Seven Years

4-25-2014

The picture above popped up in my memory feed today on Facebook. Already feeling out of sorts, this added fuel to my sad fire. But it also was fuel for my poem today.The prompt was “thought” . So, I thought, as if I wasn’t already thinking, about how long and how short seven years are.

Thoughts on Seven Years
 
seven years ago we moved to a new state
it was not our choice
but that’s okay

and though there is such a thing called the seven years war
that’s not what we fought
in fact, many of those seven years were good ones
years of plenty like in Joseph’s dream
and Joseph's life
but years of plenty
soon became lean years, rawboned and grievous 

though we enjoyed hiking through the beauty of fall colors
and a few snow-angel winter snows
and spring on the back porch
there was much loss
the demise of three parents while we were away
longing to be with them

even though we often languished
in the city where we tried so hard
to belong
we were together

we finally migrated back home 
but one month later
you left
for your eternal home
and I try not to wither away
without you

Our true home, part two

Our home – Bham – 12/8/17

“Smiling at each other, we realize we have the same song stuck in our head, a new song, neither of us have ever heard before. His humming of it sounds like flowing water. The robins and morning stars are singing the same tune. I feel a pulsing stillness. I don’t even notice that the usual sounds of sirens and cars aren’t there anymore, the static of news, the vibrating of phones, or creepy songs about seducing a santa baby. That all burnt up forever. The old order has passed away. Instead, I hear a pulsing stillness.”  –  by Fr. Jack (Priesthood from the Inside Out blog) in his thoughts about meeting St. Francis in heaven. He continues with thoughts of those he expects to see – “To my left, the kid I picked-on in 5th grade waves at me. I wave back shamelessly. He’s holding the hand of his daughter…I realize I’m holding someone’s hand as well, warm and smooth. It’s the unborn child I buried yesterday. He’s taller than me and has wild flowing hair. I’ve never met him before, but I know him. I know him. He only lived 12 weeks invisible in his mom’s womb, but I’ve known him ‘like a thousand years.’ He laughs.”

Reading the above I felt comforted. I like to think that Chuck is rejoicing with Mom and Dad and holding little Wyatt in his arms. That he was there to greet Tim and Ed when they joined him. I don’t know, I can only wonder.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me All the days of my life; And I will dwell in the house of the Lord Forever. – Psalm 23:6

Thanksgivings past and present

November 27,2014

Danny, Sarah, Chuck, Angie

The above pictures were taken as we were preparing to enjoy our Thanksgiving meal in 2014. Just as we were about to sit down to eat, we got the call. Chuck and Danny’s dad was failing fast. They wolfed down some food, packed up and headed for Jacksonville, arriving just 15 minutes after their dad died. My father-in-law.

Now, six years later, I’ve lost three more. My mother-in-law (2017), my mom (2018), my husband (2020). Precious people who sat together for many Thanksgivings. Family who ate, told stories, laughed, loved each other.

Holidays can be hard. We miss the hugs at the front door, the smiles across the table, the hand holding, the traditions. But, we have to press on. No matter how hard a hand we’ve been dealt, there are still blessings.

Yesterday I had Thanksgiving in New Orleans with my daughters, Kat and Leah, and some of their friends. We gathered at Kat’s, and she is always the most gracious hostess.It was different, but it was good. Let me tell you about our little group.

November 26,2020 – NOLA

Tim: a professional chef, Leah’s former roommate, who made the most delicious turkey I think I’ve ever had on Thanksgiving, plus some fabulous sides.

Candace: I hadn’t seen her since July. Having lost her mother to cancer, she was a big help to us when we were struggling with Chuck’s illness.

Justin and Leslie: Kat’s neighbors, California transplants, who made the best assortment of deviled eggs and laughed with us all day.

PJ: a friend of Justin and Leslie, who came in later in the afternoon with his precious Springer spaniel, Buddy.

Ruby and Poka: ever present underfoot, waiting for head pats and crumbs to fall.

