Therapeutic Activities


The concert was almost beyond description in how wonderfully they sang and played.  I had in my mind when I drove over to KC to hear Granddaughter Chloe sing in the University of Missouri, Kansas City’s [UMKC] Children’s Choir that they would sing, along with another small choir of high school girls also sponsored by UMKC.  When I arrived, a Trombone Ensemble was playing Christmas music from the balcony of the church.  That was followed by the first piece, an unusual but very effective arrangement of “Carol of the Bells” played by the church’s (Atonement Lutheran) very large and accomplished Handbell choir.  Then began an evening filled with an array of classical and contemporary pieces of Christmas music, by a variety of choirs and instrumentalists from the Conservatory of Music at UMKC.  After putting together all the singers in the various choirs and the instrumentalists, there appeared to be well over a hundred performers. 

There were classical pieces from many periods of music, sometimes with choirs singing back and forth between stage area and balcony.  Chloe’s choir sang one song in German and another in French.  They did a great job.  There were more contemporary arrangements of some of the Carols.  The audience was invited to sing a couple of the familiar Carols. 

They were so skilled and well directed that it was possible to simply lose myself in the music, drinking it in, watching the performers, celebrating the marvelous impact of the sounds and visuals (the faces of the perfomers).  Son Micah put his arm around my shoulder and reminded me of my years of singing in choirs.  From the time I was about 14 until I graduated from the Seminary at 26, my life was all about singing in choirs.  I had the joy of serving as President and Student Conductor of five of those choirs spread over my high school and college (pre-seminary) years.  There were many choir tours including a three week tour to England, Holland, Germany, Austria and Switzerland.  There was the chant choir that rehearsed regularly and sang at chapel weekly during the three years on site (other than the Internship year) at the Seminary.  Even after that there were two or three years while serving a parish that I sang in a semi-professional choir called Schola Cantorum, a choir sponsored by the American Guild of Organists’ Chapter in Kansas City.

I was lost in the music until the choirs all gathered together to sing the last three pieces.  Of course, with so many voices they filled the room with sound when they sang, “Do You Hear What I Hear.”  For some reason, that is when it hit me how much Mary Ann would have loved being there, hearing the music, seeing Chloe sing.  I held it together with great difficulty.  Then came the all the college age singers, all eighty or hundred of them, along with a brass ensemble, and organ performing together doing “Joy to the World.”   The sound was overwhelming.  I could no longer keep it together.  The tears started streaming down my face and then there was the shuddering that happens when it finally breaks through.  I turned a bit away from the kids and tried to keep from being noticeable to anyone around me.  It is terribly hard to accept that she is gone from here.  I hate that she was not there to experience it.  I can’t change what has happened.  I did not lose myself in the grief.  The tears were appropriate, and in a way, they honored her.  Since crying has not been a part of my usual expression of emotions, when they do come, it is only when I can no longer keep them in check.   I work especially hard at keeping them under control when I am in public. 

We ran into Bob and Pat, a couple from my first Parish in the Kansas City area.  They were there since it was a fund-raiser for Harvester’s Food Bank that serves tens of thousands of folks in need of food through the many agencies who obtain that food from Harvester’s.  What makes that dimension of the evening especially meaningful to me is that in the mid-1970’s, it was a couple of folks from the congregation of which I was a pastor who started Harvester’s.  One of them, Jerry, had a cold storage company and the other, Bob, was a sales manager for Libby foods.  It was just a dream at first.  It has now grown beyond anyone’s imagination.  I recalled with Bob, one time when our congegation picked up windfall apples for Harvesters.  I drove a truck that could carry 20,ooo pounds.  No, we did not gather than many apples, but the truck was so large that when I drove it to the church, I was stopped by the police.  There were no trucks allowed on the Kansas side of State Line road.  I guess I would have been all right if I had been driving north, in the lane that was on the Missouri side of the mid-line.   When I explained what I was doing, the police officers allowed me to continue the few blocks to the church without issuing me a ticket. 

Last night was an evening I won’t soon forget.  It is quite a ride I am on.  Sometimes it just takes my breath away.

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This afternoon, I went to see Manheim Steamroller’s Christmas Tour performance at the Performing Arts Center here in town.  The Season of Thanksgiving/Christmas/New Years’s is already beginning.  The Christmas Music is arranged in accord with their usual stylized form of light jazz/New Age music. 

