I Threw The Smile Away

I talk so much about my parents. How can I not? They literally shaped me, molded me, loved me, disciplined me. Today was one of those days when I would have given ANYTHING to be able to call them. As sad as it may sound, I called their old number. I just wanted to see if someone new had it and what their voice might sound like.

Last night I dreamed of my parents. I sometimes ask (beg) God for a dream about them. It's not very satisfying though...because when I'm dreaming about them it's as if they are still here. When I wake up I feel as if they are and then the reality they are not hits me all over again and that raw pit in my stomach starts to throb. I've only had a couple of very real dreams where I knew in the dream they were gone and it was as if they came back to give me a message. That's a story for another day.

Some say I haven't processed my parents death completely. This is true. Every day without them is part of the process. I turned 40 last month and almost felt embarrassed for missing my parents so much. Do I need them to function and to make good choices? Do I need their help in carrying out day to day tasks? No- I just MISS them. I miss their laughs, their jokes, the way my mom would nag my dad and the way they would just hang out together on the back porch. I miss them SO much. But, life goes on. I know that. It's just that some days - it would be really amazing to reach out and touch them and talk to them.

The other night on the way home from teaching yoga, it was unseasonably cool. I had the sun roof open and the moon was incredible. I don't know why, but I felt like my dad was looking at me. I can talk for hours about what the Scriptures say happens to people when they die, what the afterlife may be like, but I can't say for sure whether loved ones can actually communicate with you after death. It's not a new concept of course - it's just one I tread lightly on because my heart is SO sensitive to it. Do I want my parents to show up randomly - OH MY GOD YES. Do I think they do? Not really. If heaven is what the Scriptures say - complete peace and happiness and no sorrow - they won't be visiting earth anytime soon. They are too busy with their new lives in heaven. I think - maybe - their memories of earth are much like we remember our childhood...they are in the present - somewhere else.

Anyway... So I was driving home from yoga (boy I can really digress) ...   I just felt like it was my dad looking at me. Clearly it was the moon, not my dad, but it was my dad!  I can't explain it. I looked up and yelled "Hi, dad! I love you so much!"  Then I felt silly. Then I did it about three more times...and I felt better. It felt GOOD to acknowledge his life. I cried. Then I did the same for my mom. It felt amazing to acknowledge her existence. Oh, how I miss them!

The other day I came across a photo of me and my father. He had a great smile. He had a lot of dental work done over the years and toward his later years, had partial dentures for front teeth. They looked EXACTLY like his former actual teeth. I was impressed with that dentist, ha! Anyway...after my dad passed away, this partial dental piece was left. I forgot that his last couple of days we removed them from his mouth and put them in a cleaner in a tray (as if he'd be putting them back in). Why this particular thought hurts so much, I don't know.  Anyway, when my dad was gone and my mom was still here, I noticed the container in the bathroom. I asked my mom what she would like me to do with it and she said not to do anything with it. For months I looked at it. For months I basically looked at my dad's smile. How crazy morbid is that?

After my mom left and I moved into the house, that container remained. I wouldn't look at it when I opened it, I would just rinse and put more cleaner in it. I wanted it preserved in some weird way. When it came time for us to move out of the house, that container was still there. It was one of the single worst moments of my life. I had to decide how or whether to throw out my dad's smile. It was RIDICULOUSLY difficult. I opened it...I cleaned the teeth. I envisioned his face surrounding those teeth...and balled like a baby. Then, I threw the entire thing away and put it outside in the trash immediately. I threw away the smile.

I think about this moment often. I think about how most would probably not think twice about it. I think...I may be a little crazy. I loved his smile so much. Having his ACTUAL smile (trust me I know how weird this is) was creepy and comforting at the same time.

Today was a hard day. I'm pretty open about my life through social media and this blog but there were several parts to today that I won't discuss. I found myself thinking about my dad's smile and my mom's warmth. I prayed for a friend who lost her father shortly after I lost mine and whose mom just had a cancerous tumor removed from her breast. I prayed for a family who lost their wife, mom, daughter to breast cancer last week - a friend of mine. I prayed for my husband - who just had his body poked and prodded to make SURE there were no signs of cancer. I pray for my kids, my twins, daily...I put my hands on them and pray against cancer. I pray against disease. I ask for preservation of the brain, the lungs, the vital organs...I don't know. Everything scares me. It's all scary. Yet - somehow I wake up everyday and we play in the dirt, we eat lots of things we should not, we find ourselves in crowds with germs, we don't always wash our hands in a timely manner. We are human and we are living. I am honestly doing the best that I can. I am so tired. SO tired. But I remain hopeful.

