TO TO MY SON CHARLIE - WHO ISN'T AFRAID TO HUG LIKE HE REALLY MEANS IT!

Charlie, you came last in the line of the Brown household. With your birth, came a test of faith. In your young years, up through the age of accountability, and into adolescence your experiences were laced with the burden of fighting for your life and enduring many things that were not fair. You fought the good fight and won your adulthood. Make no mistake, your lack of secular abilities, because of that fight, has no baring on the spiritual abilites you can give through the Priesthood of God. You, my son have the potential to be the strongest of us all, through the experiences you have had and the life you can choose to live from this moment on. The gospel is simple and so are you, Charlie. Life is not fair but Heavenly Father is. Nothing will be withheld if you are obedient and willing to sacrifice. You may have to wait longer but the blessings will come as you are faithful. I love you very much and this essay, although dramatized to get the grade in Composition class, holds very much the truths and feelings that I felt in those first few days in the hospital with you. I love you, Mom

AN ESSAY FOR MY SON CHARLE
My young son looks weak and wounded as he pushes the towering intravenous pole down the hallway - all by himself. A puffy face, red swollen eyes, and cheeks stained with streaks made from hot descending tears reveal the slow and intimate struggle the nurse had finding the tiny vein. He moves his small frame toward the reward of the playroom while clinging to the pole as if it were a battle flag. He looks taller and more victorious than any soldier returning from war and I come to the realization that I am witnessing the birth of a wise old man who is only three years old. He goes by the name of Charlie.

The time has come that I have dreaded all afternoon. Charlie must be told that one of the things he will have to sacrifice is his beloved rat-tail. With his short, brown hair lying close to his head and ears like half moons on either side, he will turn 180 degrees at a moments notice to proudly display the inch long lock of hair located at the base of his skull. The tumor looms beneath the beloved possession and the area must be shaved for the impending surgery. I know it is the one thing that means the most to him because it makes him like his big brother Nick. It gives him the honor of being cool and somehow includes him even though he's too young to be in the club. After all, you must have a rat-tail to earn the priviledge of being a Rat-Tail!

My heart is heavy in my chest as I try to explain a necessary evil, only to end up saying what is always said when life isn't fair. " I am so sorry, Charlie". I look in his brown eyes as they widen and give hint to his sense of helplessness and horror while he reaches up with his finger and softly touches a tear in the corner of my eye. I am catching another glimpse of the wise old man seeing the agony of another as it glistens on the end of his finger. I see him lay aside the pain of his impending loss to look up and whisper to my broken heart, " It's okay Mom, it will grow back". The greatest love given is always accompanied by sacrificing one's own feelings for the sake of another's. I wonder how this child comprehends what it takes most people a whole lifetime to come to know and conclude that it isn't something he has learned, it is something that the wise old man brought with him. In awe I say, " I love you, Charlie". He replies, "I love you more". I have never heard four words ring more true than I do at this moment.

The sounds that surround a hospital room late at night remind you that there is no place like home and you are not in Kansas anymore. They are echoing sounds like, the soft shuffling of nurse's feet scurrying to each room; the occasional bang of a dropped clip board followed by a hushed curse word; the answering of a ringing telephone at the nurse's station with the same redundant words repeated numerous times thoughout the night, "third floor pediatric unit'. Everything seems to be done as if to maintain a quiet and a reverence but in the end fails miserably.

Not being able to nod off because of all the "quiet", I watch Charlie sleep from my chair. His small chest rising and falling with each breath leads me to a dark place wondering if they are limited in number and will have an end soon. I notice his eyes are slightly open and for a moment I think he is awake. As I lean forward to ask him if everything is all right, I see the windows of his soul possessing only a blank dead stare and it frightens me. I can feel the adrenaline rush as I move instinctively and crawl into bed beside him. Placing my arms around him, I pull him close to me and cling tightly. The medical t.o.d clock which is found in each room, slowly and methodically counts the seconds until morning as my son cuddles and feels secure in the arms of a trembling mother.

The long night that seems to linger like dense fog over a lake clears to begin a day of dread and hope. It is time to turn my son over to God and the doctors. Slowly walking down the endless hallway that possesses no doors or windows on either side gives me the eerie feeling that I am once again in Oz. As we finally reach the huge doors they burst open with the rushing sound of an air gun to reveal a big, young, black male nurse who has come to take Charlie to see the wizard. He is full of positive energy and has a personality that emits a boisterous, fun loving nature. One can tell by just looking at him, that although he could play in the national football league as a linebacker, he could also be as gentle, tender, and loving as an award winning mother of the year. Charlie doesn't want to ride in the wheelchair and the nurse bellows, " No, problem little man". I see my tiny son take the hand of the huge man to begin a journey to an uncertain future.

