Lessons I've Learned Along the Way #20 (crisis/business derailment)

It's OK to temporarily derail your business, when a family crisis occurs.

Shortly after my dad passed away, an article came up in my Facebook news feed.  The title was something like- "5 Ways to Avoid Derailing Your Business During a Crisis".

While the general intention was good, it made me angry.

I LOVE my job.  Like REALLY love my job.  My clients are crazy awesome, my creative mind gets a daily workout, the pay is enough to contribute to my family in a meaningful way, basically aside from paying taxes and returning phone calls, it's quite perfect for me.

But, I will derail it again, and again, for the sake of my family. 

Now before you start arguing in your mind, saying- "But, Miss Kimmi, you own your business.  You have the flexibility to put it on hold without much consequence."  Please know- that is only paaaaartially true.  The problem is- when the sole worker at a business stops working, the business stops working.  Which means we lost a lot of money (and a few clients), due to cancelled shoots. 

I don't share that for a pat on the back or a sympathetic "awe".  We made it through and are OK now.  I share this with you to empower and encourage you to make the decisions that will allow you to look back on a time of crisis with no regrets.  

Your business or work may be the direction you have to go in. Maybe you're the sole bread winner in your family.  Maybe you don't have a choice.  But if you do and you're on the fence, please believe me- It IS OK to derail your business.  You will have the rest of your life to get it back on track, once the crisis is over.  But you may not have the rest of your life to help, encourage, and spend time with your loved ones.  Because "the crisis is over" may actually mean "your loved one has died" and no amount of money or clients lost will make you regret the time that you gave to your family.

Lessons I Hope You Learn Along the Way #1 (medical professionals)

Doctors, nurses, secretaries, and medical supply vendors, please know ~  You hold in your power the ability to help, and the ability to hurt.  Please use your powers carefully.

We had many amazing medical professionals walk through my dad's life, as he battled cancer.  In general the level of care that he received was good and for that we are very grateful.

But there were a few people who handled themselves in unprofessional and occasionally infuriating ways, which caused great stress to myself and my family.

Mistakes are understandable.  But no one should have the burdens of insensitivity, unprofessionalism, or ineptness added to the burdens of a terminal diagnosis, or any illness for that matter. 

Some of the requests below seem basic and shouldn't need to be said.  But given our experiences, I think it's worth putting out there, in the hopes that other patients receive more thoughtful care.

...

Please introduce yourself to the patient, before talking about personal things with your coworkers. 

Please read the charts and become familiar with the person's history before asking a barrage of questions.   

Please weigh your words and choose your inflections carefully.

Please follow through with your staff to be sure that details don't slip through the cracks. 

Please communicate regularly with other doctors and personnel who are treating your patient.  And if the patient passes away, please let everyone know in a timely manner.

Please schedule tests or exams in a timely manner.

Please keep on top of needed medical supplies.

Please make sure that all medical supplies are thoroughly cleaned and operating properly before delivery.

Please return phone calls. But not with your butt, because it's extremely frustrating to be on the phone with a doctor, but not be heard by said doctor.

Please treat your patients with the same care that you would want for your family.  

And when delivering bad news to your patients, please make them feel as if their needs are the only things on your mind in that moment- because I can assure you, your help is the only thing that is on their minds in that moment.  

Lessons I've Learned Along the Way #19 (cancer/don't wait)

Do what you can, while you can.  Don't wait until it gets better, because it may never get better.

This became one of my mantras, after my dad, Jack, was diagnosed with lung cancer.  While it may sound like a pesimistic outlook, it proved to be one of the best decisions that I ever made.

At the start of each "phase" (suspicion of cancer, diagnosis, treatments, decline) I asked myself- if this is the best he's going to be for the rest of his life, what should we do now, that we may not be able to do in a few weeks or days...

We took more pictures, we made more visits, my brother's family came in from Thailand sooner instead of waiting, we went hunting, we worked on his gun, we watched Harry Potter...  ;)  

Had we waited till he felt better, looked better, got off his oxygen, or till "the worst was over", we never would have done these things.    

Please.  If you have a loved one who is ill, don't wait till they are better.  Do things now, while you can.  And if God gives healing and your loved one overcomes their illness, celebrate!  And then do more things!  

If my dad had been healed, I would still cherish the photos that I took and the memories that we made, during his illness.  But if I had not had the courage to take the photos or if I had not created new memories, because I was waiting till he was better... I would be filled with regret today.

Do what you can, while you can.

Lessons I've Learned Along the Way #18 (death/duties)

There is more to death than death, for the people who are left behind.

Having never lost someone this close to me before, I was ill prepared for the amount of thought, decision making and emotions that would come with my dad's death.

Prior to this experience, I had mostly just thought about the sadness in the people who were left behind, and the eternal resting place of the person who had passed.  

I had never considered the many other things that accompany death.

The removal of the body.

Contacting people and breaking the news.

Writing the obituary.

Planning the burial.

Planning the memorial service.

Picking memorial cards for the service.

Planning a meal, after the service.

Selecting the tombstone.  

Wording on the tombstone.

The timing of the tombstone's placement.

Filing legal documents.

Changing names on accounts.

Organizing the deceased  person's belongings.

Distributing or storing the belongings.

Putting away the medical supplies.

It's overwhelming just thinking about those tasks, let alone doing them right after you lose someone you love.

I totally get why God makes us numb, at first.  Such a beautiful coping mechanism...

And then there are the every day questions and decisions such as:

What will my mom do now?

Will she live in the big house by herself?

Does she have enough money to live comfortably?

Does she have enough health insurance?

Who will take care of the property?  

Who will take care of the horses and ponies?

Who will fix the sink?

On and on it goes...

The void left behind by a person who passes is so much bigger than I'd imagined.

