The Killdeer Tragedy

Several weeks ago now we started seeing a killdeer acting protective of a nest whenever we would go into the backyard. She would hobble as if she had a broken wing in an effort to draw us (and any other potential threat) away from her precious nest. For the longest time we searched for the well hidden nest until one happy day we found it! I was incredibly excited as I explained to Charlie that if we didn't touch it and were very careful of where we walked, the eggs would hatch and we would see the baby birds. He was excited and very interested to see how baby birds could come out of these seemingly drab little eggs.


Over the course of the next two weeks we would check on the nest, often at Charlie's prodding. I was becoming very protective of "our" nest that lay dangerously close to the construction zone near by. I once anxiously watched out the window as a bulldozer came incredibly close to the nest. If it made one more pass it would have destroyed the little hidden nest and I was ready to run out and inform the driver if it did. Thankfully it did not. Keith carefully went around it each time he mowed the grass and I continued to watch from our window multiple times a day with my binoculars. Through them we could see the little momma killdeer sitting on her nest without disturbing her. Without even realizing it I grew very protective of that little nest and glanced out the window every time I passed it. Although the looming danger of the construction crews was always present, the nest continued to be just outside it's boundary.

Until one day when I looked out the window to see a few survey workers standing very near to our nest.

They saw the momma desperately trying to lure them away but her broken wing act just confused them as they looked on. I started my way out the door to explain to them what she was doing and to ask them to be careful. Charlie followed me out the door.


But we were too late.

One of the workers hadn't seen the well concealed nest and stepped on it, crushing the eggs. They continued along their way completely unaware of the tragedy that they left behind. I took a look and then turned and walked inside with the thought that perhaps the momma would not abandon the lone egg that was left. As a lump grew in my throat Charlie said to me: "it's okay mommy, she still has one baby left." Sweet boy.

The poor mother bird came back to the nest. When she saw what had happened she flew a short distance away onto our lawn and began crying as she walked back and forth, only occasionally returning to the nest. I had never heard the sad sound she made before as she walked back and forth. It wasn't the usual song of the killdeer and it wasn't the call they make as they try to lure some thing away from their nest. The only way I could describe it was a cry and it went on for well over an hour. I became completely preoccupied by the tragic scene that was unfolding outside my window. As she cried, I admit, I did too. I couldn't help it. After a while she seemed to pull herself together a bit and started to clean up the nest, picking up pieces of crushed egg and flying off with them.

When she stopped cleaning I went back out to check on the nest again. She had cleaned it up well and left the lone egg. I took hope that she would not abandon it.

The rest of the day I watched through my binoculars to see if she would come back. She didn't. I watched again the next day. There was no sign of her. I couldn't understand why she would take such great care to clean up the nest just to abandon it, so I kept on watching. 

She never came back.

At first I told myself that it was silly to get so emotional about a bird that wasn't even mine. "Pull yourself together" I told myself, "this is ridiculous." "You have adopted her and her nest," Keith gently told me shortly after wards. "That is why you care so much. And I love that you care so much for all the critters." I realized that I wouldn't have found so much delight in the whole experience of watching the mother's nesting and protection habits, nor gotten so giddy with anticipation as I waited for the eggs to hatch, had I not let myself get emotionally tied up in it all.

Sometimes the joy that comes from letting yourself get wrapped up in an experience is worth the risk of a potential tragedy. Looking back, I wouldn't change a thing. (Except for getting out there too late to save the eggs...)

"Still Life"

I know most of you have already seen this picture,  but it is just too perfect to not document here.

I call it "Still Life with Charlie and Jane." 

Unbeknownst to me, Joe took this screen shot while we were on Skype this morning. He sent it to me a little while later and I burst out laughing. Funny how it is easier to laugh about things after they happen. 

I am holding up a book that Jane insists I hold for her so she can look at the pictures. If I slack in this job she will start fussing which will escalate until I hold it up to her desired height. Charlie is crying and screaming.  I have just told him that he won't have any Graham crackers with his lunch because he has eaten SO many already. 

And then there is me. I am in between laughing at the situation and just getting up and leaving the room in frustration; letting the chaos play out in my wake. "How is it only 10am?!?" All while trying in vain to hold a conversation with Joe. 

