Missing Mom

We are all missing her this week.

I guess he is most of all.

I just know my heart hurts.

Just sayin'............

She Loved Knowing That He Loved Her

When I called to wish him a happy birthday,
he reminded me that this would be the first
New Year's Eve in over 60 years that he didn't
have a sweet heart to kiss.

She often seemed impatient
when he was silly
or sentimental
but she loved knowing
that he loved her.

Those private smiles they shared at sentimental
moments are among the most beautiful things
I have ever seen.

It was more than difficult to say
good bye
to him that night
and even though I tried to stay busy
all I could think about was
how I was about to began a
new year
without a mother.

As New Year's Eve wound down
the sorrow rose higher and higher in my throat.

And I grew quieter.

When my husband mentioned running up to the
neighbors for the last few moments of 2010
I shook my head and said that I was feeling
emotional.

(I can write about my grief but sharing it in
person is not something I have ever done easily.)

The sorrow took over and I was incapable of
speaking at all.  Physically incapable of
explaining my sorrow for my father and for
myself.

There are times when I don't dare open my
mouth to give voice to my grief because
I am afraid that I will lose all control and
give way to heaving sobs.

There are times when I am impatient with
the rest of the world because it does not
remember that each 'first' is a painful
reminder of what I no longer have.

Logical? No.
But then again, I have never promised
to be logical.

The old year died and a new one was born.

And I felt empty.

Trash to Treasure?

My next project is this primitive pie safe that has been waiting for me in my parent's basement.

I have been looking for something to display my Lu-ray dishes, McCoy vases and some other old bowls and things I have acquired over the years. 

I like it. Tony isn't so sure. I can tell by the quick intake of breath followed by a just as quick 'Nevermind'. 
His acceptance of my love for things with 'hidden potential' is one way I know he loves me so I just pretend not to notice. 
Smile. 

 The drawer is original but the shelves have been replaced at some point.  Even so, they were pretty dirty.  This picture was taken after I washed them off in the kitchen sink.  My motto has always been: Why work outside in the weather when you can work inside?  With a nice t.v. show in the background.

Heh.

I love the remnants of screen left clinging to the doors and the way the latch has worn a groove in the wood.  I'm not going to replace the screen and I won't repaint it a shiny white. At the most I may give it a wash of blue. I like it just the way it is now.

This is the last thing my mother gave me. My mom was always generous and loved giving. We shared a fascination for all things old and she loved to tell me the history of the treasures she came across.

I grew up surrounded by antique furniture and as a result I find it difficult to purchase something that doesn't have a story.

Each piece of furniture from my childhood had a name...Mamaw's dresser, Nan's spool chest, Uncle So and So's whatchamacallit...I didn't have time to hear the story of this old pie safe.  Mom was already sick when she gave it to me.

I guess it will known as Grandmother's pie safe from the basement.

I miss her so.

Just sayin'.................

Just Breathe-(Sorry Angie)

I tried all week to write a lighter post, Ms. Fabulous.
Really I did!
I just wasn't feeling it.

Funny things have happened. They do everyday in my line of work.
I just didn't feel driven to find those words.

Friday, Oct 22 marked six months since mom died...
And I remembered her with a smile.

The date holds no power for me.
It is other things that take my breath.

Things I never would have guessed.
The book she took with her that last time in the hospital.

A bookmark still waiting for her to find her place again.
The aprons she wore and the brand new dish towels she
refused to use because she didn't want them to get dirty.
Her hairbrush and tooth brush.
Her nightstand.
Her chair.

Incredibly, I find myself unable unwilling to face
My Sanctuary.
My Church.
The sweet familiar voice of my pastor.

I spent most of the last service I attended there
Struggling to keep a sob inside.
Struggling to catch the tears before anyone else saw them.
Struggling to breathe through the pain.
The cords that once bound me there seemed missing.
I know I own my emotions. Still, I felt unimportant. 

So now...well, now I avoid.  It's something I am a master of....

Years ago, for very different reasons,
I chose the words
Just Breathe
as a reminder that many times in life all you can do is
Just Breathe. 
And when that is all you can do, well,
then you have done all you can.

