Reflections From the Heart

July 4, 2013 · 8:24 PM

My Bicentennial (Mis)Adventure

July 31, 1976

Have you ever experienced a what-if? Ever been dangerously close to a hazardous situation, to realize just how fortunate you were to have escaped, only to have it gnaw at you later?

Loveland Pass, CO, looking east from the summit. Courtesy of Wikipedia.

Today, as I celebrate this Independence Day, my mind goes back to a moment in time I shall never forget.

We headed for Colorado’s Rocky Mountain National Park for a continued weekend bicentennial celebration, to enjoy the magnificent canyons’ cool mountain air and breathtaking river valleys.

The afternoon breeze mingled with the whiff of hamburgers sizzling on the pit, putting our troubles behind us. Don was in good spirits, along with an ample supply of his favorite beverage. He drank one after another, as he rehashed old childhood and war stories. I roasted marshmallows over the campfire until raindrops drove us inside our van. We tucked in for the night in our sleeping bags.

In no time, Don’s snoring commenced. As my eyelids grew heavy, I thought, at least I’m not out in this wilderness alone.

Sometime later, I awoke with a start, “Donny! Donny, wake up!”

“Hmmm?” my still-asleep, great protector mumbled, turning over.

I sat up and held my breath. I felt the van vibrate. The plunking sound of raindrops rattled across the rooftop, lashing at the van’s exterior. I strained to listen for something else, feel something else, but wasn’t sure what.

Only a case of bad nerves, I reasoned, starting to lie back down. No! There it is again.

“Donny, did you feel that? Our whole van shook!”

“Go back to sleep, gal,” Donny muttered. “It’s probably just a bear.”

Just a bear? Better not be any bear out there!

Minutes passed. I lay back down and willed my body to relax. The sound of rain soon lulled my unsettled thoughts, and sleep overtook me. Before nodding off, I thought I heard rumbling in the distance.

Dusk turned to dawn, and I considered my night’s fright silly. We ate a quick breakfast of hard-boiled eggs, leftover meat, and orange juice.

“Shake a leg,” Donny announced. “Time to go.”

We left our campsite cruising over mucky roads. Puddles and slushy trails made the roads treacherous and tricky. At one point, our van was stuck in the mud. Donny kept his foot over the gas pedal and accelerated. The tires sloshed and the van swirled, nearly tipping over.

“Jesus!” I cried out, thinking we were history.

Unruffled under pressure, Donny turned the wheel sharply to the right and back on the road again.

“What’s the matter?” he said, looking at me as if I were a dimwit.

“Nothing,” I huffed.

As we continued, we noticed massive trees that had toppled over, and many of them bobbed along in the river. We heard the whump, whump, whump, whump of helicopters overhead. Soon, we approached park rangers, re-routing traffic. I stuck my head out the window and overheard bits of instructions given to other passengers in their vehicle. “. . . mountainside . . . engulfed . . . destroyed . . . missing . . . proceed with extreme caution . . . !”

The reporter on the radio described how a typical summer rainfall turned into a horrendous nightmare for hundreds of people. Many homes were washed away in a flash flood. Cars vanished, buried under tons of debris. Roads had been swept away along the canyon, and broken concrete stuck out of the riverbank like foreign objects. It took hours before we careened back into town.

The morning headlines read:

Photo: Vehicles were left stranded in the aftermath of the 1976 Big Thompson Flood. Courtesy of Water Resources Archive
(We were apprx 35 miles west of this disaster.)

“THE BIG THOMPSON CANYON FLASH FLOOD.”

Many were reported missing. Dead. Houses and businesses were washed away and destroyed. The overwhelming thought hit me on how oblivious we were to the dangers the night before. If we had camped near the Loveland area, we would never have escaped. Donny could have innocently erred by having us camped out in that Loveland area—and brushed off my concerns in his half-drunken sleep, just as he did the night before. Then what? We might have been one of those statistics.

