Plant Anyway

I’m not always great about relaxing; that’s why I need friends who are.

My friend Jeanette encourages me and my family to get away every year around the beginning of Spring, and more often than not she provides a venue for that, usually in the form of a luxurious vacation home up in the mountains. Our families get together to play, eat, and be merry, and we all have a great time.

Being so far removed from my household duties, cares, and the hustle and bustle of town puts my mind into a better place. For me, it takes a full three days to be officially un-wound. Add a couple of days of soaking in a hot tub, cross country skiing in the fresh pine-scented air, and sleeping in every morning and you’ve got the perfect combination for a singular experience.

Mine happened, almost predictably, on the third day of vacation.

I had this uncanny dream in the wee morning hours that I haven’t been able to shake the feeling of, even a full year later.

In my dream, I was back at my former mother-in-law’s country house, the one she’d sold after her husband died, out behind the hill where the creek flowed. As dreams go, this was all sort of surreal and ethereal…pieces and parts of things as a conglomerate that I immediately understood and recognized, although were I awake it would have made no sense at all.

I made my way around the familiar hill, the one my first husband and I had hiked out to during my introduction to his childhood home and acreage on one of our initial dates. It had been so important for him to introduce me to his mother, and to share this beloved playground with me. In my dream, all of that had still seemed like yesterday, but right along with that there was the knowledge of the sweet and the painful, the good and the bad, the marriage and the divorce.

I was completely alone now, but I sensed my daughter’s presence somewhere in the background, as if she were aware of me, observing me from afar…as if watching for an example.

Beyond the hill I was surprised to find my car, hood open, with beautiful lush green plants growing out of the engine. For a fleeting moment I was upset about this, because I assumed that I would still need my car. How could this stationary object be useful now? And with the plants…who was going to clean all of that off my engine? How would I ever drive it again?

Surrounded by my car were other stationary items. Coffee tables and end tables…all strangely familiar to me, like ones I’d had in some of my homes throughout the years. Each had plants growing out of them, the greenery draping over their edges. It was then that I began to notice that the plants were growing out of the smooth surfaces without the benefit of any soil. It was as if they didn’t need it.

Each plant was healthy, hearty, and the perfect deep, rich color.

Looking around, I began to not only comprehend that I was surrounded by plants, but that each plant was one I’d put in the ground at one time in my life, attempting to cultivate. There was the one that Grandma had called the Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever…I’d placed them in the yard of our first home, right beneath our picture window. I’d loved the two-toned green and white of the leaves from the first time I’d seen it and had been determined to find some for our place. It was probably still growing at that old first home of ours, sold long ago.

The philodendrons that had been my houseplants. All there. Not replicas of, but I was somehow made aware that these were indeed the very same plants I’d planted ages ago, matured and thriving.

I had never been a green thumb, although I’ve given it a mighty effort. In my waking hours I often joked that all I had to do was look at a plant and it would shudder and begin to brown. Every year I planted a garden. Every year it was hit and miss.

I’ve very much felt that my life has been that way, too. A huge frustration was nearly twenty years of marriage with all of the toil, happiness and heartache that goes into such things…ending badly. At the time of this dream, I’d been ruminating over what it was all for. I’ve never been able to believe that a loving God would set me up for failure, to have me put so much effort into not just my marriage but jobs, homes, friendships, finances…only to have them dry up or become lost. While the character-building part of it was probably worthwhile (I suppose), why all of this plant and wither, plant and whither? Now middle-aged, I was weary of it. I’d even lately shied away from a few friendships, ventures, and the added effort that I’d have been much more willing to put in at a younger, more naïve age. What was even the point?

Being surrounded by every plant I’d ever planted, many of which I’d completely forgotten about, from well over twenty-plus years ago…that drove the ‘point’ home very clearly. The impression I was getting in a very strong way, so strong that I could both feel in my heart and hear in my mind was this:

“Nothing you’ve planted was fruitless. Everything that you’ve ever put your hands to had an effect; a result, even though your own eyes can’t see that. Everything you do matters; everything you do will eventually bear fruit in the end.”


