Memorial Information

Linda's Memorial Service is scheduled for Wednesday, May 20 at 11 am, with a type of meet and chat or whatever it's called starting at 10am, at St. Michael's Catholic Church in Roscommon, MI. There will be a luncheon immediately following at the church.

We are asking that instead of flowers, if you could, please make a donation to Hospice of Helping Hands, located in West Branch, MI (866-446-7742). Linda adored her team and the care she received from them.

Another Update.

This is Jennie again.

Mom passed away on Wednesday, May 13, at 3:44 a.m.

We haven't been able to arrange her memorial service because her priest is out of town until tonight but since I've heard from some of you, I wanted to update this.

There will be more information as I receive it.

An Update Regarding Linda

This is Jennie, Linda's daughter.

Linda is in the final stage of her battle and I wanted to let you, her friends, know. She ended chemotherapy in January and entered the Hospice program. Since then, she has fought in her way but, barring some sort of miracle, this battle is soon finished.

Some of you have spoken to her on the phone and others I have no phone number or contact information for, so please comment here or send your information to jcelacks@gmail.com if you could. I would greatly appreciate it.

On a Rainy June Day . . .

Let me tell you, it's been overcast, stormy and rainy for days . . . even the ducks have had enough! Our hummingbirds aren't coming to their feeder as often and I miss the little creatures. Every morning when I get up, I enjoy watching the red-headed woodpeckers (which seem to be the earliest risers in the bird kingdom) but even they seem to be sleeping in on these gloomy mornings.

I've never minded days like this ~ I've always thought they're quite cozy. They seem perfect for lounging in your favorite chair with a good book, for writing that long-overdue letter to your best friend, listening to music and letting your thoughts drift where they may, baking a batch of double-fudge brownies, or just letting the "drowsies" overcome you and enjoying a sweet mid-afternoon nap.

However, after "enjoying" several of these days in succession, I'm ready for blue skies and sunshine! I know I shouldn't complain when many areas of the country have been subjected to horrifying tornadoes, flooding; people have been injured and killed, and thousands have lost their homes and all their possessions. The death and destruction caused by the cyclone and earthquake on the other side of the world are too horrid to contemplate. How do a few gloomy days compare to that? I guess this, like so many other things, just goes to prove that there's always someone else who's in a worse situation than we are. It helps to appreciate our lives if we keep that in mind.

The only one who doesn't seem to mind these wet days is Daisy, the newest member of our family. Rain or shine, she's out there stalking chipmunks, squirrels and any other creature that happens by. She is so determined! She'll sit motionless for hours staring up at a squirrel in a tree. Sometimes you wonder if she's trying to devise a way to fly up there. Nothing would surprise me about this silly canine. She eventually comes running into the house muddy and dripping wet and, of course, the first thing she wants to do is jump in my lap! Casey, wise senior that he is, prefers to stay inside, beg for attention or food or take a snugly nap in his climate-controlled environment.

But, to tell you the truth, the weather isn't the only thing that's been mopey around here. The oral chemotherapy I mentioned to you last time is really taking its toll on me. I can't stand the sight of most food (even my long-time favorites) and the taste is not even to be discussed! Top that off with frequent nausea, vomiting and diarrhea, and you have a time when it's difficult to think positively. But . . . you have to remind yourself that better times are coming and concentrate on those thoughts . . . otherwise this battle wouldn't be worth it. The worst thing you can do is allow yourself to focus for any length of time on the negative aspects of treatment. Of course, there are times when you fall into the self-pity trap but you can't afford to stay there long. And, even on the worst day, there are hundreds of positive things to concentrate on if only you let yourself. The battle is as much keeping your spirits up as it is fighting cancer.

So, the way I see it, just as the rain won't last forever, neither will the bad effects of this dastardly drug I'm taking. : )

However, I am beginning to understand how someone with anorexia nervosa must feel when people try to make him or her eat. You know you need to but it's the last thing in the world you want to do. You feel like running away screaming. But, alas, you aren't strong enough to run fast or far! LOL

Now that I'm having much less trouble with my vision, I've gone back to reading quite a bit. It's nice to be able to enjoy a good book again. I just finished one about a Vermont farm and all its resident animals. You know what an animal lover I am and I really had a great time reading about the dogs, donkeys, sheep, cows, an old barn cat and, yes, even a rooster named Winston and his harem! Every animal has its own personality and it was fun to read about their escapades.

