Monday, October 28, 2013
Comments From a Coma - Alternatively titled - I Heard What You Said About Me
Just so you know...
Comas are strange places to live.
Life there is a bizarre and distorted existence.
I am sure that I will never completely process
my time spent there and it is a place I hope never
to revisit.
I do know this one thing however.
I heard what you said about me. Your words penetrated the
confusion and were a comfort and lifeline.
I heard you say that you loved me.
I heard you tell me to come back.
I heard your conversation with each other.
And I heard your sweet laughter.
Just in case you ever need to know...
They can hear you.
They NEED to here you.
But watch what you say because...
I heard what you said about me and it will be used against you.
(Insert evil grin here because Coma-0 Sense of Humor-1)
Just sayin'........................
P.S. A more serious post will be forthcoming. It is difficult to see the keyboard through teary eyes.
Sunday, September 29, 2013
As I drove to Grady Hospital in Atlanta a few months ago my mind operated on two different planes. Weaving in and out of traffic I kept up a constant conversation with God and with the voices in my head. I alternated between prayers for my brother and questions that I knew were unanswerable.
I seem to be able to find a place of calm when in the midst of crisis.
I am like my mother in that way.
Interspersed among the prayer and supplication and the worrying about my brother's condition was a running theme of whys and what the hecks.
Why is this happening again? How much more can he take? How much more can we take? What are the odds?
You can re-read the entries about Marlin's SECOND house fire, his injuries and his long recovery.
We all found out that we could indeed 'take it'.
Still, those questions remain lurking below the surface of my inner conversations.
I seem to be able to find a place of calm when in the midst of crisis.
I am like my mother in that way.
Interspersed among the prayer and supplication and the worrying about my brother's condition was a running theme of whys and what the hecks.
Why is this happening again? How much more can he take? How much more can we take? What are the odds?
You can re-read the entries about Marlin's SECOND house fire, his injuries and his long recovery.
We all found out that we could indeed 'take it'.
Still, those questions remain lurking below the surface of my inner conversations.
Monday, April 22, 2013
Three Years
Three years ago today,
my mother died.
Died is such a grim, harsh word.
People wince when I use it.
I find euphemisms for death
to be far too mild for the pain
felt when a piece of your heart
is torn away.
There are still some days when I find
myself, phone in hand, thumb searching
for her name as I settle in for the drive home.
And other days when I pick up my phone intending to
tell her just one quick thing.
That only happens some days.
Every day though...every single day
I think of her.
My mother was a good listener.
When I was in college I frequently called her to talk about assignments, professors, roommates and boys.
As a new mother I called about feedings, spit up, sleep schedules and feeling overwhelmed. I spoke of falling in love with each new precious gift from God and how blessed it felt to be their mother.
As a mother of one, two and then three, I called about naps, sibling rivalry, dance, karate and gymnastics. She listened to me worry about one or another or all three.
As a mother of pre-teens and teenagers I called for reassurance that they would like me again one day and that somewhere deep down they still loved me. She mostly listened but sometimes laughed when I swore that we never acted so rotten in our day.
As a teacher, I called for advice, encouragement and sympathy up until the very week before the surgery that revealed the horrible reason for her failing health.
And always. Always.
I called to hear her say, "Hello, my precious angel."
my mother died.
Died is such a grim, harsh word.
People wince when I use it.
I find euphemisms for death
to be far too mild for the pain
felt when a piece of your heart
is torn away.
There are still some days when I find
myself, phone in hand, thumb searching
for her name as I settle in for the drive home.
And other days when I pick up my phone intending to
tell her just one quick thing.
That only happens some days.
Every day though...every single day
I think of her.
My mother was a good listener.
When I was in college I frequently called her to talk about assignments, professors, roommates and boys.
As a new mother I called about feedings, spit up, sleep schedules and feeling overwhelmed. I spoke of falling in love with each new precious gift from God and how blessed it felt to be their mother.
As a mother of one, two and then three, I called about naps, sibling rivalry, dance, karate and gymnastics. She listened to me worry about one or another or all three.
