Obituary

One week ago, my grandma took her last breath. She was home, after having spent a day surrounded by her loved ones. There was laughter. There were tears, of course. And she found her peace to let go. She was 86. 

I was with my mom when Aunt Jody called to tell her. In her true fashion, my mom went into "getting things done" mode. She was the big sister, telling the little sister all the things that needed to be tackled. Jenny held her shoulders, I just sat next to her. She needed to make sure the i's were dotted and t's crossed. It's just her way. (Let's be honest, I get it from somewhere!). Then she sat, and like a little kid, looked at us and said- well, that's that. Her shoulders slumped and she just didn't know what to do. I can be bossy (I know you are shocked), and I said- we are going. Put shoes on and let's go. 

On the drive, she found comfort in the comments from the people who had seen that Grandma was in the process of dying from a Facebook post she had made earlier. She read them aloud to me and explained who each person was. We arrived and the nurse had just finished, my aunts and grandpa were sitting at the table drinking coffee and we waited. The aunts and mom worked on paperwork details. Grandpa just kept going back in to the room. Looking for his love and making sure she was still safe. That she was still comfortable. 

In all honesty, I deal with death in a very different way than most. I am sad, of course, but I think I compartmentalize the loss so it's just not so overwhelming. That said, I am perfect in these scenarios-- compassionate and loving, but I hold it together so everyone else can fall apart. As I held my grandpa's hand and just listened to him talk about 65 years together, I looked at my mom and my aunts. My mom just looked so small. And my aunt Jody just looked like she needed a hug. These are two strong, powerful ladies, but they lost their mom so suddenly, they looked like little girls who were lost. My heart broke. My Aunt Tee was there and is a pillar of strength. She held my aunt Jody and will look after my grandpa in the days to come. 

They asked if I would write the obituary. Contrary to what you think when you read here, it often takes me a few days before I actually write a blog post. I write it in my head while I am driving, or walking the dogs, or making dinner. Then once it feels right, I put it on paper. I did that when I had papers due in school and when I have to make life decisions. I am a processor. So, it took me a few days. On Friday, I finally sat down and wrote. When I went to submit, there was $778 bill! Um, what?! So, my mom, aunts, and grandpa opted not to post it anyway. (Totally makes sense!). (Also, at some point can we discuss the absurdity of the expense??) 

I felt it should be posted somewhere, so here it is. 

Shirley M. Lawrence (Trembath)
November 25, 1932 - August 19, 2019

On Monday, August 19, Shirley M. Lawrence took her last breath after dealing with an ongoing battle with COPD. Shirley was 86 years. 

Known to her grandchildren as the fun grandma and to her countless nieces and nephews as the fun aunt, Shirley had a zest for life! She loved dancing, playing golf and playing cards. Always with the love of her life along side her. Over the years, her biggest complaint was that no one could ever keep up! Chatty by nature, Shirley never met a stranger. Everyone who met her loved her. 

Preceded in death by daughter, Michelle Lawrence and her parents, William and Ann Trembath. 

Married to the love of her life for 65 years, Shirley leaves behind her beloved husband John Lawrence, their two daughters - Christine M. Schulte (Ferd) and Jo Ann Lawrence (Tee), two grandchildren, Jessica Zamarripa (Frank) and Alexander Schulte (Jennifer) and two great grandchildren - Gus Alexander (age 5) and Jade Harper (age 3). 

There will be a small private family service on August 30. A final toast will be made in her honor at BJ’s Bar, 5519 Lapeer Rd, Burton, Friday, August 30 @ 4:30 pm. Friends and Loved ones are welcome and wanted! 

In Lieu of flowers. consider a donation to her beloved Durand Memorial Library. 

Shirley will be missed by those who knew her and loved her and were loved by her. 

My grandma.

My grandma is dying. And my heart is so sad.

She is 86 and lived the most wonderful life filled with joy, adventures, and laughter. She was always the life of every party. Well, she and my grandpa. No offense to my other grandparents, but they were the fun grandma and grandpa.