I've also been having fun with my new laptop - it makes it so much easier communicating with you guys, along with the other things I used to do on my PC. Sitting at my desk got so uncomfortable that I seldom used the computer but now that I can type from my comfy chair, it's much more enjoyable. I don't feel so out it now that I can keep up with what's going on in the Internet world.

Well guys, gotta go for now since it's time to (GASP) eat! It's only under duress that I agree to this, you understand. ; )

Have a wonderful day and I'll talk with you again soon . . .

'til next time . . . look for the sunshine in your life.

Linda

Sorry it's been so long . . .

You may have been wondering what happened to me. If you were worried, I'm sorry. As they say, life happens!

As a brief recap . . .

The holidays were lovely with lots of time spent with family.

In January, we adopted a new member into our family. Her name is Daisy and she's a 3 year-old mixed breed. She looks mostly like a pit bull with a setter tail. LOL I was a little concerned about her pit bull heritage but she's extremely affectionate and loving . . . not at all aggressive unless you happen to be a chipmunk, squirrel, or a downspout where a chipmunk may be hiding! She and Casey get along well and he's happy to have a companion again. He was quite mopey after we lost Chessie.

February brought the unwanted news that the tumors had begun to grow again. Then, I had just begun on a new drug regimen in March when they discovered I had developed a brain tumor in the right frontal lobe. That required a series of 15 radiation treatments given daily except on weekends and the temporary cessation of chemo. I was really astounded at how debilitating radiation turned out to be. My oncologist told me it would make me exhausted and that's why I couldn't continue the IV chemo during the treatments but I had no idea just HOW bad it would be. I lost all strength in my legs and really had a hard time walking. Either the treatment or the weakness affected my equilibrium and eyesight. Of course, I lost all of my hair again - but this time only on my head. It was a scary and unpleasant ordeal to say the least. However, at least they were able to treat the tumor and that's a lot to be grateful for.

The downside of this is that my oncologist says my brain will never be the same again. At times I have a lot of trouble collecting my thoughts and there are many times when I can't think of the words I want to use. No one can say how much of this will be permanent. I have to admit I hate being a "dullard" but I suppose there are worse things. ; ) One of them is the fact that since one tumor has metastasized to the brain, I may get others. : ( But, like everything else concerning this disease, we'll just have to wait and see and always hope for the best.

In April, I started on an oral chemo where I just take a pill a day with no IV treatments. This is supposed to be easier on my body that the latter. However, it has a really negative effect on my digestive system and I find it very hard to eat. Unlike the infusion chemo, this is fed into your body every day and you never get a break from it . . . with the other, there are days when you don't have to worry about side effects. But . . . if it works, I guess I won't complain. I'll be having scans and an MRI at the end of June to find out if the radiation and this new medication have been effective. Please pray for a good outcome!

My family has been my salvation through all of this. I don't know what I would have done without them. They've waited on me, forced me to walk when I didn't want to, kept my spirits up and have just generally been my guardian angels. I thank them with all my heart.

Many of you havc also served as my personal angels with your cards, emails and calls. I can't thank you enough for your care and concern. It's all helped so much! I will never forget your kindness.

And finally . . .

I have scads more to tell you about but not enough energy to do it today. I have a new laptop which makes it easier for me to communicate with you so I hope to be around a lot more.

'til next time . . . You're all in my thoughts and prayers.

Something to think about . . .

This is an outstanding testimony from Tony Snow, President Bush's Press Secretary, and his fight with cancer. Commentator and broadcaster Tony Snow announced that he had colon cancer in 2005. Following surgery and chemo-therapy, Snow joined the Bush Administration in April 2006 as press secretary. Unfortunately, on March 23, 2007, Snow, 51, a husband and father of three, announced the cancer had recurred, with tumors found in his abdomen,- leading to surgery in April, followed by more chemotherapy. Snow went back to work in the White House Briefing Room on May 30, but has resigned since, "for economic reasons," and to pursue " other interests." It needs little intro... it speaks for itself.

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"Blessings arrive in unexpected packages, - in my case, cancer. Those of us with potentially fatal diseases - and there are millions in America today - find ourselves in the odd position of coping with our mortality while trying to fathom God's will. Although it would be the height of presumption to declare with confidence "What It All Means," Scripture provides powerful hints and consolations.