Romans 8:24-25 For in hope we have been saved, but hope that is seen is not hope; for why does one also hope for what he sees? 25 But if we hope for what we do not see, with perseverance we wait eagerly for it.

Dear Diary...

Dear Diary. It's been a long time since I've written...

Boy do I EVER remember beginning my diary entries that way as a kid. I'd write consistently for weeks, then take a break, my thoughts all locked away in a bedazzled diary with a tiny lock. I'm smiling now just thinking of all those times I'd sit and write - it's just part of who I am. This is not my first go at blogging. I've started a couple of others, but let them go for one reason or another. I told myself I'd aim for one post a month for a year with this one, and have already lost that bet with myself. It's been over two months and I've been silent. I've thought about things to write about, but the same things swirl around in my head. Life, death, meaning, and purpose. Not weird at all, right?

The last two months have been a whirlwind really. Soccer season nearly killed me. Just kidding. Maybe. Two boys, two different soccer leagues on two different sides of town, one family car, and a partridge in a pear tree. My husband and I did it though - we divided so we could conquer. One of us had the babies and one older son at one game after dropping the other parent with the other son at the other game. WHY? Well, luck of the draw I guess. Even thought they were on two SEPARATE leagues (not teams, that would be obvious), their games were at the same time 99.9% of the season. 

There has also been a lot of learning and changing and GROWING going on. My oldest son has grown 1.75 inches since moving here a few short months ago. Along with this growth came the morphing into a cranky teenager who can't go to bed or wake up on time. Also - all hail Xbox1 and woa to the fool who does not yet have one! This is the message I got for about eight weeks straight, anyway. We ended up buying one for said morphing into teenville, and less than 14 days later were BURNED. My son had to earn a hard lesson as I took it and sold it and used his allowance to help pay back the fees he caused us to have at our bank for...OVERDRAFTING our account by several hundred dollars while playing. He was of the mindset that he'd pay us back with his birthday riches, but little did he know we had just (no, really - JUST) made a down payment on a truck and nearly emptied our account that the debit card is connected to. Insert prime time for charges he thought he could pay back. Now, I'm not cruel - he WAS told repeatedly not to charge anything ever without asking. He did this to himself. He learned his lesson...I hope. Not only did he have to tell his friends he no longer had one (it's how they play together and communicate - no joke), but that his mom sold it! I didn't tell him to say a word, he volunteered that last part. When the anger subsided he found just the right time to tell me how all the kids think I am mean now. Well I'm just going to have to deal with that now aren't I? I'm fighting an uphill battle - but I have a lot of stamina. Oh, and did you know that "WAY BACK WHEN" some people thought getting C's was ok? I seriously didn't know that - oh how grateful I am for this education. 

My middle son has been excelling at school and honestly needs a bit more of a challenge in certain areas. He's also become the token "good kid" and while I love that, I can see a little perfectionist budding - and that was how I was. It was very hard for me to accept failure or anything less than an A. We'll see how this goes. What is clearly evident is that he is athletically gifted and a treasured member of every PE team, recess team and soccer team he is on. He has no idea how good he is. I can't wait to see him grow in this area. 

I've started teaching yoga again at a local studio and absolutely love it. I may also have a regular gig with a wonderful company that services mothers throughout the state. I had my first yoga event with them the other weekend it was quite memorable and I am so thankful for that opportunity to really do what I do. I'm also studying to earn a basic nutrition certification. I'm always interested in ways to heal the body naturally, feel and be the best that I can - and help my family and others along the way. It's going well - my goal is one chapter a week for the next four months. 

Hey - so far this blog is pretty normal!

Nevermind - here comes the weird stuff.

I'm still consumed with life. WHY, HOW, WHEN will I understand it all? My mother died April 15, 2016. This was a very hard day to get through this year. Harder than last for some odd reason. Maybe it's because I'm so far from the home she lived in, we lived in, and away from her essence. Maybe it's because I know I wasn't enough for her to want to stay. It's ok, really. No one should live with the quality of life she had - or lack thereof. She was 100 years old in a 66 year old body so suddenly. She was so sick and so frail and so desperately alone and missing my father. I couldn't and can't imagine trying to live with a chronic illness along without your partner. Sure I was there - but I was her daughter and to need me and rely on me was in her eyes a burden. So instead of wanting to be with me, she pushed me away in every shape and form. I know she really did want me there but was trying to be mean so that she wouldn't be a burden and I would leave. It didn't work.  She took risks with her life and didn't care. Or so it seemed. I understand NOW why it seemed she didn't care. Maybe she didn't - her right. It must have been mortifying for her to find out my husband had to pick her up off her bloody knees and put her back in bed when we went by for routine checks. I had to be a total bitch and just stand my ground when I wanted to crumble at her feet. I was pregnant and so scared for my babies inside and so scared for my mom. I had to spend my dad's money on care for her because she wouldn't allow me to move in. She wouldn't allow full time care...until I took the choice from her. Oh how she hated me for the staged intervention just before Christmas and treated me like Satan himself in front of those nurses. But I understand. SHE WAS MOM. SHE WAS THE BOSS...not me. I did what I did to protect her and tried to limit my overbearing self as much as I could, but she was unsafe. I LOVE HER...it's why I did everything -for her to be safe - to have dignity. Hiring care, interviewing private care because she hated all the nurses, begging friends on the police force to run background checks...That all came to a head when she could no longer let her own dogs out  - and the one time she tried they knocked her over and she broke her humerus clear in half. There would be no surgery. There was a sling and pain medicine and rest. She was gone two weeks later. Oh, mom...I miss your silly jokes and your laugh and the way you would touch my face. I knew you had only a few days to a week left the last night spoke. I'm glad we said I love you, but I wish I had KNOWN it was the last thing we'd say. I would have said it more slowly and carefully and brushed your hair a little longer.

