job, and develop a new measure of grace and forgiveness. When you graduate, your title of “Caregiver” will be imprinted on your heart and soul forever.”  

Still Lionhearted, Kat 

Retro Piano Keys--They look like my old upright piano keys.
www.freedigitalphotos.com 

God Knows What He is Doing

Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer. Romans 12:12

While in Nebraska, a doctor diagnosed Pastor Gene with dementia and suggested he leave the ministry. His wife wanted to live closer to family and preferred California near their oldest son. When a church in that area heard that Pastor Gene was moving to their community they asked him to consider being their minister.  

“I’m too forgetful,” Gene said.

“We all forget things, we want you to come,” each board member reassured him. 

For three or four more years Gene served as minister. He remembered God’s Word well and the congregation appreciated his messages. He also visited shut-ins, presided over the board and put out the usual fires between musicians.

One Christmas the changes in the platform, the added tree and decorations, confused him. He had no idea what to do. Von whispered directions to him, “Stand up…..preach now….pray a closing prayer.” That night Gene cried.

 

“Von, I didn’t know where I was.” They made arrangements for retirement. Still, he drove a car.

 “Kat, pray,” I heard the panic in Von’s voice. “Gene is lost. We have an APB out on him.” 

For the next 23 hours police and neighboring communities searched for Gene. Von called, “A policeman found him on the freeway. He was supposed to pick me up from Walmart. He got on the freeway and drove until the car ran out of gas. The police took him to a hospital. He’s fine physically.” 

A couple days later I called and Gene answered the phone. “Sounds like you had a great trip, Gene.” 

“Yes, I did. I left home with $3.00 in my pocket and when I came home I had $3.00 in my pocket. I was having a good time and didn’t even know it.” He sounded like the old teasing Gene I’d known for years. “You should see the picture they put out for me. It’s pretty good. I should smile more often,” he said. 

Later that week Gene gave Von the car keys. “You can’t believe what a relief that was. I dreaded telling him he couldn’t drive,” Von told me.

Not long after that horrific experience, Gene handed his car keys to Von.

“That incident convinced Gene he should never drive again. It was such a great blessing for us (the family). That trip helped us avoid the drama of taking his keys,” Von said. “God knows what He is doing,” she added.

I wonder how many Alzheimer and dementia caregivers question that phrase, “God knows what He is doing?” The journey with Gene stretched Von’s faith, yet she knows God walked beside her, every step of the journey. 

The Beginning of a New Adventure

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