As a mother of pre-teens and teenagers I called for reassurance that they would like me again one day and that somewhere deep down they still loved me. She mostly listened but sometimes laughed when I swore that we never acted so rotten in our day.
As a teacher, I called for advice, encouragement and sympathy up until the very week before the surgery that revealed the horrible reason for her failing health.
And always. Always.
I called to hear her say, "Hello, my precious angel."
Thursday, February 21, 2013
Who Needs Valentine's Day?
His love is a platinum thread running in and out the fabric of my days.
Hidden within the folds of my crazy, busy days, that thread shimmers with reminders of what love really is.
It is strong enough to weather unexpected yanks of grief and the relentless pull and stretch that is required to heal from great loss.
It is loose enough to allow me the freedom to be the authentic me. I don't have to pretend to be anything or any way other than who God made me to be. The freedom to be the person you really are at your core is a precious gift.
He takes delight in the smallest accomplishment of my day.
Accustomed to encouraging others all day,
it is especially edifying to be the recipient of cheers and smiles
for even the smallest of things.
He is appreciative of every little thing I do.
Every little thing.
He knows what I look like when a headache is stalking me and actually notices when I look that way.
He pays attention.
He never, ever fails to offer caffeinated beverages,
ice packs and compassion even though those migraine monsters
attack for days at a time.
I have never once caught him rolling his eyes
or heard so much as a hint of irritation in his voice
when he comes home to find me in bed
with an ice pack covering my eyes.
His smile is famous and his boisterous love of life is endearing.
It seems as if he knows everyone in the neighborhood and we can't go anywhere without seeing someone he knows.
He makes me laugh every single day and
I still look forward to hearing him walk through the door after work.
He makes my tea when the pitcher is empty,
hangs my clothes up fresh from the dryer,
buys me Diet Dr. Pepper and
knows that I cannot look him
in the eyes when I am angry with him.
He works like a dog and plays like a kid.
He has made me a happier, more relaxed person.
The grand babies are going to love hanging out with him.
He loves our children.
All five of them plus the one God gave us when our oldest married him.
He takes pride in the character and achievements of all of our kids
and sees the good inside each one.
He is calm and patient with screaming grand babies
and teenage girls.
He is good to my extended family and doesn't think they are as weird as I do.
Just kidding about the weird.
But then again, he doesn't think I am as weird as they do.
Not kidding about the weird.
He tells me that all families have crazy times, crazy relatives and crazy habits. But he admits that I win the contest for the craziest redneck relative.
He lets me blame him for pretty much anything from acts of nature to unpleasant dog odors just because he lets me blame him.
He lets me sleep on his shoulder for the two or three minutes it takes
until I need my space or
I need to straighten the sheets
or rearrange pillows or
I need to breath my own air.
Everyone knows that he is a sucker for
little ones,
animals
and his family.
I tell him that he is kind hearted
and sweet and he tells me not to tell anyone.
He knows my secrets and has remained.
At times amused and probably disturbed
by the inner workings of a mind like mine
he has remained.
Surely often befuddled by my...
lets just call them moods.
No, let's call them justified moods.
Whatever we call them...
he has remained.
He is compassionate, gentle and forgiving.
He has loved me through the moodiness, anger and devastation of grief.
He was already there when I turned to run to him blinded by my tears and deafened by my sadness.
He was already there because he was paying attention.
He is my best friend, an answer to my prayers and I
thank God for him every single day.
Who needs Valentines Day when you are loved like this everyday
Just sayin'.......
Hidden within the folds of my crazy, busy days, that thread shimmers with reminders of what love really is.
It is strong enough to weather unexpected yanks of grief and the relentless pull and stretch that is required to heal from great loss.
It is loose enough to allow me the freedom to be the authentic me. I don't have to pretend to be anything or any way other than who God made me to be. The freedom to be the person you really are at your core is a precious gift.
He takes delight in the smallest accomplishment of my day.
Accustomed to encouraging others all day,
it is especially edifying to be the recipient of cheers and smiles
for even the smallest of things.
