Bittersweet

So, while I was still reeling from a tragic event on my side of the family, we were hit with the unexpected death of a loved one from my husband's side this past week. My husband's brother passed away last Saturday night in a tragic fashion that has broken all of our hearts.

This morning I've been thinking about another year when everything seemed to go wrong. It was 1983 and I had been recently diagnosed as a Type 1 diabetic and I had to learn interesting things like how to give insulin shots and to how keep my blood sugar level under good control. I had married a wonderful man in 1982 (Kennon Crane) and in 1983 we were expecting our first child. It proved to be a difficult pregnancy, compliments of the diabetes.

We discovered shortly before that son was to be born, that he was a high breech baby. My doctor and his nurses spent an entire afternoon trying to get son # 1 to turn in place. Good times. When they realized this wasn't going to work, there just wasn't enough room for the baby to turn, a c-section was scheduled for the next day.

Our son was born healthy and strong---there had just been one little glitch the day of the c-section, they had been unable to numb things up for me as the surgery took place. At the time, there was no explanation for this---now we suspect the lupus was a major factor. My body still doesn't react normally to some medications. Good times the sequel. ;) My mother later said that when they wheeled me from the recovery room, I looked grey and she wondered if I would survive.

I did survive, and I was excited to be a new mommy. Only one little thing seemed to stand in the way of me going home with my new son a couple of days later: I had developed a series of blood clots in the major vein that led from my left leg to my heart. My doctor's face turned white as my leg turned black while I sat on my hospital bed, waiting for last minute instructions before heading home. When my doctor told me to not move, I had assumed that a spider was on my shoulder. Instead, he kept pointing to my leg which by then was a nice shade of dark purple\black.

The doctor and two nurses who made a sudden appearance from the nurses' station very gently laid me back down on the hospital bed with instructions to not move. It turned out that one of the clots was the size of a golf ball---something that would cause my death if it hit my heart. I was informed that the nurses would be doing everything for me---I was not to move until the clots were anchored in place. Pouting, I didn't take what they said seriously. My baby son was going home without me---my husband and my mother would be taking care of him. I had to stay in the hospital bed for 10 more days and I was not amused. So if the phone rang, I reached across the bed to answer it. If I dropped the TV remote on the floor, I leaned down to pick it up. Then a woman who had also formed blood clots in a similar fashion, died outside of my hospital room as they tried to transfer her for the x-ray adventure I had already endured. That's when I began getting scared. I wondered if I was going to survive, if I would live to raise my young son. It was a scary time and the only Ones who knew what was in my heart were my Father in heaven, and His Son, Jesus Christ.

I received a special priesthood blessing that night, one that promised I would live through this adventure. Other things were mentioned that led me to believe that this was an inspired blessing---those two young elders didn't know me---I didn't know them. And yet during that blessing, I was given reassurance about items they knew nothing about. Deciding I was going to survive, I relaxed a bit and did things like make posters that the nurses hung up in the window of my hospital room. They shared messages like "HELP!!! I'M BEING HELD PRISONER!! PLEASE SEND HOT FUDGE SUNDAES!" My doctor was not amused by my sense of humor---each day he stormed inside the room to take down my posters. People were inquiring at the front desk of the hospital. ;) The nurses put up new ones each day---they had joined my rebellion.

I did eventually get released from the hospital. I came home on crutches which helped immensely with the care of my baby. ;) About the time I could walk without the crutches, an event took place in my family that effectively shredded my heart. My father chose to end his life. He had been suffering from a rare liver disease and he wasn't in his right mind when this happened. We recently learned that another health condition may have also played a factor in what took place. I know now that he is okay and I'm excited to see him again someday. But for a long time I felt betrayed. Hadn't I been promised in a priesthood blessing that I didn't need to worry about my dad? That Heavenly Father understood what was going on with him and all would be well? All wasn't well. My father was dead and my heart was broken. I wondered if I would survive. I experienced emotions I was unprepared for as anger, guilt, and heartache battled for attention.

Something interesting came out of all of that. I began writing. I wrote through the pained anger, shredding everything after it was written. I didn't know it at the time, but I was actually tackling my own form of therapy. A relative who went into psychology told me that this is something they encourage people to do when they face a traumatic event in life.