It is the first Christmas activity in the new configuration of this season of the year, without Mary Ann.  I already don’t like it, but that is just the way it is.  The performance made use of every imagineable sort of sound that can be produced by both unplugged and electronic instruments.  The volume was powerful but not painful.  The visuals on the screen behind the performers sometimes included actors and dancers dressed in period costumes providing a visual story to go along with the music being played.  Sometimes it was hard to tell what were previously recorded sounds and what was coming from the people on the stage.  They were perfectly coordinated. 

Since music has the ability to bypass my defenses, for a time it was pretty emotional.  I let the feelings have there way, but they never broke through to water running down my face — close , but not quite.  I can tell that this season will just not be very easy to negotiate.  I remember that it was already pretty tough last Christmas.  In fact, since retirement, there has been a part of me that just wished we could skip December and go right into January. 

It was helpful that after the concert there was a gathering of the folks from the Hospice Grief Support Group at the home of one of the members.  While we did not talk about the challenges of dealing with the holidays since it was just a social get-together, being around folks who are in similar circumstances was comforting.  Going to an empty house after the concert would have been pretty difficult.  

Before the Parkinson’s moved into the later stages, Mary Ann was a master at doing Christmas.  She had to learn to manage without much help from me since it was the busiest time of the year as a Pastor.  She started buying gifts some time early in September.  By the middle of November, she already had a full complement of gifts.  In fact, sometimes she would forget all that she had gotten and keep getting presents after there were already plenty in the closet.  Every once in a while, we had to do an inventory of presents to be sure that the numbers and size balanced out for each of the Kids and Grandchildren. 

I was a spoiled sport relative to outdoor decorations.  She would have loved them, but I just never could get into it since there was so much going on at work (at least that was my excuse).  She always did a nice job decorating the inside of the house.  Her Christmas quilt was always hung in our bedroom, replacing the one with the basket pattern in each block.  The Manger Scene came out with the wise men placed away from the manger until Epiphany came. 

We would often get a Charlie Brown Christmas tree (the Kids always made fun of the trees we picked out).  In early years we went out and cut it down.  Then later we got trees from a Christmas Tree lot (still Charlie Brown trees).  Only in recent years did we finally get an artificial Christmas Tree.  Then came the ornaments, an eclectic variety.  Some years there was a theme in terms of color, but most often there was a wonderful variety of styles and sizes and shapes.  There is the sleigh that my Grandfather made — the cards go in that. 

She loved Christmas so much.  Last year was difficult since she had started the decline.  We were pretty limited in what we could do.  We did manage to get the tree up.  I don’t know yet what I will do this year.  It is hard to imagine bringing the tree up from the storage room, putting it together and decorating it.  I can understand why those who have lost a Loved One struggle so at this time of the year.  So much of what usually is done seems sort of pointless.  The center of the season, the core message remains powerful and meaningful.  The decorations are pretty, but they are not the center.  

The goal will be to focus on the unconditional love of our Creator and the new life offered through the One who joined us in our human journey bringing hope in the face of whatever comes.

“If not for me, the world would have missed….”   The Hospice Chaplain began his message with that question during the Memorial Service last Thursday evening led by Midland Hospice, the organization that sponsors the Grief Support Groups I attend.   

It is not unusual for people to be so self-deprecating that they find it hard to presume to suggest they have made a difference in the world.  It seems arrogant to talk as if we are God’s gift to the world.  If we happen to be in the mode of feeling sorry for ourselves, we will claim we have done nothing anyone will miss.  If we have had a critical parent or spouse or close friend, we may have concluded that just as they have said about us, we do not measure up. 

Sometimes it is actually our inflated ego that sabotages our ability to finish that sentence with anything of substance.  What I mean by that is we sometimes demand that for something to qualify as an achievement that would be missed, it has to be something so much better than what the ordinary folks can do that we received accolades for it. 

What ordinary things have you done?  They are likely to be the things that the world would have missed most.  That you have survived what you have been through is a remarkable accomplishment — no matter how it compares to anyone else’s accomplishments.

The Chaplain was very insightful when he followed that question with some clarification.  He pointed out rightly that most of us struggle with memories of things we did not do well, times we were impatient, harsh, unsympathetic, times we did not do what we should have done, had we been better caregivers.  He urged us to set those thoughts aside for the moment, and focus on what we did do for our Loved Ones.