I have been hearing in my head so many of the things my dad used to say to me and I get this sinking feeling inside when I think about the fact that this July will be three years he is gone. I know that you don't really ever get over the death of the ones you love and that it's totally about US and how we feel about it...at least that's what people tell me. But for some reason, with my dad, it is so very much about HIM. It's about his tears when he would have lucid moments and he knew and would just cry and then suck it back in - and wouldn't really be able to articulate (brain tumor) what he knew (because I'd ask because i was the ONLY person who thought he should know he was dying when he was so that maybe he could say or think or pray anything else he may have wanted to). He reached his peace with his situation and with God long before that moment, but...still.  Father's Day 2015 has permanently burned hole in my heart. I brought him gifts he could enjoy - taste. He was on steroids and ate everything he could! I cried buying his donuts and Yoo-Hoo (he always got them for me as a kid) and flowers. It's all I knew to give him that he could comprehend and experience. It had only been a couple of weeks that he was really out of it - he was a different man who needed care but yet who thought he could get up and walk (and fall, and crash, and bleed...and so many other things). When he took a sip of the Yoo-Hoo I said "Happy Father's Day Daddy." He replied "Happy Father's Day." Then he stopped and looked at me and cried hard. I said "What daddy, what's wrong? You can tell me!" He just shook his head, swallowed, and said "We'll get through it." He was EVER THE WARRIOR.

In the end, I know he knew. I know he heard my goodbye wail, felt my lifetime of tears strolling down his chest as I choked out what I hoped were the words he needed to hear to be set free. They were, no matter what, the words I needed to say to him. I miss him with an unquenchable feeling of - well - misery. I MISS HIM. I do believe I will see him again someday when I pass on in heaven. But I think it'll be so different. He'll be different - I'll be different...I hear we'll be even better. Like the Twighlight characters when they are bitten and become vampires... maybe? The same but spruced up and strong and more than we ever thought we could be? I know that sounds funny, but it's totally what I think about. Before my dad died, actually over a year before he died, I went for a run, totally panic stricken at his diagnosis and feeling like everyone should know him, his kindness, his goodness...and then facing the fact that I may lose him...but not facing it...I was literally running from it. "NO GOD! NO! I have begged you for protection for him for YEARS - you KNOW I have always asked you to keep him around for a long life. I NEED HIM. I LOVE HIM!"  I stopped briefly to catch my breath and I was bent over at the waist crying. I am not a big "vision" person...but this image came to mind...undeniable. It was my dad - in his white thermal long sleeved shirt, his muscles poking through, his cuffed jeans...and he had his arms out...and his hands - had 10 fingers. He had eight fingers on earth since he was 20, as two were taken in Vietnam. I cried harder knowing what God was telling me but then doubting it was God and rather a figment of my imagination. But my dad was illuminated. He was whole. He is whole.

Aside from these little activities and thoughts - I am, um, well, getting adjusted. I love the weather here, the close proximity to lakes and mountains, but I remain unsettled. I look for opportunities to be around people, to invest in people, to love and laugh with people. They've started coming in - and I'm glad. I KNOW what happened these last few years would rock anyone. I know that. I am simply trying to put one foot in the other and KEEP ON TRUCKIN' as my dad would say.

SWINTER

SWINTER

February - the time of year in the South where there is enough cold to chill your bones, but enough promise of warmth to keep from freezing. It's Swinter - the time period when winter is nearing an end and spring is in sight. You can smell it in the air - a mix of the smell of snow and first blooms. I can't explain it much better than that. I just know the smell when it surfaces and I know the seasons are soon to change. I'm not a fan of intense heat or prolonged intense cold, so this in-between time is 'ok' with me.  The part I can leave out is the gray, overcast sky. It doesn't make my heart happy or my brain function as well as it should - at least that's what I keep telling myself. I remind myself that brighter days are ahead. I have been reminding myself of that more often than not lately.

