Minnesota Prairie Roots

Writing and photography by Audrey Kletscher Helbling

October reflections from the St. Croix River valley October 15, 2014

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Driving toward Taylors Falls, Minnesota, from the east.

Driving toward Taylors Falls, Minnesota, from the east provides an especially scenic view of this river community.

TWENTY-ONE YEARS AGO in October, my husband and I planned an overnight stay at a bed-and-breakfast in Taylors Falls. We anticipated gorgeous fall colors and rare time alone without the responsibilities of parenting three children.

But then my mother-in-law died unexpectedly a week before the booked get-away and we never rescheduled the trip.

Heading toward St. Croix Falls, Wisconsin, and Taylors Falls, Minnesota, along U.S. Highway 8.

Heading toward St. Croix Falls, Wisconsin, and Taylors Falls, Minnesota, along U.S. Highway 8.

This past week, we finally made it to the twin St. Croix River valley communities of Taylors Falls on the Minnesota side and St. Croix Falls in Wisconsin, staying at a chain hotel rather than a B & B. We found the glorious autumn colors we had hoped for and the freedom that comes with being empty nesters.

Shops in downtown St. Croix Falls.

Shops in downtown St. Croix Falls.

Hop in the van and go. Stop when and where we want. Drive along a winding river road. Hike without worry of kids trailing off the trail or plummeting over the edge of a rocky ledge. Eat late. Sleep in.

My husband on a dock at St. Croix Falls Lions Park along the St. Croix River.

My husband on a dock at St. Croix Falls Lions Park along the St. Croix River.

There’s something to be said for this season of life, this nearing age sixty that causes me to pause, to delight in the view, to reflect and appreciate and yearn for the past while simultaneously appreciating the days I live and those which lie before me.

"River Spirit," a bronze sculpture by local Julie Ann Stage, embodies the poetry and natural beauty of the St. Croix River Valley. The artwork was installed in 2007 and stands at a scenic overlook in downtown St. Croix Falls.

“River Spirit,” a bronze sculpture by local Julie Ann Stage, embodies the poetry and natural beauty of the St. Croix River Valley. The artwork was installed in 2007 and stands at a scenic overlook in downtown St. Croix Falls.

Perhaps I think too deeply, too poetically sometimes.

Reflections, like watercolor on water.

Reflections, like watercolor on water. A scene photographed at St. Croix Falls Lions Park.

But like the trees buffeting the banks of the St. Croix, I see my days reflected in the river of life.

Beauty along the St. Croix River.

Beauty along the St. Croix River as seen from Lions Park.

Blazing colors mingling with green.

Leaves upon rock, reflect the unchangeable and the changeable.

Leaves upon rock, reflect the unchangeable and the changeable.

Changed and unchanging.

Days of simply enjoying life.

Days of simply enjoying life.

Yesterday, today, tomorrow.

Life is like a river, sometimes calm, sometimes raging.

Life is like a river, sometimes calm, sometimes raging. A view of the St. Croix River shoreline from Lions Park.

Life.

FYI: Click here for more information about the Taylors Falls and St. Croix Falls area.

© Copyright 2014 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Raising awareness: Much more than “just a domestic” October 2, 2014

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The Clothesline

The Clothesline Project, initiated in Cape Cod in 1990, addresses the issue of violence against women. Those impacted by violence against women express their emotions via decorating a t-shirt. Those are then hung on a clothesline as a way to raise awareness of domestic violence.

SHE MAY BE YOUR DAUGHTER, your sister, your niece, your next-door neighbor, your friend or co-worker’s daughter. She may even be you.

You likely know someone who has been in an abusive relationship. Except you may not realize it. These victims, mostly women, may not bear the bruises or other physical signs of abuse. The level of abuse may not have reached that stage of a slap or a push or a hand around the neck. Or a threat to kill or to kill one’s self, which spoken by an abuser should be taken as seriously as the threat of homicide.