This afternoon I ventured into a beautiful old church
in Milledgeville. I went in support of my father and in
honor of my mother.

The stately old house of worship smelled that musty
old wood smell that exists only in buildings of history
and days gone by.

The Hospice organization that helped us take care of
Mom in those last few, much too short, days had invited
the families and loved ones of the patients they have served
over the last year to join them in a service of
Remembrance.

Maybe it was the easy chatter on the drive over or maybe
it was my old friend Denial.  At any rate, I was blindsided
by raw emotion when they asked me to write something
about my mother for the chaplain to read.

I froze. I panicked. And then I cried.

I didn't know what words were big enough, sincere enough, 
significant enough or lovely enough for her.

I struggled for composure for the next forty minutes.
The wails threatened to erupt from my throat as the
tears flowed. And flowed.I don't mind tears.

It is the heaving, choking
loud wails that I am afraid of.

The service was beautiful.

Each family member present lit candles and the
flickering light they gave was peaceful.

Finally, we gathered outside where the last of four white doves
was handed to my father.

He kissed her head and gently threw her skyward.

Where the previous three doves had flown to the right...

Ours chose the left.

Flying towards the house, a block away, where I grew up
The dove disappeared into the sunlight.

She is gone from us now.

But she is only a breath away.
Only a heartbeat away.

It is our job to continue on-

Even if all we can do is

Just Breathe.




Just Sayin'..................................

An Empty Place

The
empty place
in my heart
is shaped like
her.

I miss her
voice
and
her smile.

I miss the way my
name
said
in her voice
sounded like
love.

I miss

her

hands.

I miss her

khaki

culottes

and

her

S.A.S.

shoes.

I miss

hearing

her say

Hello, my precious angel.

I want her back.

Just sayin'.........................





So Glad You are Mine

It's been a rough day today.

The tears have fallen more than once.

Every other August 8th I have gotten a 

phone call early in the morning. I tried for

years to be the one to call them but my mother

always beat me to it. Smile. She and Dad always

said, "I'm so glad you are mine." And I always said, "Me too!"

My father has

dreaded this month.

They would have celebrated

their wedding anniversary next weekend.

The

anticipation

of that painful day

must be awful for him. I

called my father as soon

as I was sure he would be

out of church. It broke my

heart to realize that he dreaded

August 14 so much that he forgot August 8.

It's okay though.

That's the kind of

thing that grief does

to you. It is like trying

to find your way through

a dense fog.  It blurs your

eyesight so that it is all you

can do to keep your feet on the

pathway of life. I know that Mom

would want me to make my daddy's

world as okay as I can. So that is what

I tried to do. Hopefully, my voice was just

as happy and as cheerful as I wanted it to be.

As many of us as are

able will gather together

August 8, 1962
The day I found my family

at the restaurant that Mom

always chose for their anniversary

dinner. We have gathered there many

times before to celebrate one thing or another.

I hope that

it helps us all.

Tonight, when all the

kids are in bed and I finally

stop working on lesson plans

I will whisper to my Mom.

I'm so glad you chose me.

Just sayin'.............

Chosen Babies

I came home August 8, 1962.

I was a Chosen baby. In fact, I am one of four Chosen Babies.
I have known all my life that I was special.

I knew I was special because my parents told me so.

From as far back in my memory as I can search, I have felt
nothing other than pride in how I came to be a part of my family.

I knew to feel pride because my parents taught me to.

My parents read books to us and one of our favorites was a book named The Chosen Baby. After all, it was all about US and how we became a family. (I remember how surprised I was when I learned to read for myself and discovered that the children in the book were named Peter and Susan instead of having the names of my older brother and sister.) Being a Chosen Baby meant that God worked extra hard to give us to the family that would be perfect for us.

I knew to feel extraordinarily blessed because my parents told me I was.  

My parents did not tell me to feel sorry for children who joined their families in the regular, plain old, boring way.  But I did anyway. 

After all, my parents CHOSE me.

My parents told me that out of all the other babies in the world they wanted me the most. In my mind, they must have walked up and down row after row of cribs looking for the best for the best. I imagined them hugging each other while looking at me and shouting, "She's the one!"