I have admitted here more than once that the most painful memories are memories of just how debilitated Mary Ann was getting and how little I allowed that to enter my awareness.  I was not always as sympathic and understanding of her limitations as I should have been.  This morning, a simple question some neighbors asked when we crossed paths at the Farmer’s Market planted a seed that sprouted twenty or thirty minutes later.  The question was about cooking, did I do the cooking for Mary Ann.  I admitted my limitations in that area, but answered yes.   Later, as I was leaving, my mind wandered back to that conversation.  A silly claim that I had made came to mind, that I made the best peanut butter and jelly toast around.  I remembered toasting the bread to exactly the color that she liked, cutting it into four squares and feeding it to Mary Ann, making sure each bite had some jelly and peanut butter in it.  I often added two slices of crisp bacon, each cut in half so that every quarter of the toast had a half slice of bacon on it.  I had a certain order of squares so that she would not have too much dry toast in any one bite.  I anticipated when she would need a drink.  Thinking about that brought back the painful feelings to a level I had not felt in the last three weeks or so.  It was not that impossibly intense level that that could hit like a brick during the first weeks, but it was painful. 

I remembered how good it felt to be able to feed her in a way that brought her some pleasant moments.  I longed to be able to do that again.   As that pain settled in (it stayed for a while), I realized that feeding her that peanut butter and jelly toast with bacon was something that she might have missed, had I not been caring for her.  Obviously, I can’t know what would have happened if I had not existed — whether someone else would have done it.  That is not the point.  I did do it.  I made a difference in her world, just as she did in mine. 

There are, of course, some obvious ways of finishing a sentence like that.  I suspect our Children and Grandchildren would have missed mine and/or Mary Ann’s presence in the world.  Those are easy answers.  It is a healthy exercise to think about the impact we have had, the ordinary impact, just being a part of people’s lives.  Simply having answered the Call to Live by continuing through each day.  I have spent time in conversation with many suffering from depression over the years.  When someone is depressed, just trying to finish a sentence like this one is more depressing.  The Chaplain made the point that each of us in that room had survived our grief until that moment.  We had survived the death of someone we loved.  Just to have survived what we have been through, whether the loss of a Loved One or the loss of our confidence and sense of self-worth that comes whith depression — just to have survived is an achievement worth adding where the dots are in that incomplete sentence.   

There are so many things that I did not do for Mary Ann or did not do well.  She deserved better.  At the same time, I did make a difference in her life, as she did in mine.  The greatest gift we gave each other was ourselves.  We stayed in relationship with each other.  In doing so we did make a difference.  Each of us would have missed a lifetime of the other’s presence, had we not been there for one another.  As painful as it is sometimes to remember, it is comforting to remember what each of us brought to the other.  That remains.  We both get to keep those memories.

The package was pretty ugly — Parkinson’s Disease, but the gift was beautiful.  Actually, God gave the gift.  Actually the gift was already there, Mary Ann’s Parkinson’s provided a tool for opening the package, pulling out the gift and letting people see it. 

Sometimes harsh judgments are made about churches and church folks.  There are the caricatures of people who attend church regularly as hypocrites and self-righteous, harsh, judgmental and unloving people.  Of course all those things are true to a certain extent, just as they are true of the general population, whether they happen to go to church or not. 

What actually has been so in my experience with congregations, ones I have served in forty years of ministry and many I have heard about from fellow clergy is exactly the opposite.  I have seen true community in action in my years in the ministry.  By true community, I mean people who are connected in a way that frees them to express that connection in action — people who help one another. 

Community was expressed in a former congregation by surrounding a handicapped member with support in every way, functioning as family for her.  When the bombing in Oklahoma City took one of the members of that congregation, her husband was surrounded with loving and caring actions.  When the bombing happened, I saw first hand an entire city express community, as crime ceased for a time, people came together to support one another, doing anything and everything they could to help those suffering, to support the ones who were doing the hands on rescue work.

The congregation I served the last twelve and a half years in my role as Pastor of a congregation had always expressed community in one way or another.  People visited and cared for those who were going through difficult times, especially due to health or aging.  The gift that came with Mary Ann’s Parkinson’s was an opportunity, an opportunity to go public with those expressions of community. 