We made sure to have some of our traditional family dishes: potato casserole- the recipe came from my brother’s mother-in-law years ago; a pepper cheese ball – Aunt Brenda’s recipe, miraculously made by Leah, the non-cook; Wassail; pickle tray; traditional and puppy chow Chex mixes.

For all those family we could not be with, I say in the words of Paul:

 I thank my God upon every remembrance of you, Philippians 1:3

Say Love

I used the song “Living of Love” as a springboard for a post last October. Once again the lyrics hit home. Some days aren’t easy, But, some are surprisingly wonderful. Yesterday was a mix of both. I heard a good message at church, but could hardly sing the hymns for the lump in my throat. I went to Pastor Eric’s home for lunch where I met some new people and got to know them a little bit. I listened to Eric’s mom tell funny stories and remembered my mom who could tell some funny stories. And Mom had a few good jokes up her sleeve, also. Just ask my family about the southern lady on the train.

If the days aren't easy and the nights are rough
When they ask you what you're thinking of
Say love, say for me love
Say love, say for me love

No matter how rough and lonely the nights, I can still Say Love. I think of God’s love and how He has not forsaken me. I think of Chuck’s love and all the little things I miss. I think of my kids’ love and all the ways they show it.

Life Lessons

 

As a kid I learned that on some washing machines the knob only turns clockwise. You can’t force it backwards. Oops.

When I got married I could make one dish. Hamburger pie. The cheaper, blander version of Shepherd’s Pie, I figured out years later. During those first few years of marriage I called Mom a lot. On the landline. 733-8413, my childhood phone number. I learned cooking basics via the telephone, but I learned firsthand, however, not to run water over a hot glass casserole dish. It could put your eye out. Fortunately for me, it just shattered in the sink. 

After a ruined engine, I (we, actually) learned you must take care of a car. It needs water and oil. It’s like a kid – it runs great when it’s cared for.

“Sometimes it’s not what we hold onto that shapes our lives – it’s what we’re willing to let go of”  -Grammy from Looking For Me by Beth Hoffman

Death holds many life lessons. I am learning still from Mom, though she’s been gone almost two years. She kept the important stuff: photos, letters, family documents and genealogy papers. She let go of replaceable stuff. She loved to shop in thrift stores, especially for purses. But, she had a system. If she bought a new/old purse, she got rid of an older one. She had a manageable teapot collection and some cows, mostly given to her by grand-kids or friends. As we prepare to move, hopefully our last move, I have this example to help guide me.

Magic or Meaning?

 

Last year was hard. This year seems harder. “Celebrating” without extended family isn’t  easy. Some are gone, some just don’t come around. I read articles that say this:

“Maybe in that year, or in a string of years, it feels like Christmas just doesn’t work for you. Maybe while everyone else is enjoying the season and dancing to jingle bells it all rings hollow to you. ”  -from When Christmas Loses Its Cheer 

or this:

“What makes it the most wonderful time of the year is also what makes it the most brutal time of the year. My own family has not been immune to this phenomenon.” from Christmas Is For Those Who Hate It Most  

I read these articles and find a glimpse of hope. My mind and heart begin to connect a bit more. All I know but have set aside in sorrow comes back to me.

“I’m not going to put it up anymore,” Mom told me as she sent me home with her two-foot tree after Christmas in 2017. We hadn’t put up a tree since we moved to Birmingham, so I thought it would be perfect. I didn’t realize how her words rang so true; less than two months later she was gone. She wouldn’t ever put up a Christmas tree again.

Today I thought, ‘What would mom do?’ So, I climbed up to the attic and got the little tree. And the wreath. And my decorating is done. I’ve made cookies and wrapped presents for a little girl I may never meet and mailed  a few gifts to my kids. Now I have my tree and wreath. But I have so much more. I just need to be reminded of it every now and then.

 

 Then the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid, for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy which will be to all people. For there is born to you this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. – Luke 2:10-11

I guess it’s a natural thing

 

I discovered Sean of the South this year and when I see see his name in my inbox every morning  I know I’m in for a good read on his blog.  He writes about everything, but a recurring theme is the loss of his dad when he was 12. He even mentioned that someone has said he talks about that too much. I don’t think so. It’s a part of him.