4 Comments

Filed under Bicentennial, Colorado, travel

Tagged as Bicentennial, Big Thompson Canyon, campsite, Colorado, flash flood, Independence Day, Loveland, Rocky Mountain, tradegy, travel

Aside

Metamorphosis

My family was poor. As a child, without having four-legged friends, I developed an unusual fascination with the behaviors of tiny critters, mainly insects. Curious about what lay beneath the ant piles, I liked to dig apart their colonies to watch the different activities of the workers, the soldiers, and the queen ant that I read about in library books. I never developed a fear of grasshoppers, even if they spat “tobacco” on my fingers, or of handling caterpillars that pricked when they crawled on my hand, or of sneaking up on lizards that left their wiggling tails behind, wondering what the funny red thing on their throats going in and out was all about. My fascination with those critters was a favorite pastime.

Not all school projects were memorable, but I remember one that stuck with me for years. When the teacher assigned a report on any subject, I decided to pick caterpillars. On a large poster board, I drew the four stages of the butterfly: (1) egg, (2) larva, (3) pupa, and (4) adult. I described metamorphosis. Though it wasn’t a Picasso, my work earned a ranking on my school’s hallway wall, posted for all to see, with the highest mark in class: A+.

One sunny day at recess, I found a black woolly caterpillar crawling in the shrubs and gently placed it in my palm. My classmate was naturally curious and asked to see what I held. When I opened my hand to show him, he whacked it so hard that the caterpillar flew out and disappeared into a bush. And that’s when I morphed! Without hesitation, I slapped him on the face, hard. The boy stood stunned, mouth open.

As an adult, I often thought about the word metamorphose. It means to change completely in nature or form.

I think about how alcohol deceived my loved ones, giving them a false sense of reality. After drinking, like the caterpillar many years ago in my book report, they metamorphosed into social butterflies fresh out of their cocoon. They felt invincible, glamorous, or intelligent. Gone were the restraints that crippled them emotionally. They carried a false sense of bravado. It was then that they laughed wildly, conversed freely, and flirted openly.

The more attention and compliments they received from others, the less they knew the difference between genuine praise and mere flattery.

(A small excerpt from Running in Heels – A Memoir of Grit and Grace ).

12 Comments

June 26, 2013 · 10:20 PM

Aside

He had a rugged, but kind, short-bearded face

He had a rugged, but kind, short-bearded face with laughing brown eyes and charm that wouldn’t quit. We came from similar marital backgrounds. We each knew what it was like to be in an abusive relationship, encumbered with alcoholic spouses, broken promises, and betrayal. We both shared the same desires, with honesty and trust at the top.

He waltzed away all traces of reservations in my heart. I felt he could be trusted. He treated me with respect. He took my breath away, loving me for me: tenderly, passionately, completely. He even—as they say in the movies—“made my toes curl.” Moreover, as much as he loved me, he loved my four children. And they loved him in return. That was the icing on the cake! There may not have been a lot of money floating around, but in our eyes, he proved himself worthy. We never had to compete for his attention. When his buddies told him that other fish were in the ocean (that didn’t include small guppies), he simply said, “Not like this one.”

When he asked me one day what my goals in life were, I couldn’t answer, turning my face as the tears fell. Burdened by daily matters as a single mom, clouded my vision for tomorrow. After several dates, for the first time in a long time, I found myself thinking about the future and possibly having one with him.

From day one, I loved his adventurous spirit for the outdoors and watching him with my little gang. Whether those outings included dove hunting, camping in tents, air shows, the circus, Disney World, or barbecues at the park, he made them fun and memorable for the children. I was grateful for that.

After my ex deserted us, I had to find a job to earn an income. However, my absence had left the children’s safety net to unravel. One by one, serious issues ensued that needed my undivided attention. I could only do so much. I felt guilt-ridden, like a complete failure.

