Tag: Grandma

Girl, Tell Your Story

October 11, 2022 / Shari Baar / 0 Comments

Dear Daughters,

Last week I received a book in the mail written by an author living in Walla Walla, Washington (such a delightful name for a city). Brooke Thonney has a story which at different times made me laugh, cry and sometimes shudder. Growing up near Los Angeles, Brooke was raised in a family of domestic abuse, addiction, adultery and divorce. Before she was old enough to know what drugs and alcohol were, she knew their smell and effects on her mom and dad. When she was three her parents divorced, throwing her life into further chaos, dysfunction and confusion.

As in many stories of children coming from such homes, they in turn grow up living the same behavior patterns as their parents before them. When Brooke was in high school, she came home one day to see her mom sitting on the curb in handcuffs and later taken to jail. She was sent to live with her dad and his girlfriend, all three of them soon evicted from their home. Brooke started living the same lifestyle she had seen in her family of origin and by 19 she was a single mom and a college dropout.

But the story doesn’t get worse from there, it gets better. Brooke has a praying grandmother, who had been sexually abused by her own father for years, her voice silenced for a time because of threats and lies from him. Virginia, her grandmother, led Brooke to Christ and told her that she had determined not to let her dad destroy the rest of her life, and that Brooke had the same choice going forward.

For years Brooke had been silenced by her parents, her friends, her fiancée, her Youth Pastor, and many others who figured her background was too broken to be transformed into anything good. The enemy constantly fed her lies as well. Because of all the betrayal and slander flung her way, she began to distrust people as well as God Himself. In her mind the lies and questions of doubts were relentless,

Can God really be trusted?

Did He really speak those words of love and affirmation….to me?

Does He even care about me and all my problems?

Why would God let people do such hurtful things to me?

I am Irredeemable.

I am worthless.

I am rejected.

I am silenced.

Then Brooke started listening to God’s voice instead of voices from her past.

Where Brooke saw trash, God saw treasure.

Where Brooke saw junk, God saw jewels.

Where Brooke saw brokenness, God saw freedom from bondage.

When she decided to listen to God’s promises of truth, her life started changing:

God uses the brokenness of our lives to prepare us for what He has called us to do

and to reveal our destiny.

We were designed and created to use our voices in a dark world

to bring life to everything and everyone around us.

Because of her past abuse, Brooke was hyper-vigilant in protecting her daughters from the same abuse she had received as a child. Then one night she had a vision…

I saw myself standing in a dark, hostile wilderness. In one hand I was gripping a machete and with the other I was holding back Ellie and my second daughter Claire to protect them from whatever lay ahead. I saw myself slashing right and left with the machete, lashing out at everything around me. I couldn’t see anything in front of me because of the darkness, and I was desperate to protect my kids from whatever was out there. I was breathing hard, drenched by sweat and blinded by rain and deep darkness. I was inching forward, one step at a time, machete at the ready to protect us. I had no path, no plan, no directions to follow. I was in survival mode with my girls and would fight anything to keep us safe. Then the vision ended…

In an amazing transformation, Brooke learned to allow God to be her protector and defender instead of fighting the never-ending battle herself. It was a process, but she has come to trust her Heavenly Father to care for her most treasured possessions – her husband Andrew and their four daughters.

Brooke’s grandma continued to encourage her to tell her story of ashes being exchanged for beauty. I’m thankful she is using her voice after being silenced for so many years – not only for her sake, but giving hope to many others who have walked a similar tormented path as she.

Love, Mom

One Year Later…

December 17, 2017 / Shari Baar / 0 Comments

Dear Daughters,

We buried Grandma a year ago today.

Last December, the doorbell was ringing often. Grandma lay near the end of her life, quiet, unresponsive and calm. Hospice workers came in the front door along with gusts of snow and wind, coming to comfort us and Grandma, answering our questions and reminding us that death is not an emergency.

It seems so long ago that she was at the piano playing a myriad of tunes, many learned half-a -century earlier and still played by memory, even though she didn’t know my name or the fact that I was her daughter. How I loved laying on the couch listening and simply being her audience of one.