Domestic abuse isn’t solely (and sometimes never) about the physical. It’s first about emotional and psychological control and manipulation—the lies, the deceit, the charm, the promises/proclamations of change, the “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to do that,” the pleading, the “I won’t ever do that again,” the intimidation, the excuses, the justification for placing a hand upon a woman.

Do you know families who have lost loved ones to domestic violence? I do. The daughter of a former neighbor. The niece of a sister-in-law and brother-in-law.

Do you know families whose loved ones have been in relationships with domestic abusers? I do.

Let’s stop for a moment. I wish domestic violence/abuse wasn’t termed as such. The word choice minimizes the crime. If a woman is killed by her husband or partner, it’s murder. Murder. If she’s physically harmed, it’s assault or attempted murder. You can agree or disagree, but the words “domestic violence/abuse,” for me, minimize the act as if a relationship lessens the crime, putting blame upon the victim.

Blame. Don’t blame the victim. Ever. If you think a woman can simply leave the man she loves, or thinks she loves, then you do not understand the very basic premise of domestic abuse. Control. Manipulation. Power.

Equally as important is remembering that you cannot “make” a woman leave an abusive relationship. That must be her decision.

October marks Domestic Violence Awareness Month. We each hold a personal responsibility to understand and educate ourselves about this crime. You need look no further than the court report in your local newspaper or to sports figures held in such (undeserved) high esteem to see how domestic violence against (mostly) women permeates our society. Maybe you need only look next door or in the mirror.

This month, determine to understand and to educate yourself, to do something in whatever way you can to honor those women who have died, those women who have survived and, yes, even those women who have no clue they are in an abusive relationship.

Margie's VoiceDonate monies to a local support center that focuses on assisting victims and/or survivors of domestic abuse. In my community, Ruth’s House of Hope, a shelter for homeless women and children located several blocks from my house; HOPE Center, a site offering support to those dealing with sexual and domestic violence; and Whispers of Hope, a faith-based healing center for young women, are always in need of financial gifts.

All three of those resource centers will benefit from an a capella concert fundraiser set for 4 p.m. Saturday, October 4, at River Valley Church in Faribault.

Or participate in a domestic violence awareness fundraiser like Margie’s Voice 5K Walk/Run, beginning at 8 a.m. Saturday, October 4, at the River Bend Nature Center in Faribault. Margie’s Voice honors the memory of Margie (Brown) Holland and her unborn daughter, Olivia. Roger Holland was sentenced to two terms of life in prison for the 2013 murders of his wife and daughter. Margie’s dad once lived across the street from me.

Yes.

She may be your daughter, your sister, your niece, your next-door neighbor, your friend or co-worker’s daughter. She may even be you.

FYI: If you are in an abusive relationship, seek help now by calling a local resource center or the National Domestic Violence Hotline at 1-800-799-SAFE (7233). Click here to reach the national website for more information.

© Copyright 2014 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Brainstorming on Faribault’s future September 29, 2014

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NEVER HAVE I BEEN PART of a community’s visioning process.

Until Thursday evening, when eleven of us gathered at the Historic Hutchinson House Bed & Breakfast to discuss Faribault’s strengths, challenges and future under the guidance of hosts Doug and Tami Schluter.

In the distance you can see the clock tower on Shumway Hall at Shattuck-St. Mary's School in Faribault, photographed last fall from City View Park.

A stunning autumn view of Faribault taken at City View Park show the campus of Shattuck-St. Mary’s School. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo.

For nearly three hours, our baker’s dozen of Baby Boomers focused on our southeastern Minnesota community through this “Meeting in a Box” session. It was a thoughtful process which allowed every single person the opportunity to speak as we rounded the dining room table, one-by-one taking our turns.

To have this grassroots chance to voice one’s opinion, without interruption (mostly) and in an informal setting, will provide invaluable information to the City of Faribault, which has launched this seven-month-long community visioning process tagged as Community Vision—Faribault 2040.

Leaving the show and driving southbound on Central Avenue through historic downtown Faribault.

A recent shot of a section of historic downtown Faribault’s Central Avenue. This scene represents to me Faribault’s past, present and future.

