Kris Patrow's Blog

I’m a Justin Bieber fan. Yes, this 48-year-old mom of two (and a half) is, in fact, a “BELIEBER.” Now, before I immediately fall into the “creepy” category, let me tell you how I came to “Be-LIEB.”

Last night my daughters and I were watching his “Around the World” tour on NBC. Of course, 9-year-old Sammy was all about his hair and smile and love songs and “cute-ness;” 7-year-old Alex was mimicking his dance moves and overly concerned about the logistics of so many concerts in so many cities in 12 days. But what stood out, over and over again, to me and my girls was Justin’s sincere appreciation and gratitude for all the people – from fans to parents to musicians, dancers and road crew – who make it happen. His going out of his way to spend time talking to the fans who stand for hours just to see him walk by, sign autographs, do impromptu concerts from hotel windows. And his relationship with that little girl, Alanna(?), who has spent most of her young life in the hospital and whose life wish was to “marry Justin Bieber.” As soon as he knew about her, he was there in her hospital room, visiting with her, making her laugh, and agreeing to “get married” by exchanging pretend rings. He brought her to his concert. This didn’t go unnoticed by my daughters – or by me. Someone who clearly knows and appreciates that he is “living the dream,” but also realizes he now has the ability to make dreams come true for others.

One more thing. As you may have noticed, I have not written in a while, which for me is like not breathing for a while. It’s been a tough couple of months; in fact, there’s no sign that the toughness will be letting up anytime soon. But last night, Justin kept emphasizing the word “Believe.” And the show ended with his voice saying something like, “You can do anything, if you just believe.”

I needed to hear that. I needed to hear that right then. When those around you may be in a place of doubt, or be consumed by life events that don’t leave room for anything but daily survival, you still need to stand firmly on your island of belief. In yourself, in whatever you believe is out there managing all this craziness, in the miracles that are sure to come in its wake. It moved me so much that I actually (wait for it, wait for it….) TWEETED Justin Bieber, just to say thanks, for re-awakening the believer in me.

I hope you’re all well, and if you’ve gotten this far…I’d love to hear from you and what keeps you believing in miracles. Love!

So I was on my way to my first speaking engagement as an author today (thank you, Wayzata Rotary Club!), and I was feeling a little panicked. I had had a very difficult morning at work, and was SUPPOSED to go talk to people about seeing miracles in their own lives. It's an understatement to say I wasn't feeling very miracle minded right then. So I called Dave (my husband). "How am I supposed to talk about miracles when I can't even come up with one of my own today?" I panicked. He said, "Maybe you're on your way to yours right now."

And that was it. As soon as I arrived, I was greeted warmly by people who were so excited to hear about my book; so open to learning how to see and experience miracles in their own lives. As I read them some stories, and told them about what I've learned, I had one of those "Aha!" moments. Here I was, thinking I had come to be the "teacher," when actually, I was the student of my very own book. I paused, and told the audience what I had just realized, and thanked them for being my much-needed miracle today.

I met so many wonderful people, and am so grateful for the opportunity to talk about my book to whomever will listen. I just have to remember to listen to myself. No matter where or what we're coming from, we're always on our way to our next miracle!

Seeing miracles is a daily choice – one that can be hard to make when there's errands to be run and traffic to be dealt with and negative news pouring in from all sources. I almost missed one myself this weekend…

My husband and I took our daughters and one of their friends to the school play on Saturday. We thought it would be a fun diversion from the "stay-in-the-house-because-its-too-cold" confinement we'd been immersed in all week. Still, it was a lesson in coordination to get us all there on time, and when I finally sat down in the uncomfortable metal folding chair way in the back, I at least hoped I could zone out long enough to get my miracle-legs underneath me again.

Well, as is typical with kids' plays, we couldn't really hear the kids on stage and there was a kind of circus atmosphere (although cute) that had you teetering on the edge of your wobbly chair wondering whether someone was going to take a header off the stage.  Amidst the managed chaos, I did notice one particular grey-haired lady a few rows up from ours, seemingly unfazed by what wasn't going so smoothly. I could only see the back of her head, but did note that she sported an Aqua Net-worthy "hair-do" that old ladies – like my mom – get done at the beauty shop once a week. I imagined she was somebody's grandma, and that there would be much praise at the end of whatever her grandchild managed to accomplish up there.

