My Friend's Funeral and Burial at Arlington National Cemetery

Our good friends Bruce and Maryann West moved away while we were in Ukraine.  Bruce was a chaplain on a Marine Corp. Base in Iwakuni, Japan.  Bruce died in a biking accident in Japan last month.  The funeral was Saturday and his burial was yesterday at Arlington National Cemetery. 

So, first, Bruce’s funeral, certainly the most difficult two hours of my life up until that point:  It was a beautiful service.  They did a great job capturing Bruce’s legacy; his heart for God, his love for his family and his skill in ministry.  His brother-in-law read statements from each of his siblings about how much fun Bruce was growing up.  There were also a few slide shows, video testimonies about his life and friendships, stories from his college friends, ministry co-workers and other chaplains in the military.  Maryann (his wife) spoke about Bruce’s relationship with God and how we can know Him because of Jesus.  She was amazing and Bruce was a great friend.  We will miss him dreadfully. 

Maryann, for her part, handled the whole thing with supernatural grace and beauty.  Unfortunately, I had not seen her since their We’re-Leaving-for-Japan-Yard-Sale last summer.  So when I saw her after the service, I burst into tears.  That was pretty much the way it was all weekend.  I realized later on that this was Bill’s fault.  He kept being nice to me.  What I really needed was for him to hit me in the shoulder and tell me to buck up, but he failed miserably in his role. 

So, I cried through the service, I cried through the greetings afterward, I cried through the family dinner and I cried all the way home.  I kept trying to change God’s mind about the whole thing and thinking, “Surely Not.  Surely, You would not do this to us.  Surely, You would not take Maryann’s husband away.  Surely, You do not expect us to go home, walk in the front door, shut it behind us, greet the children and talk and laugh and breath and live as we did before.  Surely, You do not intend for the world to CONTINUE as it did before after You have done this to us.”  

I don’t know what I was thinking, but it just seemed as though, since we were enduring such a great loss, the sky would turn red or there would be an earthquake or falling brimstone or something.  But, apparently, the world will go on as it did before because Sunday was a regular day.  The sky was consistently blue and there were no natural disasters.  I went to the store and was painfully aware that it was life-as-usual for the people around me, even though my world was falling apart. 

I thought that funeral was the hardest thing I would ever be called upon to endure, but that was only because I had never been to a burial.  Bruce was buried yesterday morning at Arlington National Cemetery with full military honors.   The service was at 9am.  We all met in an administrative building at the front of the cemetery about 8:30am.  I meant to hang back this time.  Maryann and I are dear friends, but we are only friends.  I am not family.  My intention to hang back and let the family endure this together lasted about two minutes.  She looked so small standing alone and greeting person after person in that room, I just couldn’t stand it.  I left Bill and stood behind her for the rest of the morning.    

I told her at one point, when she started crying, “we will get through this.” And she said, “But, I don’t want to get through this.  I want it to last and last, because once it is over, then that is the end and I have to move on.”  This just made us both cry all the more, but after that, I was consciously grateful for every step in the service, grateful for each new event, thinking, “Ok, one more thing,” to make it last longer and dreading the moment it was over for her.

Then Maryann told me that she asked God for a sign.  She said, “I asked God that if He was real and if Bruce was with Him in heaven that He would make it stop raining.”  Mind you, it had been raining steadily all morning, starting about 5am and it was raining when we walked into the building.  Everyone in the room was holding a wet umbrella.  It wasn’t just sprinkling, it was raining.  Maryann planned to walk behind the casket to the burial site and there was no way everyone could fit under the awning during the service.  It needed to stop raining, but it was highly unlikely.  At any other time I would have thrown all the logic in my arsenal her way, but all I could do was stammer out, “OK then. There you have it. It will just have to stop raining,” and then I spent the next few minutes trying to remember what the radar showed earlier that morning and wondering what I would say to her if it didn’t stop.

About 9am a representative from the cemetery came to have Maryann sign some papers.  He had her verify the information on Bruce’s tombstone and then asked her if she wanted to add anything.  He suggested, “Beloved husband and father,” but Maryann asked that they put, “But to me to live is Christ and to die is gain” Phil 1:21 (which I thought was absolutely perfect).  The representative balked at this.  First he worried that it might be too long and then he mentioned that it was more common to put “personal remembrances” and suggested something else benign.  They talked a little more until I finally lost patience and asked, “Is this forbidden?”  He said, “no.”  So I said, “then do it.”  That was pretty much the end of the conversation and hopefully, it will be the end of the issue as well. 

After that we were told to walk back to our cars and line up behind the hearse.  Thank God, it had stopped raining and it didn’t rain for the rest of the day.  I should have known that God would do this for her.  As soon as I saw that it stopped raining, I remembered that Jesus stopped a storm for the disciples on a fishing boat in Mark 4.  Afterward He asked, “How is it, that you have no faith?” 