And dear Joe, enjoying the scene from the safety of his bachelor pad. 

Needless to say, Skype didn't last much longer. 

I am so glad he captured this unplanned moment in time so I can look back and remember the frustrating/humorous moments more clearly when my littles are grown up. 

I have this quote by Dr. Seuss written on a sticky note on my cork board. It reminds me to have a positive attitude about life because it is fleeting. Which is a reminder I often need.

"Sometimes you will never know the value of a moment until it becomes a memory. "

-Dr. Seuss

Progression of a Sunset

I am a sucker for sunsets (and sunrises for that matter, when I am awake and alert enough to view them...). Whenever possible, I just have to stop what I am doing and soak it in. It is soothing. No matter how stressful or busy the day has been, when I take time to watch the sunset all of that melts into a wonderful feeling of calm. It makes me reflect on the good and humorous parts of the day. Because even in the busiest, most stressful and even the saddest of days there are always tender mercies if we really look for them.

Farewell sun. Farewell day. Or in the words of Dr. Suess:

"Today is gone. Today was fun.
Tomorrow is another one.
Every day,
from here to there,
funny things are everywhere."

I would add to that: funny and wonderful things are everywhere. Trust me. Just take a moment to think back and look for them.

Good-night

We Live in a Beautiful World

 Whenever I hear the song of a bird

 Or look at the blue, blue sky,

 

Whenever I feel the rain on my face

 

Or the wind as it rushes by,

(not exactly a velvet rose...)

Whenever I touch a velvet rose

 

Or walk by our lilac tree,

 

I'm glad that I live in this beautiful world

Heavenly Father created for me.

 

He gave me my eyes that I might see

The color of butterfly wings.

He gave me my ears that I might hear

The magical sound of things.

 

He gave me my life, my mind, my heart:

 

I thank him reverently

 

For all his creations, of which I'm a part.

 

Yes, I know Heavenly Father loves me.

Keith and I were (partially) joking last night about how nice it would be if my first seizure and the discovery of the tumor had been on a day that is easier to forget. I have been thinking about that today and I think it may be a good thing that it is on a day that is not only easily remembered but a day to celebrate some of God's greatest gifts. Each year I can look back and see how many blessings He has given me and how He has guided me along the way.

At the very least, it is a great day to give thanks that I am still here on this beautiful earth that I love and enjoy so much.

And someday, on this day, I will be able to look back and give thanks that the seizures are gone. That day will come. I know it.

Happy Earth Day!

One Year

Today (Earth Day, of all days) marks one year from that first Grand-Mal seizure and the diagnosis of the tumor. Although we still have struggles we have come a long way since then. So today we celebrate not the first seizure, but all the progress since then and the many angels (on earth and in Heaven) that have aided us this year; the hardest year of my life.

I am so grateful for Keith who always made me feel like we were in this together. He gave me a shoulder to cry on every time I needed it (which was a lot). I am thankful for my two wonderful children who gave me a reason to keep going. Especially for Charlie who, although he was scared each time I had a seizure, would hold my hand during it and was always helpful and caring after it.

I also want to thank my extended family who supported me by long visits when I needed them most and gave their support and encouragement. Also, thanks to my many wonderful doctors who gave me wonderful care all along the way and those who are still caring for me. My ward was great with arranging play-dates, bringing meals, offering rides and just encouraging me. I have dear friends that have come and stayed with me, taken me to get pedicures (quite the treat), driven me places, sent sweet cards and letters and gave me the best birthday week ever.

I also thank my Heavenly Father who sent me little blessing when I needed them, to show me He cared. For instance, when I came home from the hospital and was really discouraged and overwhelmed at the diagnosis, I saw three new birds come to my feeder in less than a week. It is really strange that in such a short time three new birds would visit my feeder after having it up for two years. I haven't seen them anywhere else since then. That may not seem like a big deal to most, but to me it was a tender mercy showing that He was aware of what I was facing and He loves me personally. I am really overwhelmed with gratitude for all the love that has been shown to me.