I awoke to the sun streaming through my window and the smell of Jeanette downstairs frying bacon…and I wept.

I could finally give a respectful nod to decades of effort. Building relationships, building businesses, raising children and hoping they turned out well. The fighting and the making up and the fighting. Finances gained, finances lost. The sleepless nights and the nights roasting marshmallows in the backyard around the firepit. Jobs, (and people) that I gave my all to, and still got let go anyway, in the end.

None of it was for nothing. Every bit of it was a seed planted that would grow and never die. Perhaps it wouldn’t grow where or how I’d planned…perhaps it would turn out, like those glorious plants…even better than I could ever have imagined. I had perfect confidence that I would see the fruit…if not today, then someday. I’ve viewed things differently since having that dream. It’s not an all-or-nothing deal anymore…I’ve experienced more of a wizened, contemplative feel for things. If I don’t see what I wish I could see right now, all I have to do is be patient. It will all work out, in good time. The seeds have been planted and cultivated; the rest is purely in God’s hands.

I can wait.


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What's Your 'Why'?

I've been reading 'The Barefoot Executive' by Carrie Wilkerson. In it, she says, "The 'why' of what you do should make you cry."

Here is my why:

Why is it vital for me to help others feel important? Because I grew up grounded to a bedroom without windows for months on end, and once was even locked in an outside doghouse on an icy cold winter's day until long after sundown. I wasn't allowed to speak my mind or, often, to even defend myself or my loved ones. I felt invisible, unimportant, and alone countless times.

It took years to realize that the message 'you're nothing'
was a big lie, told by people who didn't feel solid about themselves.
Certain situations might momentarily trigger those feelings once again, but they're short-lived.

If there is anything within my power to do to help those around me feel visible, important, and above all vital, I am going to do it. Through my speech, through my writing... using whatever means I have.

No one is going to feel insignificant on my watch. Everyone I've ever encountered is a celebrity and incredible person in their own right. My 'why' is to make sure they know and never forget it. And, if they do, I'll remind them.

That's my big 'why'.

What's yours?



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When Irish Eyes...

I first met Aunt Betty when I was very young. I remembered the bright red hair and the lilt to her voice. She was short, round, and had a Minnesotan accent. She was darling. Whenever we'd go to her house, we filled up on hard candy that she insisted we pick out of her special glass dish.

I hadn't seen her in many, many years. But when I moved to Arizona to live with a cousin for a short time at age eighteen, there she was. Her husband, Uncle Don, had died and she'd lived somewhere in the vicinity of our cousin and her family ever since.

Aunt Betty was their "Nana", and they knew her much better than we did. What we thought were cute little phrases, the grandkids viewed as annoying. What we thought was a lovely casserole called "Wednesday Night Special", the grandkids viewed as gaggy, and the 'same thing every week.' Their parents, (their mom was my cousin) got Aunt Betty set up in a nice little apartment in Mesa. Once a week, the younger set would drive over there to spend some time with her. Teenagers only was the rule. She wanted to know all about us and would have the cheesey, potato-y casserole with the crumbled potato chips on top waiting.

Whenever she needed a ride to the store, she'd try to buy me something, a tube of lipstick or a hair product I used. Sometimes I'd have to insist that she didn't spend her limited money on me. I adored this lady.

To me, Aunt Betty was larger than life. She'd been my father's favorite Aunt growing up, and I'd heard so many wonderful stories about her. I felt happy to be able to be around her so much while I lived in Arizona. But it was explained to me by a teenager or two that Nana used to live with them, before she got her own place, and that since they had to deal with her every single day, it wasn't always 'fun'. Nevertheless, I still viewed her as somewhat glorified in my eyes. She was just a cute, spunky, red-headed little lady with a great sense of humor. She called me "DollBaby" and bought me stuff and made yummy food for me once a week.... What's not to love?