I knew that only the best babies got to be Chosen Babies because my parents told me so.

Only Chosen Babies celebrated an anniversary. Nowadays many families like ours call them Gotcha Days. Shorthand for-The Day We Gotcha.  Mom and Dad called them Anniversaries and we celebrated four of them each year. Anniversaries were similar to birthdays but instead of one kid getting all the presents we all got one. To a child betting presents is the BEST.

I felt sorry for my friends who were always jealous...as they should have been.

I knew that they were right to be jealous because I told them so.

Yes, I wonder about the man and the woman who first gave me existence and then gave me up to give me a LIFE. I wonder what they look like and what brings them joy. I wonder where the red hair I was born with came from and if someone has green eyes like mine.

The one thing I never wonder about is who my REAL parents are.

I know that their names are Billy and Harriett. 

I know that they loved  me from the start because they told me so over and over and over.

And, I know that I came home on August 8, 1962.

I Didn't Know

To my friends who said good-bye to a parent here in this life

Before I said good-bye to Mom….

I am so, so, so sorry.
I didn’t know.

I didn’t know how much it hurt.

How the pain takes your
Breath
Away.

How it lives just beneath the
Surface of everyday life.

Waiting.

Forgive me please if you felt I
Trivialized your pain.

I never meant to.

I just didn’t know.

Father's Day-2010 Part 1

Father's Day was our first family gathering
without her at the house she and my father
designed and built for their later years.

She left us just before Mother's Day so on
that day we chose to gather at my brother's
house in the woods.

It was somehow easier to be there under those trees.
All gathered together around the big picnic
table my brother built.

We looked at cards, read letters aloud and
touched the prayer quilt sewn by prayer
warriors who prayed for a woman, a wife,
a mother, a grandmother and a sister
they had never met. 

"What a waste," said the voice in my head. 
"She died anyway."

I think you would recognize that voice.
It's the voice that tells you that you
aren't good enough, smart enough,
brave enough or pretty enough.

It is the voice of the Liar, who would
love nothing more than to stop us
from praying.

What I heard in my head I refute with
my heart.

For you see, my mother left this earth
with dignity and without struggling
through months of suffering.

And that was an answered prayer.

More importantly though......
My mother did not die.....
She just doesn't live here
anymore.

So, even though
I miss her so very much.....
What more could you
pray for?



Just sayin'.

Delicate Shoes and Store Bought Dresses

I have a letter to share with you.  It is a letter written to my father soon after my mother died.  Before a person who does not know my parents can truly appreciate the poignancy of these words they must be privy to some background information.

When my parents were a young couple with two small children, my father pastored a very small country church.  This church was filled with simple folk.  Many of them were farmers.  A few were wealthy but most were either just getting by or just trying to survive.

My father told me that pastoring this flock was not always easy but then being a pastor seldom is....

I don't know how my parents were so enlightened during a time in America's history when so many were close minded, prejudiced and intolerant. 

I do know that they loved each of the lambs in their flock whether they were dirty and smelly when they came to church or not.

On second thought.....I do know how their unusual ability to love the unloved came about.....His name is Jesus.

Anyway.....

Before I read this letter, Dad told me about some of their visits with church members living in that in that little dip in the road in rural, red clay Georgia.  

These were not the gracious, antebellum mansions or the idyllic red-roofed farm houses you  might imagine.  Many were shotgun houses.  A shotgun house is a house is one in which you can stand at an open front door, fire a shotgun and be confident that the pellets will exit the house through the open back door.

These were people that had lots of children because they needed the help in the fields.  These were people that went to bed hungry.  These were people that lived a hard life and usually died young.

The author of this letter was a small child when my parents were her pastors.  My father tells me that when he and my mother parked in their dusty, grassless front yard they assumed that no one was home.  The many children living there were no where to be found on that hot summer day.

I don't know why they got out of the car.  Maybe they needed to stretch their legs or maybe they wanted to knock on the door.  I'm sure they didn't plan to leave a note on the door.  Very few of their church members had enough schooling to learn to read.

