Wishing Upon A Star

I’ve had a running theme develop these past couple weeks and I’m way overdue for a post. The theme is, strangely, stars.

Ever since breast cancer Round 1 (10 years ago), I’ve had this private thought: In the event that something were to happen to Dane (or me, for that matter) it would be kinda cool for us to pick out a star where we could meet. While a specific star (North Star, a star in a constellation, etc.) is fixed and findable on this side of the universe, it seems, even though it’s the great unknown, it would be easy for the one on the other side to figure out how to get to it. And then we could have a moment with each other, each of us on our respective sides of the star.

When breast cancer Round 2 hit in August 2006, this idea picked up some urgency in my heart, but there was really no good time to suggest it. It would be too spooky. And then when things took the bad turn in the fall of 2009, I simply jettisoned the idea. But then one day in October, for whatever reason, our conversation turned to the stars. So I seized the opening. In Dane's bed-ridden state we couldn’t go out and actually pick a star, so I decided to suggest a star—something simple, but not too cliché like the North Star. I figured the Big Dipper would give us something to work with. So, we had this conversation (I’m using our nicknames; this comes into play later).

Bear: “If anything happens to one of us we should meet at a star in the Big Dipper.”
Dane: “That’s a good idea.”
Bear: “Maybe the star at the end of the handle?”
Dane: “Don’t care.”

The “don’t care” response was probably two-fold: 1) “I’m tired of answering questions”; and 2) anything in the Big Dipper is probably fine.

So, we had a plan.

In February, a few weeks after Dana passed away (I’m still not used to those last three words btw), I was in Florida for a grief recovery trip. One clear night I decided to take a walk on the beach to have the first moment with Dane and the Big Dipper. I had yet to look at it since December 23. It was a beautiful night. The first task however, was to determine at which star Dana would want to meet since we left that rather open-ended. So I gazed into those ever-familiar points of that ladle in the sky just to see if something would emerge. And something emerged. The image at the top of this blog is not a picture I took, but an enhanced image of the Big Dipper. If you know Dana in the slightest, you might be able to tell where my eyes and heart landed. I’ve never noticed (or registered with any significance) that one of the stars is dimmer than the others. Dane would ALWAYS pull for, root for, and pick, the runt of the litter. The underdog. That faintest star connecting the handle to the bowl would have to be our star.

Fast forward to just a week ago. I decided to investigate the stars in the Big Dipper, knowing they probably had names, and wondering if I might find something else cool…maybe even along the lines of a God stamp. The feint star that had emerged for me is named Megrez. So I Googled Megrez (pronounced MEE-grez). I’m going to paste in below what I found:

The faintest star of the Big Dipper, Megrez is in the Dipper's middle, linking the handle to the bowl, and in the bigger picture linking Ursa Major's tail to the Bear's hindquarters. The name appropriately refers not to the Dipper, but to the Bear…

WE PICKED A STAR IN THE BEAR!!

Of course! I’m thinking we picked the right place to meet. And another God stamp for my collection.

Last month I attended the gala for Atrium Medical Center’s (the Middletown area’s hospital) foundation. Dana had worked a lot with and for the foundation—writing much of their newsletter and fund raising material over the last few years. And, she had helped plan this particular gala (it’s held only every three years, so it’s been in planning for a long time) and she had actually suggested the theme: Wish Upon a Star. I know...wow! The foundation invited me as their guest. This was a definite “run toward the fire” event. I enjoyed dinner with the foundation folks whom Dana loved and loved working with; and they loved Dana and loved working with her; I talked with our oncologist Albert Malcolm whom I hadn’t seen since Dane’s passing. He was glad to see me and expressed how much losing Dana affected him, his staff, and this community. I saw many other healthcare professionals who had been along our journey, not only as pros, but as friends. And I saw many longtime friends.

But I wasn’t prepared for this.