Mary Ann’s circumstances provided some very clearly identifiable needs.  The needs were concrete.  I could not continue to serve as Pastor of the congregation without those needs being filled.  The response was a natural one for people who understood and lived in community with one another, quietly going about the business of supporting one another in times of need.  My vantage point may have skewed my view of reality, but it seemed to me that Mary Ann’s and my needs, so public, and the response to them, helped crystallize the self-image of the congregation.  What had always been so gained a higher profile and became visible.   That visibility became a witness to the poeple in the congregation and others who learned about it. 

I think the truth of the matter is that people in community with one another find much satisfaction in helping each other if they can figure out what to do that will actually help.  People surrounded our household with the basic needs of companionship for Mary Ann with all that demanded in terms of help with personal needs and whatever came up.  There was sometimes food brought over, grocery shopping done when we were homebound or Mary Ann was hospitalized.  There were sometimes basic household needs covered, chores done, ironing done.  Margaret, Carol (single-handedly for over six years), Mary, Edie, Daughter Lisa, all who coordinated  clusters of Volunteers, gave them instructions on what to do, answered their questions.  A free online scheduler just for that purpose helped organize times and tasks.  It is available at no charge to any individual who needs it: www.lotsahelpinghands.com

The specific gift Mary Ann gave the congregation was opening herself to allowing people into her life to help her.  Community can’t be experienced fully without people’s willingness to allow themselves to become vulnerable to others.  There is a risk when allowing people to help.  Will you become indebted to them?  How will you pay them back?  If you don’t pay them back, will they somehow own a little piece of you?  We simply had no choice.  There was so much help that there was no way we could ever repay all the people.  We occasionally made small symbolic efforts and saying thank you.  Mary Ann enjoyed doing an open house every once in a while, Volunteers helping with it.  She sometimes made or designed token gifts intended to say thank you.  There was just no way to do enough.  We simply had to allow the help with no possibility of ever repaying or saying enough thank you’s. 

The good news is that people helped because they chose to do so.  They helped because they have been wired by their Creator to do so.  They helped because there was meaning and satisfaction and fulfillment in doing so.  By helping, they actually had a part in the Pastoral ministry to the congregation.   Because they were doing what they were doing I could do what I was Called to do as my part in the community. 

Mary Ann’s Parkinson’s freed the true community that already existed to float to the surface and become more visible, defining the congregation in its own eyes and the eyes of those who heard about it.   

By making these observations about the gifts that came into our lives and the lives of many others on account of the Parkinson’s, I am in no way lessening the horror of what Mary Ann went through.  We would not wish that struggle on anyone.  It was not a good thing.  It was a very ugly disease that stole from Mary Ann everything she had enjoyed doing with her hands and her sharp, creative mind.  In spite of that, God brought some good gifts to her, to me, to a congregation and to our family.  More about that in later posts.

When the Parkinson’s was first diagnosed, Mary Ann insisted on complete secrecy.  No family (even parents and siblings) could know, no friends, certainly no parishioners — only the Kids and I were to privy to the diagnosis.  That insistence continued for five years.  She allowed a couple of exceptions for me so that I would have somewhere to go to process what we were going through.  Actually, I don’t remember if their Mom gave Lisa and Micah permission to share with anyone.  They may comment on that. 

Mary Ann had always been an extremely private person.  She didn’t think her personal life was anyone else’s business.  After she was diagnosed, she did not want people to be looking at her as if there was something wrong with her.  She certainly did not want people feeling sorry for her and treating her as a sick person.  I have shared before how hard that five years was on all of us. 

Finally, the secret could no longer be kept since there were too many outward signs of the disease.  When we moved here in 1996 Mary Ann’s Parkinson’s was public information among the Leadership of the congregation.  The secret was out from the first conversation by phone with the Call Committee.  In fact, by that time, Mary Ann’s Parkinson’s was in the form that I filled out for the file in the District office, the form that was sent to the congregation as soon as my name was put on their list of Candidates. 

It is here that the story of one gift that came on account of the Parkinson’s begins.  Mary Ann received some special attention from a group of ladies in the congregation.  She was welcomed in a way that made her feel accepted and included immediately.  I did not see all the dynamics of that inclusion, but I was thrilled at its effect on Mary Ann.  She quickly developed a group of friends in the congregation.  While my being the Pastor brought us to the place and provided the setting, that group became her very own friends, not acquaintances of the Pastor’s Wife. 