This past year I have gone from having an average of 16 seizures every day to now one every week or so. That is a huge relief and serious progress. This past year I have had eight Gran-Mal seizures, one sweet baby, several MRIs, tried four different anti-covulsant medications (without much success) and one brain surgery. That is a lot for one year and I desperately hope that it will never be repeated.

Here's to a better year and a brighter future.

Brain Surgery

These probes helped make a 3D image of my head (via MRI) to help the surgeon know more precisely where he was cutting.

It has been three weeks since came home from the hospital. So much has happened in those three weeks!

Wednesday (Dec 04), after a full morning at the hospital doing an EKG, x-ray, functional MRI, blood work, learning what to expect for the surgery, and getting my last decent lunch, I checked into the hospital. The functional MRI (where I did various tasks while having the MRI) showed that there was good separation between the functional parts of my brain and the tumor. A little miracle unto itself. That evening I had another MRI (the one where I got the probes on my head) and tried to get some sleep.

The following morning (Dec 05), I went into surgery, and the next thing I remember I woke up under a blue tent unable to move my head. It kind of felt like having tunnel vision. There were two people that I could see. I had seen both before, which helped put me at ease. One was the anesthesiologist, and the other was the brain surgeon's PA. I could hear others in the background but those two were the only ones I saw. The PA kept showing me flash cards and would occasionally peek behind the curtain to where the surgeon was. I was aware of pressure sensations in my head, which can only be described as weird. I can't know for certain but I think I felt the screws being placed in my head and being sewn back up.

Notice how I am holding my spoon in the second picture? It went downhill from there but only stayed that way for a couple of days. Even now I have difficulty with things like typing and texting, but I am noticing improvements each day.

My coordination and speech (as expected) were fine for the first little while and then got much worse before improving again.

I kind of wish I kept track of all the fingers I squeezed while at the hospital. Another discharge requirement was walking on my own. Keith and I would take strolls around the unit. A route which goes right by the hot chocolate machine.

Another thing that surprised me was all of the medications was put on and slowly taken off of during the following weeks. At different points I had IV lines in both arms, with medications almost constantly flowing through them, and received two painful injections into my abdomen, not to mention the pills I was taking regularly. At some point post-surgery I was visited by the surgeon who showed us with his hands the size of the part of the tumor he removed. I was kind of surprised at how big it was (about the size of a tennis ball), because I knew he hadn't been able to remove it all.

My gnarly scar, before and after staples (47, in case you were wondering).

How I spent the first week.

The grandmas and Charlie decorating the tree.

My parents taking care of my kids. I am so thankful for them!

I want to thank every single person who has fasted or prayed for me and my swift recovery. They have made a huge difference. There have been individuals from literally around the world and all types of religions fasting and praying for me and I can't even express how humbling it has been. Every time I hear about someone who is fasting and/or praying for me I am deeply touched beyond words. Thank you!

Another little miracle that has occurred over the last few weeks is that Jane has returned to nursing without missing a beat. While I was taking steroids to reduce swelling in my brain I couldn't nurse so my sweet sisters pumped and sent out frozen milk with my mom. Once I was safely off the steroids Jane went back to nursing as if she had never stopped.

Perhaps the biggest miracle, aside from my quick recovery in general, is my complete lack of seizures since the surgery. That is right. I haven't had a single seizure since the surgery. That was not at all expected by the doctors. They told me that the most likely scenario would be that I would remain on anti-seizure drugs indefinitely. At this point I am slowly weaning off one of the two medications and plan on doing the same with the second soon. I feel like I have my life back.

Wheat Field Flash Back

I took these pictures less than 48 hours before the grand-mal seizure and finding out about the brain tumor.

We were spending a beautiful afternoon in one of Keith's wheat fields while we took some data on his plants.

Charlie was having a blast and I was soaking in the beauty of the rich green fields, the blue sky, the perfect breeze, and the peaceful quiet.

Do you see that reddish-blond circle just below and to the left of Keith in the right picture? That is Charlie. I actually lost track of him a few times, but don't you fret; the field wasn't too big and after a few moments he would reappear.