The cemetery is so big that we drove in a line about half way to the site.  Then we got out and stood while they transferred Bruce’s casket to a horse drawn carriage.  There were two separate military guards there and a horse escort.  They played a song and covered the casket with a flag.  We all walked behind the casket and I cried the whole time.  They took the casket to a covered pavilion and Maryann and the kids sat down in the front row.  I was holding back, thinking that the rest of Bruce’s family would sit down, but when they didn’t, one of the officers told me to sit down behind Maryann.  I think they thought I was family since I was crying so pitifully. 

So, there I was in the second row, holding Maryann’s sister’s hand and crying my eyes out.  I finally looked up and that’s when I saw the Veteran Angels.  There had been some talk about the Westboro Baptist freaks protesting Bruce’s funeral.  Since they have been making such a pain of themselves, there are veterans who volunteer to attend military funerals to block the protestors.  Thankfully, there were no protestors, and I thought the veterans might leave once they realized we were safe, but they stayed for the whole service.  They were tattooed and pierced, with varying hair lengths and wearing leather and denim and T-shirts and a whole myriad of patches and pins.  There were eight of them and they stood in a line about half a block away, really in the background, but still there.  They stood at attention the whole time.  Every time I looked over they were still there, solid, unmoving, shielding.  They were beautiful. 

So then the service began.  One of the chaplains read 1 Corinthians 13 and said a few words about Bruce.  Then some soldiers a few rows over did a three shot volley. They did a great job, the soldiers were crisp and uniform, but it felt like each bullet went straight to my heart.  Afterward they played taps, which was heartbreaking.  As the last note died,  they began folding the flag on Bruce’s coffin.  They gave it to Maryann, “On behalf of the president of the United States, a grateful nation and a proud Navy.”  They also gave a flag to each child and one to his mom.  Then a whole row of officers and enlisted came over to thank Maryann and the kids, one by one, for Bruce’s service.  It was a huge number of people, but each time another one came forward, all I could think was, “Good. One more thing to make the service last longer.”   Every minute was becoming more and more precious, but there is no stopping time.

After the last soldier said, thank you, they announced that the service was over and asked everyone to leave so the family could say goodbye to Bruce.  I went over to say something, but all I could do was put my hand on his dog tags, which were attached to the end of the coffin.  I couldn't get any words out.  

They whisked Maryann away.  There was no way I could get to her.  So, I nodded at Bill and made straight for the line of veterans who had been so quietly guarding the service the whole time.  They were so comforting, standing at attention every time I looked over, that I wanted to thank them for coming and protecting us. 

I felt stupid walking over in my upper middle class wrinkle free suit with coordinating purse and flat black shoes, but I couldn’t let them go without talking to them.  It meant so much to me to see them there during that service.  I appreciated the rest of the military, but this was paid duty for them.  These veterans were volunteers.  I meant to just shake each of their hands and say, “thank you,” but I started crying again on the walk over.  When I got to the first one I looked up and saw that he was also crying.  His eyes were so full of anguish that as soon as our eyes met, I knew he understood.  I meant to merely shake his hand but once I saw his eyes, I’m afraid and I sort of fell into him sobbing.  Oddly enough, it’s his eyes that I keep finding in front of me, constantly.

Actually there are three thoughts that I can’t get out of my mind.  The first is the moment they gave Maryann the flag.  That one hurt.  It was such a glaringly inadequate exchange.  But, what else could be done?  The second was when Bruce’s father went up to his coffin to say goodbye.  He had been so quiet and composed during the whole service, but at the very end, he put his hand on Bruce’s coffin and just as he turned away, he let out a single sob that was so full of torment and grief that I can barely get the sound out of my head.  And then the third thing is that veteran soldier’s tear filled eyes. 

Bill came behind me to say, “Thank you” to the veterans and by the time we walked back, most of the group had dispersed.  It was clearly time to go, and we might have made it out then, but I looked over and saw Bruce’s casket alone under the pavilion and I just couldn’t leave.  Bruce was always so fun, full of life and talkative, he hated to be alone.  Bill told me again that it was time to go, but it was like my feet were rooted to the ground.  I just couldn’t leave Bruce to go into the ground surrounded by strangers-in-coveralls, with no one there who knew him and loved him nearby.   So, we stood in the field for about 45 minutes while a worker came with a gas powered lift and put Bruce’s coffin in a cement vault.  He secured the top and wrote something on it with spray paint, and then he wheeled it over to the grave site.   Meanwhile, a backhoe dug out the grave.  It was about 2x6x8 feet deep, so it took a while. Then the workers lowered my friend’s body into the ground and covered him over with dirt and all was still.  For some reason, after that I could finally say, "Goodbye Bruce. I will miss you," and walk away. 