There are quiet moments in my new home, within my new surroundings, when it seems that the world has stopped turning - that there is nothing left to do in life but cook, clean, pay bills, take care of others, and pray they grow to be world changers. No big deal, right? I mean, I can do all that in 24 hours - oye. With so much to do and so many people to look after, I still have this internal, unscratchable itch - if unscratchable can be justified as a word - and it is what causes me to wake at night and contemplate all of life for the 100th time, or stare off into space when I'm surrounded by people and daydream as if I were 15 years old with 60 years still ahead of me. If genetics has anything to do with it, I'll be fortunate to have 25 more years on this planet. How should I spend them?  Could I be more? Can I do more? What does God have for me? Is He done with me? Wouldn't I be dead if He was?  Is it now all about the children? That's ok, too - I love them so much sometimes I don't know if I could make space for much else. I just need to know.

"Are you there God? It's me, Carrie."

I do what I can to fight off the gray sky, and in doing so sometimes get to recall things that bring me joy and remind me that there IS more. The scent of a charcoal grill, as I experienced the other night while walking my dog (another attempt to fight the gray), reminded me that there are others around me. The world does not revolve around me. I am to give, to serve, and to love others.  That led to thoughts of gatherings, cookouts, laughter, and community. I walked a little further (which pleased my dog who was all too willing) and I passed a man smoking a cigar. The joy was replaced with a twinge in my heart. My father's face came into view and I saw him struggling to breathe like a fish out of water. I kept hearing my own voice, "I'm sorry, Daddy!" That's what I kept saying when the hospice nurse told me he was breathing that way because I failed to give him enough morphine. I'll never forget that he had no response to my cries of pain and sorrow. No response. Just terrible, painful breathing. The pain I felt knowing that his heart was racing like he was running a marathon because I didn't slow it down enough with morphine - well - OH MY GOD. OH. MY. GOD. I'm sorry, Daddy. A few more moments like this and he would have died pretty gruesomely. Fortunately, we were able to slow him down so he could drift off.

I kept fighting the gray sky. I kept walking. An older woman passed us by and the joy she found in seeing me walking my dog and my twins brought a smile to my face and a warmth to my heart. She seemed to be fighting the gray sky too. She looked pretty lonely and was sort of just wandering the neighborhood. She smiled so bright but her eyes were so sad. I turned the corner and that charcoal grill scent started floating by. My stomach growled. I jumped back into present tense and remembered my husband was cooking dinner and I was getting a break. I always whine about having to be a short order cook - so tonight was my out!  It was warmer outside - enough to not wear a heavy coat - and the twins were content to point at trees and birds. My perspective shifted. Life goes on. It was time to go home to my family and have dinner.

LIFE. It's continuous. It stops for no one. Not even me. That's because life is not all about me. We are all on different journeys with different battles. Some walk in the sunshine all day long and some peek out from behind the clouds, and some, like me, reach for the sun and find the will and grit to fight the gray sky.

A change is gonna come...

A CHANGE IS GONNA COME- Sam Cooke

                                      
I was born by the river in a little tent
                                                  
And just like that river I've been running  ever since
         
It's been a long a long time coming
     
But I know a change is gonna come, oh yes it will

...

There've been times I thought I couldn't last for long
But now I think I'm able to carry on
It's been a long, been a long time coming
But I know a change is gonna come, oh yes it will

This is the story of my life. A change is gonna come. A change has come. We now live in a new town, my husband has a new job, my kids have a new school. I have a new - house. Well, it's not mine. I rent it. We didn't have enough time to buy a house and honestly, I don't want to own anything anymore. Anything I owned of value before our move had to be sold and sold cheaply, which sort of broke my heart. I'm surprised it could be broken again - as I thought the worst was watching people nickel and dime my parents' belongings after they died...my GOD...people have nerve. Or maybe, I shouldn't have handled the estate sale alone and pregnant with twins. Whichever.

I'm generally a fun-loving person. Having fun and laughing is probably what I do best and like the most about being a human being:). I've had full time jobs, I've had part time jobs, I have run my own business, I've done a lot of things. Still nothing satisfies. Laughing with people and having fun and building relationships seems to be what sticks. When I left my job to be with my father and then my mother through their illness and deaths, teaching yoga was the one thing I could do and not feel as though I were giving up time with them.  It gave me the mental space and strength I needed to handle life and protect myself from the big, black hole that seems to follow me as close as my shadow. I could teach a class here or there and escape from pain now and then. I loved it then and love it now...it taught me to breathe and go inward and rely on God in the greatest of ways. And still -  I desire to learn and do SO. MUCH. MORE. I want to learn as much as possible, feel as much as possible, move as much as possible, and LAUGH as much as possible! I don't do well at home 24/7. I don't do well without people. And yet - here I am. Alone in a new city without having any people!  Another change. I am constantly asking God what my lesson is in this season.