Being a single mom took its toll; it wasn’t fun. I felt tired of pretending I had it together. My faith had always been the glue in my life, but I had let God down as well. I’ve been too busy, feeling haggard with the hustle and bustle of life, trying to keep our heads above water from the bills that flooded in every month.

“Are you sure you’re ready for the whole package?” I had asked him. Incomplete individuals often seek fulfillment and happiness in others, rather than finding their sense of well-being and self-worth within themselves. I had since learned that my completeness didn’t come from having faith in any man, but in a perfect God who loved me unconditionally, like no other.

With my heart on the line in this new relationship of ours, I wondered what if, down the road, we were abandoned? Deserted again. Forever?

Yet … I loved the one next to me, wanted him by my side, and even believed that God had brought us together and superseded our circumstances. My heart was torn and pounded out of my chest. Would he share my faith?

My eldest, Anna Marie, with her Pops

His silence now ate away at me.

Then ever so gently, he took his thumb, wiped my tears, and whispered, “You are the family I’ve always wanted.”

And the four words I will never forget:

“Let’s find God together.”

Dedicated to Mark, my husband and best friend –
a Stepdad who stepped up to the plate in more ways than one
© M.A. Perez, 2013, All Rights Reserved

6 Comments

June 15, 2013 · 10:40 PM

June 1, 2013 · 11:44 AM

Amazing Grace

I kissed her sweet, velvety cheeks. When her tiny hand wrapped around my finger, she instantly wrapped around my heart. Having just witnessed the birth of my first granddaughter, I was simply ecstatic. Grace Elizabeth, a little thing with a mop of chestnut hair and raven eyes, reminded me of the sister I had lost so long ago.

Not long after, our joy was short-lived. Apprehension and a staggering wave of fear suddenly replaced excitement and joy.

Her doctor ordered x-rays, ultrasounds, RSV, EKG, blood work, and an echocardiogram. “She has three holes in her heart,” he announced. His foreign words invaded my head: “congenital heart defect . . . coarctation of the aorta . . . a ventricular septal defect . . . an arterial septal defect . . . a bicuspid aortic
valve . . .”

But three words snatched my breath away: “Open-heart surgery.”

Surrounded by family, we waited. Watched. And prayed.

That night, my daughter, Angela, and I shared a couch that converted into a bed in Grace’s room. Dreams and visions overlapped, as I drifted in and out of a fitful slumber. Nurses routinely came in to check on Grace’s vital signs, administered meds, and prepared her feeding tube around the clock, interrupting sleep.

But tonight was different. At 3 a.m., a nurse instructed all residents to remain in their rooms, keeping the doors closed. We couldn’t help but peek out of the window blinds. We watched in horror as the mother of the infant in Room 1704 ran inside, her hand over her mouth. Her wails carried across the hallway from inside. When other relatives arrived, they held onto one another, weeping, lamenting, and grieving.

Tears flowed down our faces. I gazed upon Angela—my baby girl who always wanted a baby girl—and grieved along with her. Though she carried unspoken heaviness, she remained strong for her household.

My eyes fixate upon our sick Grace. The doctors had said that Grace needed to gain weight, but she only grew weaker and tired more easily. Instead of eating, she slept during feedings. I watched her shallow, rapid breathing and listened to the heart monitor. Beep. A precious life. Beep. Hopelessness loomed. Beep. I said another prayer.

Beep, Beep, Beep. The rhythm of Grace’s heart monitor echoed louder in my head.

Come morning, more alarming reports:

“Murmur is louder.”

“Heart’s beating fast; enlarged, working too hard.”

“Surgery tomorrow.”

We waited for the day; we waited for the hour, but when the time for her procedure arrived, tomorrow seemed much too soon!

In the morning, we huddled around Grace in a curtained room. Words failed to express our love for this precious twenty-nine-day-old child. We covered her with our tears, our kisses, and our prayers.

“Please, Lord, bring her back to me,” my daughter whispered, crying.