Projecting 25 years into the future allows our community to be proactive, to plan, to build on strengths, to identify weaknesses, to grow a stronger and better Faribault.

I couldn’t help but think, during this brainstorming session, how my second daughter recently reacted to news of a nephew’s upcoming move from Utah to rural Faribault. “It’s Faribault, Mom,” she said, a definite disdain tinging her words. I wondered how many other twenty-somethings share her attitude, how they can’t wait to graduate and move away.

Keeping our young people here popped up as a challenge facing Faribault. But I expect residents of almost every city or small town feel the same about the exit of their youth. I left my native southwestern Minnesota prairie at age seventeen.

A mural, one of several in the downtown area, promotes historic Faribault.

A mural, one of several in the downtown area, promotes historic Faribault. Our community’s rich history and architecture came up repeatedly as strong assets during the “Meeting in a Box” conversation.

Our discussion, among Faribault natives and those of us who relocated here, began with this statement: “My community is great, because……”

The Cheese Cave is housed in a beautifully-restored building in historic downtown Faribault. The interior, with an arched ceiling and sandstone-colored walls, mimics the caves where Faribault Dairy ages its cheeses.

The Cheese Cave is housed in a beautifully-restored building in historic downtown Faribault, site of many old and well-preserved buildings. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo.

We could jot down three answers before circling the table and sharing. Once all answers were listed, we voted these as the top five reason’s Faribault is great: variety of educational choices, downtown architecture and rich history, efforts to preserve the past, good mix of businesses and people who care about one another.

Then it was on to the next question, which proved much more difficult: When you look 25 years into Faribault’s future, what are the most important community strengths we should build upon as we plan for Faribault’s future?

Note the Faribault Ochs store in this mid-1920s photo from the private collection of Daniel J. Hoisington.

This mid-1920s photo from the private collection of Daniel J. Hoisington was shot in downtown Faribault. Preserving our rich history and architecture ranked high in discussion at the “Meeting in a Box.”

After significant effort to even understand the question, we responded, then voted for our top five most important community strengths: educational opportunities, grow industries, preserve small town feel, tourism opportunities and preserving historical buildings and history.

Finally, the last question asked us to identify Faribault’s most pressing challenges as we plan for the future.

A Somali family waits to cross a street in downtown Faribault. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo 2010.

A Somali family waits to cross a street in downtown Faribault. Diversity-related issues rated high in conversation. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo 2010.

Those responses flowed fast and easy with the following marked as Faribault’s top challenges: housing code enforcement, crime (specifically domestic violence, drugs and DWIs identified), diversity related issues, city/county/citizen leadership, community planning and poor community pride.

Not much revealed at this “Meeting in a Box” session surprised me.

Yet, it’s good to get our thoughts out there so city leaders are aware of Average Joe or Jane Resident’s concerns. Our long lists of answers—all of them, not just the top five—will be forwarded to city officials. That’s reaffirming, to know that every single response will be passed along.

This week, from 7 – 9 p.m. Thursday, October 2, the Schluters are hosting another “Meeting in a Box.” They’re looking for participants. So, if you want a voice in the conversation about Faribault, contact them.

These sessions are being held through-out the community as the second step in the visioning process. Focus groups and community forums will follow.

For this process to truly reflect Faribault, though, more than just grey-haired Caucasian Baby Boomers will need to provide input. Opinions from all races and ages are needed.

Young people are our future. They will live the longest with the decisions made today. Unless they leave Faribault. Like my two daughters and son.

© Copyright 2014 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Time passages September 26, 2014

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I recently started collecting alarm clocks and now have four, three Westclox and one General Electric.

I recently started collecting alarm clocks and now have four, three Westclox and one General Electric.

NEVER HAVE I BEEN MORE COGNIZANT of the passage of time than during this past year.

I can’t pinpoint a precise reason for this deep sense of time fleeting. Rather, a combination of life events has spawned this feeling.

A year ago, my eldest married. Although she graduated and left home 10 years ago and her sister two years later, only two years have passed since my youngest started college. He’s in his third year now, his second in Boston. He spent the summer there, too, working. I haven’t seen him in three months, won’t see him for another three.