My favorite memory of Aunt Betty was on her birthday. She was Irish to the core, and in honor of that, her daughter and son in law took her out to dinner. The rest of us joined them. We went to an authentic Irish restaurant there, Aunt Betty's favorite. She laughed and her eyes twinkled, and she had herself a beer. It was adorable to watch how much she was enjoying herself. But the best moment of that evening was when they presented Aunt Betty with a beautifully wrapped box, large silken bow and all. As she removed the paper and took the item out of it's box, it was evident that she was already touched, no matter what it was. You could see the, "For....ME???" in her eyes. But the kicker was when she figured out exactly what the item was, and the thought meant behind it. It was a ceramic of an Irish-type dwelling...that was also a music box. It played "When Irish Eyes Are Smiling", Aunt Betty's favorite song.

She immediately began to cry.

So did everyone at the table. Because even though she was Nana and she bugged them, and she didn't get around very well anymore, and she made the same thing every Wednesday night for dinner....she was their mother. She was their grandmother. And she was my great-Aunt. Her phrases and her chronic Wheel of Fortune-watching, her piles of magazines in her apartment, her nicknames for each one of us, and her some-times annoying ways....were all a part of her. And she'd been a part of us for a long, long time. An integral piece to the puzzle that was our lives. And none of us could imagine our days without her.

She played that music box more than once before we even left the restaurant.



It's been twenty-four years since that birthday. My cousins moved from Arizona and went to San Diego, a place they'd always gone for vacations. They took Aunt Betty with them, and it was said that she was not doing so well. I worried about her and wrote her a few letters.

A couple of years later we got the news that she'd passed away. I later learned that she hadn't been in very good health when we'd all lived together in Arizona...she'd actually been in a lot of pain then; I'd had no idea. She never griped. All she did was make casserole, watch Wheel of Fortune, and buy stuff for loved ones, whether they wanted it or not. Never heard her complain once, the dear soul.

So when I hear that song, "When Irish Eyes Are Smiling", I'm suddenly back in that little Irish pub, watching Aunt Betty drain her beer, and then seeing her open that treasured music box. Her Irish eyes not only smiled that night; they glistened, too.

Here's to you, Aunt Betty. I'm sure you've found your pot of gold by now.


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An Encounter With A Leprechaun

(A post from a couple of years ago, unearthed).


Saturday is our grocery shopping day.


Last Saturday we had the Bonus Grandkiddies and Sis with us, so there was a Party of Five. Two shopping carts. Sis pushed one, Husband pushed the other, and I was an independent agent. Not a bad deal.

I parted with the group to dive down the crowded bread aisle. About halfway down, I saw a little old lady that looked...I'm not kidding... like an elf. Red hair, pale skin, almond eyes behind thick glasses. Given that it was closer to St. Patrick's day, she may have even been a Leprechaun (do they come in the female version?...of this, I am uneducated...). She suddenly hollered to the tall man standing nearest the shelf.

"Hey, YOU! Right behind you is the dark rye! Grab that for me, wouldja?"

He did.

Then she said, "Thanks.......I'll pay ya back in Heaven!"

He said he'd see her there.

She said, "All righty, I'll be waitin' for ya! I'll meet ya right there at the pearly gates!"

They laughed and parted ways. I was still grinning. I couldn't help but turn around to face her, telling her that this was one of the cutest things I'd heard yet.

"Well, @#$%!" she exclaimed, surprising me with a rather boisterous oath, "I'm four-foot-ten! I've had to learn to boss people around!"


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A Valentine's Essay That's Not What You Think

I'm thinking about love today, and not for the first time.

I have no problem singing other people's praises; there are some fascinating individuals out there. Most are, in fact, if you take the time to get to know them. In my 'middle years', though, one thing's become apparent; If I don't learn to love myself, I'm never going to be able to give it to others.