Bill drove the truck over and got the GPS coordinates for the grave site.   Then I called Maryann.  She wanted to see the grave site before she left, so we drove to her hotel and picked up her and her escort, Chaplain Baker.  We showed her how to find the site and took some pictures there and at the tomb of the unknown soldier.  Then it was time to go and we had to leave and take Maryann back to her hotel.   I had to say goodbye to Maryann and leave her, looking so very small and alone in front of that hotel, and leave Bruce alone at that grave site, while I drove home with my husband.  

We got home about 4:00 and I spent the rest of the day wandering in a daze.  I wandered upstairs, downstairs, through the basement, outside.  I spent about 30 minutes trying to figure out what to make the kids for dinner until I finally remembered, 'this is why God created Chinese take out."  I was crying so much that Bill coaxed me into going for a run.  Nothing really helps. I know God was not surprised by Bruce's death.  I know He loves us and He can bring beauty from ashes.  I know He can stop rain for doubting mourners, and He collects our tears in a bottle.  I know He is sovereign over all things and I know He has a plan, but I must tell you, I don't like this.  I want my friend back.  I want Maryann's husband back. 

I feel as though it is no longer possible for everything to seem right.   I used to lay in bed and remind myself; “the kids are healthy, the bills are paid, all the people that I love are healthy and well cared for—(or at least it was POSSIBLE for them to be healthy and well cared for, if they would just listen to me). But, from this point on, something will always be missing in my little world.  We have been condemned to live with an open wound.

How You Can Help

A few months ago, I wrote about Sasha, who has a ministry to orphans in Vorzel, where Ruslan lived before we adopted him.   You may remember that Ruslan had surgery on his legs, but he was not given any pain killer afterward.  He was in such pain that one of the caregivers called Sasha, who brought the medicine Ruslan needed.  The March 29 post tells the whole story. 

Anyway, Sasha brings teams of volunteers to Ukraine every year to help update the orphanage facilities.  The conditions are pretty grim.  For example, the bathroom in Ruslan’s house didn’t have a toilet seat.  It was just a cold (very cold) ceramic bowl with no top on the tank and you had to lift the plunger chain to flush.  The flushing wasn’t a problem, but the lack of a toilet seat was bewildering.  I kept thinking it must be broken and would certainly be replaced soon.   I didn’t clue in until the very end that this was their permanent toileting situation.  There's just NO money in that country for things like toilet seats for orphanages.  Sasha writes in his latest newsletter about one bathroom with a water leak underneath the floor.  The staff take turns every hour to soak up the water.

The volunteer teams are in Ukraine RIGHT NOW and Sasha just posted about their first ten days.  It’s really amazing, the conditions they are facing, so I thought I would post a link so everyone can see for themselves.  

Here is their latest newsletter:  http://almaz.mailerlite.com/b5r2z4/2140246.  Be sure to check out the story about Remodeling 70 Year Old Restrooms, and their effort to get a humidifier in some of the children's bedrooms.

Here is a link to their ministries homepage: http://almazgo.com/

A few people have been asking about how to give to his ministry.  Sasha works closely with a few churches/ministries here in the states.  If you want to give directly to the facility renovations, scroll down to the bottom of that first link and there is a church coordinating the donations.   

There is also a ministry here called Father’s Heart that is hoping to hire a full time representative in Vorzel.  According to IRS rules, they can’t raise funds for a specific person’s salary, but they CAN raise funds for the POSITION, so if you are looking to give MONTHLY to help finance the positions salary, this is the place to go.  They are also taking a team of volunteers to Ukraine in June—late June, so you can give toward their upcoming missions trip or sign up to join them! 

Their home page is here:  http://www.fathersheartinc.com/home and details about their mission trip are here: http://www.fathersheartinc.com/upcoming_events_and_mission_trips

Feel free to e-mail me: marnie@afo.net if you have any questions about Sasha or these ministries. Even if you can't adopt, you can make a HUGE difference in the lives of these children by volunteering to go for a week or donating funds to help update their facilities.  Believe me.  They need your help. 

My Many Marathons

It’s been a week and a day since our friend, Bruce, died in a biking accident in Japan.  His wife, Maryann, is a dear friend of mine.  We’ve been skyping every few days since last Saturday.   Maryann is coping as well as can possibly be expected, but it’s still really hard.  She told me that I could post a link to her blog: http://westgoeseast.wordpress.com/.  It started out as a blog about her new life in Japan as a chaplain's wife but ...clearly God had different plans.

I don’t think the reality of his death has totally hit home over here. We have the ability to make so many choices in this day and age, it’s hard to clue-in that this is something I cannot change. I keep nodding my head and thinking, “surely not,” as though God offered some sort of plan-for-our-life and I can accept or reject it in the same way I pick out a new couch and then change my mind and take it back.  

