The Afternoon Knows: We must savor every second we’re given.

Standing in front of The John Lennon Wall in Old Town Prague, or Praha 1, meditating on all the words written on this vast cement canvas, four words stood out.

“No Day But Today.”

After the past year and almost losing my own mother on several occasions, I’ve come to realize at the end of our lives, what really matters? Our accolades, our status, our accomplishments, our __________? They are important, but at the end of the day, I want to be able to say that I’ve savored all 86,400 seconds of this day. Today’s thought, “No Day But Today.” What second are you savoring? Please share with us.

The Afternoon Knows: Everybody needs rest.

Some changes look negative on the surface but you will soon realize that space is being created in your life for something new to emerge. -Eckhart Tolle

I realized this morning that the timeline of these “The Afternoon Knows” blogs is definitely not sequential, but are definitely ordered in my mind according to specifics.

Specific memories of specific events and the specific time they happened.

April 15, 2013 at 2:03 p.m.

The day unfolded quite normally. Remember, “The afternoon knows what the morning never suspected.”

That’s my momma. One of the first women marines to train at Parris Island, 1949. I’m guessing that is where I get my ability to push through hard times.

As my little black notebook (which is MY LIFE) shows, the day was filled to the brim: take mom to the doctor, call administrator of local assisted living residence, attend an online training for the online college course I teach, visit the Assisted Living Residence with momma (for the first time), and draft a letter to the Veteran Administration Office to begin the process of getting my mom a pension called, “VA AIDS & ASSISTANCE.” Through a series of very fortunate events, this pension was brought to my brother’s attention and then to my attention, by two Assisted Living Administrators. Because my momma is a retired veteran (she was one of the first women marines, Parris Island 1949), and was married to a Marine, both who served during a war (The Korean War), she was qualified to receive this pension, which would give her the necessary funds to actually transition to an assisted living facility. At the time, she was in dire pain because the screw from her initial hip repair (December 2012), had bore a hole through the wing of her hip. She couldn’t take one step without excruciating pain. We weren’t quite sure what to do (which is a whole other story), but I knew one thing: we needed a plan because it was becoming obvious that she was going to need daily care.

So at 2:00 pm on an ordinary Monday afternoon in April (which actually was the day of the Boston bombings, so sadly, not so ordinary), Momma and I sat on a lovely bench in the foyer of Emily Green Shores, waiting to meet with the Administrator. That moment, for me, was quite possibly one of the most difficult moments of my life. Never in a million years did I ever imagine being in such a place. My grandmother, Josephine, a strong Bohemian woman whose family immigrated from Czechoslovakia (now, the Czech Republic) in 1902, lived to be a hearty 95 years old. I never fathomed that my momma would experience anything different.

I felt faint, actually, and very anxious. How can this be happening? Torn between my own emotional state and that of my momma’s, I sat. We sat.

Suddenly, at 2:03pm, my phone rang.

“Washington” and a strange number showed up.

I didn’t recognize the number and was going to let it go to voice mail, but then thought it might be one of my momma’s doctors, so I answered it.

“Hello, is this the mother of Candace Rose Rardon?” a man’s gruff voice spoke.

Immediately, my heart became even more anxious. Knowing Candace was off on a Japanese pilgrimage some thousands of miles away, my thoughts raced. No need to record them, I bet you know exactly what I thought.

“Yes,” I hesitantly spoke. “It is.”

“Well, this is so and so from the New York Travel Fest and Candace Rose has won our story contest and a trip to Prague for two!” he said.

“What!!?” I screamed, as my loud voice alarmed the elderly men and women sitting in the foyer with my momma and me. Oops!

“Yes, her story has been selected. I’ve left her several emails and need her to reply by tomorrow night at midnight or we will be forced to give the prize to the runner-up.”

“Oh, no..that’s not happening,” I said. “I’ll get a message to her somehow.”

The next few hours were a blur. Momma and I had our interview with the Administrator. I tried to stay focused on this monumental decision, but all I could think about was Candace answering that email.

You see, the prize was two roundtrip tickets to Prague…my maternal lineage…, two nights in a 5-star right (located in the heart of Prague City Center), a special tour, and more.

All I could think about was getting on a plane, watching endless movies, staying in a 5-star, and doing ABSOLUTELY NOTHING but rest, eat, sleep, and BE WITH MY DAUGHTER.

That moment personified where life has taken me…sandwiched between my momma and my family.

The rest of the day was one big PRAYER to Jesus (and any other saint in my cloud of witnesses, Hebrews 12:1) that Candace Rose would get to a WiFi spot where she could check her email. I tweeted. I facebooked. I emailed. I did it all again.