I can compliment and I can smile, and I can laugh and say interesting things, but to love someone...truly love them from my core...requires that I love myself, too. There just isn't any way around that.

So I've been thinking about love. The thought that keeps forming, and I'm not even sure if it's a love thing, maybe more an observation...is this:

Others' assessments of me weren't that far off.

Before you start thinking that I've absorbed far too many insults and have taken them to heart, let me explain:

People say interesting things to us during the course of our lives. Some of it is very kind. Some of it is not. Some of it is neither; it's just thoughtless, is all.

These are some of the things I've been told:

"Grandpa always did like you best. I don't know why, though." (From an adopted 'Grandma', shortly after the adopted 'Grandpa' had passed away. I was four.)

"You have no personality." (Heard as a pre-teen)

"You just take things too far." (Found in a note from a junior-high friend, who ditched me a week later but thought it would be cute to explain all of the reasons why beforehand.)

"You make such a big deal out of things."

"You always were a drama queen."


Due to the 'adopted Grandma's' comment (she later became un-adopted), I repeatedly began to ask myself why someone would actually like me and came up with some pretty solid answers over the years. Even though I was never able to show her what made me special, I was able to look for that which was special in myself.

Being told I had 'no' personality did two things. I put more effort into developing what I had already, then assessed the source...one that needed me to appear dull, complacent and in the background in order to feel more important. This taught me that many times...most of the time...the comment is more about them than it is about the subject they're commenting on.

Taking things too far and/or making a big deal out of things has led to a tad bit of trouble here and there, but once I learned how to use it to my advantage, it wasn't such a problem. A person that takes things too far is the perfect type to become an advertising content writer. I take it just as far as it needs to go to sell the point. In the words of a fellow professional writer, it's the 'spark' that sets us apart from the others. Nowadays, I'm 'taking things too far', and for pay.

Putting 'drama' and 'queen' together by way of a description wasn't altogether an insult. I have an empathy for most people and have no problem showing it. I cry easily, I laugh easily, and I'm prone to the heart-to-heart conversation. As for the royalty part; you bet. I came from a God that bows to no one, so why as His daughter should I?

Think about the hurtful, thoughtless things that have been said to you in your life, and be glad. Those words have shaped you. The loving yourself part is when you take whatever words are flung your direction and you turn them into your personal plusses. When you can do that for you, you can easily do that for others, too...until they can learn to do that for themselves, and then the cycle continues on indefinitely.

Love thy neighbor as thyself.

Now. Go and do thou likewise.


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One Per Customer

Get a life.

Hmmm. How often have we heard that one, or even told it to someone in jest, or in a not-so-jesty way? Guilty as charged over here.

Been thinking a lot about life lately; how it almost seems easier to lose your life than to get one, or to fully appreciate the one we’ve got, and those lives around us that we’ve been given.

Twelve years ago, I ran a little daycare in my home. I was separated from my then-husband, had three children of my own, and was panicked and pre-occupied about money and the future nine-tenths of the time. Two of my daycare kids, Taylor and Rebecca, were siblings. Their mother always paid on time, often brought me gifts, and was a dear friend. Taylor and Rebecca were the type of well-adjusted, well-loved kids that just blended right in with any group. They rarely had issues, and my children enjoyed being around them. Rebecca, or Becca, was only two when she came into my home. I watched the children for about a year, then reconciled with my husband and stopped doing daycare.

I didn’t see the kids or their mother for a long time. On occasion I’d run into them at a random yard sale or at the grocery store. FaceBook changed that for me, though. (Thank you, FaceBook.) When I thought about my friend the daycare mom, I looked her up and got current on what she’d been up to. Had I not done that, I might have never known what became of that family. Only a month or so after I’d ‘friended’ this lady, the urgent, all in capital letters message came onto our pages, “PLEASE PRAY FOR MY CHILDREN! THEY’VE BEEN IN A TERRIBLE CAR ACCIDENT!”