Eventually that writing led to a career as an LDS author. My first book was published in 1994 by Covenant Communications. Following my mother's brave example, I had made lemonade from the lemons that had been handed to me. This is not an easy thing, and sometimes the end result is rather bitter, but I can testify that during painful events, we are not alone. We know that part of why we're here is to be tested, stretched, and to grow. I have found in my life that true growth only comes with a high price. While I would never want to experience items of that nature ever again, I am grateful for the education I gained as a result.

I've been thumbing through my poetry, searching for a poem that will adequately sum up this pain-filled process. To all who read through today's blog, know that we will survive the days ahead. There will be tears, laughter, and intensive pain as we heal, but the end result will be growth, strength, and testimonies that we are never alone during the darkest times of our lives.

Bittersweet

Bittersweet the day,
Twilight is the hour
Tremendous joy and sorrow blend
Sunlight & piercing shower.

The ache within reveals pain
Yet smiles surface strong
Hope seems within life’s grasp
Despair makes the day too long.

Celebrating collides
With silent grieving loss
Reaching toward the Sun
Invokes a heavy cost.

Someday the clouds will fade
The storm will cease to rage
And only joy will dwell
On life’s unwritten page.

Until then a Beacon
Lights the darkened day
Heralding hope when all seems lost
Faith will pave the way.

Cheri J. Crane
Sept. 2007

Alpiniste

Wasn't Conference awesome this past weekend? The messages of hope and inspiration were faith-building moments, a reminder to continue the journey, no matter how difficult the climb.

In keeping with that theme, I decided to share a poem I wrote a few years after my father's tragic death. A year after I wrote it, I had the "opportunity" to climb a mountain with the Mia Maids I was teaching at the time. It was the stake YM\YW super summer activity that year. Good times. (And yes, it's the mountain behind my home, Baldy---as seen in the picture above. The group of mountains resembles a frog face. =) The mountain on the far left---one of the frog eyes---the one that is "bald" on top is the infamous Baldy Mountain.)

I didn't realize it then, but I was in the process of developing a crippling form of rheumatoid arthritis. During the difficult climb, I nearly gave up. I sat down under a pine tree in the shade, in so much pain, I wasn't sure I could continue. I waved to everyone as they continued on without me. Then as I watched them climb that mountain, the thought came to mind: "Cheri Crane, you have never quit before!" It was true---in true Scots tradition, I had always pushed my way forward.

I stood up, gathered my courage, and began limping toward my goal. By the end of that climb, I was pulling myself up backwards. The only way I could move forward was to sit, and pull myself up the rest of the way with my arms as both legs had ceased to function. But when I reached the top, what a glorious reunion I experienced with those who had gone on before me. And the view from the summit was glorious, something I would have missed if I had persisted in giving up.

There are times in all of our lives when trials take everything we can give and then some. These are indeed the moments that try our souls.

I learned a lot of lessons the day I climbed Baldy Mountain. Never give up. Give the journey everything you've got. We are being cheered on constantly by those who have gone on before. Endure the climb---the view is always worth it. (Incidentally, Alpiniste is French for mountain climber).

Alpiniste

Darkness overwhelms
It is too much
I cannot climb
The sheer rock
That slices ‘til I bleed.
There is no strength to face this challenge.

But I have come this far—
To give up now makes a mockery of all that has passed before.

Closing my eyes, I am led by an inner peace that beckons,

Reminding me of a presence that has been there all along.
Slowly, I make my way, clutching at handholds that guide—
Sustain.

The Sun shines bright upon my face as I make the final stretch,
Reaching for what most would deem beyond my grasp.

It is finished.

I have learned to face the wind
The clouds
The rain.
I have conquered the fear that held me back.
At the summit is a beauty that was always there
Beyond my limited sight.
I turn and see another mountain—
But I have learned to climb.

Cheri J. Crane
1995

Laugh and the World Laughs With You . . .

Cry and your nose runs. =) Okay, so maybe that's not quite how that saying was originally shared, but c'est la vie. In my family we have discovered that we can only be sad for so long. Then we have to drift toward funnyland to survive. Admittedly, sometimes we laugh at silly things, or items that other people don't find funny. We tend to look for the humor. I truly believe in the healing qualities of laughter.