I know that it's temporary. The temperature will warm to where the babies and I can be outside, I'll join a fitness group, I'll start teaching yoga again, I'll get connected at church if I can ever commit to one (that's another blog post), people will enter and exit my life once again. I know this. I remind myself of this on the darker, lonelier days when my husband works 14 hours (like today), when my kids need a million mom things, when my babies won't let me stand up and just want to be in my lap. These are moments I need to stop and breathe through. These are the moments when the REAL yoga comes in. Learning how to be still and in the moment is not something that comes easy to me. I look for ways to pass the time, fill the time, and exhaust myself. It's a way of validating my existence, I am sure. I can't afford to go back to work full time due to daycare and aftercare costs, so I tend to try to find ways to make sure I work as hard as ever, in that stay-at-home mom way. Boy, is THAT ever fulfilling (insert sarcasm). I equate that to working like a dog for boss (or several) who doesn't understand what your job really is, denies you acknowledgement and pay raises, but continues to expect you to change with the tide and be all you can be EVERY day.  For some women it is what they feel they are called to and what fulfills them the most. I understand and respect that - but I am wired differently. You can't work for 13-14 years professionally, quit your career (willingly), birth twins, lose your parents, move to a new city - and not have your head spin from time to time

It's seasons like this when I drop to my knees and remind myself that I know a God who created me and who created my family and the rest of this world. I know a God who is the author of time, the giver of emotions, the lifter of my spirits. It's not that I am not thankful for my children. They truly fill my heart with joy and remind me about what life is really all about. I DO KNOW that they are my mission field, that they NEED me, and that the moment I threw that birth control out of the window, that I signed up to take care of these people for 18 years. I KNOW IT, ACCEPT IT, and would not change it. I couldn't imagine my babies being somewhere else 8 hours or more per day. I did that once, twice, actually, with my older boys. There are pros and cons to everything. Right now it's just so utterly exhausting. I look in the mirror and wonder who the heck is looking back! Wrinkles, bags, in need of a haircut - that's me! So here I am, 39, and a stay-at-home mom who has a great need for community.

I sometimes watch other people and wonder how they do it. How do they do life? Is their life so great that they have never had a need for something or someone greater? How do people do life without God? I think back to my years of flying solo in my heart without God. Sure I knew He was there - but I just sort of ignored Him. I had no use for Him. I was busy. When I got lonely or I felt the Spirit prodding me, I simply did more and layered my life. Now I am busier than ever in the most different way, and I don't know if I can get out of bed some days without Him - without His word speaking to my heart. There must be something to that "hiding His word in your heart" concept. I thought that was just told to preschoolers who were maybe learning how to memorize "Jesus loves me" or "God so loved the world." Apparently it's also meant for the grown ups who can't muster the strength to lift a Bible to find the words to heal and help. If the words are embedded in your heart and the Bible is truly the living Word, they will come alive in your life over and over. I have experienced this and so I hold onto it with GREAT EXPECTATION. A change is gonna come...

Take Another Little Piece of my Heart

There's been quite a bit happening in my family this month. About two weeks ago, my husband accepted a job in a new city. A city about 4 hours NW of where we live now. A city that is just shy of an hour away from the NC mountains I love so much. A city that boasts a thriving economy, good schools, and lots of opportunity for all ages...A city I will call home in three short weeks. The job offer is an answer to prayer. I asked God to show me he heard me - to listen to my cries of despair because it seemed The Nothing was always just around the corner. Lately he's been just around the block, eerily close to my heart, um, I mean house.


You get the picture, don't you? Girl loses favorite man on earth 2 years ago (dad), loses her mother 9 months later, is pregnant with twins months before mother dies, delivers twins without mother near, begins raising twins, and then loses her relationship with her only brother. What else? Oh yeah, girl has to put two of her favorite dogs down within a month of each other this last summer...and no one in her home seems to miss them AT ALL. I'm referring to the dogs here, not my parents. Everyone misses them. But back to the girl - what is she to make of this new life? This new normal where everything around her stays painfully the same and time ticks away at a rapid pace - where 40 is just around the corner but 15 and sitting on the back of her daddy's pick up was just yesterday? Sigh.


