It’s June. I’m celebrating in a small way today. The month of May has passed, and I did not have a single lab, scan, MRI, or doctor’s visit for the first time since December of 2022.
In years past, hospitals, clinics, and labs were minor annual blips on the radar of life. Doctor’s visits were usually a one-day annual checkup and mammogram. These days, I am intimately knowledgeable about the inner sanctum of Sanford Hospital, the north clinic in Mandan, and the fourth floor of the UND building on South Seventh Street.
Instead of infusions, doctor’s checkups, blood work, and such I spent the month planting my garden. It’s a beautiful sight, at least for a couple more days. At that time, I must begin my weeding rotation to keep it looking great.
Feeling well enough to plant a high tunnel full of cucumber seeds that have miraculously sprouted in three days feels like life’s greatest miracle. The large tunnel has 100 pepper plants because this year, the germination rate was nearly 100 percent, and I couldn’t bear to throw any out.
I cut back on my tomatoes and didn’t have quite enough to plant two 100-foot rows, but I am hoping 80 plants will produce enough tomatoes for lots of salsa, pizza sauce, canned whole tomatoes, and my brother.
In the outdoor garden, the cabbages, onions, radishes, and beets are flourishing in the rain. Four rows of potatoes need hilling this week. I am also waiting for the squash, pumpkins, green beans, dill, and carrots to break through the soil. Then there’s a whole thickly planted row of zinnias — how I love those zinnias.
I could not have done all this without the aid of my trusty farm hand, J.C., and his friend Nathan. They repaired the large high tunnel, tilled and harrowed the ground, and all for the price of lunch.
Because life is life, the flip side to my small victory holds heartache.
My cousin Cheryl, diagnosed with pancreatic cancer about a year ago, has reached the doorway to her next life. I’m praying she is not in pain and will pass peacefully with her family by her side.
Somehow, I cannot get past my feeling of remorse for not beating down my sister’s door so she did not have to die without her family surrounding her with love. I hope wherever she is, she understands we never stopped loving her.
This past week, one of my oldest and dearest mentors passed away. Even though she lived a long life, it seems it’s never long enough. Her name is Darlene, and I have known and loved her and her husband, Duane, for 40 years.
Darlene, Pat, and Leanne were three ladies from Charity Lutheran Church who, in some respects, adopted me and my family. These ladies were there for me through my divorce, raising my children as a single parent, and, most importantly, mentoring my spiritual growth.
While I have many stories about the years spent making banners, serving coffee, cleaning the church, and serving on various committees, two thoughts surfaced rather quickly.
I joined a women’s Bible study, and Darlene decided that my King James Version of the Bible was outdated (This Bible was a confirmation gift from my parents and still a cherished book on my shelf). She bought me a new Bible. It wasn’t fancy, but it was a New International Version translated without thou and thus.
It broke my heart to have to shelve that Bible because I wore it out. All my sermon notes and highlights were still intact, but the pages began to fall out.
My second memory about Darlene was her evangelism plug. She would tell people about how when she died, she would go to heaven and (through the grace of God) finally look like Cher.
Duane and Darlene took care of me with simple things like randomly taking my car to the car wash while I was at work in the church. One year, they gifted me a gardening conference fee as Duane, and Pat’s husband, Jim, were my gardening buddies. (My friend Jim passed earlier this year.)
It is with my beautiful garden and memories that I honor my friend, Darlene, and may she rest in peace. I kinda hear her laughing about this post from her heavenly home and slim body.
INDYchildrendotme 
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