He is appreciative of every little thing I do.
Every little thing.
He knows what I look like when a headache is stalking me and actually notices when I look that way.
He pays attention.
He never, ever fails to offer caffeinated beverages,
ice packs and compassion even though those migraine monsters
attack for days at a time.
I have never once caught him rolling his eyes
or heard so much as a hint of irritation in his voice
when he comes home to find me in bed
with an ice pack covering my eyes.
His smile is famous and his boisterous love of life is endearing.
It seems as if he knows everyone in the neighborhood and we can't go anywhere without seeing someone he knows.
He makes me laugh every single day and
I still look forward to hearing him walk through the door after work.
He makes my tea when the pitcher is empty,
hangs my clothes up fresh from the dryer,
buys me Diet Dr. Pepper and
knows that I cannot look him
in the eyes when I am angry with him.
He works like a dog and plays like a kid.
He has made me a happier, more relaxed person.
The grand babies are going to love hanging out with him.
He loves our children.
All five of them plus the one God gave us when our oldest married him.
He takes pride in the character and achievements of all of our kids
and sees the good inside each one.
He is calm and patient with screaming grand babies
and teenage girls.
He is good to my extended family and doesn't think they are as weird as I do.
Just kidding about the weird.
But then again, he doesn't think I am as weird as they do.
Not kidding about the weird.
He tells me that all families have crazy times, crazy relatives and crazy habits. But he admits that I win the contest for the craziest redneck relative.
He lets me blame him for pretty much anything from acts of nature to unpleasant dog odors just because he lets me blame him.
He lets me sleep on his shoulder for the two or three minutes it takes
until I need my space or
I need to straighten the sheets
or rearrange pillows or
I need to breath my own air.
Everyone knows that he is a sucker for
little ones,
animals
and his family.
I tell him that he is kind hearted
and sweet and he tells me not to tell anyone.
He knows my secrets and has remained.
At times amused and probably disturbed
by the inner workings of a mind like mine
he has remained.
Surely often befuddled by my...
lets just call them moods.
No, let's call them justified moods.
Whatever we call them...
he has remained.
He is compassionate, gentle and forgiving.
He has loved me through the moodiness, anger and devastation of grief.
He was already there when I turned to run to him blinded by my tears and deafened by my sadness.
He was already there because he was paying attention.
He is my best friend, an answer to my prayers and I
thank God for him every single day.
Who needs Valentines Day when you are loved like this everyday
Just sayin'.......
Monday, February 4, 2013
To Be Enough
There are days when I cannot wait for them to leave the classroom!
Days filled with whining, arguing and picking at each other like tiny piranhas.
Days when the neediness so normal for their young age multiplied by twenty overwhelms my store of patience.
Any parent knows the feeling. It is the same feeling that comes right before the bedtime that is too long getting here.
And then, there are days when I cannot bear to watch them leave.
Days when one of them takes the broken pieces of my heart out the door with them.
There are nights when a sweet little face is all I see as I putter around in my safe, snug and cozy little home by the lake. Nights when my thoughts are never far from a little one whose story wrecked my soul.
There are days when the limitations of the job I love fill in the broken places of my heart with frustration and helpless anger.
Those are the days when even the most gentle of Kindergarten teachers has hatred in her heart for those who would victimize a baby.
Those are the days when I pray the hardest to make a difference,
to be a light,
to be a safe place to fall
and to be strong enough and gentle enough and smart enough
to pick up the pieces of a heart smaller and much more tender than
my own and glue those pieces back together.
To be enough.
Those day are the hardest of them all.
Just sayin'.............
Days filled with whining, arguing and picking at each other like tiny piranhas.
Days when the neediness so normal for their young age multiplied by twenty overwhelms my store of patience.
Any parent knows the feeling. It is the same feeling that comes right before the bedtime that is too long getting here.
And then, there are days when I cannot bear to watch them leave.
Days when one of them takes the broken pieces of my heart out the door with them.
There are nights when a sweet little face is all I see as I putter around in my safe, snug and cozy little home by the lake. Nights when my thoughts are never far from a little one whose story wrecked my soul.