Before going any further, I have to say that Mary Ann had developed connections when we were in the early years in Kansas City.  She often claimed (falsely) that people were friends with her because I was the Pastor.  The truth is, I was the more boring one and she was always the more interesting personality of the two of us.  I am not particularly thrilled with that assessment, but it is just the way it was. 

In the parish here, the Parkinson’s created a need.  The need was for help.  When Margaret began and Carol took over the task of scheduling, the Volunteers began coming.  At first it was an adjustment, especially for Mary Ann, to have people coming into the house and staying with her.  First of all, her combination of strength of will and denial, caused her to resist any admission of the need for people to be there.  She seemed to manage to fall in a way that did not do damage to her, so she was not convinced of the need.  While watching the knives waving this way and that from the dyskinesias when she was preparing food, terror entered the heart of the watcher.  She was convinced that she would not slice herself. 

Since many of the first Volunteers were already friends, she tolerated the lack of privacy surprisingly well.  In fact it shocked me that she did not fight harder against the idea.  As the number of Volunteers expanded, new friendships were added.  Since often there was some need being met in another room when the next Volunteer arrived, the custom was to announce her arrival and just walk in. 

The result was that our house had an open door policy.  It was almost comical some Wednesdays when Bath Aide Zandra was here, Kristie had come to clean, it was crossover time when two Volunteers were here, one arriving and the other getting ready to leave, and the Spiritual Formation Group (four of us) were lingering for a moment of conversation before leaving after our meeting.  Rather than feeling as if folks were intruding into our lives, it was a pleasant gathering of friendly people. 

One gift that came was that Mary Ann opened herself to all sorts of relationships.  She had a wealth of friends and knew that they were her friends, not simply members of the congregation of which I was Pastor.  I cannot know what would have happened without the Parkinson’s, but it is clear that from its presence in our lives, the gift of openness to relationships grew.   

As always, we certainly would not have chosen the mechanism, but there were some consequences of its presence that brought blessing to our lives.

That, Thomas Merton suggests, is the model of love that has predominated in our culture.  I have needs, you have needs, let’s make a deal.  We put ourselves on the market until the deal is made.  Then, even once the deal is made, there is often still an eye out for a better deal. 

Mary Ann taught me what it means to love someone.  That is one of the gifts we received through the addition of Parkinson’s to our family circle.  Of course we would never have chosen the Parkinson’s as the textbook, but we were grateful for the learning.  The feelings that drew us together were intense and exciting and overwhelming, at least to me — I cannot speak for Mary Ann.  They are not what constitute love.  The feelings that first draw us to the one we love we are convinced are pure and selfless.  We would do anything for her/him.  Like it or not, those feelings are about us, me.  We love the feelings we have when we are first in love.  We are in love with love. 

The truth is, those feelings are the way God has wired us so that we will be drawn to one another.  They help create the setting in which love can grow.  Love is not a deal in which we get what we need or want.  Merton says: “But the plain truth is this: love is not a matter of getting what you want.  Quite the contrary.  The insistence on always having what you want, on always being satisfied on always being fulfilled, makes love impossible.  To love you have to climb out of the cradle, where everyting is “getting,” and grow up to the maturity of giving, without concern for getting anything special in return  Love is not a deal, it is a sacrifice. 

As feisty as Mary Ann was, as strong-willed, she understood how to give the kind of love that involves some self-sacrifice.  It took the challenges created by the Parkinson’s to teach me how to give love meaningfully.  It is very easy to fall into the illusion that a gesture at a birthday or anniversary or Valentine’s Day is what love is about, saying I love you every once in a while is enough.  We are expressing the feelings we have for the one we love.  Love certainly includes feelings, but the feelings are not the love.  They are part of what drives it.  They are a natural consequence of love lived.  It is the doing of love, the living of love, acts of love that nurture the feelings, not the other way around. 