As I perused the items in the event’s silent auction I suddenly saw a sign: “In memory of Dana Shafer.” And there for auction was a basket of knitting, knitting books, and a copy of “Mud Pie Annie,” a children’s book Dana co-wrote with her mother. It was a step-back, take-the-glasses-off and boo-hoo-in-public moment. I didn’t even know the person who had put this together, but I met her before the evening was over. Jane and Dana had worked on the foundation together, but also had become friends through knitting. I was, quite simply, overwhelmed.

At one point in the hospital president’s address during the gala’s program, Doug McNeil said, “and our dreams come true when we wish upon a star.” At that line the entire room became a fantasia of stars reflecting everywhere that then set the atmosphere for the rest of the evening. The room was full of ooos and ahhhs. I wondered if that was Dana’s idea and I had a warm contentment that it was. As I left the banquet hall, the foundation’s director, Mike Stautberg, caught me and said, “I don’t think I told you, that starlight thing we did was Dana’s idea, too.”

I know my girl.

I will look to the stars. I will wish upon them. And I will meet Dane at the underdog Big Dipper star in The Bear.



I leave you with an image of the Big Dipper and The Great Bear (Ursa Major).

Biketour Recap...finally!

I am SOOO overdue with this post! I feel like I created a cliffhanger from the last post, setting up the adventurous New York City Biketour, and then … nothing!

In short, it was an incredible experience, and one that we’re all planning to do again. Things went off without a hitch: no bike equipment failure, no subway glitches with the bikes in getting to the start line, and no bodily injury!

Aaron (Cara’s husband), Phillip (Kirby’s boyfriend) and I awoke at 4:30 a.m. on Sunday to get our gear together and ride the subway from Brooklyn (we all stayed in Kirby’s apartment) into Manhattan. We exited the subway at City Hall Station, rode our bikes south about a mile (with Manhattan traffic, but at 6:00 a.m. on Sunday, it was light, and very fun) to near Battery Park, then followed signs north (riding past Ground Zero) to the start line, which for us was the intersection of Church and Chambers. We then waited for about an hour, and we were off.

When I am looking out over my Cannondale handle bars I'm usually seeing Ohio's Miami River, the Little Miami Bike Trail, and corn rows—straight corn rows in fact. This is all great scenery, but it’s not NYC. There is something surreal about seeing these same Cannondale handle bars in front of Radio City Music Hall, the Empire State Building, Central Park, the Brooklyn Bridge, the UN Building---and all without traffic. We also rode within a block of Times Square. The failed bomb attempt was the night before. It did not faze us 32,000 bike riders.

I certainly had some heavy, teary moments. It was an event Dane and I had talked about doing together, so it was impossible to avoid thinking about how much fun we would have had on this ride---scenery to observe, things to make fun of (gobs of bike helmet decorations), things to say “wow” to. There would have been lots of “helmet hugs,” which is either one of us saying to the other “give me some helmet” and then giving each other a gentle helmet bump.

Phillip rode Dane’s bike. At the end of the trip he commented “Dana was definitely with me,” noting how he has no idea how he was able to finish the 42-mile ride (and the uphill Verrazano Bridge at the end, the bridge that’s the start of the NYC Marathon, and the longest suspension bridge in the U.S., yes, even longer than the Golden Gate Bridge) without help since he had had no chance to do any training.

I had a great time with the buzzins (“beloved cousins”), Cara and Kirby. Lots of reminiscing. Lots of “Dane would have loved this” comments. On Saturday, we were joined by cousin-in-law Monica, the wife of Dane’s cousin Web who had passed away suddenly near last Memorial Day weekend. Monica lives nearby in New Jersey. It was great to see her, and to commiserate with each other on common pain. While we were all having a joyous dinner (carbing up for the ride the next day), we couldn’t help but think that Web and Dana were having some cousin party time of their own, and thinking “Monica, Barry and the Buzzins’ think they’re having fun now? Just wait! They have no idea!!”

I leave you with a few more pix from the event. You can see more by clicking the Shutterfly link on this blog page.

