Deer in the Yard - Val's Story, Chap 24

As a deer thirsts for streams of water, so I thirst for you, God. (Psalm 42:1, New Century Version)

I’ve said it countless times – I am so blessed to live on my four-acre plot with mighty trees just outside my window. Some mornings, a cacophony of bird voices greets me when I go out my back door. Squirrels, chipmunks, and two renegade rabbits roam my yard at will, much to the consternation of our cats and, most recently, our dog, Hannah. Last summer, a toad took up residence on the front stoop. A few bears have even wandered through.

          But the most graceful and beautiful of the wildlife is the whitetail deer. Over the years, I’ve had different does with their precious, spotted fawns feeding on the grass. A few bucks have nobly joined them. Our old dog, Dino, mostly ignored them, and they saw him as no threat.

          For two years, a lame doe tried to join my loosely organized herd. I was able to get a close-up picture of her and could see where she had been shot in her shoulder, with that leg mainly hanging limp. Watching her hobble through the woods broke my heart.

          I was feeding the deer in my woods at the time, and she knew I was her only hope of survival. When I put the food out, the rest of the deer hung back twenty feet or so. I’d wait for Gimpy to approach first; the others would try to run her off, but not when I was standing my ground only ten feet away. She’d gratefully eat her share while I stood guard, quietly telling the others that it wasn’t their turn yet. By the start of the third winter, I never saw her again.

          But here we are many years later. We had to put Dino down in early 2023, and two years later, I couldn’t stand not having a dog any longer. So, we brought home our adorable two-year-old corgi, Hannah. Since she joined the family, we haven’t seen as many deer coming through the yard. Only occasionally that summer, we watched a doe and her two fawns walk the path through the back yard and into the woods.

          On a different morning, though, in early September of last year, a doe and her single fawn picked their way through the front yard. Her coat was grey from shedding her summer coat, and the fawn’s spots were nearly faded. Yes, autumn had arrived.

          The week before, a fawn had met its end on the road about a half-mile from our house. It dawned on me that it must be the sibling to the fawn I was seeing now.

          Foremost in my mind was that it had been two weeks since my own baby had passed away.

          Was God trying to tell me something? That I still had another child to live for, to care for – even if he was forty? Was God reminding me that life goes on, no matter what tragedy we are dealing with?

          I don’t know. I don’t think so. I think it was more of a reminder that a mother’s love never ends, and I know it won’t for this mother.

          And also that I still have more to be thankful for than to be unthankful for.

Snowman - Val's Story, Chap 23

 “Come now, let’s settle this,” says the Lord. “Though your sins are like scarlet, I will make them as white as snow. Though they are red like crimson, I will make them as white as wool.” (Isaiah 1:18, New Living Translation)

I’ve had trouble sleeping for years. Some nights, I can curl up in bed and drift right off to sleep. Other nights, ping pong balls are bouncing all over in my head, and as much as I try to imagine them falling to the floor and rolling under a piece of furniture to never be heard from again, they don’t stop.

           A few years ago, I added the app for Turning Point with Dr. David Jeremiah to my phone. He gives some good sermons. So after lying in bed getting more frustrated instead of relaxing, I’ll pull up one of his messages, and I usually drift off before it’s over. Perhaps not what any pastor wants to hear, but if it helps someone in any way, that should be a win.

          The first two weeks after Val died, I hadn’t slept much, as you can imagine. Sometimes a sleeping pill worked, sometimes it did not. Nights when I turn on David Jeremiah, sometimes that helped.    

          The first of September that year, he started a sermon series on Joseph, the young man who had eleven brothers who were jealous of him and threw him into a well. He is the guy whose father gave him the multi-colored coat. He was also able to interpret dreams.

          Around that time, I fell asleep to David Jeremiah’s message on Joseph. And I had a dream.

          In my dream, I was building a snowman. The snow on the ground all around me was melting and full of dirt, but somehow my snowman was white as - well, white as snow. I hadn’t finished giving it a face when my snowman tipped over onto the dirty ground. It didn’t fall apart, though, and it stayed pure white.

          I woke up wondering what that was all about.

          Then I remembered about Joseph being able to interpret dreams. And I heard God’s voice say to me, “You can interpret this dream.”

          So, in my dream, my sweet, precious daughter was the snowman. Even though the snow was pure and white, my daughter wasn’t always that way. She had a whole lot of impurities in her words and actions. Yet, there she was, pure and white, but not completely finished.

          And then she fell over and left me. She didn’t break, and she didn’t become covered in dirt. She just left me, peacefully and wholly. Maybe even holy. Left to be with those angels all dressed in white. And with a beautiful face, one that was smiling.