I also kept wondering, "WHEN will I stop CRYING?" Then, about the third day in, I realized that I won't stop crying. Maybe I’ll stop crying on the outside, but I’ll always be crying on the inside about this one.  It is going to be unbearably painful for a long, long time; not a temporary sorrow, but rather a permanent addition to our life.  Sort of like realizing that I’m in a race that I thought was a sprint, but is really a marathon.  For some reason, this realization made me feel better.    Not that I want this addition by any stretch, but now that I realize what we're in for, I'm better able to handle it and not looking for the finish line around every corner.   So, still crying, but no longer surprised over all my tears….(although, I do wonder, simply as a matter of VOLUME, how many tears a person can cry.  You’d think I’d get dehydrated at some point and just stop). 

Maryann spoke at her husband’s memorial service on Thursday, May 26^th.  She posted her text on her blog the next day.  The funeral will be June 18th in Williamsburg and the burial is June 20th at Arlington National Cemetery. I've been so fortunate up until now, not to have lost anyone. I had NO IDEA how difficult a Memorial Day Weekend could be.  Yesterday a veteran offered me a poppy outside Sam's Club and it nearly killed me. I took it, but I couldn't even get a "thank you" out, just a teary eyed nod. I wish God would give some sort of warning, so I would know I'm about to get smacked in the face with stuff like that.

In the meantime, the people around me are living their lives, the sun is rising and setting and time is passing, regardless of whether I am noticing or participating.

The boys  have sort of switched roles in our household.  Will used to be the extremely difficult child and Ruslan –actually, he was difficult as well, but he was slightly less difficult than Will.  However, they have officially switched places.  Will has suddenly become relatively easy and cute, cute, cute.  When he first came, we were dealing with so many fundamental issues (like starvation) that I think he could really only focus on eating.  After that, it was potty training, then leg braces to get used to , then eye surgery, then he got a killer sinus infection and a few bangs on the head, plus the new language he had to learn.  Poor baby.  It was always something!!  However, in the past few weeks, he has really come out of his shell.  He’s been talking almost non-stop.  I can’t understand what is going on in there, but he clearly does have SOME grey matter to work with. 

On the one hand, he still cannot get concepts like, “Is Will a boy or a girl?”  He’s finally accepted that, “Will is a boy,” but I am certain this is just a matter of rote memory on his part because if I ask him about ANY other person in the family or neighborhood, he usually gets it wrong, even when the odds are 50/50!   We also have baby gates everywhere because he is still bound and determined to get into “off limits” rooms, and still totally obsessed with water and dumps it on the floor every chance he gets.  Certain circuits are simply NOT connected.

On the other hand, Will is either cluing into some other higher level concepts, or he’s just taking “cuteness” lessons.  He smiles ALL THE TIME.  He has picked up a slew of our family slang like, “how about” for “would you like,” and  “actually” for “you’re wrong,” and “STOP NOYIN ME!”  for “go away.”  Plus,  I was sitting at our window seat yesterday and he climbed up with me, put his hands on my arm and said,

“Mama.”  (tap, tap) “Mama, I want to say, 'Thank You' to  God.” 

I said, “that’s a great idea.  What should we say, ‘Thank You,’ to God for?”

“I want to say thank you to God for DADDY… and for JUMPIN.” 

So, Will held my hand and I said, “Thank you God for Daddy and for jumping.” And then he gave me a kiss and scooted down off the seat and walked away.

Ruslan, for his part, has become so hard to be around that….well, no one wants to be around him.  I’ve been trying to pin point what it is that makes that child SO difficult and the truth is, it’s not his disability, it’s his personality.  I consider this to be my problem.  As his mom, it’s really my job to teach him how to act.  Right now, he has NO IDEA.  We are working with years and years of reinforced helplessness, whining, habitual demanding, and a huge emotional deficit.  It’s really hard to live with.   I've been working on a blog draft called, "I Have Reactive Attachment Disorder" that spells it all out.  Things are actually getting better, slowly, but it’s a long haul.  

God's Perfect Aim

So, things had been going reasonably well lately.  My parents are visiting and I love my parents.  The kids were having a great time with them.  The boys are making slow but sure progress.  Bill keeps saying, “It's like watching the grass grow.  You stare and you stare and nothing happens, but if you look away and then turn back, you can see growth.”  He's pretty accurate.
 

Everyone is excited about summer.   We have about ten days left of school here.  The latest joke in the house was about Paul, who just turned twelve.  Last Thursday morning, I told him to go get a shower.  It went like this:

Paul, go get a shower.

Oooohhh! Can I skip it please?

No, you can't skip it.  You have to shower every day.  All humans wash!

OK but can I ....can I at least do my math lesson first? 

Paul is doing Saxxon Math, by the way.  It is among the most unimaginative, tedious, colorless, largest math texts ever published.   Nevertheless, better math than a shower. 

So, anyway, we were living in relative ease.  Then, about 6am on Saturday, I got an e-mail from my friend Maryann asking me to call her.  Maryann is the one I posted about back in November.  Her husband is a Navy chaplain and her family moved to a Marine Corp. base in Japan while we were in Ukraine.  Bruce and Maryann are among our dearest friends. We’ve known them for almost 20 years.  I came to the birth of their children, Bruce baptized our kids, they babysit for us when we take vacations….you know, the trust-you-with-my-kids-friends-for-life kind of friends. 