The first is that we shouldn't spend too much time trying to answer the "why" questions: Why me? Why must people suffer? Why can't someone else get sick? We can't answer such things, and the questions themselves often are designed more to express our anguish than to solicit an answer.

I don't know why I have cancer, and I don't much care. It is what it is, a plain and indisputable fact. Yet even while staring into a mirror darkly, great and stunning truths begin to take shape. Our maladies define a central feature of our existence: We are fallen. We are imperfect. Our bodies give out.

But despite this, - or because of it, - God offers the possibility of salvation and grace. We don't know how the narrative of our lives will end, but we get to choose how to use the interval between now and the moment we meet our Creator face-to-face.

Second, we need to get past the anxiety. The mere thought of dying can send adrenaline flooding through your system. A dizzy, unfocused panic seizes you. Your heart thumps; your head swims. You think of nothingness and swoon. You fear partings; you worry about the impact on family and friends. You fidget and get nowhere.

To regain footing, remember that we were born not into death, but into life,- and that the journey continues after we have finished our days on this earth. We accept this on faith, but that faith is nourished by a conviction that stirs even within many non believing hearts - an intuition that the gift of life, once given, cannot be taken away. Those who have been stricken enjoy the special privilege of being able to fight with their might, main, and faith to live fully, richly, exuberantly - no matter how their days may be numbered.

Third, we can open our eyes and hearts. God relishes surprise. We want lives of simple, predictable ease,- smooth, even trails as far as the eye can see, - but God likes to go off-road. He provokes us with twists and turns. He places us in predicaments that seem to defy our endurance; and comprehension - and yet don't. By His love and grace, we persevere. The challenges that make our hearts leap and stomachs churn invariably strengthen our faith and grant measures of wisdom and joy we would not experience otherwise.

'You Have Been Called'. Picture yourself in a hospital bed. The fog of anesthesia has begun to wear away. A doctor stands at your feet, a loved one holds your hand at the side. "It's cancer," the healer announces.

The natural reaction is to turn to God and ask him to serve as a cosmic Santa. "Dear God, make it all go away. Make everything simpler." But another voice whispers: "You have been called." Your quandary has drawn you closer to God, closer to those you love, closer to the issues that matter,- and has dragged into insignificance the banal concerns that occupy our "normal time.

"There's another kind of response, although usually short-lived an inexplicable shudder of excitement, as if a clarifying moment of calamity has swept away everything trivial and tiny, and placed before us the challenge of important questions.

The moment you enter the Valley of the Shadow of Death, things change. You discover that Christianity is not something doughy, passive, pious, and soft. Faith may be the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. But it also draws you into a world shorn of fearful caution. The life of belief teems with thrills, boldness, danger, shocks, reversals, triumphs, and epiphanies. Think of Paul, traipsing through the known world and contemplating trips to what must have seemed the antipodes (Spain), shaking the dust from his sandals, worrying not about the morrow, but only about the moment.

There's nothing wilder than a life of humble virtue, - for it is through selflessness and service that God wrings from our bodies and spirits the most we ever could give, the most we ever could offer, and the most we ever could do.

Finally, we can let love change everything. When Jesus was faced with the prospect of crucifixion, he grieved not for himself, but for us. He cried for Jerusalem before entering the holy city. From the Cross, he took on the cumulative burden of human sin and weakness, and begged for forgiveness on our behalf.

We get repeated chances to learn that life is not about us, that we acquire purpose and satisfaction by sharing in God's love for others. Sickness gets us part way there. It reminds us of our limitations and dependence. But it also gives us a chance to serve the healthy. A minister friend of mine observes that people suffering grave afflictions often acquire the faith of two people, while loved ones accept the burden of two peoples' worries and fears.

'Learning How to Live'. Most of us have watched friends as they drifted toward God's arms, not with resignation, but with peace and hope. In so doing, they have taught us not how to die, but how to live. They have emulated Christ by transmitting the power and authority of love.

I sat by my best friend's bedside a few years ago as a wasting cancer took him away. He kept at his table a worn Bible and a 1928 edition of the Book of Common Prayer. A shattering grief disabled his family, many of his old friends, and at least one priest. Here was an humble and very good guy, someone who apologized when he winced with pain because he thought it made his guest uncomfortable. He retained his equanimity and good humor literally until his last conscious moment. "I'm going to try to beat [this cancer]," he told me several months before he died. "But if I don't, I'll see you on the other side.