I miss him and the girls—their closeness, the hugs, the conversation, the everything (almost) that comes with parenting children you love beyond words. Too many days I wish only to turn back the moments.

I wish again to be that young mom, with issues no bigger than the occasional two-year-old’s tantrum or the snarky teen or a kid I can’t rouse from bed or the picky eater. But when you’re handling such challenges, they seem ominous and big and looming. Ridiculous.

If only we knew.

Granted, I am, as the old adage says, “older and wiser.” But such wisdom comes via life experiences that color hair gray. Or maybe not solely. Time does that, too.

I am now the daughter with a mother in a nursing home, my father in his grave for nearly a dozen years. A friend noted the other day that he never saw his parents grow old to the age of needing his care. And I wondered if that was good or bad and then I didn’t want to think about it anymore.

I am now so close to age sixty that I feel my fingers reflexively curving around the numbers.

Which brings me to today, my birthday.

© Copyright 2014 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Whirlwind weekend of activity & emotions September 18, 2014

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HAVE YOU EVER FELT just so exhausted, physically and emotionally, that you wish you could lie down and sleep for years?

After three weekends of traveling to southwestern Minnesota for family and other events and to clean my mom’s house, I am exhausted.

This past weekend my husband and I put 475 miles on our van crisscrossing the state and also the roads of Redwood County.

The beautiful handcrafted LFL donated to my hometown of Vesta.

The beautiful handcrafted Little Free Library donated to my hometown of Vesta in 2012 and installed outside the Vesta Cafe. There are also shelves of donated books inside the cafe for locals to read in this community without a  city library. I donated two boxes of my mom’s books.  Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo.

Saturday morning saw us exiting Faribault by 6:45 a.m. for the nearly 2 ½-hour drive to my hometown of Vesta. By the time we arrived around 9:15 a.m. to drop off books for the Little Free Library at the Vesta Cafe, I was already yawning. And we hadn’t even started cleaning at Mom’s house, a process which would take five hours on this Saturday. But I’d already been awake since 5 a.m.

One of numerous banners displayed in the farming community of Belview.

One of numerous banners displayed in the farming community of Belview. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo.

By 2 p.m., we were headed 12 miles north and east to Belview to see Mom in the nursing home. Randy cat napped on her bed while I perched on the seat of Mom’s walker and visited with her.

Our weekend travels took us deep into southern Minnesota farm country.

Our weekend travels took us deep into southern Minnesota farm country.

Then we aimed south for the 45-minute drive to my brother and sister-in-law’s rural Lamberton home. Randy suggested I nap, and I tried. But even the hypnotic rhythm of travel and the warm sunshine streaming through the van windows were not quite enough to lull me asleep. It was the emotional upheaval of the day that kept me awake.

Me, left, with two of my best friends from high school, Margie and Sharon.

Me, left, with two of my best friends from high school, Margie and Sharon, at our 40th Wabasso High School class reunion.

A quick shower and change at my brother’s house and we were back on the road driving toward Wabasso for my 40th high school class reunion. We partied until nearly midnight and I managed only a fitful night of sleep before rolling out of bed at 7:30 a.m.

Nearing the other end of the 35W bridge.

We crossed the Interstate 35W bridge on our way home. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo.

We were on the road by 9:30 a.m. driving north and east toward rural Wyoming, Minnesota, for a sister-in-law’s 50th birthday party. About two-thirds of the way into the 3 ½-hour drive, I started whining like a kid, “Are we there yet? I just want to get there. I hope there’s some food left. I’m hungry.” The crankiness kicked in about the same time we rolled into heavy metro area traffic.

My husband, bless him, understood. He understood that stress and lack of sleep had morphed me into an overtired and crabby wife.

We arrived at the birthday girl’s home to find plenty of delicious food awaiting us. I pasted a smile on my face. After a few hours of visiting and relaxing in the sunshine of a perfect autumn afternoon, we took down the tent we lent to the party host, loaded it into our van and headed south to our next destination—the home of our eldest daughter and son-in-law.