In our toughest times, demanding her willingness to allow me into the most basic and personal dimensions of her daily living and my willingness to do whatever was needed, we grew the closest, the love grew the most.  We didn’t just talk about it, or make lovely and romantic gestures as if that was the substance of our love, we did it.  When I helped her off the bed into the wheelchair, there might be a lingering embrace as we moved in tandem.  We were by no means always sweet and tender with one another.  We were real people, ordinary people, flawed people, making the best of a bad situation.  I learned the most because I had the farthest to travel to learn it.  But I did learn how to love, really love.  Mary Ann and the Parkinson’s taught me.  I am so sorry she had to suffer through the onslaught of the Parkinson’s.  I am not sorry for the gift we received, a love far beyond anything we could have imagined 48 years ago when we first fell in love and over 44 years ago when we promised to love one another until death would part us. 

Merton again: “When people are truly in love, they experience far more than just a mutual need for each other’s company and consolation.  In their relation with each other they become different people:  they are more than their everyday selves, more alive, more understanding, more enduring, and seemingly more endowed.  They are made over into new beings.  They are transformed by the power of their love.”

It is that kind of love that God is.  God is the source, the Cross is the delivery system, our circumstances are simply the setting.

In a former post I reflected on the power of the word “Hospice.”  When the neurologist suggested it, we pursued that option.  It fit our intentions for how we would travel the last leg of our journey together.  Enrolling in Hospice and then seeing her looking almost comatose one Sunday morning after an increase in the Seroquel (in an attempt to manage the hallucinations) combined to finally break the dam on the tears, a dam that had been holding them back for years.  I sat in the car at the Lake on that cold morning, listening to Celtic Woman Lisa Kelly sing, weeping loudly and long.  

It had finally sunk in.  There was a part of me that somehow thought we would just keep death at bay for years to come.  Mary Ann had bounced back from so many hits, any one of which would have taken a person with less grit and strength of will.  That morning, the denial was breeched.  That denial had allowed us to live a fairly normal existence in very difficult circumstances.  The truth is that Mary Ann never let go of the denial until she chose to stop eating and drinking.  I returned to that denial, comforting myself with the knowledge that some in the Lewy Body Dementia Spouse Caregivers online support group had been in hospice for as many as three years (maybe longer).   My denial didn’t begin to crumble again until the same time as Mary Ann’s.  Of course, I knew intellectually what was afoot, but my gut was not influenced by what I knew in my mind. 

Sending out the word that Mary Ann was now enrolled in Hospice, had the effect of moving friends to come and spend time with her.  Some of our Kansas City Crew of close friends came by and spent the better part of a day.  We have decades of history together, and stories to tell from that history.  As always we had a good time together. 

Friends Trudy and Coleman with whom we shared a similar history, came by and spent hours with us.  Trudy and Mary Ann had developed a special connection over the years.  It was a comforting few hours.  Mary Ann surprised us with her sharpness at one point when she remembered a name that the rest of us could not bring to mind.

Niece Diana and her Daughter Rachel came by from Northern Illinois for a couple of days.  When we were married, Diana was old enough to be a bridesmaid in our wedding.  That visit was especially meaningful to Mary Ann since geography and circumstances had made it hard for her to keep those family connections active.  Mary Ann could no longer write letters; she could not manage the computer to email; her voice was not strong enough nor did the words flow freely enough for her to talk on the phone.  That visit sort of filled an empty place that had developed in her life since travel had become so difficult for us, preventing much family contact.

Then there was the visit of the Three Friends from the North, Joy, Terry and Cherri.  That was the most wonderful gift she could have received before her journey here ended.  I have written often about them and the raucous times when the four of them got together.  It was no different this time.  They have hung out together since they were all in about the Fifth or Sixth Grade.  The old feisty Mary Ann emerged as the stories flew by.  It was a marvel to see. 

All those visits provided a fitting conclusion to Mary Ann’s life here.  There were many Volunteers who enjoyed time with her in the final months.  Those relationships had come to be very meaningful to her.  Then when the end finally came, all of us in her immediate family surrounded her, ministering to her and expressing our love for her.  While none of us would have chosen for her to leave so soon, the last leg of the trip was filled with good and satisfying times.  Her departure was peaceful, and I have no doubt her arrival at her next destination was filled with joy and wonder and happy reunions. 

In spite of the onslaught of the Parkinson’s and the other physical assaults on Mary Ann, in spite of the struggles we both had trying to negotiate all that was thrown our way, there are some gifts that came to us and those around us.  In fact some of those gifts came because of what we went through.  In subsequent posts I will describe some of those gifts.  I described them in the words that I shared at Mary Ann’s Memorial Service in Northern Illinois.  I need to describe them again and celebrate them.

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