The Gifts We Bring

Rex playing with Ty and Elise. The daily radiation treatment for his brain tumor caused his hair to fall out everywhere but the lower back of his head. I couldn't shave his head often enough to keep it looking normal. The steroids he took caused  weight gain that he hated because it made it hard for him to get down to play with the kids.  Poor guy.

When my brother came to live with my family, there was already so much going on that had nothing to do with him. Rob and I were in a legal battle with the school district to get special education services for our 3 kids, Rob was commuting in rush hour traffic 3 hours each way to work. Our kids health challenges kept me on the frequent flyer plan at our local ER and I was devoting myself to getting an education in possibly the world's most complicated, convoluted and controversial health care modality ever invented. Throwing Rex and his brain tumor on top of all that was an impossible challenge. Just the day-to-day grind of survival was overwhelming.

 

I wish I could say I handled it with faith and grace. I didn't. I was crabby, exhausted and on the verge of tears pretty much all the time. I did what needed to be done because I had no option, but I complained loudly enough that everyone knew major sacrifices were being made.

 

My brother tried to ease my burden. He could see very plainly that I wasn't handling things well. The main thing he did was play with my kids. Their sibling bickering was greatly reduced because he kept them occupied while I rushed around working on my endless to-do list. I have fond memories of afternoons like the one in the photo above. Since Rex was childlike himself, he knew what kids liked to do and he did it, even when the radiation treatments gave him headaches and made him nauseous. Every kid has the need to play and no adult played better than my brother.

 

Rex brought other gifts to our house that I wrote about in the book. What started out seeming like gasoline poured on an already raging inferno, ended up being exactly the opposite. Rex was the fire extinguisher that smothered the flames, stopping the heat that was consuming our family.


 Rob and I were permanently changed by having Rex in our lives and we will be forever grateful that we followed the promptings from God to bring him home. Instead of being another burden to carry, my brother gave us the wings to set us free.

 

 

 

 

 

First and Never Again Family Camping Trip

Rex, Heather and baby Ty on 1994 camping trip

It seemed like such a good idea at the time. What could be better than Rob and I packing up our three kids (one a baby less than a year old!) a dog, my brother Rex and heading off on a family camping trip in the Colorado mountains?  

I swear we stayed in the campground long enough to unpack the station wagon, pose for this picture, burn a meal over a fire pit, wait for the sun to go down, and crawl into the supposedly family-size tent before all hell broke loose with a screaming, puking baby, a howling dog, a crying toddler and whining child, a frazzled husband and my brother begging to be taken back to his apartment.

Me, being the voice of reason in all things, announced that we were not going to spend all night crammed in this miserable tent with a sick baby and no way in H-E-Double-Hockey-Sticks were we going home at midnight, either. We were going to a hotel. 

NOW.

Rob and I led the kids, the dog and Rex to the car and then we proceeded to stuff all of our camping gear in the back of the station wagon without regard to organization because did I mention it there was no moon that night and it was pitch black outside? By the light of one flashlight we decamped in record time and careened down the narrow, twisty two-lane mountain road to the nearest hotel with a neon Vacancy sign. We had a lovely weekend napping by the swimming pool and watching cartoons on cable tv. 

 My brother never again asked to go camping with us. I think that is why we all got along so well, we knew and accepted our limits of family togetherness. 

Nothing Smaller Than Your Elbow and Other Important School Lessons

My first year of school was scary. My 1972  public school kindergarten teacher was strict and when I say that, I mean she spanked us in class. In front of everyone.  Kids got spanked over her knee with her hand and once or twice with a ruler. One poor boy did something bad enough she made him pull down his pants, lie across her lap and she spanked him bare-bottomed with her hand. The loud "Smack! Smack! Smack!" of her hand against the jiggling of his bare skin sent a shiver of dread through my body. I could clearly see her red hand imprint across his butt cheeks. The spanking itself wasn't the horrible part. That was part of being a kid. I got spanked at the foster home, just like everyone else. But it was one thing being spanked at home and a whole another thing at school, in front of the class and especially naked. That crossed a line I hadn't considered possible.