Bruce died on Saturday.  He was mountain biking with a friend.  He hit a rock at the bottom of a hill and fell over a 30 foot cliff.  He died instantly.  He was 41. 

I feel as though God glanced our way Saturday and said to His Angels, "Oh, right…Hang on a minute.  I just remembered something."   Then He grabbed that Saxxon Math text off our couch, hit everyone in my little circle full on in the face, HARD, checked to make sure everyone was bleeding, then threw the book back on the couch and left.

It's been three days now and I'm still flat on the floor, bloody and useless.  I look over and I see Maryann, barely able to lift her head and I can’t help her.   I can’t even hold her hand.  She’s in JAPAN.

Every time I have a quiet moment, I am sick with worry over Maryann and her kids.  I am distracted with grief.   I want desperately to fly to Japan and make everything all right.  This is the first time I have regretted adopting those boys because I think if I didn’t have them, I could fly over and DO something.   But, what can be done??

Broken Records

Vitals:  Nothing is really happening lately.  It's life as normal.  But, I decided to record the events of last weekend so my kids can mock my parenting and interested readers will feel competent in comparison.

Details:  So, last Thursday, Will came home with a note about a tick bite on the back of his head.  The tick was gone, but the site was red and swollen and he had been picking at in class.  I got some antibiotics, a bandaid and an appointment for the upcoming week to have it checked out.  The next day, Friday, Reilly who had been down with a sore throat, was diagnosed with Strep.  Seven children and I’ve NEVER had a child with Strep.  Go Figure.  Ten days on antibiotics and a family record broken.  The doctor assured me that she wasn’t contagious after three doses of antibiotics.  This was fortunate, since the next day, Saturday, we were planning to take the boy scouts canoeing.  None of us wanted to miss it, least of all Reilly.  I told her she could lay in the canoe all day and the rest of us would paddle her peacefully down the river.  What could go wrong?

Before I continue, I have to say in our defense that I did check out the rivers before we went.  There is a web site, http://www.americanwhitewater.org/content/River/state-summary/state/VA/ that lists all rivers, by state, with color coded charts depicting water levels.   The particular river we were canoeing was listed as “Low Runnable, “ on the morning of our trip.  See?  I am a responsible adult, parent, and boy scout mom.

So, that day there was our family:  Me in a canoe with Ruslan and Reilly, Bill in his canoe with Will and Sharon, then Matt and Paul in their kayaks, along with three other single scouts in Kayaks, the boy scout leader (kayak) and two father/son teams, each in a canoe.  Before we even got all the boats in the water, one of the father/son teams had flipped their canoe. 

Two things became clear right away.  1.  This particular father/son team had NO experience canoeing and 2. The “Low Runnable” label on American Whitewater should definitely have read, “High Runnable.”   The water was about waist deep and there was a hefty current.  It was manageable, as in, you could stand up easily and not get pushed over, but it was hard to canoe/kayak against it, so that if we had to maneuver anywhere, it was going to take considerable effort. 

We thought about quitting, but the boat rack and our vehicles were already at the other end of the river.  Besides, this particular father had missed our instruction time with the boy scouts because he was on the road, ferrying cars back and forth.  Surely once we gave him a few pointers, he would get the hang of things.  We gave the novice father a flash lesson; in a canoe, you HAVE to keep your body perpendicular to the river’s surface or you will tip.  This is counter intuitive, because if the boat tips one way,  instinct will have you lean to the other side, in which case, everything goes wobbly and you are doomed.  But if you keep your body straight upright, you WILL NOT TIP.  I’ve even had people hang on the side of my canoe and try to tip my boat, but I’ve been able to hold it upright, just by sitting up straight. 

Another tricky part of canoeing is that the steering is sort of opposite.  In order to turn Right, you have to paddle on the Left side.  Plus, the person in the back of the boat is the one who steers.  The front paddler is just really there for power.   This is why Bill or I can be in a canoe, basically alone, and still steer fine, since we can just sit in the back and let the kids in the middle/front play around.  This is admittedly confusing.  The novice father had about a mile to practice before the first bend.  Bill stayed behind with him to help him get the hang of it and I went ahead with the boy scouts. 

At the first bend, they tipped again.  Unfortunately, they were behind everyone, so we had to paddle against the current to get the canoe, dump out the water, collect the boy, dad and paddles and get them going again.  We had about a half mile of peace, then at the first set of rapids, they tipped again.  More back paddling, dumping, collecting and this time, we put a more experienced boy scout in the canoe with the novice father hoping he could keep things upright.

After a few hundred yards, they tipped again. 