As the double doors begin to close slowly, Charlie whispers something to the nurse who bends over to hear what appears to be a very important request. They both turn simultaneously and wave to those of us left behind to give us assurance and peace that in the end, whatever that may be, it will be alright. I peer through the window of the closed doors to take one final look. It doesn't surprise me to now see a tiny,wise, old man take the hand of a huge boy to continue on to his destiny.

AN ESSAY BY BRENNA FOR THE PONDERING

Studies show that from birth to four months an infant, because it cannot foster relationships on its own, needs to have communication and touch provided in order to thrive. Let us fast forward the DVD of life for this child, say around eighty-seven years, and visualize what we might see.

As we enter the long, dark, tall hallway of a nursing home, our footsteps echo so loud it seems like the very corridor that leads to the chamber of the great Wizard of Oz himself. At the end of the hallway sits a little, old lady in her wheelchair slouched over with her head drooping so low it looks like it is disconnected from her body and she is holding it in her lap. Her oily, thin, whitish gray hair is pulled back and plastered so close to her head it looks like she is wearing an early sixties bathing cap minus the chin strap.

As we approach, we see the skin on her thin arm looks taut but wrinkled at the same time, much like overly stretched leather. The skin possesses a transparent look revealing so many veins in her arm that you could probably route a map to Florida easily on it. As we softly touch her arm, her head suddenly pops up like the Whack-a -Mole at Chucky Cheese, her eyes appear to bulge at least an inch out of their sockets as she screams at the top of her lungs, "Get the hell away from me you Commie"!

Now, I don't know about you but my first instinct would be to never touch or talk to that woman again. However, we need to remember whether it is an infant or the elderly, if they do not have or have lost the ability to foster relationships, they still need communication and touch to thrive. Why should we do this? First and formost, it gives us the ability to entwine empathy into our nature. If that is not enough of an incentive for you, consider the fact that the choice you make opens the reality of the old saying, "What goes around comes around". Whether or not this saying is a blessing or a curse when you reach the age of eighty-seven is entirely your choice!

A REVELATION OF DROOPY PROPORTIONS

I ask my husband Chuck, "Do you think I can get my run in before the rain hits"? He looks up the weather on radar via the computer and says, "Looks to me like it's gonna go around us". So as usual, he and Brownie mount the four wheeler to follow behind me as I begin my run. I always insist they do this. Listening to my i-pod puts me at a great disadvantage of hearing the occasional pick-up truck with the shot gun in the rear window and the bumper sticker that reads, 'I reserve the right to carry firearms' that might mow me down in the boonies and leave my carcass for the buzzards!

I am no more than .25 mile in when I hear a clap of thunder that is so loud it drowns out Areosmith's 'Sweet Emotions' that is blaring into my ears from my i-pod. I turn to Chuck and he gives me the thumbs up signal, so I continue. At the .5 mile the rain begins to fall. I'm not talking a sprinkle. I'm talking a down pour with the drops being so big it only takes four or five to completely drench my body! Well, I'm dedicated but not that dedicated. I hop on the four wheeler next to Brownie, who smells like a wet carpet that has been rolled up, and we race back to the house. This picture was shot as soon as we got back to the house for no other reason than to show that one can be 54 and still not know when to come in out of the rain. However, when I viewed the photo a revelation of great proportion hit me!!!! No matter how much you excercise after hitting the half century mark, you will still droop, pooch and sag due to the combination of the law of gravity and the breaking down of cells. However, my run in the rain made me realize that although I may still look soggy and saggy even after I excercise, the maintaining of a healthy heart and body on the inside is the important, although unseen, benefits of excercise. Hence after a certain age, the importance of excercise is not a matter of retaining the look on the outside anymore, its a matter of maintaining the parts on the inside. I'm good with that and probably will be unless I'm running in the rain someday, without my faithful companions Chuck and Brownie, and get hit by that pick up truck! In that case, all this worrying about the outsides and insides will be laid to rest. Literally!

BLOGGING WITH A PURPOSE

I am begining this post at the age of fifty four. It is to record feelings, thoughts, observations and stories that hopefully will benefit my posterity. In this way, words that may not have a chance to be spoken will have a way of eventually finding a voice. For my present family, children, and grandchildren it may contain words of praise, fear, and exhortation but all will be said because of my love for them. For future posterity that may not physically know me, these words may be a means by which they will come to know about me. Hopefully, it will expose my weaknesses as well as my strengths. In this way I will be a truthful source, instead of one filled sugar coated illusions. May we all remember that every day in mortality is another day to have the chance to bind, strengthen and love each other into the eternal families we were meant to be!