The delicate sweet whistling we had listened to for years is gone, yet still strong and alive in my memory, show tunes, hymns, children’s songs…

Every time I set the table now, which used to be Grandma’s job, I see her in my mind as she painstakingly counted and sometimes recounted the four knives, four spoons, forks, napkins and plates. She did her job well even when it was difficult, always wanting to do her part, willing to help just as a little child trying to please her mother.

I think about the heritage Grandma has left behind. There are many memories of kindness, the giving of herself, of faithfulness and always remembering others. She never forgot a birthday or anniversary – until her mind started dimming. She was continually giving value to the important days in others’ lives.

There were no decorations in the house last year because celebrating Christmas when Grandma was dying just didn’t seem right. This year I decorated simply, finding some of her artwork from decades ago.

A group of us went with Grandpa to her gravesite today, remembering, mourning and then celebrating the many years of giving and living that those remembrances provide.

It would be easy to look at the gravestone and think she is gone from this life. And in a way it’s true. Yet it is important to look through her life, see all that Grandma has given to us, passed on to us – her children and grandchildren. The gifts she has given are immense. Yes, she has failed in many ways, just as we all have. But she lived a life of gentleness, generosity, musicality and compassion, trusting in Jesus to safely bring her home.

Grandma, as well as all of us, live in a Story – a Story that started thousands of years ago, a Story that countless generations have passed through. We are all a part of that Story – beginning from the garden in Eden to the great coming again of Jesus Christ.

We are not, as many people believe, simply repeating endlessly the cycle of birth and death, heading nowhere. We have a heavenly home toward which we are hiking by faith, a path which millions of other pilgrims like ourselves have walked, giving us strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow.

I sometimes think it would be good for us, at times, to ponder our lives and wonder about our own eulogy – what others will speak about us someday. Will our life be remembered for our generous giving, for our kind words – or as a life full of complaining, bitterness and accumulating?

Grandma has been in heaven now for over a year. I can only imagine what she has seen and experienced in that time, but I do know that it must be beyond my wildest dreams.

Let’s face it, our life here on earth is hard; it’s a battle against evil every day of our lives. But if we look at the little blip of time we are here compared to the eons we will spend in eternity, it is only a quick moment, a blink of an eye.

Give thanks for those who have gone before us, yet keep your eyes on the glorious future that awaits you.

Love, Mom

Remembering…

March 1, 2017 / Shari Baar / 5 Comments

Dear Daughters,

Today I started cleaning out Grandma’s closet. Shoes, black snow boots, her favorite fuzzy slippers, tee-shirts with musical notes embroidered, pants with elastic waistbands, a shoe stretcher, her fluffy pink bathrobe –so many of them causing me to remember when she wore them and what she did while wearing them. Her lovely blue jacket when she played piano at recitals, and her old work clothes for gardening, walking shoes….

Almost three months have passed since Grandma has walked the halls of her home. It’s lonely walking down the lane by myself. When I play the piano I have no audience to listen, to clap when I’m finished playing a song, no accompanying whistler as I play. I’m growing accustomed to life as it is now, but it is different.

I know Grandma is rejoicing in heaven and I’m celebrating with her, yet her memories will continue to be with me every day for the rest of my life.

How can someone forget their mom?

A few days ago, Mariah sent me a poem she had written about Grandma.

Remembering You

I am nothing to you

Not now anyways

For all you know

I am simply another person

Living somewhere

Out in the world

You used to remember

Who I was

And where you were

You used to play

Everyday

And whistle

As though it were

Your second language

You used to go on walks

And water the flowers

You used to be

So full of life

And energy

And happiness

But now

You’ve forgotten

How to talk to the birds

Your hands

Have left the ivory cold

And the plants you watered

Are beginning to wilt

The road you once walked

Is now empty

Devoid of life

The doors you opened

Are now closed

But no matter

Where you are

Or how you have changed us

I pray

That the birds won’t forget

Your songs

Your call

Nor the piano

Your music

I pray

That the roads you have traveled

Will remember your journey

And the closed doors

Are never forgotten

But most of all

That the people you met

Will never forget you

The legacy you left behind

The music you gave us

The memories you were a part of

Grandma

Thank you

For all you’ve given us

For all you’ve left behind

Thank you Grandma

Thank you

~ Mariah Potoka, age 14

Thanks, my dear granddaughter Mariah, for reminding me once again how important each one of our lives are. Even though we may think of our life stories as insignificant, the decisions we make today will affect others tomorrow, next week, next year – and to generations beyond.