In a moment, they whisked her away to prep her and lay her on the operating table, surrounded by nine surgeons. We felt helpless but believed God while we prayed that He would return Grace to us alive . . . whole . . . and healthy.

After four hours in surgery, the cardiologist reported, “Grace’s heart is very sick,” and added, “We didn’t know how sick until actually seeing it.”

The pendulum swung. We sat and paced. Paced and sat.

A flood of questions crammed my mind: How do you silence the sobs that overtake you? How can you calm the waters and keep the dam from bursting from within the depths of your being? How do you say goodbye when someone has captured your very heart and soul?

Nine hours later, we were told, “Her heart failed when taken off bypass.”

My gut tightened. “Please, Lord.”

We gathered in a quiet room to pray. I studied the faces of each family member. The women prayed openly as they cried out to God. The men, unable to trust their voices, kept their mouths shut for fear of losing control.

After three hours, the doctor’s assistant entered and announced, “She’s made it, but she’s not out of the woods yet.”

We hugged one another. Tears of relief flow freely.

“The next forty-eight hours will be critical,” she cautioned. “You can briefly see her soon.”

Emotions ran raw; I lacked the courage to see Grace lying still, motionless, and heavily sedated. “I want to see my granddaughter when her beautiful eyes are open,” I said.

Angela understood. “Mom, go home and rest,” she urged. “I’ll keep you posted.”

Day One Post-Surgery, my daughter’s report via email:

Baby Grace remains heavily sedated and has countless tubes and wires attached to her tiny frame. Mom, the list is endless: a breathing tube, a pacemaker, a rectal thermometer, a catheter, and so much more. Arms and inner thighs are bruised due to multiple attempts to locate the main artery. The sides of her head are shaven. Her face is bloated from fluids. One lung has collapsed. Mom, I’m so scared!

Day Two Post-Surgery, another email:

No movement, still heavily sedated. I held Baby Grace’s little hand and said, “Mommy’s here.” Grace moved her head for me, and I whispered in her ear, “Mommy loves you so much.” When her eyes opened for me, my heart skipped a beat!

Day Three Post-Surgery:

Mom, Grace is better and responding to touch. Her swelling has gone down. They reinstalled her feeding tube today and are giving me 5cc of my breast milk per hour. She is eating now and will gain weight again.

Day Five:

My first day seeing Grace since her surgery. Overflows of emotions bombarded every nerve in my being. Hope crashed into fear. Joy into anxiety.

I must keep it together. My legs turned to putty. My daughter took me by the hand and led me into Grace’s room . . .

I see her! I reached down, caressed her face, and gently placed my hand over her chest. The incision was the length of my index finger.

And then her eyes! Those familiar eyes sparkled and looked at me as if to say, “See Mimi. I’m here. I’ve made it.”

Seven years have passed.

Grace recently graduated to the first grade, grinning from ear to ear. She laughs and skips about, discovering her world. My precious granddaughter has been through so much. She won’t remember a thing about her ordeal. Nevertheless, I will forever hold onto the memories of those dark days and long nights. I will relish the story of this tiny girl who showed tenacity and never gave up.

I lift Grace, embrace her, and smother her with kisses. Her little heart beats next to mine; nothing short of a miracle.

Our hope.
Our joy.
Our gift.
Amazing Grace.

8 Comments

Filed under 29-days old, Grace, Health, Open-heart surgery

Tagged as anguish, Cardiac surgery, Congenital heart defect, Family, Feeding tube, Grace, heart monitor, hopelessness, Prayer, Ventricular septal defect

May 11, 2013 · 10:54 PM

I Don’t Know What To Do!

I don’t know what to do today.
Perhaps I’ll go outside and play,
or stay indoors and watch TV,
or take a bath, or climb a tree.