We decided to stop for lunch.  Regrettably, no one else was interested in napping besides me, so after a short lesson in water safety, we got back in the boats.  This time, we added Will into the canoe with me, Ruslan and Reilly. Will generally just sits happily in the boat, looking around with a smile on his face and taking everything in.  He’s not a problem, but if something goes wrong, he'd be totally helpless. This left Bill alone in a canoe with Sharon so that he could give more help to the novice dad without the added burden of little Will in the boat.  We also put the boy scout leader with the novice dad, hoping that since they were more equal in weight, they might stay upright.

Another mile down the river and the novice dad tipped again.  More back-paddling, dumping, collecting and just as we were getting them upright, one of the boy scouts noticed a rope swing hanging from a tree.  All them immediately pulled over and scrambled up the bank, taking turns on the rope swing.  I pulled over so we could watch and, as soon as he figured out what was happening, Ruslan wanted to try.  I hate having to constantly tell him, “no.”  Besides, where is the fun in life, if one never takes risks?  Reilly was already up the bank and Will had NO IDEA what was going on so Ruslan was the only one feeling left out. 

I tried to put Ruslan off, but he wanted to go so badly that I finally relented.  The dads were upright again and lined up next to us along the bank.  So, I left Will alone in my canoe.  At the time, this seemed rational, since he ALWAYS just sits still and smiles at everything, plus the more experienced dad was alongside us in his canoe, right next to Will and they were both in a slight inlet behind a tree.  I thought the dad could keep the canoes together, along the bank and out of the current since all they had to do was stay still (hint: if you are thinking, “what an idiot” here, you are on the right track).

I grabbed Ruslan and carried him up the bank.  Bill pulled over to get some video shots of the kids on the rope swing.  The water was cold, so no one thought of going in, they were just swinging back and forth over the water and back onto the bank.  Anyone passing by might have thought we were making a Tarzan film (with a well financed wardrobe department).  It’s really fun.  I put Matt at the edge of the water and put Ruslan on the rope swing.  His upper body is massive, so he had no problem holding on and Matt grabbed him as soon as he neared the bank and pushed him back toward me. I’m not sure if he ever went over the water, but he had a total blast and was squealing the whole time.  He loved it.

I looked over to see if Bill had been able to video tape his ride and noticed that Bill was just closing up his video camera and handing it to the boy scout leader.  I was about to protest when I looked further up the river and saw that my canoe had broken away from the pack and was headed backwards down river.  There was Will in his seat, smiling over at me and looking for all the world like this was just another part of the tour.  Back where I had left Will along the bank, the more experienced dad was standing waist deep in water and the novice dad was down the river, chasing their canoe.  In the time it took me to shriek in panic and hand Ruslan off to Matt, Bill was able to catch up to my canoe, grab it and hold it against the far bank. 

There was no help for it.  I dove in.  The water was so cold, it literally took my breath away.  I hate it when that happens.  It took maybe 15 seconds to get across the river, but it seemed like forever.  When I got to the boat, there was Will, smiling like it was Sunday morning and telling me, “Mommy wet,”  in case I was unaware.  The water was too deep for me to jump in the boat safely, plus the dad’s boat was still on its way down river.  So, we crossed back to the homeside of the bank and cornered the dad’s canoe.  It was so full of water, it was nearly sunk.  I jumped into a dry canoe with Will.  Sharon came over to join us.  This left Bill with the other two canoes and the task of dumping, collecting and setting things right again for the dads, while I went back to supervise the boys and get Ruslan. 

For a few seconds, I thought disaster was averted.  All the children and boats were accounted for.  I was heading back upstream and while the current was strong and I was alone, I knew I could do it if I concentrated and gave all-out effort paddling.  All was well, until suddenly, there was Reilly (you remember, the daughter with strep) in Matt’s kayak shooting past me down the river looking like she was being chased by a swarm of bees.  I shouted at her and she managed to turn around and tell me that Matt had cut his foot, "really bad" and was "bleeding everywhere."

Apparently, Matt and Paul were so concerned about the welfare of their brother that they had decided to pass the time riding the rope swing together.  While they were swinging out over the water, Paul pushed Matt in.  He’d landed on a stick that was sticking upright in the sandy bottom and had a sizable, deep cut on the bottom of his foot.  Reilly had panicked, grabbed Matt’s kayak and gone after us down the river.  Now she was panicking, thinking that Matt was going to lose his foot and I was panicking wondering if she was strong enough to make it back up the river.   She turned around and started paddling toward me.  I have to say, she is amazing.  I was thinking I might have to rope her off and tow her, but she made it back upstream, all by herself. 

Unfortunately, the first aid kit was with Bill in the other canoe. So, Bill left the dad’s canoe in the care of the dads and paddled back upstream with the first aid kit.  Apparently, Matt’s cut looked more like a gushing, gaping hole at that point.  I never got a good look at it, I’m just going by Bill and Reilly’s description.  I stayed away.  Matt was just on the verge of tears.  I knew if I got close to him, he would start to cry.  So, though my motherly instincts were shrieking in protest, I kept my distance and pretended to be busy corralling boy scouts and children, while Bill blotted the blood and got the foot dry enough to hold a few bandaids.

