Using only the little pink toolkit that my dad gave me for Christmas, a hammer, a towel and a hair dryer, I fixed (somewhat) the dent on my own. Here’s how I did it: I used the tools from the little pink toolkit to remove the rear bumper from my car. Then I took the bumper inside my house and heated the dented area with a hair dryer (so the plastic would be more pliable), covered the dent with a towel (to protect the plastic from the hammer’s sharp edges), and banged on it with a hammer. Using the little pink tools, I reattached the bumper to my car. I didn’t have quite the right tools or training to completely smooth out the dent, but at least now the clips can keep the bumper in the right place. Not bad for an hour’s work.

With a splitting headache and exhausted by what she later found out was leukemia, Celia went to church with her family and stayed the whole three hours. Then she went to Duane’s ward for Josh’s blessing, adding another hour or so of church. I’ve gone to church with a headache before, and it’s a chore sitting through all of the talks. I can’t imagine the discomfort Celia must have endured to be there that day.

That was Celia. She did what she knew was right, even if it wasn’t convenient for her. I don’t know how long she had leukemia before she found out, but I can imagine that she had been worn down by the disease for at least a few months. Even when she was exhausted, she gave all of her energy to teaching her kindergarten class and taking care of her family. I doubt that anyone felt that she slacked in her duties during those last few months. Celia was never one to give a half-hearted effort in anything.

Even when Celia was in the hospital after she found out she had leukemia, she didn’t just lie in bed and let others wait on her. She made time to visit with her family and plan what she was going to work on when she got out of the hospital. I didn’t see her without a smile on her face until she was drugged up and on a ventilator. I’m sure she would have smiled even then if she could have.

So I went to class today. If Celia could endure all that she did without a word of complaint, surely I could sit through two classes with a minor headache and sore throat — which, by the way, were both gone by noon. Celia, thank you for your example. I wish you were here to celebrate your birthday with your family, but I hope you know that we celebrate your life. My world, at least, is much brighter because you were such a big part of it.

p.s. I’ve watched this video a few times the past couple of days. It makes me cry every time, but it makes me smile, too.

It was probably karmic retribution for the time I traumatized my friend Alana’s son, Ryland, after he proudly introduced me to his menagerie of stuffed animals. “Do you ever wake up in the middle of the night and see their eyes glowing red and saliva dripping off their teeth?” I asked him. I still don’t know why I said that. Last year the elementary school gave my mom the school records for me and my siblings, so we got to see what our teachers thought of us. The kindergarten teacher I always thought adored me wrote, “lacks impulse control.” Maybe some things don’t change. Anyway, poor little Ryland was probably about 9 or 10 at the time I planted suspicions about his stuffed animals in his mind, and he burst into tears at the thought of his friends transforming into scary monsters while he slept. He had to sleep with his parents that night. It took a lot of convincing on Alana’s part to get him to believe his pandas would just snuggle with — not devour — him.

Last week I interviewed Alana’s daughter for one of my classes, so I went to Alana’s house for the first time in a few years. Ryland didn’t recognize me at first, but after a few minutes he asked his mom, “Is Maren the one who made me cry that one time?” Alas, yes. Fortunately, Ryland hasn’t needed years of therapy to develop into a pretty well-adjusted 12-year-old and crazy good Rock Band drummer. But still, what kind of person says that kind of thing to a kid?

So, back to my night. Finally around 4 a.m. it started raining and drowned out the tapping sound outside my window, so I was able to go to sleep. And when I looked outside this morning, I saw that the rain had washed away all traces of the dead babysitter, too. I hope I fall asleep faster tonight.

I probably never would have thought of participating in the Big Climb if my sister Celia hadn’t died of leukemia almost a year ago. If you’ve read my previous posts, you know that there’s a bit of hero worship going on when I talk about her. Celia was a terrific person, the kind of sister anyone would love to have. I did the Big Climb in her memory. But I felt more of a sense of loss than accomplishment at the top of the 1,311 stairs I climbed in the Columbia Center. I felt like Celia should have been climbing with me, but we’ll never have that chance. I was glad to see posters of leukemia and lymphoma survivors posted on many of the floors in the Columbia stair well, but I couldn’t help feeling a little resentful. Why didn’t my sister make it? Why was her poster “in memory of” rather than “in honor of”?