We most often laugh at ourselves or each other. ;) We have plenty of material to draw upon. Moments like the time my mother hit herself in the face with a piece of pumpkin pie, complete with whipped topping. It was Halloween, and while the rest of us were out experiencing the trick-or-treating adventure with our father, she had stayed home to valiantly hand out candy. In between Halloween visitors, she cut herself a nice slice of homemade pumpkin pie. She added a generous helping of whipped cream across the top. Then she sat in a favorite chair to enjoy her treat. Without warning the doorbell rang just as she cut into the pie. She jumped and managed to flip the entire thing into her face. From what we heard later, she scared those kids to death, coming to the door with her face decorated in pumpkin goo. =)

I have also carried on in the great tradition. I've never hit myself in the face with a piece of pie (that takes great talent) but I have done other interesting things that often promote laughter. It's a gift. One example: a "few" years ago I used to play on the high school girls' basketball team. This wasn't a great achievement, since I attended a small high school and anyone who tried out for anything was accepted. =) The first year that I participated, our coach took our entire team into the local hospital for our physicals.

For this to make sense, I must explain that back then, I was extremely healthy and hadn't been to a doctor in years. This was my first experience with having a physical. And I blew it. When the nice nurse handed me this teeny, tiny little cup and said they needed a sample, I was confused. I obediently went inside that little room and pondered what I was supposed to do. Surely they didn't expect one to "go" in something that small. So I used my creativity.

While we sat around later in the hospital waiting room to see if we were all healthy enough to participate in the sport of our choice, I was unaware that I had caused a controversy. Since my father was a pharmacist, and he managed the local small town drugstore, he was on a first name basis with most of the health professionals in the area. He received a panicked phone call from one of his doctor friends. From what I was told later, the conversation went something like this:

"Tom, your daughter is here for her physical."

"Yes?"

"We think there's a problem."

"Oh?"

"Yes . . . I'm not sure how to say this . . . but does your daughter have a drug problem?"

"NO! Why would you think that?"

"Well, she gave us a sample . . . and well . . . it's highly unusual. We figure it's one of three things. Either she's on drugs and she doesn't want us to know, or she's pregnant, and she doesn't want us to know, or your daughter has a rare kidney disease---her sample was full of water."

I'm sure you can use your imagination to picture how amused my father was over that conversation. Suddenly, I was whisked away into a little room to consult with the doctor and a nurse, and my basketball coach. I can't remember which one asked the question, but they all wanted to know what I had done. Red-faced, I told them. And they started laughing so hard, they nearly fell off their chairs, including my coach, who never ever smiled. That was the first time I ever saw her laugh. I was given another teeny, tiny little cup with lots of instructions this time.

My entire family made fun of me for a long time over my physical failure. I don't even want to imagine the conversation that took place between my father and his doctor friend after my revelation.

A year later, I was still on the basketball team. Again, the entire team went into the local hospital for our physicals. Every girl was handed a teeny, tiny little cup, except for me. The same doctor who had handled this adventure the year before came walking out with a large metal pitcher and he handed it to me, asking if this would suffice. Then everyone laughed, including my coach . . . and me. It was embarrassing, but it was also extremely funny. I was later told that my dad and this doctor had come up with this plan the year before. Paybacks for scaring everyone, I suppose.

My legend didn't die for quite some time. This story was shared during my high school graduation ceremony. A favorite teacher always told hilarious stories about the graduating seniors. (This didn't take long since there were only a handful of us who graduated each year.) The entire audience roared when Mrs. Passey shared my story. You just think people forget your most embarrassing moments in life. ;)

From experiences like that, I have learned that laughter is the best way to deal with most situations. And it does truly help one's heart to heal. So I challenge all of you out there in blogdom to look for the humor. With a little practice, it's not hard to find. ;) And if you're gifted like my family, you'll have lots of material to draw from.

The Sun'll Come Out Tomorrow . . .