In the end, Bill and Matt flew off down the river to get Matt to an emergency room before it was too late for stitches.  They cleaned him out, sewed him up and after a special boot, crutches and ten days worth of antibiotics, he’s good as new!  Seven children, five of them boys, and I’ve never had a child with stitches, nor crutches.  Ever.  Another family record broken.   

In the meantime, we kept the novice dad with the boy scout leader, emptied the canoes, collected boys, snacks and paddles and we all shot off after Bill.  The boy scout leader and novice dad tipped one more time that day, for a total of six tippings on this one trip.  I think last year we had four tippings for the whole summer’s worth of trips.  Another family record broken.   

On Monday morning the tick bite on the back of Will’s head was the size of a small egg.  Luckily, we had an appointment for that day and after a quick culture, Will was diagnosed with Strep, as in, there was strep bacteria at the site of the tick bite, making it swell.  Another ten days worth of antibiotics.   I now have six children at home.  One in a walker, one on crutches, and three on antibiotics.  But I’ll tell you in the midst of all this, a small miracle.  On Tuesday morning, I finally unpacked the car.  We didn’t lose one item on that canoe trip.   We came home with all the shoes, all the paddles, all the life jackets, keys, snacks and electrical equipment that we left with (Yes, you read that right. What’s a canoe trip without a trusty GPS?).  Nothing floated off down river, lost on the roadside or gone home with a mystery family.  Another family record broken.   

Four broken records in one weekend….Its a record.

I MUST NOT HELP THAT BOY

On April first, I posted on my Facebook page:  "Please pray for Ruslan. He was just sobbing this afternoon. He kept saying, "Mama, Ruslan body doesn’t work!  I tell it work but Ruslan body doesn't work. ...Mama body work, Daddy body work, Matt, Paul, Reilly, Sharon body work.  Mama, WHY Ruslan body doesn't work?"

As you might guess, it was a difficult afternoon. I ended up holding him for about 30 minutes while we both cried it out and I took the time to figure out how to respond.  I waxed and waned a little bit, but I decided in the end to stick-with-the-theme, which has been consistent throughout—“Ruslan, your body does work.  God gave you a great body and it works just fine.  Some things take a little bit longer, and sometimes you might need a little help, but you can still do anything that you put your mind to because God gave you a great body.” 

So, yeah, it sounded great and inspiring while I was holding him on the bed, giving the inspirational speech but I realized after it was all over that the gig was up.  It was either do or die in the next few weeks, because now I had something to prove. 

Thus began what you might call Ruslan's Basic Training.  When he first came, I spent a lot of time figuring out what he could and could not do.  I was almost militant about getting him to do things on his own, mostly because they flat-out spoiled him in Ukraine and he had never really been pushed.  The problem is that once I figured out what he is and is not capable of, I started taking shortcuts and doing things for him to save time, just like they did in Ukraine. So, so, so very wrong of me!!! I took him right back to square one.   

After that day I realized that each time I lift him out of his chair, place him in his walker or on the toilet or carry him upstairs, I am reinforcing the idea that he NEEDS help.  I HAD to stop, regardless of how much time it took, Ruslan HAD to start doing everything on his own. 

We started off that evening watching some you tube links that one of my friends sent showing other kids with CP, their therapy and what they could do on their own.  He loved them and spent almost the whole evening clicking "related links."

The next morning, training began. Ruslan has always gotten dressed on his own.  But, he takes SO LONG, that I have often walked in and hoisted his pants for him or helped him with a button or snap.  I realized that this had to stop.  The very next morning, I told him he had to get dressed all by himself.  He took so long and was so distraught that I wouldn’t help him, he was practically paralyzed with angst.  However, he got everything on himself and got down the stairs on his own.  I still carry him to the bus in the morning, but that afternoon, I told him he would be walking up the driveway and into the house. 

Well, again, you would think I was torturing him with hot iron rods.  He cried and SCREAMED all the way up the driveway.  I actually went inside the house after about five minutes and told him I would be watching from inside.  Poor baby, when I am with him, he works like a screeching snail and just fights and screams seven ways to Sunday, going as SLOWLY as possible.  The result is that I usually leave him to do the job on his own.   When he is alone, he eventually stops screaming, hunkers down and gets to work.  So, he has been alone a lot the past few weeks.  On this day, he didn’t stop screaming.  He screamed at the top of his lungs all the way up the driveway.  I’m sure the neighbors thought I had lost my mind.  It took about 20 minutes to get himself up the driveway and another ten to walk the sidewalk in front of our house. 