I even became so desperate that I tried to call hostels all along the temple circuit, asking Japanese caretakers if they had “tall, blonde American” staying at their hostel.

One particular caretaker responded with, “No, no American, only 4 Italian,” in very, very broken English.

At approximately 10:30 pm, I surrendered. Breathing one final prayer, I left it in God’s hands.

“Lord, please make Candace check her email. Amen.”

At 3 am, I woke up. I rushed to my computer to see if Candace had responded.

“MOM, WE’RE GOING TO PRAGUE!”

Once again, I screamed. Only this time, not out loud. I screamed and twirled and whirled right there in my living room.

You see, the afternoon knows we all need rest. We all need something to look forward to. We all need a little light when the darkness falls.

It doesn’t always come when we expect it. Never in a million years would I have anticipated heading to Prague, CZ. It is something my daughter and I have talked about for years. She has traced her lineage and even created a beautiful scrapbook for my momma with her findings. It is now a family treasure.

After a very long arduous journey this past year, where I’ve come to know my momma in a whole new way, my daughter and I are now heading to trace our lineage together. I’m not sure what the afternoons in the Czech Republic, the Land of Stories, has in store, but I am heading out in a few hours to see. If you’d like to follow my journey…our journey…I’d love to have you along. I’ll definitely be posting once or twice (unless I get so rested, I decide to just sip hot black CZ tea and do nothing), and will be tweeting, facebooking, and instagramming, for sure!

May I offer a prayer before I go?

God in Heaven,

You see absolutely everything.

It astounds me that you care so deeply for your children.

Yes, there are times when you feel so far away.

Yes, there are times when you feel so close.

Right now I pray that you send a great big hug to my dear friends,

so they will know and feel and experience your presence, just like I did

that day in April. Your timing is perfect.

Help each one of us trust YOU, because YOU are trustworthy.

Help us open our hearts, our minds, our eyes and our ears, so that we don’t miss

what you have for us. In Jesus’s name. Amen.

The Afternoon Knows: You are Stronger than you Know.

“Deep roots are not reached by the frost.”
― J.R.R. Tolkien

The afternoon knows one very important thing: You are stronger than you know.

If anyone had told me what the last eleven months had in store, I wouldn’t have believed them.

You know. You’ve been there, too. Life takes that “blind corner,” and well, the rest is history.

It is during these very tough times that we must have a deep-rooted faith. Why? Because you and I have to have something to stand on when it feels like the entire world around us is caving in.

Monday, June 4, 2013 was one of those exact moments for me.

Mom had been moved from Mary Immaculate Hospital (where her hip replacement took place) to Maryview Acute Rehabilitation Unit (where she would rehab her new hip). Post hip replacement her vitals plummeted (while I was in Kansas at my son’s college graduation) and after many tests and several blood transfusions, she was diagnosed with C-Diff. Little did I know, then, what would come forth as a result of this serious bacterial infection. I tried so hard to be present and celebrate my son’s great achievement, but the emotional tug-of-war ensued.

It seemed as though everything was under control.

The Sunday before. Everything seemed just great!

But early Monday morning, as I was recovering from the flight home and trying to prepare for the day, Mom called…frantic.

“Something is very wrong,” I heard from the other end of the phone.

“Okay, I’m on my way,” I assured her.

She was losing blood again. Lots. I finished dressing and quickly made my way to the hospital. When I arrived, Dr. M assured me everything was stable and that I didn’t need to call anyone.

Within the hour, everything changed. Dr. M approached me, “Janell, I would go ahead and call your family. I’ve called for Rapid Response Team, so don’t panic. It’s protocol. I need to move her to ICU..her condition is worsening fast.”

The dear psychologist, Dr. G., was right outside the door. Because of my mom’s C-Diff, everyone who entered the room could be at risk and therefore had to “suit up.” He kept eye contact with me the entire time.

“I’m here,” he said. “If you need me. Let me know what I can do.”

Trying not to panic, I took a deep breath. Then, I made those calls.

What happened next was a big yellow and blue blur, as everyone (I want to say 15-20 doctors/nurses) on the RRT had to put on those yellow coverings and blue latex gloves.

This dear nurse kept assuring me, “I’ve got this little spring that goes off inside when…you know…it’s only going off a little bit right now…” She kept assuring me all throughout the ordeal. A few days later, she came up to ICU. She said, “I haven’t been wrong yet.” All I could do was give her a big hug.

As they swarmed around my momma, she grew more and more anxious. I stood at the foot of the bed in the midst of it all. My eyes didn’t leave her eyes.