My eldest daughter, Amber, and her husband, Marc, pose in front of the home they recently purchased in a Twin Cities suburb. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo.

My eldest daughter, Amber, and her husband, Marc, in front of the home they recently purchased in a Twin Cities suburb. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo.

About a half hour later we arrived, unloaded the stuff we’d hauled from my mom’s house, and soon settled into a comfortable spot on the sofa, me with a much-welcomed soothing glass of wine. For a few hours we savored our time with Amber and Marc and our son-in-law’s parents visiting from California.

Full stomach, a little wine…and that sleepy feeling drifted over me again, before we were out the door on the final stretch home. One hour to Faribault. Darkness descending. Headlights beaming too bright in my tired eyes. Rain falling. Wipers swiping. Home at 8:15 p.m. Finally.

Then, unpacking.

What a whirlwind weekend, crammed with too much of everything. Too much time in the van. Too many activities. Too much emotion. Too little sleep.

And we didn’t even make two other events—a book release party in northern Minnesota where I was to read my winning poem and a barn dance fundraiser.

I am beyond exhausted. Drained. Physically and emotionally.

© Copyright 2014 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Wabasso High Class of 1974 celebrates 40 years since graduation September 16, 2014

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FORTY YEARS AGO, my Wabasso High School graduating class voted “Dead Skunk in the Middle of the Road” as our class song.

But our senior class advisers nixed the choice and “We May Never Pass This Way Again” became our theme song instead.

We never were a class to follow the norm, to keep quiet, to go along with whatever the adults desired. We were outspoken teens—some more than others—challenging authority, growing into adulthood in the turbulent early seventies. Kids who’d just missed sending our male classmates off to fight in Vietnam.

The Wabasso High School Class of 1974 fortieth year reunion.

The Wabasso High School Class of 1974 fortieth year reunion group photo. That’s a teacher seated in the front row, right. I’m in the back row near the middle with the pink, white and black striped shirt. Photo by Randy Helbling.

This past Saturday we gathered at the community center (and then moved to the Roadhouse Bar & Grill) in the southwestern Minnesota prairie town of Wabasso to reminisce about our school days and to celebrate the 40th anniversary of our graduation in May 1974.

Forty years. How do four decades pass that quickly?

WHS reunion pic 7 and 8

Maybe we haven’t grow up so much. Or perhaps it’s just that we still like to have fun.

So much has changed, yet so little. We’ve grown up and reached the point in our lives when we realize life is too short, that the years we shared are worth celebrating.

In responding to questions for a reunion book I helped pull together, nearly every single classmate wrote that the best thing to happen to them since high school was getting married and having children. There was not a single answer like “I’m rich, live in a mansion and run a Fortune 500 company.” Not a single person placed wealth or career above family.

One other question—What has been the most influential book you’re read since high school?—also garnered a single most popular response—the bible. Many classmates wrote of their spiritual growth and the importance of God and faith in their lives.

On the right are the three of us from Vesta who attended the reunion.

On the right are the three of us from Vesta who attended the reunion. Micki, Dallas and I grew up on farms within a mile of each other. That’s a V, for Vesta, that we’re shaping with our hands in the top image.

This was, by far, the best class reunion of all I’ve attended. And I believe I’ve missed only two.

We mingled and laughed and talked about our kids and grandkids (those who have them) and all sorts of things and simply had a really good time. There was no cornering off of friends, no division, none of those issues that seem to plague classes even decades later.

How many classmates can cram into a photobooth, left, and four members of the reunion committee, right.

How many classmates can cram into a photobooth, left, and four members of the reunion committee, right.

As one of my 88 classmates noted, we were always a class that got along. He’s right. At one point Saturday evening, we crammed as many people as possible into a photo booth (New Ulm-based Up All Night Photobooth) contracted for the event. I was an initial naysayer on the photo booth. But I’d recommend it. The photo sessions got us out of our chairs and totally mixing it up.

My husband and I pose for a photo that I told him will be our Christmas card. In the photo to the right is Lindsey, right front, whom I have not seen in 40 years. He promised to return for the next reunion.