Supposedly time heals all wounds, but this one feels as raw as it did that day last May when my dad told us Darren was going to take Celia off the ventilator because she had a blood clot in her brain and the doctors couldn’t detect any brain function. That day I thought there was still time for a miracle — but the one I wanted didn’t happen. God took my sister without asking my permission or anyone else’s. I still can’t think of a good reason why. But I firmly believe that Celia is still being her wonderful self and helping others find more purpose in their existence.

Climbing the Columbia tower was hard, especially because I hadn’t done any training for it. I had thought about climbing the stairs on the Fremont side of Queen Anne hill — 15-20 times up the 80 stairs should have been decent training — but I let general grad school busyness get in the way. Even with my flabby, untrained legs, I would do back-to-back Big Climbs every day for the rest of my life if it would bring my sister back. It won’t. But I’ll try to keep climbing. Maybe one day I’ll be strong enough and make it high enough to get to where Celia is.

• My family. Two parents, seven siblings, 15 and counting nieces and nephews. It’s a whole host of people who will be my best friends for the rest of my life. I’m so glad I get along well with all my brothers and sisters. I think it’s sad when people dread family visits — I don’t think that will ever be me. It has been extremely gratifying seeing everyone pull together to help each other through the hard times we’ve had this summer.
• The gospel. Losing a sister is the hardest thing I’ve ever gone through. I know some people would say I’m weak for believing that we’ll be together again as sisters after this life. Then yes, I’m weak. But I’ll never give up the strength that the gospel gives me in times of trial.
• Losing my job. The second-hardest thing in my life has been watching my mom go through chemotherapy for colon cancer, but I’m thankful I could be there to help her through part of it. I have some great memories from the four months I spent with her in Joseph City. The timing of the P-I’s closure couldn’t have worked out better for me.
• Climb Ev’ry Mountain. The Hunt family singers all got together to perform for the first and last time at my mom’s farewell concert when she retired from Joseph City Elementary. I still cry every time I watch the video, but what a memory.
• The drive to Mesa. After my mom’s concert, the whole family went to Mesa for Josh’s baby blessing that same weekend. I rode down with Celia and her two oldest girls and then stayed at Celia’s house Saturday night. I’m thankful I had the chance to spend a few more hours talking and laughing late into the night with one of my best friends.
• Friends. Early in the summer I asked my dad if he felt a little like Job in the Old Testament. His reply was “Our friends haven’t forsaken us.” The love and support I’ve felt from my friends has been amazing. Thank you.
• The Holbrook pool. It was difficult getting up at 5 all those mornings I went swimming with my mom, but I’m grateful I could watch the sun rise over an outdoor pool while my mom got heaps of healing fresh air, exercise and sunshine. My mile will be faster next summer, Mom.
• My bike. I love it. I’m not even close to being on track to accomplish my mileage goal this year, alas. But riding is such a release for me. Hooray for two wheels!
• Grad school. I haven’t started yet, but I’m thankful I got into grad school. And I’m thankful I got into UW. I can’t imagine how stressful it would have been to move across the country to Syracuse with everything else that has been going on. Thanks for accepting me, UW.
• Books. Hooray for words on paper between two slabs of cardboard! So much more than the sum of their parts.

So, this isn’t by any means a comprehensive list. Maybe I’ll add to it from time to time. What are you thankful for?

My family has a goal of having 500 blood donations made in Celia’s memory in 2009, so even if you can’t make it to one of the memorial blood drives, please donate at a blood center or blood drive near you and e-mail info@celiascircle.org to let us know about it. I’m planning on donating three pints this year, so that leaves just 497 to go. Let’s make it happen!

This past weekend my mom had her annual Cousins Camp for the grandkids deemed old enough to participate (and an old maid aunt). This year we went to Virden, New Mexico, to help clean up my grandparents’ place for them. We got a bit of work done, and we had time for lots of fun, too. We had a weenie roast, rode the John Deere lawn mower, climbed trees, swung in the hammock, shot off fireworks (spooking the neighbor’s horse), and lots of other stuff. On Friday, the older kids hiked to the peak of Caneaster to check out the petroglyphs while the younger kids made treats with Grandma Payne. Basically, we had a good ol’ time in the country. I’m thankful my mom felt well enough to enjoy it all.

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