It’s not the big impressive things we do, but the thousand unremarkable steps we take every day that make a beautiful life.

Ann Voskamp calls it living a life of holy redundancy – showing up faithfully day after day in the seemingly little things.

That’s what Grandma did. She loved the same man for 66 years, walked down the lane and beyond with a plastic bag in hand picking up trash from the ditches. She played and taught from her beloved piano for hours, bringing pleasure to herself and thousands of others. Every day she would faithfully make meals for us – my favorite macaroni and cheese, and my gagging worst – liver with onions, which I would slip to the dog under the table.

I know some days you feel like walking away from responsibility, turning your back on those who have hurt you, who haven’t appreciated all your sacrifice and love. But Jesus sees your heart and is there cheering you on. He will never leave or forsake you and will give you the strength to carry on yet another hour and then another day ….

You have probably heard of the ripple effect. Throw a small stone in a calm pond and watch the ripples expand incrementally to the very boundaries of that pool of water. That’s what Grandma’s life did. She lived quietly, unassumingly, simply, thankfully, and because of that her life has touched many people, including you and me, for which I am extremely grateful.

Your kindness, your choice to forgive, your obedience to God, your faithfulness and perseverance will also go out as ripples to many you may never meet –and will be remembered far beyond today.

Live your one life well.

Love, Mom

Trust in the Lord and do good…. Psalm 37:3

Death is Not an Emergency

December 28, 2016 / Shari Baar / 6 Comments

Dear Daughters,

It’s quiet in the house.

We buried Grandma on a snowy blustery day with 25 mph winds howling around us, trying to keep Grandpa warm with blankets and grandchildren shielding him. When Dad, Grandpa and I pulled into the cemetery – late – the suburban carrying the casket had not yet arrived, icy roads slowing them down as well.

Grandma would have hated being out in that cold, she never walked outside if there was even the slightest breeze. But now there was no need to have her slippers on, not even a blanket. Her earth suit had been shed, just like a caterpillar slips out of its cocoon to become a butterfly. Grandma was no longer laying in the coffin, not needing that worn out, nonfunctioning body, but celebrating and enjoying her new, perfect warm home.

The graveside service was short, ending with the singing of

Praise God from whom all blessings flow

Praise Him all creatures here below

Praise Him all ye heavenly hosts

Praise Father, Son and Holy Ghost. Amen

Later that evening, my mind wandered back to the past few months when Grandma’s mind was fading so rapidly. Toward the end, it was getting difficult, bizarre, unpredictable.

When the mind is being eaten away by disease, life doesn’t make sense. Sunlight, moonlight, every light of the day is confusion. Mealtimes make no sense because there is no hunger. She frequently asked to go home, asked where her husband was when he was sitting right next to her. Grandma often called for help, yet when I came there was nothing I could do to comfort her – holding her hand, talking to her, singing, praying – still she moaned.

There were many days I wanted to run away, far far away and not come back until it was all over. I had seen the geese flying south and longed to be carried on their backs, flying to warmer, more pleasant places. I’ve always wanted to run away when life becomes hurtful and hard, when I can’t fix or change anything, and this time it was intensified. There was only one reason I was able to stay here taking care of Grandma, and that because of a single verse in the Bible:

I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength.

I would repeat that verse in my mind over and over again, hour after hour, day after day, week after week. I felt some small part of Mother Teresa’s pain:

There is such terrible darkness within me, as if everything was dead…I do not know how deeper will this trial go – how much pain and suffering it will bring to me. This does not worry me anymore. I leave this to Him as I leave everything else…Let Him do with me whatever He wants as He wants for as long as He wants if my darkness is light to some soul.