Well, we were on our way out when Dave realized he couldn't find a piece of paper he had put in his pocket. It was our daughter's test scores, on the back of which he had written her friend's address. I told him I had seen him take it out of his pocket and put it on the chair next to him. Seeing as he was taking the whole brood home in his car, I offered to go back and get it.

I did, and there it was just as he left it. But this time as I was leaving, I found myself behind the little old grey-haired lady and a woman who must have been her daughter or daughter-in-law, slowly walking beside her as she took her slow, measured shuffle steps. The grandma was hunched over and probably much shorter than she had been in her younger days. I heard the younger woman making small talk pleasantly as they walked, as if to pass the time as they began trailing further and further behind the other families. "This is a nice school, isn't it?" she'd ask. "Yeeeeeessss…." agreed the old lady. "And what a nice play…" "Oh, yeeeesss!" remarked the old woman. I thought that this must be a big outing for the grandma, just like it would have been….for MY mom.

And suddenly, it hit me. I was catapulted back in time to when I was that woman walking beside my much older, slower, but appreciative mom. Trying to make small talk. Wanting to help – but not too much so as not to embarrass her. I remembered how frustrated I used to feel at her slowness (I know, I sound terrible); and just as quickly, I thought, "My God, I'd give anything to be that woman walking beside her mom right now." I was watching my old life next to my mom, and wanting it back.

Well, I couldn't get over it. I felt so sad and even a bit angry that even after a year, these memories would come flooding back and swallow me up. Why now? Why did I have to see someone that looked and acted like my mom TODAY? Later that night, I told Dave about it and how sad I was just "out of the blue." He said, "Well, maybe there's a reason you saw her today." The last minute decision to go to the play; the difficulty getting there; my noticing this woman amidst the chaos; Dave's leaving an important paper on the chair; my offering to go back and get it, and then BAM: there she was. It was like I was supposed to see her, watch her,  and remember.

This is where 20/20 hindsight kicked in. I started thinking about this time last year. I remembered it was sometime around this date that we buried my mom at Arlington National Cemetary, but I had forgotten the exact day. So this afternoon I emailed my brother Steve to see if he remembered. Yes, he said. We buried her on February 11th, which was Saturday. Suddenly, "mom's" appearance was comforting, not depressing. It was like she was showing "us" to me, remembering us in a way that perhaps she feels good about (I hope). Maybe, as Dave says, she wanted us to know that she was there, "attending" our daughter's event in a way that she probably never could have at age 90. In any case, I choose to believe the miracle, even if I'm coming at it about 48-hours after the fact. Again, it's a "daily" choice.

Thanks for reading…and miracles always!

Sixty-nine years ago today, my Dad came home on leave from the Marine Corps and married my mom at Central Lutheran Church in Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin. Dad wore his dress blues. And because wedding dresses were scarce and expensive during war time, Mom wore a powder blue suit, pill-box hat and heels. Their "honeymoon" consisted of  riding together on the train out to Camp Pendleton, California, so my Dad could ship out to fight in the Pacific theater. My mom didn't know when – or if – she'd ever see him again. She took the train back home after he was deployed to live with her parents…and wait.

It sounded so tragic to me when she'd tell the story, and yet she always spoke of it with pride; like their marriage was their joint effort - one of love, commitment and mutual admiration – to protect their home and their future children. I still have the first letter that my dad wrote home to their first born daughter, Mary Lee, whom he would not "meet" until she was three years old because he was away at war. There was a tenderness and certainty in his words, very telling of the responsibility he felt both as Father and Protector of his home, family and country. He also told Mary Lee to "take care of your mother, because she is (paraphrase) the best thing that ever happened to me." 

My dad died a few months after my parents' 50th wedding anniversary in 1993. Every night, Mom still slept on "her side" of the bed. Never had the desire to date or remarry. Why, she'd say to me. That Dad had been "it" for her, and there's no replacing that.

One night several years ago, as her health began declining, my Mom told me about a dream she had that Dad had come to her in the night, crawled in hext  to her and slid his arm under her next, and "threw his leg over her like he always did," and just held her. She said how it felt so wonderful, like he was really there just holding and comforting her. She asked me if I thought she was crazy. I told her I thought love like theirs could transcend time, space and mortality. I really think Dad has just been waiting for her all these years.