When I was little, we would go with grandpa in his big work truck all the way to their house and spend weekends--sometimes just us, sometimes with mom and papa, too. But on those occasions when we would go- just us, we knew it would be the most special time. Grandma would make sure there were all our favorites in the kitchen-- papaya juice, sweet cereal, M&Ms, Doritos! We'd have pizza for dinner with pepperoni & mushroom and chocolate milk to drink (a grandpa favorite!), or if it was the season we'd have strawberry shortcake for dinner (my favorite!). There was always a game to be played around the kitchen table or a pool to be swum in until it was time for a movie and popcorn before bed. She'd kiss us goodnight and say sweet dreams. Then we'd wake up and find fancy donuts for breakfast to eat while watching all the cartoons. Until we'd be swept away to go swim or to a fun activity elsewhere.

Always fun. Especially the treats since my mom was a whole 30ier before her time. For the love, I didn't connect that you could buy bread at the store until 2nd grade because it was always homemade at home!

Then in middle school, due to some wonky circumstances with Papa's job, mom, alex and I moved in for a few months while the dust settled. Grandma was part of the everyday. As I would walk to school, her pals would wave at me. Her BFF was the referee at my games. Grandma was at ALL of the games! Always. She was always our biggest fan (and we come from a family of fans!). Junior High is not the nicest part of life, so they witnessed my authentic self (read: brat!), but remained my fan everyday. Always.

As I aged, they moved full time to Florida, which provided a great getaway for me, for friends. The door was always open. We were always welcome and wanted. That never changed.

When I (finally!) brought my guy. The guy that I finally decided was worth meeting, she was beyond thrilled. She loved him before they met because I did. No questions asked. He walked right in and she kissed him and hugged him like he was her own. Even when he and gramps cheated at cards, she loved him!

While she is still with us, her days are numbered, maybe to hours. And when her light goes out, the world will know. We will cheers to her in heaven and drink a giant margarita in her honor.

I do hope I can go and hold her hand one more time before it's her time to go. Maybe look up the words to one of the silly songs she would sing to me and sing it to her

A - you're adorable
B- You're so beautiful
C- you're a cutie pie
D- You're delightful
E- You're exciteful
F-..... I don't remember, but maybe I can figure out.

Cheers to you, Grandma for always finding the fun. I will laugh with you always.

Becoming a 'We'

Last September, just before I became a we, I wrote a post called The Little Things. In it I write about our happy life and why I think it's so happy. My observation is that it's a not big gestures, but the little things. "Relationships aren't always a fairy tale. They're not always fireworks and sparks, at least, after the start. But they are a quiet rhythm and hum of love and care. It's not a fire in your soul, but one in your hearth, keeping you warm and comfortable, comforting you as you drift to sleep."

Recently I have been quiet. For those that know me well, they know my quiet is often a less than positive thing. It means I am contemplating, that something is brewing. It can be positive, yes, but often stormy seas are a result along the way. My recent quiet is a positive contemplative state. I am feeling change - in work and in life. Nothing catastrophic, but some change.
For me that means action steps and plans. I am the pebble to make a ripple/make the change. I don't just wait for the change to come to me. So my quiet place has led me to conclude that I should finish some education that will advance my career and make some major change. In order to do it, some dynamics at home need to adjust, so it's more than just me making that choice, it's a conversation with the other part of my 'we'.
I brought it up, and without any hesitation, my other half replied with action steps. (meaning he was 100% on board and ready to make a plan). That was Monday. Yesterday (Wednesday), in passing, he casually mentioned that he moved some money around so my tuition would be covered and included "extra" in case I have to take the exam more than once. But before that statement was even completed he said, "But I really don't think that it's needed because you'll pass the first time. You are so smart that you'll have such an easy time."
That is a partner. That is 'person'. That is why one selects to become a 'we'.

Growing up, I watched my parents be the best partner for each other and their individual growth and choices, along with those that affected our whole family.
I am so grateful to have had such a great example and to have subsequently found a person to be my biggest fan, my biggest support. He is my person. He is the one who will celebrate my victories and pick me up when I stumble or fall. He is the one to offer a hug after a tough day. But he is also the one to remind me of ways I might handle it differently (sometimes less gently than I would prefer!), but no matter what he is on my side. Always.
It works the other way too! I am in awe of his intelligence, his way with words, how he handles tough situations and confronts things head on. I so admire the respect he garners from teammates and friends (both at work and just in life). And I love that he loves and takes on my people as his own.  I love that he is fiercely protective of his people, vulnerable beings and all animals. I love his marshmallow center and the tender way he greets a child or a dog. I love and support his wanderlust- that he always searching for the next step, the next place, all in an effort to make sure I'm taken care of; that he is providing the life I deserve. What's funny is that he doesn't need to do anything more than be my partner and continue to be by my side through this fabulous life.

