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I look in the mirror occasionally and do not recognize the face that is peering back at me. It seems vaguely familiar,
but something is different, it is missing.
I ponder deep in my heart how, why, when these changes took place and why it seems like such a big surprise to me.
My life has gone through many changes, good and bad, but I don't recognize what I see anymore. I know in my heart I
must still be here, inside somewhere. In my mind I still feel like myself. Well, at least I can recall that part
of myself.
I am not dense. I know that I am older now. Age does bring about its tell tale signs to a body. Believe
me, getting older now does not intimidate me, or make me hyperventilate as it did in my 30's. Now the part that
terrorizes me and paralyzes me is not beating, not surviving this cancer. I live with these disturbing facts every day.
I try to rely on denial, I also try to keep my faith intact. I know that God can hear my prayers, I hold my breath and
wait to hear the news that there is no more cancer. It disappeared, and I am in remission. It happens to other
people, so why not me, too? God surely will bless me with that miracle soon! This is my hope, my prayer, my every
waking thought... Can you hear me, God?
My name is Kimberly Hiltbrand. I was born Kimberly Lovern Shuster, second daughter to John H. and Dawn J. Shuster
in the fall of 1962. My parents lived in a suburb of Minneapolis, Minnesota called Maple Grove. My birth hospital
was Fairview South in Minneapolis.
My older sibling, a sister, named Denise Margo Shuster was born fifteen months before I was.
Two years later came my younger sister, Kelly Lavonne Shuster.
Fifteen months after Kelly's birth came my sister Stacy Elinor Shuster. Then my parents waited approximately ten
years and became proud parents of a fifth beautiful daughter, Jeanelle Dawn Shuster.
My parents were fairly young when they married and started a family. but that was pretty typical in those days.
They had a whirlwind romance, about six weeks, fell madly in love, got married and became a little family a year after they
wed.
We had a very close knit family back then. My mother adored my father and was very much in love with him.
She thrived in her new role as mother and happy to be in love with such a man who could give her beautiful babies. That
is what I remember my mother being extremely proud of. That she fell in love with my father, she just knew that he would
give her beautiful babies to love and nurture. That is how and who my mother was.
Who was my father, then? My father worked hard to take care of his growing family. He treated my mother like
a queen when she became pregnant with each one of us girls. I recall mom saying that he was the one to get baby fever
and loved her more than ever while she was pregnant.
My earliest memories are of my mom's parents, My Grandpa and Grandma Miller, as well as my father's parents, My Grandpa
and Grandma Shuster. Each special in their own way.
We would go to church every Sunday at a church in Fridley called Prince of Peace Lutheran Church, M.S. My
parents were very dedicated in teaching their children about God. We sat in church with our parents until it was time
to go to sunday school. We were probably the best behaved children in church due to my father's lack of patience when
it came to fidgeting or whining. You knew that you had pushed too hard when dad would give you "that look" with his
eyes and when his ears started turning purple. Then you were destined to take the walk down the aisle, into a private
area where a spanking on the bottom would let you know he had had enough. When dad would bring me back from one of those
trips I know my instinct was to cuddle as close as I could to my mother's side and hide in her protective arms. After
the sermon and our sunday school lessons were over, we would drive to my grandparents house. I can still smell the aroma
of Grandma's delicious sunday dinners as we opened the door and walked inside. We had sumptuous ham, or roast beef,
fried chicken... Whatever it was, you knew it was going to be great because it was Grandma's wonderful cooking.
My grandparents adored us children and we would stay with them on weekends from time to time. They loved to play.
My grandma would bring out boxes of toys or organized arts and crafts. She played right along beside us. My grandfather's
pride in those days was a magnificient Lionel Train Set that was displayed on a ping pong table. He had built a city
around it, as well as tunnels. What a thrill it was to go downstairs and watch the train go round and round. The
smoke stacks puffed real smoke, the horn actually worked as well as the lights. Those were very special days for me.
My Grandparents were originally from South Dakota (My Grandpa's parents immigrated from Germany to South Dakota) and
my Grandma was raised in Nebraska. It was love at first sight when the young couple met and married. They had
three children; Dwayne, Stanley and Dawn (my mom). They experienced heartache early on when their baby Stanley
was born. He was born with water in his brain. Back then they did not have the medical care so their little baby
boy passed away. My grandma wrote the most beautiful poem about her son. When I find the words I will include
it in this memoir.
My Grandma and Grandpa Miller are still alive today. My grandfather, however, is not doing well. He
has deteriorated very quickly since my mother's passing. My grandmother has good days and bad days just like the rest
of us. I try to call whenever I can. It brings me such joy just to hear her voice. They are my family.
I love them with everything I am. I know they think the world of us, too.