I have always been able to have a bird's eye view of things. I can sometimes see my life from above...sometimes the way the movies portray the spirit looking down at his/her body and can see the doctors and nurses working and family members crying. Yes...I can do that. I can see my life like that in some ways. It has enabled me to have perspective. It's enabled me to stop and breathe and realize what is REALLY going on. It has saved me from mental despair over and over.


I know this move is going to be purposeful. It's what is meant to happen. It's a move that told me that God has not forgotten the little world I live in and the condition of my heart. It's a move that makes complete sense, as my husband had nowhere left to go at his current employer. He hit the ceiling. The doors literally flew open for this new opportunity. We said yes before we could even think about it. Our kids are STOKED to go. It's all wonderful. Until it wasn't. Until today.


Today I sold my daddy's table saw. Today I felt like a piece of shit daughter who took money for her father's hard earned tool. Something he probably saved a long time for. My father spent NOTHING on himself. He took no liberties with his money. He grew up poor. He was very disciplined with his money. He died having put a daughter through college, with a house that was paid off, and a world he owed NOTHING to. Man, do I ever aspire to be like him. When I lifted that table saw into the back of the buyer's truck today, a piece of my heart cracked. I could see him, shirtless and tan and strong, working hours on end and I could almost reach out and touch him. How dare I sell his saw? I walked into the house and told my husband that would be the last tool I'd sell in preparation for our move. The rest would either come with us or go into storage for future use.


My heart aches for my parents, but especially my father. My mother was never happy and didn't seem to want to live or be alive. I always found it odd that she held on the way she did at the end of her life -  when all her life she seemed so ready to leave. My dad was the one who tried to enjoy things. He didn't want to leave. His face was sheet-white when the oncologist told him he had a recurring brain tumor and that he was "sorry" he didn't have better news.  That was the first time I EVER saw my father scared. He had battled 18 months for his life, for time. He expressed his desire for the battle to be over, but when he was told it was essentially over, he seemed very unsettled. Oh God, how that day - that memory, hurts me so much.


What happened to me today, is, according to my bird's eye view perspective, quite normal. How could selling something your dad used so often not cause you to feel something? For me it was just so overwhelming. The thought of having to clean out the garage he spent most of his time in in the next three weeks, it just hurts! I don't want to do it!  There's no amount of money on the planet that would make it feel "ok" to sell his things. Oh, why does this have to be so hard?! God, why did you have to listen to me when I told you I needed you to show up or I was going to sink?


Our family is solid. My boys are great kids with a love for life and who have been through SO much. My middle son has memories that are fading of my parents. He remembers them, but he doesn't seem phased when we discuss their passing. My older son has deeper memories. My twins - they are learning to say Pop Pop and kiss my dad's pictures. Ya Ya (my mom)...is next.


I look forward to a new adventure. I do not look forward to the pieces of my heart that will most certainly come undone. I covet your prayers and thoughts.

Hurt People Hurt People

I have started this particular post countless times. Who knows when I'll find it complete enough to actually publish. I'm usually good at communicating. It comes natural, words flow freely, I feel better being transparent than I do keeping things inside. Except for this. But here goes...


I miss my father. I can't go a day without thinking of him, and I don't want to. I remember looking for him when I gave his eulogy. I remember that feeling of being somewhere significant (his funeral/memorial), where he was supposed to be with me, and I remember the feeling of waiting for his arm to come around me, or for him to turn the corner and find a seat next to my mom. It never happened and I was alone - trying to muster the strength to honor him appropriately at his memorial.  We had an unspoken bond. I felt I could hear him and communicate with him just in my thoughts sometimes.  I talked to him a lot in my mind as well as in his ear during his last days on earth. I knew he could hear me. We trusted one another. We KNEW one another and we LOVED one another.


So I have to say - it cuts pretty deep when that relationship is challenged, when it is mocked, when the words you threw up over and cried over that were painstakingly poured into his eulogy were laughed at. This happened to me. It continues to happen to me. I am told repeatedly by the same offender that my relationship with my father was for show - that I quit my job as a matter of convenience for myself (it's true, it was not the best job I've ever had, but I would have stayed because all of our family insurance was tied up in my position, and there were some really nice benefits) and it had nothing to do with truly wanting to be there for my dad.


It cuts even deeper when all the memories I have working side-by-side with my father on my houses in Rock Hill and in Beaufort (he was a carpenter and COULD NOT and would not sit still, and he didn't visit unless he could work on something with us because it was just who he was) are diminished by accusations that I overworked an aging man and never let him rest. That I was potentially the reason for his stress in his last years. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that this is not true. But it still hurts, and the person who accuses me of this knows it well and keeps this weapon sharpened.