There are days when the limitations of the job I love fill in the broken places of my heart with frustration and helpless anger.
Those are the days when even the most gentle of Kindergarten teachers has hatred in her heart for those who would victimize a baby.
Those are the days when I pray the hardest to make a difference,
to be a light,
to be a safe place to fall
and to be strong enough and gentle enough and smart enough
to pick up the pieces of a heart smaller and much more tender than
my own and glue those pieces back together.
To be enough.
Those day are the hardest of them all.
Just sayin'.............
Sunday, February 3, 2013
Unwritten
Yes, it has been a long time.
The trouble with blogs is that sometimes people read them.
And sometimes the stories I need to write are not mine alone.
When that happens, I have to leave my words unwritten.
For me, writing is a compulsion. I must confess that inside the secret world of my thoughts I am always writing.
Always searching for that perfect word, that one phrase that feels as good as sliding between fresh new sheets.
So much has happened that begs for words and I am ever aware of the stress relief denied by my decision to leave them unwritten.
At any rate, I am back.
Maybe, to write some of those unwritten words.
For they belong to me also.
Maybe.
The trouble with blogs is that sometimes people read them.
And sometimes the stories I need to write are not mine alone.
When that happens, I have to leave my words unwritten.
For me, writing is a compulsion. I must confess that inside the secret world of my thoughts I am always writing.
Always searching for that perfect word, that one phrase that feels as good as sliding between fresh new sheets.
So much has happened that begs for words and I am ever aware of the stress relief denied by my decision to leave them unwritten.
At any rate, I am back.
Maybe, to write some of those unwritten words.
For they belong to me also.
Maybe.
Monday, June 4, 2012
If Cleanliness Is Next To Godliness Then Please Hear My Prayer Oh Lord!
Oh Lord,
Thank you for allowing me to see the humor in the fact that my daughter is mad at ME because the water main down the street is busted.
Thanks for letting me giggle a little when she yelled at ME because now there is no water and how is she supposed to wash her hair because she has to go to work and they will send her home if she just puts it up in a pony tail and yes they will because you don't know them and now what is she supposed to do call in and tell them that we don't have any water and what do you mean go to a friend's house for a shower that's ridiculous! Gosh!
I'm just asking one thing, Lord.
Please help me not to giggle out loud gain or You-Forbid smile at her.
You gave her the same I'm.Going.To.Kill.You.In.Your.Sleep! glare that you gave me and her older sister and I'm a little worried.
Oh yes, Lord.
About the dog that had diarrhea 4 times in various places throughout the house last night...you know the one who waited until I sat down to recuperate from the horror of the clean up to vomit at my feet and immediately run away to have ANOTHER episode of diarrhea.
Um.......remember that broken water main?????
Justsayin' asking..........................
Amen
Disclaimer-Just so you know this is one great kid who makes me proud every day! Sometimes the drama of being 17 (or 50) is just more than a girl can handle!
Thank you for allowing me to see the humor in the fact that my daughter is mad at ME because the water main down the street is busted.
Thanks for letting me giggle a little when she yelled at ME because now there is no water and how is she supposed to wash her hair because she has to go to work and they will send her home if she just puts it up in a pony tail and yes they will because you don't know them and now what is she supposed to do call in and tell them that we don't have any water and what do you mean go to a friend's house for a shower that's ridiculous! Gosh!
I'm just asking one thing, Lord.
Please help me not to giggle out loud gain or You-Forbid smile at her.
You gave her the same I'm.Going.To.Kill.You.In.Your.Sleep! glare that you gave me and her older sister and I'm a little worried.
Oh yes, Lord.
About the dog that had diarrhea 4 times in various places throughout the house last night...you know the one who waited until I sat down to recuperate from the horror of the clean up to vomit at my feet and immediately run away to have ANOTHER episode of diarrhea.
Um.......remember that broken water main?????
Just
Amen
Disclaimer-Just so you know this is one great kid who makes me proud every day! Sometimes the drama of being 17 (or 50) is just more than a girl can handle!
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