My Grandpa loves to tell stories. He has this big, booming voice that fills the room with laughter. He loves
to sing. When his family came to the States from Germany, they had to learn english. Many times my grandfather
would sing in his old language and I picked up a song or two when I was little. My grandparents got such a kick out
of that. I received a nick name from my grandpa that I never could live down. He still called me this nick name
up until his second set of strokes. The story goes as follows:
I was always a mama's little girl. Where ever my mom was, well that is where I felt safest and wanted to be.
My older sister, Denise, was more outgoing than I was. She loved to go spend the night with any one that would ask.
My mom's parents, my father's parents, she was definately the favored one when it came to overnighter's. Well, eventually
I wanted some attention, too.
It was on a Sunday morning and we were saying our goodbyes to our friends at church. As usual, we were going to
make the trip to Minneapolis to Grandma's for dinner. I was feeling independent that day (at least momentarily) and
begged to go with my grandparents in their car. My parents said no, because they knew what would happen. But I
cried and carried on and finally won the battle. I was put in the backseat of grandpa's mustang and away we went.
I don't know exactly when reality set in with me, I was only about all of two years old at the time, but sheer panick set
in when I looked out the back window and saw mom in the car behind. I was no longer the happy, triumphant (defiant?)
little girl. I asked my grandpa to stop the car so that I could go back with my parents. Of course, he said no.
I begged and cried again and again, but nothing I did would dissuade this wonderful man to stop so I could have my own way.
Well, as the story goes, I looked at my grandpa and called him the meanest thing I could think of at the time; "You
poopie!" Oh how that made my grandparents laugh! The harder they laughed, the harder I cried! I never did
get in trouble for being such a little smart mouth and all through the years during our conversations he continued to ask
"How is my little poopie doing? Guess what? I still loves you..." Exactly like that. When I spoke
to him on his birthday this year, it was one of the hardest conversations that I ever had with my grandfather. He did
not remember who I was. I have always had a special relationship with my grandpa and grandma miller, I always will,
but time has a way of taking away the most precious of things. That is why I want to start this memory page, so that
I can remember as many things as possible before time takes everything away...
| Meg and Mom |
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| Spending quality time on Lantana Beach... |
It is extremely difficult to write down memories, to capture them as they are remembered or to emphasize
the order of importance they fall into. I will do my best to keep it real, to keep it honest. I cannot promise
that the memories will be in a specific order, because they won't be, but I will try to set each one up so they will be easy
to understand, easy to know what time period they fell into my life...
It is October already. I can't believe that summer has taken a bow and disappeared behind the curtains. It
is almost like my life. My life is in it's Autumn, holding her breath for the winter I know is sure to come. All
the questions that hold my heart and mind captive continue to wrap around my feet, leaving me terrified and defenseless.
I have this intense need to re-capture the person I use to be. The child inside the woman... I am so tired.
I keep fighting, and praying, and hoping, and wanting, but at the end of the day, I am just too tired.
My mom use to tell little stories about me. She would recall my behavior during the terrible two phase...
Whenever I wanted my own way, I guess I was pretty adamant about getting it. She loved to tell everyone how I would
sit on the hardwood floor, spread my legs wide, and bang my head as hard as I could until one of us would finally give
in.
There were a few more stories she loved to tell about how "smart" I was (or wasn't). My mom used to tell me that
bunny poops were little smart pills. She would carry on if she found little bunny trails leaving their tell tale signs
while they had been playing in the snow in our yard. One day, I guess, I must have wanted to impress mom with my intelligience.
I started popping bunny poohs into my mouth. I thought the more I could eat the "smarter" I would get. My mom
really freaked when she caught me having my little snack.
Another gross story she loved to tell was how I use to love oranges. I would eat them one right after the other.
One afternoon, I must have already had a few oranges, I came into our house and asked my mom in my little two year old's voice;
"Shou I eat da worms too, mama?" I think she actually vomited when I touched what had looked like an orange seed to
her, but it wriggled and writhed, unexpectantly. I don't remember eating any worms that day, I surely hope that I did
not. It is possible that only that particular orange was infested, oh I hope it was only that one orange...
It is Monday evening before my next chemotherapy. I have to say that I am apprehensive
about this particular treatment. I will be getting avastin as well as cytoxan and what I have researched 'ain't purdy'...
The side effects sound extremely harsh. Worse, I might lose my hair - again...
My hair was just growing out and looking quite beautiful if I do say so myself.
Maybe, just maybe I will be lucky in love and be able to keep it, just maybe!
| Kimberly with hair again! - October 6, 2008 |
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| "You're so vain, you probably think this song is about you, don't you?" Oh, Carly! What can I do? |
| I finally love my hair again! |
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| "Will you still love me tomorrow?" |
I know this sounds incredibly conceited, but I don't want to lose my hair again!
Not that I looked that terrible bald, but I am not exactly Sinead O'connor if you know what I mean. What a drag!
Here is a picture of me and Drew taking a nap together when we flew home for my mother's funeral... Isn't he precious?