So the other night I believe I was throwing a bit of a temper tantrum. Pondering some recent trials in our family, and those suffered by close friends, I took my frustrations out in poetical form. Typical for me. When I'm upset, I find that writing is a wonderful release. After I purged my anger, I felt a tiny bit ashamed. So I wrote another poem earlier this morning. I thought perhaps I would post both of them today---a vivid contrast. (Incidentally, I promise to post something funny soon) In the meantime, you're stuck with this. And the picture doesn't really fit anything---it's just one of my current favorites. This is the scenic view out my kitchen window. (Jealous?) [Well, maybe not about the snow we're still enduring, but I digress.] =)

Sorrow Overload

When there are no more tears
What then must fall
When there is not enough comfort
To cover it all

When it’s all been too much
Till you sit in a daze
Emotionally drained
In a mind-numbing maze

Where there are no more answers
Only questions that rise
From the desert within
To the heavenly skies

And the last drop of hope
Is wrung from your heart
Only a glimmer remains
Of faith torn apart.

Cheri J. Crane
March 25, 2008

Rebuttal

When heartache looms in mountainous form
And the sting of life sinks deep,
When the road ahead seems much too bleak
And causes you to weep.

When clouds block out the fading light
Thunder echoing refrains,
Fearing doubt and lingering sorrow
Trigger faithless rains.

Where is the hope, the promised joy
The comfort always to be ours?
Must growth result from endless pain
And infinite darkened showers?

Softly the answers come at last
When doubting fear subsides,
Calming peace settles deep within
While seeking warming tides.

Placing blame, much undeserved
Upon heaven’s golden throne,
Leaves us floundering in pools of pain
Bereft, we are alone.

Angry pride and foolish qualm
Block all that we desire,
Until we bend our will to His
And seek what can inspire.

Cheri J. Crane
March 27, 2008

When Trials Descend

It is said that into each life some rain must fall; this past week, our family has been hit with the equivalent of a tropical deluge. Ever present in our aching hearts and overwhelmed minds resounds the question of "Why?" Why this? Why was this allowed to happen? What possible good can come from trials of this nature? And so on . . .

I remember thinking something similar years ago while in college. At the time I was developing Type 1 diabetes, a life-altering condition. My father's health was also failing, and we nearly lost him that summer when his liver shut down.

I wrote a poem then that pretty well sums up what I'm feeling now. There is also a set of lyrics I wrote a couple of years ago that would also fit in here. May both inspire a sense of calming peace.

When Things Are Looking Darkest

When things are looking darkest
And there’s no light shining in
Don’t hang your head in sorrow
Don’t think that you can’t win
Hold on with true conviction
Don’t let your spirit die
Keep on reaching forward
Don’t be afraid to try
For soon the storm will lift
And the clouds will fade away
And the pain that you now feel
Will not forever stay
It too will disappear to be replaced with faith anew
And you will find the strength you need
Residing within you.

Cheri Jackson (This was written before I became a Crane)
1980


Gilead’s Balm

1st: Today I said a heart-felt prayer
And found the Lord was truly there
To offer peace, sweet Gilead’s balm
Loving comfort, peaceful calm

Chorus: Though raging storms persist within
The needed healing will begin
Cling to hope when clouds descend
Calming peace without an end

2nd:Hope is real, and faith is sure
When tender hearts are tried and pure
The Refiner’s Fire burns, ‘tis true
Leaving diamonds among its residue

3rd: This day will pass, the night will cease
Grieving hearts will fill with peace
A new dawn breaks with beauty rare
Dispersing of our every care.

Cheri J. Crane—February 26, 2006

The Wearin' o' the Green & Orange & Blue

This past week marked a fun celebration for my family. We celebrated St. Patrick's Day. I'm sure this holiday means different things to everyone. In our family, it has become a traditional celebration of our Irish heritage. We gather together to enjoy the yearly parade that takes place in Salt Lake City each year. Then we feast on the traditional corned beef and cabbage.

In 1800, my 5th great grandfather, Samuel Sibbett Sr., emigrated to America from his beloved Ireland. Grandpa Samuel was a bit of a rebel. He fought bravely against the English rule, becoming a leader during the Robert Emmet Rebellion. Samuel's political activities made him an enemy to the King of England, and his arrest was ordered. To avoid prison, Samuel sailed to America, where he established himself in a Scots-Irish community in Pennsylvannia.