"His gift was to remind everyone around him that even though God doesn't promise us tomorrow, he does promise us eternity, - filled with life and love we cannot comprehend, - and that one can in the throes of sickness point the rest of us toward timeless truths that will help us weather future storms.

Through such trials, God bids us to choose: Do we believe, or do we not? Will we be bold enough to love, daring enough to serve, humble enough to submit, and strong enough to acknowledge our limitations? Can we surrender our concern in things that don't matter so that we might devote our remaining days to things that do?

When our faith flags, he throws reminders in our way. Think of the prayer warriors in our midst. They change things, and those of us who have been on the receiving end of their petitions and intercessions know it. It is hard to describe, but there are times when suddenly the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and you feel a surge of the Spirit. Somehow you just know: Others have chosen, when talking to the Author of all creation, to lift us up, - to speak of us!

This is love of a very special order. But so is the ability to sit back and appreciate the wonder of every created thing. The mere thought of death somehow makes every blessing vivid, every happiness more luminous and intense. We may not know how our contest with sickness will end, but we have felt the ineluctable touch of God.

What is man that Thou art mindful of him? We don't know much, but we know this: No matter where we are, no matter what we do, no matter how bleak or frightening our prospects, each and every one of us who believe, each and every day, lies in the same safe and impregnable place, in the hollow of God's hand." T. Snow

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Special thanks to Mary Dassinger for sharing this message.

'til next time . . . Remember that "Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away. "

Saying goodbye . . .

Our Loving and Loyal Companion

Chessie

Yesterday was a very sad day here. We were forced to have Chessie put to sleep. The last week or so had been very hard for her as she lost further strength in her legs and and found it harder and harder to get up or walk. Dave and I had been helping her get up from a sitting position but it got to the point where she wasn't able to walk very far without falling again. She was very brave about it but it finally it became obvious that she was suffering and not enjoying any quality of life. We didn't want that for her.

Her loss has left a void in our hearts and in our home. It doesn't seem right for her not to be here. Casey cried when we came in without her and looked all over for her. He's been very quiet and wants even more attention than usual. I'm sure he senses our sadness and also misses his pal.

Chessie went through a lot in her life. She was epileptic and suffered grand mal seizures until we found the right medicine. When she was younger she got into a battle with a porcupine and lost. She had to have two surgeries to remove all the quills in her nose. Then she developed arthritis in her hind hips. Finally, she went into renal failure.

She was very brave through everything. In fact, the thing that bothered her most wasn't pain but thunder! The booming scared her and she always wanted to stay close to me with her head hidden, either under a table or beneath my desk. She would tremble and be very uncomfortable until the storm passed.

She loved going for walks and sniffing everything she could find along the way. She loved to play in snowbanks and dig for chipmunks. She also loved pizza crust, sausage, tuna and her family.

We'll never forget Chessie and all the love, loyalty, companionship and joy she brought to us. And we hope she's now in a place where she can again run and play without pain.

We love you, Chess.

***********

Other than for feeling very sad, I'm doing well. I've had two of the new treatments now and haven't suffered any side effects at all. My hair is still hanging in there and continues to grow at a snail's pace . . . but, at least it is growing. There is no bone pain with this particular drug and so that's a real relief. Neither does it change the flavor of food like the first one did so I haven't lost my appetite. We'll find out in December how effective it is ~ that's when I have my next set of CAT scans.

I'm knitting a new cozy afghan for the winter. The yarn is very soft and the pattern in such that there will be no openings for toes to sneak out. I can picture myself wrapped up in it's warmth when the snow comes. I've also been reading ~ big surprise there, huh? My mother and I took a day and went a little farther north to look for elk. We'd hoped to find them in the wild but that wasn't to be. We finally went to a reserve where they have elk and six different kinds of deer. It was very interesting and we had a good day. The scenery was beautiful and it was a warm day ~ perfect for out adventure.

I mentioned that my high school class celebrated it's 45th reunion last month. Even though I wasn't able to go, I've heard from several of my old classmates since and it's really been fun catching up. It's interesting to see what they've been doing with their lives since high school. I'm hoping we'll be able to stay in touch now because there's no friend like an old friend.

Well guys, that's about all the news I have for this time. I hope you'll keep me in your prayers. Thanks for reading.

'til next time . . . hug your furkids every day.