Dad said that as they stood there their gaze wandered over to the cornfield beside the yard.  Slowly, one by one, they began to see small heads peek over some of the shorter cornstalks.  Like nervous animals, the children's eyes darted around the yard as they cautiously made their way out of the corn patch.

"You see," said Dad, "They hid in the corn field anytime they heard a vehicle coming down the dirt road.  They never knew if their daddy would be coming home drunk or sober.  If he was drunk, they would need to hide until he left the next morning to work the fields for the landowner they sharecropped for. You see, if he was drunk he would beat on whichever child was unlucky enough to be found."

The letter that follows was written by one of those children.

Dear H. Family,

     I am so deeply sorry to learn of the loss of Mrs. H.  She was such a loving , kind lady, who loved her family, as well as others, I can remember when you all started at Beulah Church.
     She always wore such delicate shoes and she held her foot in a pointed position. G. she always had you in such pretty clothes.  T, you always was a hand full when you came to church.  But you all were a family who I loved Very much. H, bought me and my sisters, our first store bought dress.  We had a program  at church and she took it upon herself to dress us properly.  I wont ever forget it.  Once, again I am so deeply sorry.  But you all know she is in a better place than were are.

Love always
One of the J girls.

Betty Jean M.

Betty Jean, your letter is treasured by us all.  You gave me and my siblings yet another reason to be proud of who we came from.  You also show us all a wonderful way to comfort those who are grieving.  Thanks, Betty Jean.  I will always remember how you ministered to me.


Just sayin'............

Dear Mom

Dear Mom,

It's raining here in Warner Robins...The sky looks angry right now.
Remember when I used to call you to tell you that bad weather was headed your way? You and daddy didn't have cable and the only channel you ever watched was WMAZ out of Macon.
If they weren’t airing a mystery you weren’t watching.
You never understood why people left their TVs on all day and I always worried that bad weather would catch you and daddy off guard.
And so I always called…
Hey Mom, bad weather is headed your way. Why don’t you turn on the TV so you'll know what's happening? 
I always heard the smile in your voice when you said. "Honey, your daddy and I are fine. We've been dealing with bad weather all our lives." 

I miss you, Mama.
Love Ann Marie


Dear Mom,
I'm mad that people who still have their mamas aren’t soaking in and treasuring every moment. I'm mad that they aren’t hiding the memories in their hearts. I’m mad that I had to say good-bye to you before I was ready.

I’m just mad.

I miss you mama.
Love Ann Marie


Dear Mom,
I realized today that I didn’t get a birthday present from you and dad this year.
I cried in the car when it hit me.
I wasn’t crying because I didn’t get a present.
I cried because you were the one who remembered the birthdays and anniversaries.
I cried because I didn’t have a mama here on earth.
I cried because you weren’t here to say…..Happy Birthday my precious angel. I’m so glad God gave you to me.

Oh Mama, I’m so glad God gave us to each other.

I miss you mama.
Love Ann Marie



Dear Mom
They told us today that lots of our fellow teachers will be losing their jobs.
They reminded us to be grateful that we still have a job.
I'm grateful
but I resent being told how to feel from a person who makes thousands and thousands into the tens of thousands more than I do.
It's a sad day for education in Georgia.
We just lost much of the ground our state has made over the last 20 years. Our class sizes will now be larger and our resources will be cut to the bone. Today’s kids aren’t like kids were 20 years ago.
They expect to be entertained.
They do not expect to work hard.
They expect to live a life with no negative feedback or failure of any kind.
Everybody gets a trophy in today’s world.
You always knew how to commiserate while encouraging. You knew the battles teachers fight and what it was like in the trenches.
It meant so much to me that you thought I was a good teacher
because YOU were a good teacher.

I miss you Mama.
Love Ann Marie



Dear Mom,
I woke this morning with a prayer for you on my lips.
“Dear Lord, please be with my Mama today. She hasn’t been able to eat and she doesn’t feel well. She is weak and frustrated."
The realization that you no longer needed my prayers and that you died from the monster that kept you from eating kicked me right in the middle of the stomach.

It hurt.


I miss you Mama,
Love Ann Marie

Rainy Days

Wouldn't it be nice
if the rain could
wash away
more
than the pollen that
has plagued us lately?