Riding toward the fire,
Barry

The Journey Takes a Tour

A tour through the five boroughs of New York City, in fact. Tomorrow I leave for the Big Apple with “buzzin” (beloved cousin) Cara and her husband Aaron. We’ll meet up with “other buzzin” Kirby (Cara’s sister) and her boyfriend Philip. Aaron, Philip and I will do the ride, with about 30,000 other bicycle riders---a 42 mile jaunt through all five boroughs (for you non-New-Yorkers, that’d be Manhattan, The Bronx, Queens, Brooklyn and Staten Island). So we’ll be riding through the canyons of Manhattan skyscrapers, the greenery of Central Park, and the neighborhoods and bridges of the other famous boroughs.

This is an official “run to the fire” event in several ways. Dana and I have loved New York City. We have loved our “buzzins.” And we have loved to bike. When we were first married some friends gave us some old bikes. They were 10-speeds, but old. We decided to see if we actually enjoyed biking before we decided to purchase new bikes. Before long, we were true biking enthusiasts. So our first, and perhaps only, high-end purchase as a couple was two Cannondale hybrid bikes (part road, part trail bikes; bikes that came to be affectionately known as “the ‘dales”) ….and they were 21-speed bikes! Soon biking was our outlet: the country roads of Preble County, the flat trails of converted rail lines (Ohio is sorta famous for those, and we have several in our area), the beaches near Seaside, Forida, and sometimes our neighborhood streets in the spring and fall.

Our rides became a staple of our relationship. We would talk. We would laugh. We would process. We would dream. We talked theology. We talked about Pud.

They also accentuated our differences. I liked to see how straight I could ride, thus promoting efficiency. Dane liked to swerve and curve, promoting asymmetry. I liked to avoid trail detritus. Dane loved to crunch, seeking twigs, leaves, etc., to snap under her tires. At times of silence, while we rode past nicely quaffed farm fields, Dane would be thinking about “the love” and I’d be wondering how they got those corn rows so straight. I liked wide open, sun drenched trails. Dane liked riding through the cool tunnels of overhanging trees. We both came to love and embrace each other’s riding philosophy, which was a great picture of our relationship.

Over the last couple of years our rides became a rebellion against all we were facing. “Take THAT chemo” we’d say, as we clicked off a 35-mile ride between Waynesville and Yellow Springs.

And so this Sunday I will be riding on my Cannondale. Aaron or Philip will be riding Dane’s. We’ll be riding in a tour that Dana and I had our eyes on doing together. We’ll be riding in a city Dana and I both loved. I can’t wait to spend time with Cara and Kirby and Aaron and Philip. We’ll remember our sweet Dane. We will laugh. We will cry. I will seek out some twigs to crunch, and will certainly be thinking about “the love.”

I will run to the fire. Or in this case, ride.

Lilac Day

Today was lilac day.

I’ve been watching them bud in our backyard. And I’ve been wondering: when will I try to smell a lilac? Lilacs have had a special place with Dane and me, and it’s been a deeply embedded fearful question through our entire cancer journey: What will I do if I ever have to smell a lilac without Dane?

First some back story. For me, I was first introduced to lilacs when my childhood pastor, Bro. Haney, gave my folks a lilac bush many, many years ago. As I think about it, not only did Bro. Haney introduce our family to the art of being a lifelong learner of faith (or at least me, the rest of the family may have already been there), he also introduced us (or at least me) to fine woodworking, bird watching, and lilacs. When he gave us the bush, which was years after he had moved on from our church, he said it would take a few years to bloom. Which it did…most of my high school and college years I think. And then it bloomed. And bloomed. And it introduced me to the compelling fragrance of lilac.

For Dana, her lilac roots go back to her elementary school days near Chicago. On a particular day in the spring the school would have “Lilac Day” and all the students would bring lilac branches and blooms from the bushes in their yards (or acquired surreptitiously from public parks). The entire school would smell of lilac—-for days! Those innocent days of elementary school and a fragrance filled school ingratiated Dana to the compelling fragrance of lilac.