There is so much more to death than death...

Lessons I've Learned Along the Way #17 (cancer/caregiving pt2)

Caregivers need emotional, spiritual, and physical support.  And breaks.

In my previous post, I mentioned how much time and energy my mom put into caring for my dad, at the end of his life.  

Unfortunately, it's one of those posts that falls flat when comparing it to reality.  You just don't know what a caregiver goes through unless you see it or experience it first hand.  So if you haven't, I just ask that you trust me and believe me- it is very, very difficult to be the primary caregiver of someone, especially a full grown adult.  And we should thank them.  Over.  And over.  Again.

Adding to that, another lesson I learned was that the primary caregiver needs as much support as the person with the illness.

Sending notes of encouragement, visiting them, bringing food, praying for them (and with them), etc...  yes. yes. yes.  These are incredibly helpful for the caregiver.  

But the primary caregiver needs a break now and then too.  And that's a whole other ballgame.  

My mom gave round-the-clock care to my dad. There were times that she needed to go and take care of things outside of the house, but it was very hard for her.  Not only because she didn't want to leave him for fear of what could happen while she was gone, but because it was extremely difficult for her to trust another person to care for him, as well as she would.

My encouragement to anyone reading this is- if you have a loved one who requires constant care and you are not the primary caregiver, step up.  Learn the routines.   Ask questions.  Take notes.  Earn the trust of the primary caregiver by showing them that you know how to provide quality care.  And make yourself available to care for the loved one, so that the primary caregiver can have a break, when needed.  

Because it is needed.

*This post (or any of my posts) should not be interpreted as a secret message to my family that they didn't step up enough.  1) If/when I have an issue with my family, it's handled directly, not via the internet.  And 2) Our family came together to help in a variety of ways.  We are more bonded because of our experiences and the support that we gave each other.  So please no reading between the lines.  I say what I mean both online and in person.  :)

Lessons I've Learned Along the Way #16 (cancer/caregiving pt 1)

Spouses/loved ones who take on the duties of being the primary caregiver deserve our thanks.  And possibly a medal. 

During the end of my dad's illness, I stayed with my parents quite often.  I saw first hand the amount of work that my mom put into caring for my dad. 

Organizing and administering his meds, making his food, refreshing his coffee, helping with his oxygen compressors and tubes, getting things that he needed, communicating with medical personnel, preparing items for his shower, doting on him, you name it, my mom did it.  

Caregiving was her full time job.

It never stopped.  Even when it stopped.

Meaning- even when she wasn't actively doing something for him she was "on".  Aware.  Paying attention.  Listening.  And ready to move quickly if he needed her.  She was physically doing a lot, but then even when she was "resting", she wasn't truly resting.  It was exhausting just watching it, let alone living it.

As his primary care giver, her whole life revolved around keeping my dad as comfortable as possible and doing what was in her power to extend his life.

As his primary care giver, her whole life revolved around keeping my dad as comfortable as possible and doing what was in her power to extend his life.

That wasn't a misprint.  It's a statement worth repeating. And digesting.  And then maybe even reading again.

Her life was fully engaged in taking care of him.

At some point during the last months of my dad's life it dawned on me- I had been very active in asking questions and helping where I could, but I hadn't actually THANKED my mom for caring for my dad.  

I guess there was a part of me that thought- well of course she would take care of him.  He's her husband and she loves him.  I would do the same in her shoes.

I took her actions for granted.

And I was wrong to do that.

The amount of work, patience, and strength  that was poured into his caregiving deserved many, many thanks.  She temporarily put her life on hold to devote herself to whatever life my dad had left.  And I am so thankful for that.

*For those who are new, I have two dads. My biological dad, Roger, is still alive and well.  These posts are about my step-dad, Jack, who along with my mom raised me (and many siblings) from the time I was 2 1/2 years old.  Jack passed away on December 2, 2014, at the age of 62, due to lung cancer. 

Lessons I've Learned Along the Way #15 (death/power)

Lessons I've learned along the way # 15

I can choose what has power over me.

In October, my dad's lung cancer diagnosis went from stage 3a, to stage 4- terminal cancer. This changed everything.

Plans changed. Emotions changed. Perspectives changed. 

Everything changed.

The quaint cemetery on the road to my parents house was one of the most surprising changes, for me. 

I used to love it. The stone walls... the wrought iron gate... the quintessential white church, across the road... everything was just charming.

But after the final diagnoses, it became my enemy.

I wanted my dad to live and reside in his home. While the cemetery wanted my dad to die and reside in it's ground. 

My mind gave the cemetery a personality. A desire. And a life (oh the irony). Every time we drove by it, it taunted me and I became angry at it.

After my dad passed, we held his burial there. The cemetery had won.

Now, it held even more emotional power over me.

My heart broke again and again, at the sight of it. How could this have happened? I couldn't believe my dad was there... And if I wanted to visit him, I had to go into it- to the place that stole my dad from us.

On Christmas day especially, my spirit battled. I felt as though visiting his grave was the right thing to do. I wanted to visit him. But I didn't.

Instead I had an epiphany that night.

I realized that I had been giving power to something that deserved no power.

My dad's body is buried in that graveyard. 

Yes.

But my dad is not there.

His soul is in heaven. 

And his memories are everywhere else. 

In that moment, I took away the cemetery's emotional impact on me and replaced it with this perspective-

It does not matter where my dad's body is. I do not need to visit his resting place to feel him. He did not live in that cemetery. I have no happy memories of him there.

I have happy memories of my dad in his big brown chair, teasing the kids, carving the turkey, working on the tractor, eating breakfast with my mom, hunting, fishing, and laughing. Always laughing.

The things that remind me of my dad's LIFE deserve my emotional attention. Not the things that remind me of his death. 

The cemetery holds no power over me now.