Then when I thought I could not take one step more, Hospice came. Yes, I had Dad’s help and other friends who helped, but still the bulk of the responsibility lay on me.

When Staci, the intake nurse, walked in the door – snow swirling around her – I could sense the compassion and the ray of light she brought to our home. She treated Grandma with such care and respect, giving her a swab of water when I was unable to get even a sip into her mouth. Staci was calm, professional, taking notes and contacting all the necessary people. Then she stopped to comment,

Death is not an emergency.

With that one sentence spoken, my body relaxed, I was able to breathe, drink up all the teaching and encouragement she gave and carry on.

A little after Staci left, Jean the RN came, teaching me how to administer morphine and other meds to give Grandma comfort so she could relax and lay and sleep. No one was dismayed with Grandma’s behavior, they simply accepted her as she was, willing to walk the last days with us.

Then another knock on the door and Chaplain John was there with his guitar. He came into the bedroom where Grandma lay, took out song sheets and a guitar and started boisterously singing Christmas carols. There were several people in the room with us, so we sang in the midst of weary tears, Grandpa leaning back against the wall, his eyes shut as he mouthed the words by memory.

We sang hymns of comfort – In the Garden, Be Thou My Vision, His Eye is On the Sparrow… John’s presence was not one of sorrow but of joy, assurance and peace.

Death is not an emergency.

Carolyn came to give Grandma a bath, treating her with respect, tenderness and dignity. She slept soundly that night. The next day Jean was back again, monitoring Grandma’s vital signs, answering my various questions and teaching me more about how to give comfort in the midst of dying.

That night you four daughters made a conference call, all of you living in different cities, and sang His Eye is on the Sparrow. When one voice would falter, another would pick up the melody and continue on. There were good-byes and I love you spoken all around. Even though by that time Grandma was in a coma, she still responded ever so feebly to the singing. I am sure she heard you and was blessed, as was I.

On the last day, there were people in the house coming to say good-bye, quietly, respectfully, helpfully. We took turns singing, praying, holding her hand, whispering our farewells.

The last minutes before death are messy, holy and painful. Yet when I was thinking later about those sacred moments I was reminded that the last few minutes before birth are the same – messy, holy, painful. In a way, Grandma was being birthed into a new world, a better world.

Everything good in life is hard.

As Grandma took her last breath and her chest lay still for the first time in 84 years, I gave thanks amidst tears that she was now free of pain, free of a cloudy mind, and best of all – safe in the arms of Jesus – her Savior and her Lord. Till we meet again…

Love, Mom

…and a time to die

December 10, 2016 / Shari Baar / 22 Comments

Dear Daughters,

Last night I watched Grandma take her last breath, held her hand and said good-bye.

Throughout the evening various members of the family were taking turns sitting, singing and praying with Grandma. It was obvious the end was near, the breathing becoming more shallow and fitful. During the past four days we have had so many beautiful memorable moments with our friends, our flesh and blood family along with our new-found Hospice family.

As Grandpa said, What would we do without family? That is a question I’m glad I won’t ever have to answer.

Grandpa was the first person to come into the room after Grandma passed. He had made the trip from the den to the bedroom, where she lay, countless times in the last few days. He would come in, gently touch her and walk out again.

When I told him she was gone he sat down next to her and crumpled. I have never seen Grandpa cry before but he sobbed, saying

It was too soon, It was too soon. I was supposed to go first…

When it comes to death we don’t have a choice. Thankfully we have a loving Heavenly Father who knows what is best for us; His timing, His ordering of every detail is impeccable.

I was just thinking tonight about the last words Grandma said to me before she fell into the final coma. Those words were

Thank you.

Her life was a life of gratitude, and those words were uttered by her countless times each day after every little thing I did for her during the past two years.

I thank God for her life, her legacy of music given to us as a family as well as countless sacrificing acts of love that she gave to everyone who came near.

Thank you, Mom, for your life. Enjoy the beautiful music you are experiencing right now with a clear mind and a sound body.

I love you.

Love, Mom

The eternal God is our refuge and underneath are the everlasting arms.

Deuteronomy 33:27

What a Friend….