And shortly after we were married and settled into Middletown, we found lilac. We were married in March, and by April we found a park (Sunset, for you Middletown friends) that was lined with lilac bushes. We would drive to the park several times a spring to “take a hit” of lilac. And then 10 years ago we moved to a neighborhood within walking distance of that very park. But bonus upon bonus, our house had MANY lilac bushes, which were unbeknownst to us, having bought the house in the leaf-barren days of late fall! Of course, every spring we still made our trek (by foot, by bike, by van) to Sunset park for the “official” sniff of spring. And this included the spring Dane was first diagnosed with breast cancer 10 yeas ago…the spring we moved to within walking distance of the park, in fact.

And so, every spring of our married life we’ve made some sort of pilgrimage to the park. Since breast cancer round one, it was also our one time to declare something along the lines of: “Alive another year to smell the lilacs.” Even when we weren’t in the middle of a breast cancer battle, we knew we faced uncertainty. We didn’t talk about it much. But when we smelled the lilacs, we let ourselves go there.

And so today, I stopped and took my “official” sniff. It wasn’t planned. It was spontaneous. I had already taken some practice sniffs with the bushes in our yard. I had driven past the park on an errand run and noticed the flowers were about three-fourths bloomed. On my return trip I simply said, “What the heck.” I stopped the van and sniffed.

I’ve learned how to cry-drive, cry-ski, cry-golf (sort of), and cry-talk. But you really can’t cry-sniff. You sort of drown when you combine those activities. So I pretty much took a sniff, and just cried. It was a good cry. And a very sad cry.

Had we actually had an opportunity to process life and death the way Dane and Bear processed everything else, I would have asked “What should I do when I smell a lilac?” I had actually been thinking about that question for a long time. But I can see now it wouldn’t have mattered what Dane might have suggested.

There’s no good teaching point or God stamp moment on this story. It simply stands at face value. I will say, it was good to smell the lilac.

Love to all,
Barry

P.S. I just noticed a new comment on the blog asking how my Sunday morning talk went at the golf event; the comment made me realize I did leave that one hanging. I think things went pretty well. I feel that, despite myself, I said what I was supposed to say (and despite being distracted by my little travel clock I had put on the podium, forgetting the clock was 10 minutes fast!) and received a good portion of gracious encouragement from the folks who were part of the service. In fact, just today I received a note from Dan, the NCCAA director, thanking me for my words and sharing that God was still moving through the words and experience. As an FYI, Dan noted that he saw two deer in the woods off his deck a couple days earlier, saying that he will never look at deer the same since that talk. Also, his wife Kelly sent me a pix from the event showing over 50 pelicans in “gratitude” formation. I love those two people.

I’m up for letting God use this journey however He’d like to use it, if at all. The golf event was a gracious cocoon to help me get to that point.

God Stamps Continue

In my last post I talked briefly about the golf event I attended over my and Dana’s anniversary weekend. I wanted to add a little more info and share YET ANOTHER God stamp that occurred that weekend. It wasn’t all just cosmically bad golf.

The organization hosting the event was the National Christian College Athletic Association (NCCAA), a great group that provides national affiliations, tournaments and missions trips for small Christian colleges across the country. This event, which I’ve attended three other times over the years, is a fund raiser for the organization. They bring in PGA pro golfers to play with us amateurs. It’s a great group of folks who I have come to love and appreciate over the years. The director Dan and his wife Kelly are walking forces of encouragement. In fact, I had cleared my InWord speaking slate for the spring/summer, but this event bubbled up in recent months and seemed a good thing to do.

My task at the event was to share the message during the Sunday morning worship service. Of course the only subject material that seemed appropriate to share was to talk out of my and Dana’s journey and to relate the wonderful God stamps that He mercifully graced us with along the way.

That seemed like a doable task.

But the Saturday evening prior to my sharing on Sunday, I was hit with the enormity of what I was planning to share. I had stepped out on our fourth floor balcony to collect my thoughts, which went something like this: Other than the Carepages and this blog, I had yet to share publicly (in “speaking form”) about this journey. I realized there on the balcony that, not only had I not spoken about this journey, I had NEVER spoken about something so personal, something so deep. I also realized that I was sharing my take on some very obvious movements from God—the God stamps (the rainbow and the deer). I was overwhelmed with the thought that I was not up for this task. I even felt a wisp of loneliness, I think because I realized that if anything is to be shared from this journey, I am the one who is to share it. Without Dane. It’s OUR journey, but now….