On this day, and all the days before it, things like seizures and brain tumors and brain surgery were things that happened to other people. Kind of like the day before we were told that Charlie had PKU. That was the last day that genetic disorders were still things that happened to other people's kids. There isn't an alert that pops up on the calender letting you know that tomorrow life as you know it will change completely. (And it is only after the tomorrow comes that you learn that there is someone who wasn't surprised by the change. But that is for another post.)

Can you see him?

Now you don't.
Whenever he would vanish like this I would shout out "Charlie! Where are you?" As if he was going to wave and say "Hey Mom! Over here! Just picking up a rock and putting it in my bucket!" But he never did. He was too engrossed in his wheat field explorations.

And he does make a fine looking little explorer man.

Changing

The Jaggi fireplace this year. Complete with three stockings.

Keith remarked the other night that it had been a while since I had written on my blog. A part of me feels like I could never write another post that didn't mention Brooke. I don't want it to seem like I have "moved on." I don't like that phrase. Move on. Yes, I keep moving. I keep doing all the daily activities I did before, but "moving" is different than "moving on." Saying that I am "moving on" sounds like I am putting it all behind me, tucking it away into a little neatly packaged memory box and shutting the closet door. I think about her and her parents constantly throughout the day. From the first thing in the morning when the thought enters my mind that perhaps something happened to Charlie during the night to when Charlie and I go on a morning walk and seeing him play with the leaves reminds me of Brooke doing the same thing. The worst is when Charlie is eating and I can't walk away without fearing that he will choke.

There are good thoughts of Brooke throughout the day too though. Like when I get frustrated with Charlie and quickly remember how blessed I am to have him and try a little harder to be the best mother I can be for him. Or when Charlie and I look at family pictures and he points to Brooke and sweetly exclaims "Book!"

Sarah posted the above picture on Facebook tonight. As cheery as it is, the sight of those three stockings and the nativity made me burst into sobs. I guess the trick is to find a place between just moving and moving on. We must keep moving, and we are, but we never want to go back to "normal."I feel like if I just went back to thinking and acting as I did before than it cheapens the influence of her life. It would make me ungrateful for the insights and bits of inspiration I have had as I have prayed and pondered over the events of the last few weeks. It has affected how I talk and interact with, and think about others. I want to keep on this path because I know it will help shape me into a better person.

I don't want to act like Brooke is only in the past tense, because she is not. I guess that is what my hesitation to keep posting on this blog comes down to. I don't want anyone reading this to think that I am "over it," or that I have just "moved on." I want you to know that Brooke, Sarah, Darren, and many others have broadened my gaze. I can't really say how at the moment. I just know that I find myself thinking about people and things differently than I did before.

So there will be more pictures of turtles, flowers, and Charlie. Pictures that will look like life is ever as it was before. What the pictures won't show is that I am changing. I feel like Brooke and the Lord are slowly working on my heart. And their work has just begun.

Blessings

I am sitting out a layover on my way back across the country. My heart is torn between wanting to be with Keith and Charlie, and wanting to be with my family in Washington. I don't really know how to put this past weekend into words. I go back and forth between missing Brooke, hurting for her wonderful parents, and feeling blessed and at peace. This song was sung at Brooke's funeral on Saturday. It has really touched me and given me a lot to ponder on. I can't stop thinking about it's message.

At the funeral my mom talked about Brooke's life and mentioned some of the things that, at the time, looked like trials, but now we see them as the huge blessings they are. Things like unemployment that gave family more time with Brooke. It begs the question: what if Brooke's passing is also "a blessing in disguise?" At times it is hard to see how it could be, but something confirms to my heart that at some point in the eternities we will look back and see all the blessings that came from it. We still miss her, we still feel the ache of loss, but the confirmation that God feels our pain and know why it had to be this way is a huge comfort.

I thought others may also benefit from the message of this song.