Grief touches us all in different ways. When my Dad died I grieved, but so much was going on in my immediate family that I didn’t really have time to stop and grieve. It hit me about eight or nine months later. Like a knock down punch.  Mom had been grieving in her own way. I remember she wasn’t eating enough at one point, then later it was the opposite – she was eating a lot of sweets which was unusual for her.

She also could not listen to music for a long time, because it always made her think of Dad. It was quite a while before she began playing the radio again.

This year for NaNoWriMo I’m attempting the family story once again. Last year I wrote about 23,000 words. This year I’m trying to redo it in the forms of verse and letters. So I’m reading/rereading the tons of letters I have here, from 1925-2015. Today I read a letter Mom wrote her sister, Billie, a month after their mother, my Mamaw, died in 1983.

“Seems like for the last couple of weeks I’ve had a delayed reaction to Mama’s dying. Can’t explain it, but I guess it’s a natural thing, I don’t know.” 

It really struck me all over how much I miss Mom. Lately I’ve found myself tearing up with an overwhelming feeling of loss. It just comes over me and I can’t control it. In three months it will be two years that she’s been gone. I know I’ve talked about it a good bit here; forgive me.

Avetts in October # 16: I have some better words now

 

Me and Mom

 

Don’t know which I love most: No Hard Feelings or Through My Prayers. Post #15 was about Mom. This one’s for Mom, too.

 

 

“Now all my thoughts about them start with knowing they are gone.”  from Hannah Coulter by Wendell Berry

 

The pages of the calendar kept turning away
I have some better words now, but it’s too late to say them to you…

And yes I know you loved me I could see it in your eyes
And it was in your struggle and it was in your mind
And it was in the smile you gave me when I was a kid…

-Through My Prayers

 

 

 

 

Avetts in October #15: Strange to Myself

 

In anticipation of The Avett Brothers concert on October 25th, I am writing a series of blog posts connecting some of their lyrics to words of some of my favorite authors.

 

“After she died, things seemed to go out of focus for awhile, and I felt strange to myself.”-from Hannah Coulter by Wendell Berry

 

Every night after and every day since

I found myself crying when the memory hits

Sometimes it knocks me down, sometimes I can just put it away 

-Through My Prayers

 

I could have penned all these words exactly after Mom died in 2018, and still today. I would have never thought to say “I felt strange to myself” but that is a perfect way of putting it. Sometimes still, the memories knock me down and I imagine they always will.

Thoughts inspired by MY GRANDMOTHER ASKED ME TO TELL YOU SHE’S SORRY

 

This is the third book I’ve read by Fredrik Backman. Not sure if this or A Man Called Ove is my favorite.  This one is story with lots of characters, which gives me hope for the book I’ve written that all is not lost. It’s main character is a child, but every character is a rich part of the story.

“…. because the people who reach the end of their days must leave others who have to live out their days without them.” — Frederick Backman

There is death in this story, but it it necessary for the story, just like in our lives. I am living out my days without a number of people who I wish were till here. I wish Cathy was here because her sense of adventure and love of music matched mine. I wish Debbie was here to leave me long, drawn out messages on voicemail. I wish Betty was here to enjoy watching me eat Key Lime pie and to tell us that “Larry says Hi!” And that Larry was here to say Hi and listen because he was always interested in everybody. I wish Charlie was here to teach E how to fish.

I wish Mamaw was here so I could ask her about what happened in 1938. I wish Great-Aunt Marie was here because where she was love was. And I’d even like to hear her burp again. I wish Dad was here to teach his great-grandkids all his nonsensical sayings. I wish Mom was here for so many reasons, I can’t even begin. So I’ll just say she was the one who always asked how Loretta was doing. And she would have liked Ruby just as much.

So I live out my days without them. I take Ruby now on my adventures and listen to lots of music with my husband. I think of Betty every time I have Key Lime anything. I’ve reached out to other relatives, some of whom I only recently met, to ask about 1938 and many other things. My brothers and I carry on with Dad’s sayings, and Mom’s jokes. But my voicemail still stays pretty empty.