Here it is really close to Thanksgiving--and my usual tearfulness already had started in about a week ago. I generally keep that to myself--waiting until the kids are asleep or at school. I still nurse the wounds of a seventeen year old--though with time, it’s just one of those things I’ve come to accept. We all do. Except now. I remember--and in remembering, I allow my feelings to overwhelm me.
I was reading the Bible awhile ago and found a passage in Isaiah 65:24, “Before they call, I will answer.” It stuck out to me, so I kept note of it--never imagining that it could ever have any pertinence to the here and now. Well this last week, I cried--tried to pray, but the words just wouldn’t form. I suppose that my tears said enough because before I called--He answered. One by one, I’ve found my extended family. Today, on this very day on November 23, 1985 my mother passed away. It’s at this time that I really feel most keenly lonesome. It’s selfish of me to feel this way to say the least--but still, I stand amazed that there is a God who loves us enough to meet those kinds of needs. For this, I am utterly thankful.
I am very proud and thankful for my small family--Michael, aged 14 is a freshman in high school; Andrew is in his first year of middle school and Jillian is a energetic 3-year-old. Being a single-parent with three children is never dull--there is always something happening. To make life easier, I have a great parenting relationship with the boys’ father and a pretty good one with Jill’s dad too.
My Michael likes to pride himself in that he was named after a warrior angel. In a way, I like to see him in that light too. He has fought many battles to get where he is today. This child was struggling in school--and it was not for lack of trying or participation. He was right there, involved in everything that was going on in class--but, it just took him longer than the other students. Still, it seemed that he couldn’t get a passing grade. He had special help in school, we had tutors--and we worked with him after school. Still, it was a struggle. He fought and didn’t give up. He’s getting A’s and B’s now. That’s my warrior.
Andrew is the Thompson namesake of the family--a famous one at that. His father and I gave him the middle name of “Thompson”, but gave him the popular name of Andrew. That drew the attention of the news media--the Walla Walla Union Bulletin at first, then the Seattle Times. I was asked why I named my child “Andrew” at first because at the time, so many boys had been named “Andrew” in the state, they were asking parents if they would consider renaming their child. Then, they honed in on the middle name “Thompson”--so I told them that it was a family name--and it would look great on a business card. Unfortunately, they quoted me. We didn’t opt to change our son’s name--instead, we call him “Drew”. If push came to shove, we planned on calling him Tom or Tommy.
Jillian was my unexpected blessing. Jillian = Judith + Billy + Susan. Not really, I was on bed rest with my feet stuck up in the air watching TV and ended up watching an old episode of X-files--the lead actress’s name was Gillian Anderson. I was at a loss for a girl’s name and I liked hers--so I went with it. I only had a few weeks left to go. I really wanted to name her Chloe, but her dad strongly objected. Jill had a “broken crown” last year… like the nursery rhyme. She was born with a tumor growing in the soft spot of her skull. It didn’t quite reach the surface of the brain, but it sure did create a bump on the top of her noggin. We chose to have it removed before it tickled her brain and caused seizures. The tumor was a dermoid type tumor--a tumor in which there is an excess of dermal tissue growing. Whew--not cancerous. The bonus of having this surgery done when we had it done was so that she would not remember it being done. At least, that was what we thought. However, she remembers--and she has not forgiven us for it. Yet. Heaven forbid we try to cut, comb or wash the child’s hair!
I am currently a trauma nurse working in a step-down intensive care unit called the TRACU at Emanuel Hospital in Portland, Oregon. I’ve been there 6 ½ years--but who is counting? I work 12-hour night shift, generally 6 day stretches with 8 days off in between. I really miss working with my little old people--I loved them so. What I am doing now is such a stark contrast… I am grateful for the steady employment in this point in time, it is certainly a blessing.
I wish everyone a Happy Thanksgiving!!
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