Heartstrings....

Heartstrings, they get tugged this way and that way.

When a child makes a picture for you or their sweet face lights up from something they made or accomplished,
when they run up to hug you (because all you did was spend time with them)
or they squeal because they are SO EXCITED to go to Lunch Bunch, your soul bubbles up and over.

Their world getting bigger everyday with new wondrous discoveries......

When you hear your 88 year old Dad is anxious over his oldest daughter coming and your heart shakes.. Then you hear he made a Valentine card for the receptionist & she hung it up at her desk, the heartstrings swell and tug hard at you.

His world getting smaller everyday.

My mornings are spent with little ones. We paint, construct, build, pretend, talk, dance, sing, read, eat, twirl tops on the table and discover we too can twirl around and around in a circle.

And we are there for them and with them.

And every few days in the afternoons I call my Dad. He has had so much stolen from him because of Parkinson's, CHF & dementia. When you hear his worries, his confusion.....the heart breaks.

And all I can do is listen and reassure him.

Mornings with little ones, afternoon calls to my Dad.......

The heart sways, swells, bubbles over, sinks, tug and breaks.

Written by Lynette

February 12, 2019

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I wrote this just prior to my sister coming out for a long overdue visit.  I had forgotten about this post on my other blog. I've been going through journals, blogs locating things I wrote or documented. I believe these were thoughts I wrote down from one day after work on Facebook, trying to transmit my deepest feeling. 

My sister arrived a few days later and we celebrated his 88th Birthday. As we gathered around the table in the conference room, he said, "it's about time we were all together."  It was the last time he was with his three children. My niece and family were also there to celebrate his birthday. In the usual Porter fashion, there was food, gifts and music. It was a bittersweet weekend. It was also the last time my sister saw him for making trips to California were challenging as she is the wife and caregiver to her husband. As I look back on the day I recall that weekend. My family pick her up and she was driven to our house in the beamer by my son. We had a wonderful time that Friday and the following days. The day she flew in was February 15...exactly one year before he died. 

Funny how life is and how we think it may play out. How we try to anticipate and plan. There were many people who thought that once he saw his oldest daughter he would pass. But he didn't. That final year was meant to be. It wasn't until after he died I learned how many people lives he touched.  I heard story after story by two of staff members the day of his funeral. He wasn't just liked. He was loved and respected. His stories were welcomed and listened to. He was given care and compassion daily.  He lost a lot but what he made up for what he could not do, he told in stories. How I wish I could have heard those stories. 

I miss his voice, his stories, his playing the Hammond organ. 

I have news about the Hammond that has been part of our family for 50 years. But that's for another post. 

Signing off...

Lynette 

A Poem by my Grandma

Be Thankful

When you feel downhearted and lonely,

and everything seems to go wrong,

When your heart is burdened with troubles,

When it should be be lightened with song;

Just stop for awhile and consider

The blessings God gives you each day,

The love of our dear ones, the friendships

We share as we walk in life's way.

Just look at the blue sky above you,

At the sun giving forth it's warm light;

The great fleecy clouds, white and lovely,

And the star studded heavens at night.

The beautiful rolling foothills,

The mountains majestic and grand,

With lakes here and there, cool and lovely,

Rivers and streams in the land.

Gaze out at the wonderful ocean,

So unfathomable, deep and so wide,

Graggy rocks that for ages and ages,

Have been washed by the incoming tide.

Waves restlessly tossing and roaring

 Beat upon boundaries of sand,

But try as you they will, they cannot past,

They're held there by Gods mighty hand.

The song of the birds, the beauty of the trees,

And the grass making carpets of greens;

In summer the flowers in colors so bright, 

And in winter the snow white and clean.

You could go on and on and think of things

That God gives for our joy and our pleasure,

So look up and thank Him for His wonderful love,

And the blessings He gives without measure.

Lillian Porter 1955

Written soon after Bill died

William Hull Porter, my Grandfather died of non-hodgkin's lymphoma. He was only 40 years old. He left his beloved Lillian and his only son Bob behind. Bob, a pilot and mechanic like his Daddy was in the Air Force at the time. He was newly married with a young daughter. He left the Air Force to help run the family airplane business when news of his illness came. Grandpa had built the business, the hangar, runway, and office. After his death the business was sold to the county. My Dad, age 25 continued on as a pilot for the East Side Mosquito Abatement until his retirement at age 50. This I believe was the first hardship endured in the young couple's married life. Bob and Mariana who at the time was pregnant with my sister Valencia moved back to the Modesto area from Orangevale. Bob had been stationed at Mather Airforce base in Rancho Cordova, Ca and was given a leave. A few years later he was given a honorable discharge. Valencia Marie was born in July of 1954 and soon after Grandpa Porter passed away.  The poem was written by Lillian Marie Porter soon after he passed away. It was found in a shoe box in a dresser in my Dad's bedroom. 

As I read and copied the poem I could sense my Grandma love of nature. She's seems to find peace and solace in gazing at the sky with it's fleecy clouds or gazing at the ocean. I am struck by the imagery when she writes of the ocean. These lines in particular,

Waves restlessly tossing and roaring

 Beat upon boundaries of sand,

But try as you they will, they cannot past,

They're held there by Gods mighty hand.

I too find comfort and solace in gazing up at the sky. Watching the birds. Seeing the sun rise above the horizons. When the valley is dark and shadowy look up.  Realms of beauty and light penetrate the darkness from above. 

Signing off,

Lynette 

The Beginning

In the Spring of 2016 around the time I was diagnosed with breast cancer my Dad was diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease. The following year, Congested Heart Failure. Over the next several he endured the challenges of Parkinson's with dementia.  Bob was able to remain at home with my brother as his caregiver until the Fall of 2018. River Valley Care Center became his next to final home.  He liked to be called Mr. Porter and was known as "Pops." 

Bob passed away on the evening of February 15, 2020 ten days after his 89th Birthday. 

He was a story teller.  Anybody who knew Bob could tell you a story that he had told or had a story to tell about Bob. Everyone had a story, a memory of Bob. An antic while flying or how his music touched their very soul. 

Stories; they came in all forms and from many voices. From Bob himself, friends, family and caregivers. They came from the oral tradition of story telling, things written down & photos. My own journals and social media posts about visits and phone calls. Memories from an old shoe box filled with old family poems, clippings and letters. 

My hope is to compile all these things and put them down here. I don't know how or where to begin or even how I will do this. Except to simply start. 

Oh one more thing, when Bob lived in the Care Home he would end his phone conversations by saying, "I'm signing off" or some variation of it. I think I will do the same. 

So, here we go...On a Wing, a Prayer and a Note. 

Signing off,

Lynette