My husband and I pose for a photo that I told him will be our Christmas card. In the photo to the right is Lindsey, right front, whom I have not seen in 40 years. He promised to return for the next reunion.

I saw classmates I have not seen in 40 years. And, yes, I had to sneak a sly peek at several name tags to identify people. But for the most part, I recognized my 29 classmates and the single teacher in attendance.

One classmate told me I still looked the same. I took that as a compliment. Obviously, he didn’t notice the gray hair, the creases in my face or the pounds added since I was a hip hugger, mini skirt, hot pants, go-go boot wearing teenager.

© Copyright 2014 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

My beautiful niece on her wedding day September 9, 2014

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Carlyn and Jared leave the church in the early evening, showered with birdseed.

Showered with birdseed, Carlyn and Jared leave the church in the gorgeous early evening light of a perfect September day.

IT’S SO CLICHE to say that the bride was radiant. But no other word seems fitting for my niece, Carlyn, so in love with her now-husband, Jared, her high school sweetheart whom she married on Saturday at English Lutheran Church in Walnut Grove.

Just a historical note here. The English Lutheran church bell dates back to the late 1800s, when Charles Ingalls, the father of author Laura Ingalls Wilder, donated monies toward its purchase.

Lots and lots of birdseed tossed.

Lots and lots of birdseed tossed at the newlyweds.

The bridal couple, family and guests walked below that bell Saturday before witnessing a beautiful ceremony celebrating faith and family and the beginning of a new life together.

Look at how happy they are...

Look at how happy they are…that loving look Jared is giving his new bride.

Carlyn cried more than any bride I’ve ever seen. Cried walking down the aisle. Cried during the ceremony. Cried when she hugged her parents. So much emotion overwhelming her.

That look, oh, that look on the new groom's face...

That look, oh, that look on the new groom’s face after the ceremony.

And I thought how fortunate she is to live only blocks from her parents, to work side-by-side with her mother in a family-owned daycare. Likewise, Jared works with his father on their nearby farm.

Instead of signing their names in a guestbook, guests signed the leaves on this tree.

Instead of signing their names in a guestbook, guests signed the leaves on this tree.

These newlyweds will be surrounded by those who have loved and nurtured and cared for them their entire lives.

I watched as kids wove freely among adults on the church grounds and at the reception in the Westbrook Community Center. Small town carefree. Connected. Something you wouldn’t see at a wedding reception in a larger community.

Jared and Carlyn await their introduction and entry into the reception hall.

Jared and Carlyn await their introduction and entry into the reception hall.

On one end of the reception venue, kids tossed a toy football back and forth. A boy rumbled a toy truck across the floor. Preschool boys splashed in the drinking fountain.

And in between it all, adults laughed and conversed and danced to the beat of polkas, country line dances, 70s tunes that I once sang as a member of the Wabasso High School choir and more.

As my husband and I passed below street lights outside the community center, past the impressive corner veterans’ memorial and the old brick implement dealership where the bride’s dad (my eldest brother) worked before a new facility was built on the edge of town, I considered what a perfect day it had been. September weather at its best. My mom recovered enough to attend the wedding and reception. And love. Radiant.

© Copyright 2014 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Celebrating her granddaughter’s wedding September 8, 2014

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SHE WAS DETERMINED to attend her granddaughter’s wedding. And she did, one day shy of three weeks after suffering traumatic injuries in a fall.

Three of my mom's granddaughter's visit with her after the wedding.

Three of my mom’s granddaughter’s (including my daughter, middle) visit with her after the wedding.

She would be my 82-year-old mother.

About the only photo I managed during the ceremony, taken from my place in the pew.

About the only photo I managed during the ceremony, taken from my place in the pew.

Saturday afternoon Mom was among some 400 guests packing English Lutheran Church in Walnut Grove for the marriage of Carlyn and Jared.

The day marked a milestone for Mom, her first outing in three weeks except for the long ambulance ride from a southwestern Minnesota hospital to the trauma unit at North Memorial Medical Center in Robbinsdale and the car ride back to a nursing home five days later.