November 20, 2016 / Shari Baar / 4 Comments

Dear Daughters,

Grandma is declining.

There are people all over the world who are failing today, there were yesterday, and will be tomorrow. Why does impending death not affect us unless it is someone we love, someone we have history with, someone who has deeply impacted our life?

The beautiful whistling that has been Grandma’s trademark for decades has now been replaced with moaning and groaning and cries of Oh Lord, help me, help me. Several months ago, she was able to play piano for an hour or more at one sitting. Today it was 5 minutes, then she needed a nap.

A few weeks ago, she accused me of waking her in the middle of the night to have tea time, asking Grandpa if I woke him up as well. She wanders around the house at 2 p.m. looking for her pajamas (which are hidden in my room so she doesn’t put them on mid-afternoon). She will often walk up to Grandpa and ask if he is her husband. She claims that everything around her is crazy and confusing and oftentimes asks to go home when she sitting in the very house she has lived for 36 years.

Going home.

I wonder if she is looking to go to her heavenly home, the place where her mind will be sound, her new glorious body whole and strong, and she will laugh again as I remember and am reminded by the pictures dotting the hallway wall.

As Madeliene L’Engle reflects, we die many small deaths during our lives:

Our lives are a series of births and deaths: we die to one period and must be born to another. We die to childhood and are born to adolescence; to our high school selves (and if we are fortunate) to our college selves; we die to our college selves and are born into the “real” world; to our unmarried selves and into our married.

When we have children, we die to ourselves as we give life to a totally new person. When we as a family moved from place to place we had to die to one way of life and be born into another place and community. When dad and I moved from Michigan to Idaho two years ago, it was yet another step in the dying to one way of life and being born into another.

There are other deaths over which we have some choice and freedom: we can choose the death of self-will, the death of self-indulgence, the death of self and the living for others. It is through dying these lesser deaths that may make us more fully alive, not less.

Maybe if we practice these smaller deaths during our lifetime it will make the actual moment of our transition less difficult. On the other hand, there is nothing that will make death easy. Even though dying is natural and happens to everyone, it still stinks.

Yesterday my friends Betty and Theresa came over to practice a trio we will be singing soon – the words of What a Friend We Have in Jesus to the tune of The Rose.

For the past few days I had been having a difficult time doing my work here, the emotions of the end-of-life care weighing heavily. But singing those words with friends helped my spirit to soar, reminding me again about the necessity of giving my griefs to Jesus. They are not mine to bear alone:

What a friend we have in Jesus,

All our sins and griefs to bear

What a privilege to carry

Everything to God in prayer

Oh, what peace we often forfeit

Oh, what needless pain we bear

All because we do not carry

Everything to God in prayer.

I consciously talk to Jesus throughout the day, but sometimes I need people to help carry the load by singing with me, coming for lunch, stopping to chat, listening to stories – some funny, some sad, some frustrating. Even though I have Dad to help with the work – staying behind while I go away, shopping, listening to and encouraging me – I need more. I need a community.

Thankfully, God has provided for us. Yes, it is still lonely at times but we all have those times, the simple nature of being human. I am grateful to you, my daughters, for your part in lending me your ears, your time, prayers and encouragement.

Dad brought Grandma into the living room yesterday while Betty, Theresa and I were practicing. She sat quietly, her face expressionless throughout the entire song. After we finished she shouted out Amen! the best applause we could have been given.

I admit in the past when friends of mine have shared with me the end-of-life stories of their parents, I had listened but not really understood what dying is all about. Now, however, Jesus is graciously teaching me how to care, not only for Grandpa and Grandma, but to feel the pain of others going through similar times.

At night, I often tuck Grandma in bed and pray Psalm 23 over her. After I finished the other night she asked,

What is your name?

I replied, Shari.

She said Thank you, Shari.

Even though she doesn’t remember who I am, she is appreciative for all I do most of the time. Sometimes, however, when I get her up to walk the hall a few times she calls me a slave driver – in jest I hope. Just a few weeks ago, she was able to walk all the way down the lane and back.