This year, Mom and Dad are together again on their anniversary. He probably gave her a box of Russell Stover chocolates and a $100 bill to go buy something fancy for herself. And tonight they'll probably go out to dinner at the Heaven version of "Reiters Steakhouse" on Lake Wissota, where the waitresses all had beehive hairdo's, red lipstick, cat-eye glasses, wore uniforms and aprons and new your name. Mom will probably tell the stories that Dad (and all of us) have heard a million times, and she'll laugh at herself, and then Dad will "drive them home" in one of his big shiny Cadillacs. They'll turn in after Mom gets about halfway through her box of chocolates while watching an episode of Dallas  Another anniversary well spent.

For as much as I miss them, I'm glad Mom and Dad are together today – and always. And if they're listening, which I'm pretty sure they are, "Thank you, for fighting for the great country in which I live today; thank you for loving me and all of us kids, and thank you for leaving us with a legacy – and expectation – that we too will leave the world a better place. I love you!  – Kris

It's so easy to wear the blinders of "bad news" or struggles we have had in the past. We drag them along with us, allowing them to obscure the present and inhibit our ability to see the daily miracles all around us. Well, I just saw this post by Neale Donald Walsch (author of "Conversations with God") that speaks directly to unburdening ourselves – and our ability to see – from the past. Read on:

Neale Donald Walsch
The past is the past and has nothing to do with you. It has nothing to do with Right Now. Do not let anything from your past inhibit you in this Present Moment. Start over. Start Fresh. Each day. Each hour, if it serves you. Heck, each minute. Just get going.

Understandably, I've been "guilty" lately of allowing my mother's death to overshadow all that's good in my world (and really, how could it not?) But this message made me realize that while I miss her, and while I so desperately wish she were still here, my sadness around her death doesn't have to color each moment of every day. If I have to drag any baggage along with me, let it be the good memories of her. Starting now – and maybe every "Now" – I'm starting over, without the blinders and the heavy baggage of the past. It's a new…Now.  Isn't that a much lighter way to travel??? Thanks, Neale!

I just received the most thoughtful email from a fellow author.

Dale C. Leo, writer of  “Life’s Secret, The Gift” shared his own experience about losing his mother and offered words of comfort and encouragement. His email led me to his book, which I am so excited to read. It really gets at what I also hope to share with others: that each of us has the innate gift for seeing the good in our lives – and the lives of others. It’s just a matter of rediscovering – as Dale says – “life’s secret” and reframing how we see – or “witness” what’s going on around us.

For any of you who have lost a parent, you know how it rocks your world. In my search for support, I had the privilege of finding and joining a “Mother Loss for Adult Daughters” grief support group offered by Allina. For six weeks last fall, eight of us met once a week to share our experiences and work through the “assignments” offered by the facilitators. The results were transformative – not only in how we managed through this difficult time; but also in how we developed friendships that lasted beyond our six week workshop. We’ve been getting together pretty much once a week ever since! This past Tuesday I had the privilege of welcoming these seven wonderful women into my home for our first get together of the new year. Hours passed like minutes – and the dynamic of our group was full of laughter, honesty, tears and strength. I have to admit, I’m still pretty “raw” over losing my mom. But the “gift” of these women – these friendships that are new and vibrant and so important to my life – never would have happened without that loss. I am so grateful that miracles like these – including the email from Dale – are readily filling the empty spaces left by my grief. I’m no expert, but at least in my experience, opening up my painful “empty spaces” to miracles allowed miracles that I hadn’t even imagined to fill me up, and overflow onto others. I wish the same for you…whereever your empty spaces may be!

I just received the most thoughtful email from a fellow author.

Dale C. Leo, writer of  "Life's Secret, The Gift" shared his own experience about losing his mother and offered words of comfort and encouragement. His email led me to his book, which I am so excited to read. It really gets at what I also hope to share with others: that each of us has the innate gift for seeing the good in our lives – and the lives of others. It's just a matter of rediscovering – as Dale says – "life's secret" and reframing how we see – or "witness" what's going on around us.

For any of you who have lost a parent, you know how it rocks your world. In my search for support, I had the privilege of finding and joining a "Mother Loss for Adult Daughters" grief support group offered by Allina. For six weeks last fall, eight of us met once a week to share our experiences and work through the "assignments" offered by the facilitators. The results were transformative – not only in how we managed through this difficult time; but also in how we developed friendships that lasted beyond our six week workshop. We've been getting together pretty much once a week ever since! This past Tuesday I had the privilege of welcoming these seven wonderful women into my home for our first get together of the new year. Hours passed like minutes – and the dynamic of our group was full of laughter, honesty, tears and strength. I have to admit, I'm still pretty "raw" over losing my mom. But the "gift" of these women – these friendships that are new and vibrant and so important to my life – never would have happened without that loss. I am so grateful that miracles like these – including the email from Dale – are readily filling the empty spaces left by my grief. I'm no expert, but at least in my experience, opening up my painful "empty spaces" to miracles allowed miracles that I hadn't even imagined to fill me up, and overflow onto others. I wish the same for you…whereever your empty spaces may be!