That was the beginning of a saga that was heart-breaking to follow, but I felt I had to. Both children had brain injuries; only one lived. We lost Becca. Taylor lived, but it was a pure miracle. He is still recovering from his brain trauma.

I wondered why the family waited for four months before they had her Celebration of Life service. I understood when I attended; it was Rebecca’s fifteenth birthday. People told stories of what a loving person Becca was; how she really seemed to care and was always there for friends and family. They told us how she didn’t like to go too far from her mother throughout her life; it was almost as if she knew that their time together would be shortened. Her brother stood and shared that he never got to tell his sister how incredible she was, and that if there was anything he’d learned over the past few months, it was this: Tell the people in your life that you love them every day, because you may not get that second chance.

I re-wound, back to the days when I combed Becca’s hair after a nap, or fed her mac and cheese for lunch, or helped her with her potty training. I’m sure, in my daily stress, that I wasn’t always as patient as I could have been. She was a cute little girl; there was nothing difficult about watching either Becca or her brother. Had I known that the same curly-headed little child that I held sometimes, or whose hair I combed, or whose tummy I fed would wind up dying in a car accident at the tender age of fourteen, almost fifteen….I can tell you I’d have done things very differently.

I’d have given more hugs. I’d have been more deliberate in the way I told her I approved of her, in my praise of her. I’d have paid more attention when she was trying to tell me something in her cute two-year-old voice. I’d have taken more time, had I only known.

Becca’s mother had us all take a Chinese paper lantern home, and at 9:45 pm we were to light them and release them, in honor of Becca’s favorite movie scene in Disney’s Tangled. When we did this, we saw several other lanterns from all parts of the valley joining ours in the sky. I was sorry that my children, who were at a sports game, were not there to see that. When my son came home, I told him all about it. He stepped outside to see if maybe, just maybe, he’d get another chance to see a lantern. I doubted it; it was well past the appointed time. We stood there for a moment, looking. And then it happened.

One lone lantern came from seemingly out of nowhere, flying low, and lingered right over our house for the longest time before drifting away to join the rest somewhere. It was uncanny how long it stayed right there, as if just for us. It might sound funny, but I almost felt like that was a gift from my Becca…or maybe more like a message.

Stay. Linger. Take your time. Enjoy things before they burn out and float away.

Getting a life.
It might be easier than we think, when we realize just how easy it is to lose one. If we viewed a person as if it were their last day with us, how would we treat them? Would we slow down? Would we linger? Would we make eye contact for longer, touch more, or be more tender?

I know I would be.

In the movie and book, “Tuesdays With Morrie,” Morrie Schwartz, a real-life character says, “When you learn how to die, you learn how to live.” He also said that the Buddhists believe in the little bird on our shoulder. We are supposed to ask our little bird, “Is today the day?”

Keeping that thought in mind might sound morbid, but it might also save us from a whole lot of regret.

To my little Becca: I wished I’d taken more time. Thank you for the lessons you are teaching me. Thank you for helping me to change the way I see others. During your life celebration, a letter was read that your brother had found in your notebook. You said in it that you wanted to change the world for the better; that you wanted make a difference in the world.

You have, Becca, you have. Thanks for being our lantern.


*Used as an article for http://igotmompower.com/

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WishGranters of Idaho

WISHGRANTERS, INC.

*I recently had the opportunity to interview Doug Raper, founder of WishGranters, Inc., a non-profit that grants wishes for adults with terminal illnesses. Here’s what he told me:

I’ve granted wishes to children for over twelve years with Wishing Star, and also with Make A Wish. During that time, I knew there needed to be something more for adults and their families. We’d get calls from people, adults with wishes for their families, and we couldn’t do anything, because we were a children’s organization. So a year ago last June, I decided it was time to do something about it. We became an Idaho non-profit organization in July of 2010, and became a 501c3 in September of last year; we did our first wish in December.