We may have months, maybe less, with Grandma – no one knows. In the meantime, Dad pointed out this verse to me the other day and it brings me comfort:

It is better to go to a house of mourning than to go to a house of feasting,

For death is the destiny of every man;

The living should take this to heart. Ecclesiastes 7:2

It is good to keep eternity in the forefront of my mind. I think it helps me live better today.

Love, Mom

What Do I Do?

September 23, 2016 / Shari Baar / 0 Comments

February 28, 2023

During the snowstorm last week I was thinking about Grandma as she was nearing the end of her life. It’s been over six years since she’s been gone, but the memories are still vivid in my mind. I learned so much from her as she lived in weakness and confusion…

September 15, 2016

Dear Daughters,

The other night Dad invited Grandma to dance with him after dinner. Almost every night after we have cleared the dishes she asks “What do I do next?” And almost every night Dad’s answer is “Dance with me.”

So he put his arm around her shoulder and started doing the quasi-Rockettes kick while she stared at him in disbelief. Grandma looked over at me and said “You live with this guy? I think I’ll send you a sympathy card.”

The same after-dinner conversation happens often, but of course she doesn’t remember that it happens often.

Grandma asks many times every day

What do I do, what do I do?

She simply needs direction and instruction about what comes next in her day since she wanders if left on her own.

One day I came into the den when she was waking from her nap. She was almost in tears saying,

Lord, what do I do, what do I do?

Confusion reigns in her mind as it has become tangled and disobedient to her commands and desires. But as I was walking away I thought,

What a beautiful picture of what we should be doing every minute of every day. I cannot live my one life well unless I am connected with Jesus, always asking Him,

What do I do?

when I am confused, frustrated and unsure of how to respond to a hurtful word or a discouraging day.

Whenever I ask God

What should I do?

the answer is typically

Trust Me. Give thanks because I am working for your good,

even when it seems there is darkness is all around.

During the day I have many tasks for Grandma to do: water the flowers, empty the dishwasher, put tomatoes on the dehydrator trays, walk down to the road, fold clothes, set the table, take a shower, play the piano, whistle her favorite songs. When I instruct her to do the work she is usually eager, although with a few moans and groans now and then. But if there is no direction from me she has no idea where to go or what to do. If I am out of her sight for more than a few minutes I hear her calling

Help! Help!

Grandma’s confusion has recently taken a new twist. She is often quite mixed up about the time of day. Yesterday I heard her walking down the hall at 2:00 in the afternoon (when she is usually napping), shuffling in her bathrobe and slippers and wearing no dentures. She apparently woke from her nap early and somehow thought it was close to bedtime so proceeded to get ready.

I stopped her in the hallway, asking why she was in her pajamas. She matter-of-factly said “It’s almost bedtime.” I suggested that we go back and change into her clothes since it was a long time until bedtime. I tried showing her the clock and reasoning with her, but she still wouldn’t believe me, continually insisting that it was bedtime.

Normally she is quite compliant and will cheerfully do as I say. But yesterday she adamantly said

I don’t want to change my clothes, just let me do what I want to do.

Hmmm, now that sounds exactly what I say to God now and then. I get tired of waiting for Him to answer my prayers the way I want Him to. Sometimes I get weary of doing what is right, of being responsible. Some days I want to whine and complain, throw a pity party. I am tempted to give up and pray no longer.

But the same verse always comes to me – the time many of Jesus’ disciples turned back and no longer followed Him when life started getting difficult. Jesus asked the Twelve “Do you want to leave too?” Then Peter answered him,

Lord, to whom else shall we go? You have the words of eternal life.

Yep, that’s the bottom line. Who else but the Creator of your soul loves you and is looking out for your good and your growth? So I cut short my pity party, continue to be faithful and responsible, keep on praying and giving God thanks. They are simple disciplines, but important.

Grandma teaches me so much these days. Even though her mind is foggy and forgetful, Jesus speaks through her life into mine.

Look to the weak people of the earth, wisdom is there for us all.

Love, Mom

Tag: Grandma

Girl, Tell Your Story

One Year Later…

Remembering…

Death is Not an Emergency

…and a time to die

What a Friend….

What Do I Do?

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