I am bald here, but thank heaven for turbans...
| Bald as a billiard |
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| Drew still loves mommy without hair! |
This picture is so precious to me. We had just gotten back home after my mother's
funeral. (We still owned our Elk River, MN home). I had lain
down to rest and baby Drew crawled in beside me. He wrapped one arm around me and took my hand in his little hand so
gently. That is how we fell asleep. These are the memories I never want to lose. But as the days go by,
little by little, they are being chipped away and lost forever.
I guess that is what really frightens me. That I will die, and no one will remember
me. I have undergone so many changes as it is, sometimes I feel as though I'm losing myself and I will never find
the things that I want to hold onto. They will just be gone someday, like me...
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| Kimberly and Gary Side by Side Delray Beach |
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| Capturing Precious Memories Upon the Beach |
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More than friends,
I can't believe my good fortune in being allowed to walk beside
this man. This man who is so gentle and kind. I finally know what it feels like to be truly loved. I have
everything a woman could ever want, ever dream of when I am beside him. He loves me unconditionally, he is the love
of my life, the father of my children...
Gary is everything...
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Memory Clips - Short but sweet
Finally getting a "real pony" when I was in first grade.
Having my own motorcycle, climbing up the silo to see miles and miles of the deep sea green countryside of Lawler, Minnesota.
Taking the snowmobiles with the sleds hooked up to gather firewood with my sisters.
Weekends on the farm. Summer, Fall, Winter and Spring. We would go and build a fire in the stove, drive back
to Lawler and wait at Marv and Marlene's place. Pull Tabs, juke boxes, live bands, the Lawler Hall and the Chmielewski's.
Sonja singing 'One Tin Soldier' acapella to a completely stunned audience and a standing ovation. Living in our car
when we lost the house, and then living in the tent at different camp sites, including Turnock's property and then at the
lake in McGregor, Minnesota.
Lying in my sleeping bag in the tent with everyone. Only mom, snoopy (our dog) and I were awake. We had Timber
Wolves circling our tent and rooting through our garbage. We also had a black bear steal our food out of our trailer
one day.
Milking cows with Turnocks, helping with chores and staying for coffee.
When Lady had her filly - Dusty Star. Dusty learned how to open up the door leading into our sunporch. We
would wake up to clip/clop of little hooves on the wood floor downstairs.
| An old firetower in Northern Minnesota |
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| This is similar to the firetower in Lawler, Minnesota |
Now I know how my parents felt when they reminisced about memories from their childhood. They would tell us how
certain cities were rural back when they were young and how everything had changed. There were houses built in
the fields they use to roam around in, or businesses where farms use to be. I don't know if the forestry industry uses
firetowers anymore. With all of the high tech available these days it would surprise me.
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Firetower Shenanigans and Memories: Innocent and Young
When we lived on our forty acre farm in Lawler, Minnestoa, we had a firetower similar to this one pictured on the left.
One of the neighboring farms became our favorite place to be when we were little girls. Our parents became best friends
with everyone at this farm and some of us still keep in touch today.
Darlene and my mom were the best of friends. We would ride our motorcycles back and forth, our snowmobiles in the
winter and I even use to ride my horse through the back country roads to their place to visit. In those days, Darlene
worked at the firetower. She would report if there were forest fires, etc. My sisters and I loved going
to that old firetower to play. The Turnock farm was only about 1/4 mile away. We girls would take walks
and climb the firetower. It was breathtaking to look out over the land, miles upon miles of trees and forests.
You could see lakes from miles away, and I'm not sure if I remember this correctly, but I think we could even spot
the area where our farm was from way up there.
One day my sisters and I went to the firetower and I'm not sure who started it, but all of a sudden shoes and socks started
to fly off the top of that old firetower. It was so funny to watch them take off above the tree tops, be tossed about
by the wind until they finally met the ground falling with grace and landing anywhere they felt like it.
After the shoes and socks were gone, we decided to see how our clothes would take the fall. We were having such a blast
- we were just young girls, all of us sisters were between the ages of 10 to probably 16. Some of you may
be shocked at this, but it really was purely innocent. At any rate, after the clothes tumbled we heard motorcycles in
the distance. We were high above the tree tops, most of us without a stitch on, and there were hundreds of stairs
between us and our clothes at the bottom of the tower. We started screaming and running down the stairs as fast as our
bare little feet could take us. Some of our clothes had gotten stuck on the outside structure of the firetower, not
to mention the clothes that landed on top of the trees on the way down. One of my sisters' bras was swinging in
the breeze on the firetower - too far away to reach by hand! I know someone found a long stick and tried to get it that
way. By the time the motorcycles approached the firetower, all of us were on the ground in various states
of dress. The boys from surrounding farms had heard what we were doing (thank you, Kelly!) and had flown up
as fast as the could on their bikes. Well, all of us girls were screaming "go away" as we were hiding in the bushes,
trying to find all of our clothes. What a trip that was. I think that ended our firetower shenanigans. We
still loved to go there, but we kept our clothes on after that!
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I will continue to update memories whenever I can...
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