If it somehow left our
hearts and souls
as clean and crisp
as the fresh washed air.


The music it plays
as it falls through the trees
is comforting and even the nearby streets seem
calmer,
quieter.


I am soothed
by its song but
like a fretful baby
I feel too restless to sleep.


Not a day has gone by
that I haven’t thought,
“Oh wow, it’s been days since I talked with mom!”


Often my phone is out
and my thumb is pushing the numbers
that always
led me to her voice
before I realize that
she doesn’t live here anymore.


That is when my heart breaks all over again.

I worry that I am not present enough
for the part of my family that lives in this house
and in this town with me.

I worry that I am not present for my father
and my brothers and sister who live in other towns.

I worry that I am not present enough for my students.


I told my sister that we will need to make a truce with the pain if we want to find peace.
We must barter with pain for its share of our hearts.
In exchange,
it will not take its leave of us but it will evolve.
It will recede with the tides of time…
returning though,
just as the waves do.


I believe that we will endure a time of high tide,
maybe a tsunami or two…
or two hundred.

Rouge waves of sorrow will surprise us
and find us staring at a phone
that won’t reach those we
miss the most.


More importantly,
I know that rainy days are
beautiful
and that peace
is promised


and it is coming.


Just sayin’.

A Room Called Solitude

It’s nice here in this room by the lake. High up on our hill I gaze at the tops of the trees that fill the backyard. The birds are singing and the tree branches sway in the breeze. A bright red cardinal rides a branch like a surfer on a long board.



I wonder if the cardinal is my mom checking on me but smile as I think that she would never show up as a male cardinal. She knew hundreds of bird species by sight and tried fruitlessly to teach me the difference between a pileated wood pecker and a red-headed woodpecker.


I wonder why watching leaves dance in the wind soothes my soul. The clear blue sky and the spring green leaves somehow ease the sadness that churning inside my chest. Maybe God knew that the colors of the sky and the trees would be a comfort to some of us.


I just don’t feel like talking these days. I have to talk all day at work but as soon as the children no longer surround me I retreat to a quiet place. I am craving solitude. I have always needed time to process my emotions and solitude is the place that allows me focus and clarity.


In that room named solitude I can sort things out. Sadness belongs in the corner and anxiety lies over there. Guilt is in the big, over stuffed box. I am a master at finding guilt to store I frequently try to clean it out but its constant replenishment is my own doing.. It’s full of I wish I hads, why did Is and I should haves. Guilt, my friends, requires a post of it's own.


I’ve been spending a lot of time in the corner with sadness. I have learned that it is best to spend as much time as I need there. If I search through those sad feelings holding them up to the light for closer examination they tend to remain folded away in their box when it comes time to close the lid. If I hurriedly shove sadness into the box, squashing it into the empty spaces, it tends to erupt when I least expect it.

Excuse my silence. My reluctance to talk is how I began to heal. I have been in the room with sadness before. This time it’s just gonna take longer to pack things up.


I miss you Mama.

Just sayin’.

Her eyes opened at the first sound of his voice.

She smiled and nodded when I said, “Daddy’s here.”

As he leaned over and kissed her brow she whispered “Hello Angel.” “Did you know you’re my best girl?” he asked. They smiled at each other for a moment before her eyes closed again.

Sometimes it is the tender moments that are hardest to watch.

I have seen those tender and loving moments many times before.

My parents have shown their tenderness for each other in word and action many times before. He lights a fire for her even on warm days because he knows she chills easily. She worries that he isn’t wearing a jacket and fusses until he turns back for one.

Even so, my mom and dad have a routine and a pattern to their conversations.

It goes something like this.
My dad says something.
My mom tells him that he is wrong.
He agrees with her.

If you know them you are smiling. Not only because you know I am right but also because you too have been told you were wrong. And you too just chose to agree. Smile.

This moment was different though.

You see, she was in a hospital bed swimming through a haze of left over anesthesia and pain meds that were keeping her comfortable. He was struggling through a storm of fear and exhaustion.

It was an intimate moment. One of those times when you know that your presence has retreated to the periphery.

A moon to their world.

Just sayin'