Wildflowers - Val's Story, Chap 22

 Look how the wild flowers grow: they don't work or make clothes for themselves. But I tell you that not even King Solomon with all his wealth had clothes as beautiful as one of these flowers. (Luke 12:27, Good News Translation) 

On Monday, August 25, we met at the funeral home to make arrangements. We all agreed we wanted to keep things simple, short, and quick. But fitting. I don’t know. People said we did a beautiful job presenting a fitting tribute to Val. But, again, I don’t know. It was Val’s life, not any of ours.

          But sitting in the funeral home office, we had to decide what to put in the little card they have available for people to take. Jim has to bring one of those home from every visitation or funeral we go to, and it sits on the kitchen counter, bugging me for weeks before I finally throw it away.

Karri, the woman at the funeral home, offered suggestions from the standard funeral card book. Not one was even close to Val.

          Her boyfriend suggested we use the words from the Tom Petty song on the tattoo on her back. We knew it was something about wildflowers and could all picture it, but none of us could pull the words out of our brains.

          We finished our business, and I told Karri we’d figure out the lyrics and get back to her.

          That night, when I couldn’t sleep (as if I thought I would ever sleep normally again), I went on my laptop and started looking up the lyrics for all of the Tom Petty songs.

          Duh! The song is literally named “Wildflowers.”

          That week, I worked on cleaning up my computer by deleting some of the thousands of pictures I’ve stored from all my travels. In 2017, Val and I were on one of our many trips to Kenya when she got sunburned while wearing a shirt with straps in a pattern across her back. And there were those words, with flower petals, blowing along her back. Did she ever think those words would become a tribute to her life?

         Life doesn’t always make sense. We’ll never understand it. I’ll certainly never understand what happened to Val that Friday night in August, 2025. All I can do is keep muddling along and turning my worries over to God. He understands everything that we do not.  

You belong among the wildflowers

You belong somewhere close to me

Far away from your trouble and worries

You belong somewhere you feel free

(from “Wildflowers” by Tom Petty, 1994)

This picture is from her trip to Kenya in 2019 with her brother and her husband.

This one is at Diani Beach in 2022. I challenge everyone to find a picture of my back!

Break #3 and Break #4 – Minn Ren and Dorm Girls Reunion

Still celebrating the Brewers’ World Series win, but I’m gonna try to get back on track. I have two more trips to tell you about, and then I’ll return to telling you about Val, because, for some reason, you really want to hear that story.

Thursday, October 1, Hubby and I headed over to Shakopee, Minnesota. Met my friend, who lives near there, for dinner that night.

 Then got up early Friday morning and were off to the Minnesota Renaissance Festival.

Haven’t been there in many years, but it was the same as we remember. A lot of fun, some great people, and cool stuff to look at.

The following weekend, I went west again, this time only as far as Eau Claire, for my dorm girls’ reunion – some of the women I lived with in the dorm when I was in college my first two years. We stayed at a beautiful historic home this year.

We started getting together for our fortieth anniversary and each year the weekend has grown. One thing, though. Because we did get a little wild, we vowed we wouldn’t share many of the pictures on social media. Like the pictures of us dancing with the 21-year-old college boys. Us old hens can still party like it’s 1981.

Distracted Again

The summer of 1982, I was between my second and third year of college. My mom got me a job as a housekeeper for an elderly couple. They had a simple home on the lake, and there wasn’t much to do in the house. Clean the bathrooms, vacuum, cook dinner. A couple times a week, the husband would bring home a piece of meat – a beef roast or pork steak – and I’d call Mom to ask how to cook it.

Mostly, though, I was a companion to the wife, who used a walker on good days and a wheelchair on bad days. Her husband still worked, sometimes out of town for a few days straight, so she just needed someone there around the clock.

On Friday nights, the husband would drive me home for the weekend, and Sunday night Mom would drive me back out there.

When the weather was nice, I’d sit on their dock reading. And in the evening, after we ate supper and I cleaned up, we’d sit in the living room, with the lights dimmed and watch Brewers baseball. And if they weren’t on TV, we listened to Bob Uecker on the radio.

I fell in love with them all. Paul Molitor’s striking blue eyes. Rollie Fingers’ Snidely Whiplash mustache, the equally impressive mustaches that Gorman Thomas and Pete Vuckovich sported. Cecil Cooper, when he stepped up to bat and it sounded like the crowd was booing him, but they were yelling, “Coop, Coop, Coop!”

But I had a crush on Robin Yount. He was drafted by the Brewers when he was only 18-years-old and played his entire with Milwaukee. He stacked up a long list of awards and accolades during his twenty-year career, but no matter how good a player he was, I just thought he was adorable.