After actually saying out loud the words “I am not up for this task,” I turned and looked at the fountain below—a fountain I had actually “cursed” a bit because its fountain noise kept us from hearing the God-made ocean noise just a few hundred feet away.

And that’s when I something special in the spray of the fountain. You can see it in the picture at the top of this blog. I grabbed my friend Dave’s camera and snapped this picture, using the last remaining space on his memory card.

It gave me some resolve. And I might add, or you might recall, that the Saturday this happened was our anniversary day. Nice touch, God.

If you’re new to this blog and not sure why a rainbow in a fountain would be so significant, you may want to scroll through the blog archives to February and check out the post “Where is God?”

As you can tell, He is SO with us.

Love to all,
Barry

Golf, Grief, and God Stamps

In case you were wondering, golf and grief do not mix (see previous post for why this would be a question). I was wondering if the golf trip over my and Dana’s anniversary (March 20) would be a distraction or if the golf would cosmically stink. Unfortunately, it was the latter. My golf partners and friends David, Ethan and Scott were more than patient and gracious. The phrase of the trip: “We’re just helping you survive this weekend.” Which they did.

With the support of these great friends as well as the encouragement of the folks hosting the event, I also received a couple more gracious stamps from God—assurance that He is with all of us in this journey. On Saturday morning, THE anniversary day, I took a walk on the beach (yes, we were golfing along the ocean). I didn’t know what kind of walk it would be. I thought it might be reflective, or hopeful, or maybe restorative. I didn’t expect it to be doubled-over wail crying. The distance between the anniversary of our wedding day and the way things are now is simply an unbearable gap. So, I sort of scuffled along the beach.

At some point I simply said, “Okay Bear, get ahold of yourself.” This led me to walk a stretch trying to simply be thankful. That worked for awhile, but it would go something like this: “Thank you God for 30 years of friendship and 17 incredible years of marriage…17 great years…17 years…only 17…why only 17!!!” And then I would have to regroup. Finally, and knowing it was time to get ready for golf, I found myself declaring this statement of resolve: “I will live this day in gratitude.” I stretched out my arms, I turned toward the sea, and then I saw 4 pelicans skimming the water toward me in the exact same arm stretch. If you’ve ever seen pelicans do this, you know what I mean. Thank you God.

As I walked back toward the beach access steps, I thought, “It sure would be nice to see a deer right now, or a rainbow.” The deer of course is out of the question on the beach and it was a “severe clear” morning. No chance for a rainbow. Then my mind recalled a note I received from my friend Lisa this past January. Her husband Jerry passed away suddenly this past August after a battle with a virus. They were in Florida to leave on a cruise with Lisa’s family. Her note was in response to my writings on rainbows and deer God-stamps. She commented on how God uses “tangibles” to assure us of His presence. For her it was dolphins and “angel formations” in the clouds. She and Jerry loved to watch for dolphins on their beach vacations. And while she cared for him in Florida, she would take walks on the beach and dolphins (along with angel cloud formations) would make “unusual” appearances at just the right time.

As soon as Lisa’s dolphin God-stamp entered my mind I thought, “Now seeing a dolphin right now would sure be…” I turned to the sea…and there they were. First I saw one. Then I asked God for a confirmation to be sure I wasn’t making it up. Then I saw another, and another. All three were making perfect, smooth “wheelhouse” movements in the waves. I laughed. I actually laughed. And then I clapped and said to no one around, “Nicely done.”

When you think about it, dolphins are the deer of the beach.

And then, later that day (anniversary day, remember) as we were playing golf, on or around hole 12, I heard bells. At first I thought they might simply be bells from a community carillon and I dismissed them (so that I could try to salvage a golf round and not be a basket case). Then I noticed they were playing “The Old Rugged Cross.” These were definitely church bells. On the golf course. Beside the ocean. I finished the hole, pretty much in tears. I basket-cased my way through the next par 3and then dedicated the drive on the next hole to Dane. It was perfect. It was pretty much my only good drive of that day, and maybe the best of the weekend for me.