Thankful

Do you ever have a day (or days) when you find yourself feeling overwhelmed with gratitude? I find myself go in phases with this. Where the goodness in life is almost too much. When I realize that little things are actually really big things. And I am overwhelmed by how very lucky I am and how truly wonderful this life can be.

Lately, I have been feeling that way. For no reason and for every reason.
It could be the time of year- holidays are coming up, our first wedding anniversary is fast approaching, darker days, who knows? Regardless of why I have been finding myself somewhat overwhelmed with gratitude for all of life's little things (and some big things).

Deep thoughts on a Monday afternoon.

Pause

I was seriously about to write this as a Facebook post- "Dear People. I have zero patience today due to things outside of my control and clearly outside of yours. But that said, just do what I am asking and don't push back or add instruction or your thoughts about the reason why I don't actually need what I am asking. Ugh!"
As I was about to hit Post, I paused. I mean, that is not helping anyone. Not me. Not the people that actually read my news feed. No one.
So, in the pause I asked myself why. What purpose did it serve? Was it kind? Was it helpful? Yea, no.
So I deleted the post and paused.
In my most recent post about lessons learned, I said "Find the Joy". Well, instead of being a yet another negative source on social media today, I created a new project for myself. I think it will help remind me of my own life lesson and will help bring, at the very least, a moment of joy to every day.
In pausing for a brief second, I made the decision to find the joy.

So, here we go...

Lessons learned living with an autoimmune disease

I have been living with an autoimmune disease for 14 years now. 

In those years, I have learned so much. About myself, about others, about medicine and so much more. 

14 years...That. Is. Crazy! 

It all started because I was swelling- my hands, my knees, my shoulders. It was miserable. During this time, I walked 60 miles in 3 days for a cause and by the end of the walk, my team and I could not stop laughing at the pure comedy of the size of my feet and ankles. Unbeknownst to me, it was more serious than funny. But like most things in life, there is humor in everything. And sometimes laughter is needed, even in a serious circumstance. 

Following a few months of daily swelling and difficulty- including being told I was allergic to my cat (Thankfully, that ended well and he found his perfect home!)- I ended up seeing my physician and she immediately sent me to a laundry list of specialists. Contrary to most people with autoimmune conditions, they made a fairly swift (2 months) diagnosis. It is a day I will never forget. The rheumatologist met with me and started to talk- he said words I had never heard before. And started to explain long term side effects and risk and drug options. I was so overwhelmed. I asked the nurse to write it down, so I could read about it. Sarcoidosis. Now it is an easy part of my vernacular. A word I can say and a disease I understand as well as anyone.  But that day- nope. I left the office and started to sob- the gut wrenching sobs that (thankfully) happen rarely in my life. I sat in my car for what felt like forever. I was crying so hard a kind woman came to the window and knocked to make sure I was okay. I am sure I was a sight. I was 24 and wondered if I was going to die. And wondered how my life would change. I was 24. Life was just beginning. I had dreams and plans. What did this mean? Did I need to move home and be taken care of for the rest of my life? Did this mean my adventures were over? Did this mean my independent life was done? I didn't have a clue. My parents flew me home for the weekend, so they could take care of me and we could figure out a plan. (I am so grateful to have them in my life. always.) By the time I got home the prednisone had started to work it's magic and I was back to feeling okay. It was a miracle! I could maintain my independence, live my life. And there was always the hope of remission! Yay! 