Or maybe I’ll go ride my bike,
or pick my nose, or take a hike,
or jump a rope, or scratch my head,
or play a game, or stay in bed,
or dance a jig, or pet the cat,
or drink some milk, or buy a hat,
or sing a song, or read a book,
or change my socks, or learn to cook,
or dig a hole, or eat a pear,
or call my friends, or brush my hair,
or hold my breath, or have a race,
or stand around and slap my face.

I’m so confused and bored, and blue,
to not know what I ought to do.
I guess that I should just ask you.
So, what do you think I should do?

I came across the above humorous poem and thought about my kids when they were young. Outside of TV, the only technology we had was the Atari, which we used to play games like Pong and Asteroids. Does anyone remember those? But the most entertaining for me was watching my kids doing aerobics, saying:

“Watch me, Mommy.”

“Mommy, look at this.”

“See what I can do, Mommy?”

Today, my grown children each have individual giftings, talents, and uniqueness. I still love hearing from them, whether they call, text, or email me. My heart skips a beat whenever they achieve something outstanding. They still put a smile on my face. We can still laugh together.

Children grow fast. All you have to do is blink. You’ll wonder where the time flew? Cherish those moments.

Oh, and by the way, I drew the sketch below of my kids, some twenty-seven years ago.

Wasn’t it just yesterday…?

1 Comment

Filed under Children, Fun

Tagged as aerobics, Atari 2600, bored, children, games, Kenn Nesbitt, kids, laughter, nostalgic, Poetry

Aside

Confession of a Daughter

I’m jealous.

I confess.

I don’t think I ever grasped this concept until now. It pains me to admit this, but it’s true. Whenever I hear others express the close bond that they have with their mothers, I marvel at how grand that must be!

And it stings.

Mama used to say: “You can have ten fathers but only one mother.”

I heard that line growing up and believed it. After my parents divorced, I had three different step-dads. I didn’t want to share my mama; she wasn’t married to any of them. I wanted us to be by ourselves. But Mama was too busy for me. I’m sure she did the best she could, but nurturing wasn’t in her DNA. Left on my own a great deal, I was a neglected child.

Loneliness was my middle name.

At the age of nine, after we moved to Florida, my grandma became more like a mother to me. I knew then what a mother’s love felt like, and it just wasn’t the same as Mama’s. Oh, to be sure, I love my mama; she gave birth to me. But because I had no choice but to grow up too fast, our roles had always been reversed. Most of the time, I felt like I was the mother. I wasn’t a model teenager either, and couldn’t wait to leave home in search of love.

The miles separate, the years have passed, and Mama and I have both aged. I look back and forgive my past; it has made me who I am today. I’ve had to learn to forgive my mama a hundred times over, whose harshness and demeanor become more passive and feeble with time. She’s not perfect. And neither am I.

I am a mother now. And I pray that my own children will always feel my love.

No matter what.

It takes work. Prayer.

And much forgiveness.

Our communication skills still have room for improvement. I’ll keep working on it.

Mother’s Day is around the corner. It has always been so complicated for me to choose the right Mother’s Day card. Maybe this time I won’t have to keep putting the cards back on the shelf in search of the one that describes Mama perfectly.

Maybe, I’ll write one for her myself:

To my one and only Mama.

I loved you then.

I love you now.

No matter what.

7 Comments

May 2, 2013 · 9:56 PM

April 25, 2013 · 10:15 PM

A Better Picture

A message I heard in church a few years ago was about three kinds of enemies. I’d like to share this insight with you, trusting that it’ll help you the way it did me.

HOLDERS – Those that want to hold you back.
PULLERS – Those that will pull you away.
CLINGERS – Those that keep you behind with them.

We probably all know someone in either of these categories. We may have an idea, a vision, a dream, a desire, or feel passion about something that we may share with somebody, but then that person does not share in our enthusiasm, but merely seeks to crush our spirit. Before we know it, we are pulled back, stifled, crushed, and beaten down. I’m not saying there won’t be times when we are to make ourselves available to help others. I am saying there will be times when we need to be around those who care enough to pour something back into us.