 The teacher didn't finish out the school year, she disappeared after the  bare-bottom boy's parents complained to the principal. I didn't tell my foster parents or biological parents about the classroom spankings. It didn't occur to me that they would find anything wrong with it.

 My kindergarten teacher's way of handling classroom disruption worked perfectly on me. I learned very quickly to not cause trouble and never went to the teacher for help or admitted a problem. Just like at the foster home, I dealt with my business by myself.

Which is how I ended up with my first problem I couldn't fix. I had allergies to all the good things in Portland, Oregon. The green grass made me break out in hives. The roses made my face swell up. From spring to fall, I sneezed and hawked my way through life. My  inner ears itched so badly and sometimes at night, they oozed ear wax onto my pillows. I didn't take allergy medicine, I didn't know it existed. I also didn't know I had a doctor. I never saw one.

One day in  kindergarten class, my left ear was itching something fierce. I tried everything I could to ignore it, but it was relentless. So I did the only thing I could to relieve the insane itching. I stuck my sharpen pencil tip in my ear and scratched. I scratched my itchy inner ear so hard, the pencil lead broke off inside my ear canal. I  knew instantly I had done something dreadful. Looking up at my teacher at the front of the room, I considered telling her what I had done. I discarded that thought. I wasn't about to get spanked in class, especially if there was a chance I could be spanked bare-bottomed. No way.

I decided that even though my ear was muffled from the pencil lead, it didn't hurt, so I would just wait until a better reason to confess came up. I didn't tell my foster mother about the pencil lead either. Why would I volunteer to get into trouble? So the pencil lead sat in my ear canal and I forgot about it. From that year until 4th grade, I passed all the yearly school hearing tests by cheating. They way they tested students hearing was to bring four children into a room at a time and have us sit at a table with earphones on. We closed our eyes, raising our hand when we heard faint beeps through the earphones. I kept my eyelids slightly cracked and raised my hand when they raised theirs. Easy-peasy.

 Since we didn't have physicals in the foster home or after my brother and I were adopted, no doctor looked in my ears. In fourth grade, my body decided it was time my pencil lead secret came clean. My ear was itching terribly and I was hearing a loud crackling noise. I tried to feel with my fingers what was wrong, but all I got was slimy earwax oozing out. My ear problem was loud enough in my head I got scared. I decided to risk it and told my adopted mother there was something in my ear. I honestly didn't know what was wrong, I had forgotten long ago about the pencil lead. Virginia took a flashlight and looked at my ear. She could see something just inside my ear canal. She used a pair of tweezers and gently slid out an inch long piece of earwax coated, perfectly preserved pencil lead. And amazingly, I could hear out of my left ear again. As she held up the pencil lead for Harley and Grandma Quigley to see, I remembered how it got in my ear and told them the story. They all laughed and I was relieved. I wasn't in trouble, my ear was clear and an important lesson was learned. From then on, no matter how bad my allergies got, I never again put a pencil in my ear to scratch. I used the sharp point of a ballpoint pen instead.

50th Wedding Anniversary Photo Album

Right after the Justice of the Peace renewed their wedding vows.

50th anniversary supper.

Grandbaby Eleanor hiding her face from the camera,
 but enjoying the restaurant.

Grandbaby Eleanor with Coconut the Wonder Dog,
her autism assistance dog.

Coconut the Wonder Dog  was on the floor like all proper assistance dogs until after Eleanor was done eating.  

Just getting comfortable.

Let the after dinner fun begin!

Ralph and Claudia shared their anniversary cake and ice cream
with everyone at their nursing home.
They are generous people. 

Ralph, performing as The Gift.

Ralph and Claudia never let
 ribbons, bows, wrapping paper or balloons go to waste.
 Party! Party! Party!

The balloons were distributed to all their nursing home friends.
 Balloons attached to walkers and wheelchairs as far as the eye could see.
Everyone had a bit of fun.

They wanted to save this too,
 but settled for having a picture of it.