Then there was that game against the Twins on July 20, 1982. I hunted all over the internet to find a video of the play which made Robin a hero in my eyes, but no luck.

In the bottom of the fifth inning Twins player Kent Hrbek barreled into second base, sliding hard and high into Jim Gantner. Gantner was sent sprawling and had to leave the game with a deep thigh bruise.

Brewers’ manager Harvey Kuenn was furious about the slide and immediately charged the field to come to his second baseman’s defense. He later said that the Twins player was a “no good SOB for taking a cheap shot.”  

The Brewers would get their revenge in the sixth. With Paul Molitor on second and Robin Yount on first, Cecil Cooper hit a double play ball to second baseman Juan Castino. Castino flipped to shortstop Lenny Faedo for the force and Yount went far outside of the baseline to take out Faedo and knocked him on the temple with his forearm. (Taken from https://brewers1982.com/07/20/brewers-twins-brawl/)

Well, that started an all-out brawl between the two teams, with two players - one from each team - getting ejected after throwing punches.

But to my innocent little eyes, Robn was the hero of the whole thing – defending his players and his team, telling the world not to mess with them, doing whatever it would take.

Then there he was, in Bob Uecker’s jacket, last Friday night, throwing out the first pitch of the World Series in Milwaukee.

There has been so much in my life over the past 44 years. I know I’m not alone; haven’t we all been too busy. And it doesn’t help, with all the TV channels now “streaming” somewhere at a cost, that I don’t remember the last time I watched a Brewers game.

The last game I went to was nine years ago.

We know how their 1982 run at the World Series ended. And we wake up this morning, not knowing yet how this one will end. 

Too Big for this World - Val's Story, Chap 21

I first posted this story in September of last year, but I had to share it again because it is chapter 21 and if you are following along, I didn't want to mess you up.  

Dear God

If I die tomorrow

Or a thousand tomorrows from now,

Will it matter?

Will I be changed

Or have changed the world?

Will another moment from eternity of existence

Cause the moon to fall

The oceans to weep

The trees to walk?

But if an extra heartbeat

Brings one smile to a teary eye

If all my heartbeats

Can make another soul sing

Another life less dull

Then my entire being has purpose

And eternity becomes an instant of joy.

By Pat Loehmer (1959-1999), written in 1977

 

My kids both loved their Aunt Patti, with all their precious, still-growing hearts. My baby girl was only three when Pat was diagnosed with cancer and nine when she died. Val never knew my sister when she wasn't fighting that insidious monster roaming her body.

And I never realized how much they were alike.

People think I'm bullheaded and independent, but that was nothing compared to my sister. When she started something, she would dig in her heels and get it done, never asking for help and never backing down. My son, Nick, is like that, too. Me? Not so much, if I start something and it causes me frustration, I'm more than willing to walk away and binge-watch episodes of "Friends".

          Val was just as independent and could dig in her heels just as deeply if she was working on something from her heart. And she was all heart. And so was her Aunt Patti. Both taken way too young - Pat at 39 and Val at 35. Sometimes, I think they were both too big for this world, too bold, too strong.

          And looking back, days after Val had left us, I think they both knew they weren't born to grow old on this planet; God had a plan that none of us left behind will ever understand. But somehow, deep inside, maybe Val and Pat understood.

(By the way, I was 37 when I lost my sister; Nick was 39 when he lost his. Sad, huh?)

Here's the really sad part. Only three of us are left from this picture at our wedding in 1997 - me, Nick and Hubby. Between 1999 and 2026, I lost Mom, both my sisters, and my beautiful daughter. 

Break #2 - Michigan's UP

 

September 21, Hannah, Hubby, and I took off for our annual trek to Michigan’s UP and specifically to the Jampot Bakery, aka the Monks. 

While Poppa was in line waiting to buy goodies, Hannah and I checked out Jacob’s Falls. She was not impressed.

Then we waitied around some more, even though there will be nothing in the haul for the pooch. 

Finally got to get up close to Lake Superior. So beautiful. 

My favorite spot in the Keweenaw Peninsula is Esrey Park. 

Something about it has always felt magical to me. 

Even if I don’t look so excited in this picture with Hubby. 

Not sure if you can read Hubby’s shirt, but he got it a year ago, after tripping on a tree root in the eastern UP. Don’t want a new shirt that reads, “I came, I saw, I fell down some rock stairs.” 

Last stop was atop Brockway Mountain for the breathtaking views.  

We don’t take the steep drive up here every year. 

But when we do, it has always been worth it.