I need to be refilled. You need to be refilled.

MEDIOCRITY HATES VISION.

See the bigger picture of something greater and something better.

If we don’t grow, we die. This was me about three years ago. I wanted to grow, move forward, and better myself, but only felt squashed and discouraged by those around me. Yet, they were moving forward. So in my prayer time, I sought guidance and courage. And when I heard my pastor’s message a few days later, it hit me.

I took a leap of faith and moved on. Why? Because I knew God had something better for me. Goldfish Jumping Out of the Water Stock Photo - Image of ...

I had to make a choice, and yes, it was frightening. It took a few months, but it was the best decision I made for myself. Still today, I am in a much better place and in a much better job position. I am challenged, fulfilled, and continue to grow. I am encouraged to do my best and appreciated for all that I do. I work for a phenomenal boss and some pretty phenomenal people.

Sometimes you have to give up something good to gain something better.

4 Comments

Filed under Career, Devotional

Tagged as career, dream, encouragement, growth, Leap of Faith, mediocrity, motivation, Prayer, stifling, vision

April 20, 2013 · 2:17 PM

Run Like the Wind

Hadn’t my grandparents always said, “nothing worthwhile comes easy”?

At the track and field events, I earned each of my awards and ribbons. I’d raced along, my eyes on the mark. Momentum built as my arms pumped with energy and my long legs pounded the grassy field. The warmth from the sun’s rays kissed my face, and the breeze caressed my long, flowing hair. My mind, clear and free from worries, centered my concentration on one goal: crossing the finish line.

We took our places and lined up in a row, waiting for Coach’s command.

“ON YOUR MARK . . .”

Nerves hit the pit of my stomach.

“GET SET . . .”

I willed my mind to focus, my eyes fixed straight ahead.

“GO!”

We were off. My foot slipped; two of us bumped. I regained momentum, pumping my arms, elbows high. I needed to pace myself or I’d run out of wind. I decided to hold steady at a comfortable third place. I knew that if I stretched myself, I’d pick up speed and pass them one by one. Needed to time it just right.

Image source: thinkstock by Getty Images

Breathe. Keep your eyes on the back of their heads.

Don’t get in too much of a hurry.

Steady . . . Steady . . .

Not yet. Not yet.

Almost . . .

Now!

I passed one girl. Then another. A burst of energy flooded me as I gained a second wind. I closed in on the leader. I heard her breathing. The sound of our feet pounding the ground in unison, inches apart. It was now or never.

We came onto the turn, and I moved to the right. Willing my legs to move faster, I passed her up, taking the lead. In record time, I beat her to the finish line!

That was me a hundred years ago. Strong. Perky. Ageless.

If I did it then, perhaps, just maybe, I can do it again, in whatever I set out to do with my mind.

(excerpt from Running in Heels – A Memoir of Grit and Grace works in progress)

1 Comment

Filed under Exercise, Memoir, Race

Tagged as academic, ageless, dream, goal, memoir, nostalgic, racing, running, track & field, worthwhile

April 11, 2013 · 10:16 PM

What Happened?

To “Please” and “Thank You”?

To dinner at the table with the family at 5 or 6 PM?

To men holding the door open for women, helping her in her chair, walking on the outside of the curb, closing and opening the car door for her?
To saying, “I’m sorry” after offensives are made?
Going on a picnic at the park? Hand-written letters and thank you notes?
In having family devotions? Saying grace?
To walk on the beach?
Random acts of kindness?
A gentle hand? A kind word?
A warm embrace?
To Honesty? Respect?
Truth? Prayer?
Humility?
Commitment after the “I Do,” and “Till Death Do You Part”?
The Golden Rule?
Morals? Values?
Integrity? Or Honor?
In Saying, “I’m sorry.” “Forgive me.”
Where have they gone? Why did they go?
What has happened …
To Us?