Throughout the course of these years, I have lived! It's an ongoing adventure. Sometimes modified, but no one really knows that but me. Each time I moved to a new state I had to establish care with a new team of ologists (my nickname for the team of doctors). Every time they all say the same- you are a challenge. You don't fit into any box. You react so differently. They also see that I am smart and understand the disease I am battling. They see that I have done my research and will not take what they have to say as the only option. Ultimately, I become their favorite patient. I ask questions. I expect answers. I expect them to provide information or point me in the direction where it can be found. Which leads me to my lessons:

•  Life is never what we plan. And just because it doesn't look exactly as we planned, it doesn't mean it isn't sweet
• Ask questions. Expect answers. 
• Fire doctors (and others) who are not on your team. They aren't bad doctors (bad people) they just aren't the right fit for you
• Find your people. The friends who will come over and open jars for you, or listen when you need to talk something through
• Find the joy. It is always there. Sometimes it is just harder to find. But even the search offers the joy you are searching for
• Adjust your attitude. No one wants a chronic illness, but no one else wants to be around someone who complains all the time. 
• Allow yourself to rest. Be lazy. When fighting all day, ever single day, your body needs days to rest. 
• Embrace the unknown. Autoimmune diseases are no black and white. They are filled with shades of gray. So much gray. 
• Be kind. You never know the secrets someone is hiding. Or the battle they are facing. They might be snippy because they hurt or are scared. It likely isn't personal.
• Though life isn't what you pictured- it is pretty fabulous. 

In high school, if you would have asked me what life should look like at 38, I would have told you the following: I'd be married, have kids, be a runner, and be in charge of a company. Well instead at 38, I am recently married, no kids but I care for a 80 year old lady and am a dog-mom to two of my fur loves. I can't run (which I still miss). Likely, I will never be able to have my own kids. A fact that sometimes hurts more than I expect. But there are options to explore there. I can still run a company and be a great boss (and maybe a better boss because of what I've learned because of my disease- compassion and understanding). It might not be what I pictured at 18, but I'd say my life is pretty great. And though frustrating at times, having this disease and these experiences has helped shape who I am. And I like me, so while I'd like the disease to calm the eff down, I don't know that I would take all of it (and the lessons) away. 

A heavy heart and the power of love

This week my heart is so heavy. As anyone that knows me well, knows and understands, my default mode is to find a silver lining. It is a gift and sometimes super annoying. I mean, sometimes you just need to be mad, annoyed, or sad. But my brain automatically find the joy, the happy, the good stuff. But this week, it just all seems too much. And my heart feels heavy. No easy-to-find silver linings.

There was some terrible, worrisome news about a dear one, some frustrations with health, a death in the family, some maybe not so great news at work, and the situation at our border. The news reports about children at the borders was the tipping point for me. It broke me. I cried. I do not do that when it comes to news that does not affect me directly. I care and I take action but rarely (if ever) do I take it on as mine. But this time is different. They are innocents. The problem is mine. It is all of ours. So I took the action steps I could take- made calls, wrote emails/letters, made some donations and signed up to volunteer. I feel I should do more, but it's what I can do for now.
Normally, those actions and steps should make me feel better and the heaviness in my heart should go away. But it's still there. I find I am carrying the weight of the issue on my shoulders and in my heart, along with all the other news (from my life) from this week. Sigh.

Now don't get me wrong, I have found moments of joy- laughing with my guy, hanging out with a hilarious mascot and creating new life goals, my silly pups and their innocence and cute/funny antics.

And then this...

Yesterday, I unexpectedly found myself in a waiting room with a million other patients waiting to get some blood work done. The waiting area was packed and I found myself in a little corner seated across from a couple. I didn't catch their names and actually didn't engage them in any conversation. I just listened to them- talking with one another and some ladies next to me. And I found tears coming to my eyes (not the heartbroken ones from earlier this week), happy tears. Tears that you get when something touches you deep in your heart. In those moments, I always feel like an imprint is made and that moment or feeling stays with you.
As they spoke, I learned they have been married for 33 years. He says it was love at first sight for him. For her, she says with a mischievous grin and a twinkle in her eye, it took her a date or two. Then she easily brushed his hand and held it. As their story continued and the ladies asked some questions, it was revealed that she has been battling ovarian cancer for more than 3 years. As I watched, I could see the tenderness and care with which he cares for her. There is kindness, love, and laughter in their interaction.
And then he says, "I am a humble man but the one thing I will always brag about are my girls- my beautiful wife and our two daughters. Each one is incredible because of their mother and her example." And with some tears in his voice and a softness of love, he moved to share the bench with her so she could rest her head on his shoulder.

This human kindness. This love. The seeming lack of it is what has made my heart so heavy. But this small interaction made my heart a little less heavy. Thank you for sharing you love and your story, whoever you are.