If you're like me, your "to-do" list likely got a lot bigger on January 1, full of resolutions to exercise more, eat better, etc., etc. Thank God I found this segment on KARE 11 that helped me do a reality check on what's really important, not just for 2012 – but for every year (http://www.kare11.com/today/article/954383/449/Choosing-happiness-in-the-new-year). In it, health and fitness expert Jenny Evans shared what dying patients regretted most about their lives – and how we can use their wise words to reset our priorities before it's too late. Four simple steps – to a better life: 

Get off the work treadmill (no one wished they had worker harder or longer)
Get off the sidelines and pursue your dreams (even in small ways)
Get off our digital devices (social connections are the key to happiness and a sense of peace with our lives)
CHOOSE  HAPPINESS (because it IS a choice, not something that's given to us or is earned). Lauigh more, be grateful and kind, and move your body to keep those endorphins pumping through our (still alive) veins.

I think my to-do list just got winnowed down to 4! Happy New YearS, to everyone!

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I have to admit I've dreaded this day, the one-year anniversary of my mom's death. Yet I woke up this morning feeling like I was able to take my first deep breath in a long time (like, a year). I'm still here. So are my wonderful children, husband, siblings and friends. The coffee still brewed, and the Sunday paper still arrived. And when I opened it, I found some new inspiration heading into the new year.

In today's Parade Magazine, there's a story about a book called "A Simple Act of Gratitude." The author, John Kralik, was at a particularly low point in his life personally, professionally and physically. He was out hiking when he heard a voice telling him that rather than focusing on what he wanted or didn't have, he should be thankful for what he did have. He decided to start writing thank you's to people in his life, one each day for a year. Even the "smallest" of thank you's, like to the barrista who remembered his name each time he bought coffee, had an unbelievable impact. The project turned his life – and the lives of others- around.

I have yet to read the book, but it got me to thinking about thanking my mom today. Even though she and I never had a Hallmark-card type of relationship, she influenced my life in many positive ways: realizing the importance of education, focusing on becoming a good writer, developing my gift for singing and providing a structured, secure homelife that I could rely on. No, not warm and fuzzy, but it contributed to my confidence, drive and happiness…and to my ultimate goal of becoming a published author.

Gratitude looking back…and moving forward now into 2012. Sounds like the perfect resolution to begin the new year. So thanks, Mom. And thank you…for sharing this moment with me! Happy New Year!

I just got off the phone with a dear friend. It's a tough day for him. His mom, Violet, died five years ago today. He'd been thinking about me because I'm coming up on the first anniversary of my mom's death on New Year's Day. We were remarking how it's the seemingly insignificant things – the memories you don't realize are "Memories" (with a capital "M") until they're no longer there. For me, one was the realization that the annual commemorative Christmas ornament my mom sent me every year for the last 20 years wouldn't be coming this year. Never had even thought about it, until it wasn't there.

Anyway, I mentioned to my friend how my 8-year-old daughter, Sam, had the kind of view of "a loved one going to heaven" that only a child can have. When she sensed I was sad about the upcoming anniversary, she said "How about on New Year's Day we go under the house (our crawl space where we store everything), take out everything that reminds us of Grandma, put it all around the house and celebrate? That will make us happy and remember all the good things about her." The wisdom of a child: don't dread the grief, don't bury it under the house, drag everything out and celebrate the fact that it means so much to you.

My friend then shared a miracle he experienced today. Every year on this day, he lights a violet candle in memory of his mom. The candle has become worn, with the wax drippings forming a thin shelf around the edges as the wick burned down. Today as he went to light it, the side of the thin wax tore and fell to the side, prompting him to say out loud to his mom, "That's just how how I feel, Mom. Every time I remember you, my heart tears a little." I told him that was a sign his mom was there with him, and he said he knew she was.

Miracles amidst the memories…it's all good. I hope your miracles find you today. And if you feel compelled, please share them with a couple of grown-up kids who are missing their moms today.