Blessings -Laura Story

We pray for blessings
We pray for peace
Comfort for family, protection while we sleep
We pray for healing, for prosperity
We pray for Your mighty hand to ease our suffering
All the while, You hear each spoken need
Yet love is way too much to give us lesser things

'Cause what if your blessings come through raindrops
What if Your healing comes through tears
What if a thousand sleepless nights are what it takes to know You're near
What if trials of this life are Your mercies in disguise

We pray for wisdom
Your voice to hear
We cry in anger when we cannot feel You near
We doubt your goodness, we doubt your love
As if every promise from Your Word is not enough
All the while, You hear each desperate plea
And long that we'd have faith to believe

When friends betray us
When darkness seems to win
We know that pain reminds this heart
That this is not our home

What if my greatest disappointments
Or the aching of this life
Is the revealing of a greater thirst this world can't satisfy
What if trials of this life
The rain, the storms, the hardest nights
Are your mercies in disguise

Our Brooke

 

Many of you have probably heard of the passing of my precious niece Brooke through emails and Facebook. I won't retell it here but will direct you to my dear sister Sarah's blog where she beautifully wrote twice during Brooke's last days on earth. This last week has been incredibly hard but made lighter by feelings of peace that come from knowing that we can be with her again. I have had little moments and memories brought to mind that testify that this was not a surprise to our Heavenly Father, as it was to us. He knew her time on earth would not be long and has comforted us and blessed us. I am thankful for all the time we had with her even though we lived so far away.

Sarah and Darren waited a long time for her to come. Shortly before my Grandma Earl passed away, my mom whispered in her ear "send me grand babies." Within a few short months both Sarah and I were pregnant.

 

  Grandma sent us two of the very best spirits there were.

We all have enjoyed every moment with her. She loved to explore the wide world around her and truly lived her short life to the fullest.

She loved making discoveries with all of her senses but especially touch.

She loved the brushing of grass, the cold smoothness of water, and the softness of fabrics.

One of her many delights was to roll and wiggle in blankets and piles of clothes. It was like she was dancing in them.

She approached every new thing with wide blue eyes and a big grin.

Her enthusiasm encouraged me to jump in instead of holding back and I was always glad I did.

The other characteristic that has impressed me about Brooke is her willingness to love everyone so openly.

Of course she adored her parents- they gave her a wonderful life on this earth! When Sarah came home from work she had to hide from Brooke while she washed her hands or Brooke would wail while she did so. She lavished attention on both of her adoring parents.
 
But it wasn't just her parents that were blessed by her love. Brooke didn't mind being held and cuddled by others either. She would smile at you with those enormous blue eyes, snuggle into your neck, and you instantly felt better as a person. That is at least how it always was for me. I couldn't be doing that bad if this perfect little angel gushes love to me.


I could go on and on about this little girl that expanded out world and hearts. Brooke had each of us- mom, dad, aunts, uncles, and grandparents- wrapped tightly around one of her tiny fingers. She will always have a firm hold on our hearts.

Please continue to keep Sarah and Darren in your prayers, and give the children in your life a little extra love.

A funeral will be held this Saturday from 2:30 to 3:30.
We will be having an open viewing starting at 1pm and an open reception immediately following the funeral that all are invited to attend.
8615 176th St. E Puyallup


THE BROOKE E. JAGGI MEMORIAL FUND
Many friends and family have expressed a desire to send flowers for Brooke’s funeral service or to help with the medical and funeral expenses. A dear family friend has created the Brooke E. Jaggi Memorial Fund. We request that those wishing to support our family make a donation to the Fund. Your donations will be used to cover Brooke’s medical and funeral expenses, and all remaining funds will be donated to one or more of the following charities that have helped Sarah and Darren through this difficult time: The TEARS Foundation, Seattle Children’s Hospital Uncompensated Care Fund , and Olive Crest.

You can donate to the Brooke E. Jaggi Memorial Fund by:
• Wells Fargo Bank: Make a deposit to account number 7862923385 or by the name Brooke E Jaggi Memorial Fund. Deposits can be made at any branch, transferred from another Wells Fargo account or mailed in.
• PayPal: Make a PayPal transfer to the brookejaggimemorialfund@gmail.com PayPal account. You will see that it says something about the money going to Sierra – that’s the name of the family friend who created the Fund on our behalf. The money will be deposited into the memorial fund account at Wells Fargo.

We can’t even begin to express how touched we have been by all of your love, prayers, and support. Thank you so much for all you have done for our family.