“What’s happening to me?” she cried out to me.

“I’m not sure, but I’m here. Everyone is on their way.”

She grew even more anxious. At that moment, I called out to the RRT team and asked them to please stop and explain what was happening to my mom.

“She doesn’t know what is happening. Please, please stop and let her know.”

Graciously, they did.

Still, I stood at the foot of the bed.

In that moment, I felt sick to my stomach. My knees weakened, my heart raced.

Flashing before my eyes were the last nine months. All I could think was, “Lord, not this way. Please don’t let her die this way. We’ve worked so hard to get her to this place. I don’t want this to be the end. Please, God, hear me.”

Soon my children arrived. Then, my sister.

I found myself facing my mother and then facing my children. Suddenly, I wasn’t only losing a mom, but my children were losing a grandmother.

At that moment, a strength washed over me that I didn’t know I had. Pushing aside my own fears, I summoned the courage to be there for my three children. They needed me. My mom needed me. My sister needed me. Doctors and nurses needed me. My brother needed me (via phone, as he lives in Japan).

Decisions had to be made, quickly and wisely.

Where does strength like that come from? For me, the answer is very simple.

“God is our refuge and strength. A very-present help in time of trouble” (Psalm 46:1).

“The Lord is with me. He is my helper” (Psalm 118:7).

“The Lord is my helper, I will not be afraid” (Hebrews 13:6).

“When I am weak, He is strong” (2 Corinthians 12:10).

God gives us a strength we didn’t even know we had.

Today, I share all this in hopes that it will give you strength for the unknown.

For the things in life that Afternoon knows all about.

For all the medical terms that sound scary and big.

For overwhelming swarms of fast-paced circumstances that make you weak in the knees.

For eyes that give someone else courage in their darkest moment.

My Prayer for You

May you know the God who is Strength.

May you rest in the God who is Courage.

May you abide in the God who is Almighty.

Amen.

The Afternoon Knows.

The afternoon knows what the morning never thought of” (Robert Frost).

“Janell, it is so good to see you,” smiled Erin. “How on earth are you? Tell me what’s going on.”

There in the middle of the women’s bathroom of the YMCA, I smiled.

“I don’t even know where to start.”

“Well, tell me about your mom,” she said. “Then, tell me about your family and the wedding.”

The next ten minutes or so, Erin listened to my heart. We only touched the surface, but it’s amazing how profoundly special ten minutes can be.

Erin touched a very tired last little nerve in my writer’s heart. I want to write. I want to process. I want to get back to some sense of a normal routine. But the past year hasn’t allowed that to happen. Remember that blind corner I mentioned way back when? That sudden, drastic alteration of one’s plans? The unwelcome life lessons that transform us into who God truly wants us to be?

I’m sitting here in my local library desperately trying to find my writer’s voice again. The operative word here is again. Because, it seems, every time I sit down to try and put words on paper, or should I say characters on computer screen, yet another “seeming” interruption happens.

Yes, last week held yet one more trip to the ER and then another hospital stay for my dear Momma. In the wee hours of Wednesday morning (3 am to be exact), I found my way to her brand new AL (Assisted Living) home, meandered through the hollow halls, to find her in desperate pain. Anxious and frustrated, all I could was drive as fast as I could. The ensuing hours brought test upon test. All I could do was hold her hand. Help her take her shoes off. Fluff hospital pillows until they settled into a spot that brought her comfort.

“I know you’re mad at me,” she said.

“Mom, I’m not even awake enough to be mad,” I replied.

Hours unfolded into more hours, one test led to another and then finally, a decision to admit her was made.

I’m always amazed at the human body. How can two little kidneys cause such a fuss, but they do, especially in those “who have been on the earth a very long time.”

So off we went. By 1:30 or so in the afternoon, she was settled in.

“Go home, Janell,” she said. “For goodness sake, you need some rest. I’ll be fine. AND, don’t you dare come back tonight. Get some rest.”

Torn in two, I left.

In the crowded elevator, I couldn’t help but notice the strained faces of those around me.

“You just never know what the day will unfold, do you?” I sighed. A woman sighed. A man winced.

It seems poet Robert Frost understood.

“The afternoon knows,” he writes, “What the morning never thought of.”

When I found this incredibly poignant sentence, I cried.

“Yes, Mr. Frost,” I whispered. “Yes it does. That is precisely what I have been feeling. I just didn’t know it.”

Today, I begin to process “months of afternoons,” in hopes of hearing what Afternoon has to say to me.

To you.

To us.