(For an explanation on the significance of deer and church bells, you may want to view this post: http://ajourneyobserved.blogspot.com/2010/01/deer-story.html).

Stay tuned for more to come from this past weekend.

And by the way, Dana's mascot picking strategy would have picked the Northern Iowa PANTHERS upset over the Number 1 Kansas cartoon-like JAYHAWKS. However, she probably would have picked the UNLV Runnin' REBELS to beat the PANTHERS in Round 1 (rebels always win…But UNLV isn't a southern rebel, it’s a wannabe rebel from Nevada. So she may have gone with the predatory cat on that one).

Love to all,
Barry

Brackets and Anniversaries

I’m just going to say it. My and Dana’s wedding anniversary is this Saturday, March 20. (Thus, the purple tulips above.) Of all the dates, of all the firsts, of all the obstacles to overcome, this one is looming to be the hardest. And I think it will be the hardest from now until the day I get to join Dane in heaven. March 20 represents so much. It was the most perfect (if anything can be “most perfect”) wedding day that anyone could ever enjoy. It was the culmination (and launching) of an incredible love story (more on that in subsequent posts).

And it was in the middle of March Madness.

But back to March 20. That date rings more true than my own birthday. I developed a warm affinity to that date because it was the day I got to bring into my life the only person I ever really wanted to spend the rest of my life with. There was hardly a day in our marriage that I didn’t think “I can’t believe I got to marry Dana.” Because of all my years of “unrequited love,” Dana jokingly occasionally commented that she hoped I never experienced “buyer’s remorse.” Not a chance. That comment was always followed up with the observation that we have one of the top five loves of all time.

I’m actually going to be in Palm Coast, FL, on March 20…playing in (and speaking at) a golf fund raising event for the National Christian College Athletic Association, a great group of folks. And I’m heading down there with some good friends: Scott, David and David’s son Ethan. So the golf (which is near the beach) will either be a good distraction, or I will cosmically stink at playing.

Back to March Madness.

While I’m not a bracket maniac (though I am a casual enthusiast), I did casually mention on Day 5 of our honeymoon (in Charleston, SC, perfect honeymoon spot) the idea of having some basketball on in the background one evening (this would have been Thursday). As you might expect, this wasn’t entirely understood, and I didn’t press it. Through the years we joked about the parallel between our wedding date and “the brackets” (as Dane referred to the tournament). Dana was never a sports person, but over the past few years began to embrace “the brackets.” In fact, three years ago she and I were our own “group” on the CBS bracket web site. The next year we expanded to include a few family members. I can’t tell you how much fun we had in filling out brackets, especially when rank and records were NOT the primary criteria, but rather mascots and colors. So, as a tribute to Dane, and a nod the “the brackets” we’ll all be seeing for the next few weeks, I give you Dana’s NCAA bracket selection criteria:

A TRIBUTE: DANA'S SELECTION CRITERIA
1. Anything with a rebel mascot (as in the South's Gonna Rise Again) was always a win;
2. Warrior-types beat just about anybody, except of course, rebels.
3. Devils/demons were always losers;
4. After a rebel, any kind of cat was a win;
5. Real-like animals trumped cartoon-like animals (like the Kansas Jayhawk).
6. Birds are usually losers unless it is a bird of prey;
7. The food chain was often employed for animal mascot match ups
8. If a mascot was indeterminate (a Zag??), it usually didn't stand a chance.
9. In case of a draw regarding criteria, it might come down to some sensible reasoning between mascots: A Badger will eat a Buckeye (to my chagrin); or even school colors (her preference).

I will appreciate your thoughts and prayers for this March 20 (and wouldn’t you know, it’s a Saturday). Meanwhile, God continues to be close to the brokenhearted. Psalm 34 rings true.

More soon, and love to all,

Barry