The reception was held at the community center in the bride and groom's hometown of Westbrook.

The reception was held at the community center in the bride and groom’s hometown of Westbrook.

Already while hospitalized, Mom set a goal to attend the wedding. Then she decided that she might like to go to the reception for awhile also. She accomplished both.

Guests shower Jared and Carlyn with birdseed as they leave the church.

Guests shower Jared and Carlyn with birdseed as they leave the church.

It is good to have goals when you are eighty-two, or any time really.

I laughed because my mom's nails were painted and I forgot to paint mine.

Nursing home staff painted Mom’s nails for the wedding.

I am thankful to the staff of Parkview Home in Belview for encouraging and working with my mom and even painting her nails for the wedding.

I am grateful, too, for a family that has been there for her every step of the way, encouraging, supporting, loving.

And for prayers. Yes, prayers.

Mom faces a long road toward full recovery. I understand that. But she has already come so far.

Yet, it is not easy to see the fading purple bruises, the oversized bump that still mars her forehead, the neck collar that locks her broken neck in place, her frailness…

There are times when sadness overwhelms me. But then I remind myself to be grateful. For every single day I have my mother.

© Copyright 2014 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Oh, to be two… August 27, 2014

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Boy throwing dirt

 

DON’T YOU WISH sometimes that you could be the carefree kid again? I do.

 

Boy and his dirt pile

 

I wish I could be like my great nephew, Hank, with nothing to worry me—climbing dirt piles, tossing clumps of dirt, running here and there as fast as my short legs can move me.

Boy and his bunny

 

And then when I was all tuckered out, I’d slip inside the house and cuddle a plush toy before settling onto my mother’s lap.

 

Boy sleeping, bunny on floor

 

My head would dip and nod against her until I fell into sweet slumber. Then she would ever so gently lift me from her lap and snug me onto billowy cushions, my curls pressed against the armrest, my fingers furled against my forehead.

 

Boy sleeping close-up

 

I know I can’t be two again. But I can dream.

© Copyright 2014 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

The challenges of aging & prayers answered August 22, 2014

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Me with my mom in her Parkview Home room.

Me with my mom in late May.

AS THE DAUGHTER of an aging parent, it is the call you do not want to get—that your mother has fallen and is being transported 130 miles via ambulance to a metro area hospital.

That exact scenario played out earlier this week when my octogenarian mom fell in her assisted living room and suffered multiple severe injuries that landed her in a trauma unit.

It’s been a difficult week. Worrying. Waiting. More injuries added to the initial list. Questions. Tests. Rest, recovery, therapy.

So many emails, text messages and phone calls have been exchanged among siblings, other family members and friends that I’ve lost count. And prayers, lots of prayers, prayed this week.

In the end, Mom, who has faced many medical challenges throughout her years, rallied. Today she is back in the care facility where she moved earlier this spring. She is happy to be home. The staff in this rural small town facility welcomed her with open arms. I am grateful for their concern and care.

And I am thankful for answered prayers. I believe strongly in the power of prayer and the faithfulness of God. So many times this week, I found myself requesting prayers for my Mom and asking for God’s healing hand upon her. Those prayers continue now for her recovery.

I have not seen my mother; she did not want visitors. She realized her need to focus on rest and recovery. That was difficult, but for the best. However, I have seen photos of a woman who appears to have been on the losing end of a bar brawl. She claims to have been scrimmaging with the Minnesota Vikings. It’s good to laugh in the midst of challenges.

And my mom faces the challenges now of recovery, of ongoing physical therapy, of regaining her strength. Her goal is to attend her granddaughter’s wedding in a few weeks. I have no doubt she will achieve that goal. She is a strong woman.

FYI: The online news source, MinnPost, published an interesting story today in a late-in-life healthcare series. The piece focuses on options for those living in rural Minnesota. I’d suggest you read it by clicking here. With families today often living far apart, rural elderly face challenges unlike those of previous generations. I live about 125 miles from my mom.

© Copyright 2014 Audrey Kletscher Helbling