I got him up the porch stairs, but decided that he needed to get over the door threshold on his own.  He did great.  He cried and screamed the whole time, but he did it.  He was SO PROUD of himself. He told me ten times that afternoon that he got to the door all by  himself.  And, that’s the point that can drive a person crazy.  He screams the whole time, then he is thrilled when he get’s it done!!  AHHHH!!!  He does the whole walk now on his own, usually under protest, and then he is thrilled at the end of each walk, and lets me know again and again that he did it by himself (as if I hadn't invested thirty minutes and half an ear drum to get the deed accomplished). 

The second thing I usually  helped him with was going to the bathroom.  He hates to be alone, so he was always asking me to take him to the bathroom.  He had been going pee on his own, but I was helping him to lean against the toilet and/or sit on it whenever he had to poop.  This also had to stop.  He was totally dependent on me to take care of a basic bodily function.  SO, a few days later, he said he had to poop and I told him he had to get on the toilet on his own.   Again, you would think I was burning him with hot iron rods.  It’s just incredible, how that boy can scream.  Anyway, it took about 20 minutes of me SITTING ON MY HANDS and coaxing him on, but he actually got himself up onto the toilet alone, did the deed, and wiped himself.  Then he looked at me like I was Christmas Morning and said, “Mama!  All by myself!!” and gave me a huge smile. 

Despite being so proud of himself, he screamed every time he had to go to the bathroom for about five days.  Then, when that didn’t work, he started peeing his pants.  He hates to be alone and he was really convinced that he “can’t” (despite the fact that he DID IT every time) so he just stopped going altogether and peed his pants.  When he pees his pants, he is often sitting or laying on the floor, then he was crawling up the stairs to change himself, leaving a long trail of pee-soaked carpet.   

A few days later, he pooped in the bathtub.  Oh my goodness, this made me angry.  That night, I put him in diapers.  This made him furious, as I knew it would.  I told him that he had to have three dry days to get back into underwear and five dry days to earn “movie night” (sleeping in the living room with all the kids every Friday night).  So far, this has worked.  After a week, he was totally taking care of his bathroom needs on his own. He still tells me whenever he has to go, probably hoping I’ll forget and come along for the ride, but I just remind him that he is a “big boy” and he can do it all by himself. 

The final BIG hurdle was making him use his walker instead of combat crawl all over the house.  This was tricky, because I realized one day that he’d been crawling all his life and was just carrying on as normal.  Then suddenly, the walker appeared and the crawling that was normal was now forbidden.  We’ve been slowly requiring him to use the walker to get from place to place.  I don’t want him to grow up sliding across the floor.  He’s NOT happy about this, but he gets the point and he has been trying. 

There were a few other battles along these lines.  I was helping him with a lot of transitions; getting up on the stool to brush his teeth, getting in and out of the bathtub (not pretty, but he can do it on his own now), getting into and out of chairs, getting in his walker, up the stairs (he can crawl up and down them on his own, it just takes TIME) etc. etc. etc.  I have spent the whole month of April sitting on my hands and reminding myself that I MUST NOT HELP THAT BOY. 

I’ll tell you what, it’s murder.  When I'm sure he can do something, I find myself getting more and more impatient and annoyed.  Sometimes, I just want to strangle him with my bare hands and say, "STOP SCREAMING and get to work!"  That is when I realize I really need to walk away, even if he needs me there, because I'm just too angry. 

It's worse when I’m NOT sure if he can do something. Then, I wonder if I am doing the right thing.  Plus I keep telling him, "I'm right here.  I won't let  you get hurt." Yet, twice he has fallen and I wasn't fast enough to catch him.  Both times, I hugged him, but then I had to force myself to make him get up and finish the deed, despite the falling.  If I let him off the hook after a fall, he would know that falling was the ticket to get out of work.  He HAD to finish, ESPECIALLY if he fell.  After the second fall, I had to change my mantra. We both had to embrace the fact he might get hurt, but getting hurt is part of life.  

So far, he’s managed every single task.  It takes a lot of TIME, a lot of screaming, a lot of coaxing, a lot of leaving him alone to scream it out and telling him I’ll see him when he’s done.  I feel heartless, but it’s the only way.  The only thing I help him with now is putting on his braces and shoes because he’s not nimble enough.  

A few nights ago, after he got on and off the potty all by himself, got totally undressed all by himself, and was about to crawl into the bathtub, he turned to me and said, “Mama.  Ruslan body work now.  Ruslan can do it all by myself.  Ruslan body work now Mama.”   I said, “Yes.  Ruslan body does work.  Thank you God, for Ruslan's body.”  Then I went into the hallway so he wouldn't see me cry.

Finally, That Video of Ruslan Walking

This video is from the trip to VA Beach a few weeks ago.  This was literally Ruslan's first moments with his new walker.   Sasha took the video and posted it on his ministry's web site. 

After just a few weeks, Ruslan is walking much steadier and faster than you see here.  He still has the forward tip, but it's not as severe.

Pray that I learn how to post from a video camera so you can all see his progress!

http://almazchurchorphanoutreach.blogspot.com/2011/04/img0965.html?spref=bl