There was no greater feeling of panic and defeat than the day my father collapsed. It was a day my offender will use against me for the rest of my life. It was October of 2014. My dad was in his second round of chemo for recurring lung cancer. He was doing far better than any had expected, especially with the cancer returning just after being cleared of it 85 days prior. During this time my father told me that he had a window for me...a window he saw going in my front living room...and it was not negotiable. He was proud of this window - he helped a neighbor with some woodwork a year prior, and when the neighbor offered to compensate him, my dad said " hey  - you gonna use that window?"  End of story. I knew in my heart that it was important to him that I have this window installed. He kept pushing us to get it done and we kept ignoring it, until my dad got very upset with us and said he wanted it done while he felt decent enough to be part of the install. We were the labor and he was always the brains behind it. I could see he was not very strong and was trying to check this off his list, so my husband and I came up with a plan to get it done very early in the morning, before even my dad would ever expect to come over. We did just that.


 About 9 a.m. my father called and asked if we were still planning to install the window that day. I knew something was wrong when he asked that because he was the one who pushed it until we scheduled it. I told him we were and were doing fine and not to worry. He said he would be right over when I suggested he stay home. The fact that he wasn't at my house at 7 a.m. told me he was worn. I felt a knot in my stomach at the sound of his voice - he sounded like he was a tired man trying to convince himself that he should come over. I recall saying a prayer and watching the road for his truck.


When he arrived I could see this vacant look in his eyes and when I introduced him to our friend who "just happened" to stop by (read: served as the brains and we served as the labor so dad didn't have to lift a finger), my dad gave him a weak handshake and hardly looked at him. He was almost rude to him.I knew something was way off. I stood at my dad's truck and saw that he somehow mustered the strength to load sheetrock and a bucket of tools onto it before coming over. As I was contemplating how he managed to do this (and why - because we had all the material already), something told me to look up. As I did, I heard our friend say "Looks good, doesn't it?" My dad had a half smile, leaned against the house a bit to look in to see the window and then I saw his fingers. They were gripping the window sill and were white. He began to sink. I began to run. I could hear, "Hey man, you ok? you Ok?" and I got to my dad and caught him under his arms and laid him back against my chest and lowered him to the ground. My oldest son was there. I yelled for him to go get my husband, who was in the back yard. So many thoughts were going through my head, but mostly I was terrified. I'd never seen my father this way. I've never caught my father before. My father has never needed anyone before. Was he dead? Was I breathing? Was he breathing?


My dad came to pretty quickly and I was trying to be very calm. My father did NOT like attention. I told him he fainted and fell and he refused to believe it. I helped him up and he looked dazed. He refused to talk about it. I barely had the voice to tell him to sit down because I was trying so hard not to cry. My mother was home sick and certainly was not able to drive herself over. She could barely talk on the phone due to yet another migraine. It was up to me to figure out what to do. My father piddled around the yard, looking gray and unstable. I called 911 and they were there in seconds. Actually, a very loud fire truck arrived. My father looked at me with such distaste and said "You didn't...you called them?" I could feel his frustration and his thoughts that I betrayed him by calling for help. I cried and apologized all at the same time.


They checked him out and encouraged him to let them take him in. He was a man in need of medical help. My father refused their services and simply said, "I'm working here and I'm going to finish this job." I knew there was nothing I could do - except never leave his side. Ever. Later that afternoon he called me and I was in the grocery store. As soon as I said hello his voice cracked and I began to sob like a little child in the middle of the aisle. He said, "You're not gonna make your daddy cry, are you?" All I remember saying was, " I love you so much daddy. It scared me so much."


Now my accuser, he stopped by that morning too - because I called him in a panic about our father and thought he should know. He came over and stayed a few minutes, checked my dad out, and sent me an icy glare. Once again he thought I did this - that I worked my dad to the point of exhaustion. There was nothing I could say except the truth. We did it ourselves, he showed up anyway, and collapsed before picking up one tool. It fell on deaf ears, as does everything I say to this person.


There's so much to say...but it's not the time.  There are so many stories...but it still hurts too much. I can still smell his coffee and the burned toast I coaxed him into eating after he collapsed that morning. He admitted to not eating for two days and only drinking coffee - his way of warding off the chemo sickness. It wasn't smart and certainly not effective, but it was my dad's way.


For the rest of my dad's battle, I met him at every chemo appointment as usual, every radiation appointment, and when he lost most of his hearing, took over making his appointments and speaking to his doctors for him. He was simply along for the ride at this point. He was going to do his best but was no longer up for the particulars unless absolutely necessary. My accuser says my dad never wanted me there, that I used it as an excuse not to work. The first time he told me I was stunned, the 10th time he told me that, I was numb.