We’ve now finished fifteen wishes. Number fifteen is actually out on a wish right now, and we’ve got twelve more that we’re currently working on.

The very first wish we did was for a gentleman with Lou Gehrig’s disease, which is a terrible, terrible disease. I think it’s worse than cancer. His wish was to go on a helicopter ride with his wife and two sons, and we set that up for him. We lost him two weeks after the wish, but that family has a memory of that time with Dad that they wouldn’t have had otherwise.

The second wish we did was a gentleman with cancer. He wanted new carpet for his home. It was really a wish for his family; you could tell it wasn’t for him. He got to pick it out, and he saw the first of it laid down before we lost him.

Some of the other wishes we’ve done: A couple of trips to the Oregon coast, we had a gentleman get back just this month from a Nascar race in Sonoma, we had a gentleman and his wife get back from a trip to New York, it was a great, great time.

We had a gentleman who used to love to go out and work in his backyard, and he couldn’t do that anymore; he’s in a wheelchair, and can’t get down on his knees to do that. He wanted three-foot high planter boxes that he could wheel in between with his wheelchair to work on the plants. We were able to get three, three by four planter boxes that are thirty inches off the ground, which is where he wanted them. The day he got them, he planted everything because he got seeds and plants and all that stuff for him, and he’s just really enjoying that.

We’ve got a gentleman who’s got brain cancer that wants to take his kids to Disneyland, and we’re trying to get the funds for that. We have another gentleman who also has cancer that wants to have his backyard re-done, and we’re working on trying to get somebody to help us with that. We’ve got another man with cancer that wants a new fence around his backyard; that’s all he wants. Pretty simple. We’re going to start on that Thursday of this week and then be done by Monday.

The wishes are not extravagant, although we’ve had a couple of big trips. Last Thursday I got a call from a lady at MSTI with an emergency wish. With all of our wishes, time is a major issue; that’s why it’s so important to raise the money we need to be able to do the wishes. If you have it in the bank and a family member or a doctor calls, we can go to work on it immediately and get it done for these people. That’s easier said than done, but this was an emergency wish, and they take priority over anything else we’re working on. The lady with terminal leukemia had just been told there was nothing more that could be done. Her wish was to go to Maui with her husband and two ten-year-old children, twins. They’re there right now. We had them on a plane Sunday morning. We got the wish Thursday, and Sunday they were gone. They’ll be back on the next Thursday. I told them I wanted pictures!

There’s just lots of stuff. We did a wish for a gentleman with Lou Gehrig’s that had a ’67 Camaro. He bought it in 1969; the same week he bought the car, he met the girl that ended up becoming his wife, so it was a pretty momentous week. He didn’t realize it at the time, but it was. The Camaro became the family car; they took the kids to school, they went to the grocery store, they did everything with this car, and he wanted it restored. We were able to get that done for him. He saw the work start, and we lost him before it was finished. He never got to see the finished product, but his wife, two daughters and son were there when we rolled it out. It was a very big moment for everybody, for the guys that did the work…they were so proud of this, it was kind of like their baby. The family was thrilled.

We rely on the goodwill of the community, to be able to do these wishes, whether it’s an in-kind donation, like a hotel room like the one in Hawaii, and the rental car place there was donating a car; they don’t have to do that, they don’t know anybody in Boise, Idaho, but they did. Same thing with the New York wish, the hotel was donated there, right on Times Square, big beautiful hotel they donated to make room for the family.

You get more no’s than you get yes’s, always. You have to have kind of a thick skin and keep after it.

The weekend after next we’re doing something kind of special for some of our families; a Baptist church camp up at Warm Lake donated their facilities to us for a weekend, so our families will come up to hike, fish, or just sit and do nothing for the weekend. We couldn’t get all of the families up this year, we had to cut it off, but we’re going to do it again next year and just start where we left off.