We honor his memory, and others like him by commemorating St. Patrick's Day. We wear the traditional green color, which represents Gaelic tradition, and independence. It is also associated with the large population of Catholics who reside in Ireland.

We wear orange in honor of the Protestants. This color is symbolic of William of Orange who defeated the Irish Catholics during the 1600's during the Battle of the Boyne.

This year I learned that blue is yet another hue of Ireland---it is the traditional color depicting Irish pride. We saw all three colors during this year's parade. In place of poetry, essay, or novel snippets, I pasted in a few pictures that show some of the highlights. Erin go Braugh! (Ireland Forever!)

Cry Uncle

In a departure from what I normally post, I decided to list the excuses for why I haven't been adding new stuff here lately:

1) I've been busy

2) I don't seem to have a life anymore

3) See item # 1 =)

Is it me, or has life picked up speed? It seems like at the end of each day I'm exhausted, and I'm at a loss to explain why. =) I'm sure many of you can relate. Among other adventures, I have been working on a new novel. It's nearly ready to send off to the publishing world.

I decided today, to post an excerpt from this new creation, just for kicks and giggles.

I'm entitling this manuscript, "Cry Uncle" I wouldn't even hazard a guess as to what it will be entitled by the end of the editing process---if it survives said process. Be kind---this is my first attempt at writing a mystery. And now without further ado . . . (drum roll please) here it is a little snatch that will hopefully strike a chord out there in blogdom:

A squad car sped down Bench Road to Highland High School, its lights flashing, the siren heralding tragedy. Before it came to a complete stop, a woman opened the door on her side and raced toward the sprawling brick building.

“Judge Unger?”

Karen slowed to a walk, sick at heart as she gazed at the man who had called her name. Mike Barnes was one of the best detectives on the force. His appearance was a source of comfort and dismay. If he was already involved, her daughter was in serious trouble. “Did you find her? Did you find Jaycee?”

Mike’s shoulders sagged. “Not yet. We found something we think belongs to her.”

Fighting nausea, Karen followed the detective inside the school. He led her to the office where the principal, his secretary, and one of Jaycee’s teachers, wore expressions matching her own.

“Mrs. . . . uh . . . Judge . . .”

“Karen,” she supplied, cutting through the formalities.

“Karen,” the principal began again, running a nervous hand over his balding

head. The large man looked like he could cry. “We are so sorry.”

“She was in my class,” the biology teacher volunteered. “The office called—”

“That man said he was her uncle,” the secretary said in her defense. The older woman clenched her hands tightly together, indicating the remorse she felt. “He waited for her outside of the office. I saw them talking . . . Jaycee left with him. I thought she knew him.”

“He lied,” Karen exclaimed. “I don’t have a brother, and neither did my husband—Jake was an only child. My only sister is divorced—there are no uncles!”

No one dared to respond after after that announcement.

“Why did Jaycee go with him?” Karen demanded.

Six pairs of eyes remained focused on the floor.


(Insert scary music and a little bit of: Dun, dun dun!)

Bye now. =) Bawahahahaha!


Okay, fine . . . I'll share a tiny bit more:


Regaining the ability to focus, she saw that she was lying on the carpeted floor of an unfurnished room. It was new carpet, a forest green color. Heavy curtains covered the windows, making it difficult to judge the time of day. She tried to move and discovered that her hands were tied behind her with rough rope. When she wiggled around, she saw that her ankles were wrapped with duct tape. She assumed that was what had been used to seal her mouth. A growing sense of terror gripped her. Closing her eyes, she prayed, begging for help, for someone to find her. Tears rolled down her face as she struggled against the tape, but it held fast. Help me, she silently begged. Please, Father, help me.

The End

Kidding. =) There are actually about 235 pages that go along with what I've shared above. And I'll share one other item---this particular book tackles the danger of posting personal information on Internet social networks. It is my hope that this book will appeal to parents and their offspring---that it might do a tiny bit of good out there, as well as entertain.


And now, back to the revising\polishing aspect of the writing world. (Did I mention: Bawahahahaha?!)