These accusations - of being a "hero for doing nothing", "OCD and a control freak", "and a little girl who made her father work and suffer" - they cut me wide open. No, I don't believe them. No, my dad didn't think that of me. My father was who he was - he was a hard working man who loved his kids and who loved to build and work and repair. He didn't socialize or go to events. Working alongside his kids was his outlet. I knew that and know that. I NEVER asked him for help with anything when he was sick. I rarely asked for his help when he was healthy because I knew he'd jump all over it and make us give up many weekends to do the work ourselves, and we honestly could hardly keep up with my dad.  If my father worked at my house, I paid for everything and worked with him, side by side.


I am continually told that I don't matter, that my life means nothing now that I am not working, and that anyone in my position not to have to work would do the same for their parents. What's missing from this story is the fact that beyond a shadow of a doubt, God told me to do that. He asked me to jump and to trust Him that He would provide for our family. One day I was responsible for bringing in 50% of our income and the next day I quit my job - with two kids to help provide for. I could not get away from it - I wanted nothing more than to be with my dad but the numbers didn't add up. All I can say is that God came up with some new math and I never looked back. One day I'll write down the story of how it all shook out, but it's pretty amazing to look back and see where He asked me to jump and trust and if it weren't my dad at stake, I probably wouldn't have. I guess God knew that too.


Through all of the hurt, the accusations, the malicious behavior and the verbal attacks, one things rings true. Hurt people hurt people. Tonight I will lift all of this hurt to the heavens to both of my fathers who reside there.

Please be Neat and ...

...WIPE THE SEAT!


It's really all that I ask at this point in my life. Wipe the seat. Maybe even flush the toilet. If you're feeling especially kind, perhaps pick your dirty clothes up off the floor.


Why are these things so hard for boys/kids? It blows my mind. If I could stop thinking about the urine on the toilet seat, the back of the toilet seat, the toilet lid, the floor surrounding the toilet...I would. But then, when I am not thinking and accidentally sit on it, my inner ferocious lion comes and I start throwing things. Well, not really...because that would make a mess I would inevitably clean up. Instead I wipe my angry tears...and the toilet seat. So gross. The list goes on, literally. I made one:


Hygiene:
When my kids are at school, I miss them. I pray for them. I cheer them on in all of their endeavors. I think they are the greatest little men...but for goodness sake - could they brush their teeth without me asking 10 x (read SCREAMING)? Could they trim their fingernails and toenails before they collect enough dirt to fill my baby twins' sandbox? Yuck. I almost didn't type that.


Stuff:
Let's talk about their random need to play with random stuff. Like tape. They like it. They tape #$%* together all the time. They randomly decorate our home with tape. They find all kinds of tape...painters tape, electrical tape, duct tape. It's used for everything...and then when it's not, it's balled up and left everywhere - until I once again ask nicely (read SCREAM) for the random tape balls to be picked up and thrown away. You know what's funny about all this? We never have tape when we begin a paint project, or something needs to ACTUALLY be held together. Sigh.


Bedding:
Blankets. Pillows. More blankets. More pillows. Are they on their beds? I'm not even suggesting a made bed...I'm just suggesting they are in the vicinity of the bed. Nope - almost every pillow and blanket in the house is on top of their little smelly bodies on the couch...which happens to be in the center of the house...where they can be seen by me all day long. The center of the house is where I like to keep the order...because they have ROOMS for the clutter. Their very own rooms with their very own cluttery crap.


Bodily functions:
I almost can't go here. But I'm going to. I feed my children well. Why then, are their bodily functions so toxic? The other morning, my oldest passed gas so badly in the car that it hit my gag reflex big time and I stopped my van in front of my house (we just pulled out to school) and darted into the house to throw up! I'm not kidding. That sounds extreme. It's the truth. It was extremely disgusting.  He was incredibly apologetic, but all I could do was take him to school with the windows down while holding a bottle of my favorite essential oil under my nose. I'm wondering if he needs a cleanse...for real...


Ok, ok...this may sound like I'm ready to send them off to the circus. I think they'd fit in well - especially with all the jumping and human trickery and, well, smells...    The truth is they are also so kind. So gentle. So loving. They are so interesting, so interested in life...I see their light bulbs shining bright when they talk about what they learned at school, what their teachers said, what fun things their friends did with them at recess. My boys are disgusting, but they are also amazing. I need to think about that one for a while. Amazing and disgusting or amazingly disgusting? I think it's different each day.


For now, I will continue to be the enforcer of the rules, of the cleaning of their rooms, of the picking up of the pillows and blankets, of the proper use of tape, and I will, for the LOVE OF ALL THINGS HOLY, continue to make them BE NEAT AND WIPE THE SEAT.