We were staying up near this facility a while back, and I just walked up to them one day and said, “Hey, have you ever thought about donating this facility to a non-profit for a weekend?” And the guy said, “No…but nobody’s ever asked us that before.”

I said, “Well, I’m askin’”. And they did, they took it to their board and they donated all these cabins. So the families will be coming up. Some of them have lost folks already; some of them have not.

It’s always exciting to see the wish come true, no matter if it’s for a child or for an adult, but it’s a different world with adults. When I was helping kids, we always asked for three wishes, so if for some reason we couldn’t do the first wish, we could do the second or third. Kids have no problem coming up with thirty wishes. They want lots of stuff. Adults have a harder time. When you say, “What do you want more than anything in the world?” that’s a hard question. I’ve never thought about it; could you just come up with it, I don’t know…

A big part of it is that they’re more givers than receivers. I have a hard time getting more than one wish out of these folks. Except…for one gentleman. He gave us the three wishes, then he was still giving more and his wife said, “No, all they asked for was three!”

I do ask the families, too. Some of them don’t want to. The gentleman we’re doing the fence for; his wife didn’t think he’d have a wish, but she asked him and he immediately said, “Yeah, I want a new fence for the backyard.” Immediately. He knew. She was amazed; she called me back and said, “Yeah, he’s got a wish!”

That’s what he wanted; every time she looks out the back, she’s going to see that fence. He’s…he’s not doing well, he doesn’t have much time.

We have a Board of Directors, they institute policy. As far as rules, there’s some things that we don’t do. We don’t do international travel, partly because of the cost, partly because the medical care in some countries is not very good. We don’t pay medical bills; we don’t give cash.

You’re looking at the whole staff. I do it all; take the trash out. Fundraising, wishes. I have to be constantly fundraising. You have to. I have twelve wishes I have to fund. I don’t have enough money right now to do twelve wishes, but I’m hoping that I will. I try to make it personal when I meet people; I talk about the wishes, what these folks want, what we’ve done, and what we have coming up that we’re trying to fund. I want people to understand that without the support of the community, those wishes aren’t going to happen, we’re going to lose these folks without being able to grant their wish. That just isn’t something I want to do. It’s part of reality; we’re going to lose some folks before the wish happens. Sometimes they go so fast. Sooner than the doctor or the family expects.

We had a gentleman with Lou Gehrig’s that wanted a rolling shower, so that he could actually take a shower. He wasn’t able to stand up anymore, and couldn’t get over the edge of the tub to take a bath, so his wife had to help him. He wanted a roll-in shower. So we went to work on that, trying to find some people that could help us, and we lost him before it happened, in fact it was just days before it happened. The day that we lost him, this was the most amazing thing I think I’ve ever seen, we had a referral for another gentleman with Lou Gehrig’s who wanted a roll-in shower. We were able to use it. That second man had his wish granted immediately, that wish is done.

We cover Ada and Canyon counties. Eventually we’d like to cover all of Idaho, but we don’t have the funding to do that now. There’s a million organizations that do wishes for kids all over the country; there are very few that do wishes for adults and their families.

A lot of these folks that are terminal have been givers all their lives, and I’ve had a few of them tell me that, they they can’t ‘do that’, they can’t ask for anything. I tell them, “I’m asking you, you’re not asking me.”

The fundraising: it’s a constant battle to have that money coming in. When I was doing wishes for kids, we were doing a radiothon up at a mall in Spokane. This guy walked up and emptied some change from out of his pockets, saying, “That’s all I have.” I looked at him, and I believe it was all he had, he gave it all. It seems that the people that can’t give much give everything, and---although this isn’t true in every case---but some of the people that could give large amounts---a lot of them---don’t give anything. It’s hard for me to even be able to talk to them, much less get a donation.


*Doug told me that he’s seen some really tough people cry from tender emotion, and that he’s seen miracles happen by way of people’s generosity. WishGranters could use any size donation you could give, even if it’s just a pocketful of change, like the man at the mall.

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