When There Is Nothing Nice to Say

Week 13

My grandmother always said, "If you don't have something nice to say, don't say anything at all". I am at that point in life. I have been let down recently by many of those nearest and dearest to me.

Today is Easter Sunday. I awoke thinking of what that means. As I thought of the life and death of Jesus Christ (and the subsequent rising), I couldn't help but equate it with my own life right now. I have tried to be a good person. I have preached unconditional love because I practice unconditional love. I have been tormented, persecuted, condemned, betrayed, and ridiculed. I have been judged without a judge. My only solace is knowing that, like Him, I have kept my faith. End of comparison.

I have felt the sharp edge of betrayal in ways that defy description. In the past week, I have come to recognize that much of what I once believed to be true regarding many of the people in my life was all a fallacy. Perhaps who I thought they were was just a manifestation of who I wanted them to be. Or maybe I saw only who they wanted me to believe they were. Whatever the case may be, I have seen the truth and it sickens me. It saddens me to the point of despair. My heart weeps at the loss of so many in such a very short time.

Still I pray for them as the tears stain my cheeks, because I love them still.

It's All About My Mama

Week 12

I am not an envious person by nature. I have to admit though I have recently realized that somewhere way down deep inside me, I have always envied the close relationship my mother and sister have shared over the years. My mom was a single travel agent and very social. Because of her job, she was able to travel around the world. My little sister got to travel with her some. I worked full-time and went to school full-time, so travel and play weren’t things I had time for. I was booked to go on a cruise with them once but it just so happened I was scheduled to take my ACT’s the same week. College vs. a fabulous trip… no contest in my mind, college won hands down. If I had only known what the following year would bring, I think I would have taken the trip!

I married young, as soon as I turned 18. I never finished college because it turned out there wasn’t enough money for anything past my first year. Instead, I became a mother and focused all my energy on raising children… and being a wife. Being a caregiver is what I do. It is as natural to me as breathing. It can be as detrimental as poison if you let it.

Up until then, I had spent my teen years trying to take care of my mom and my sister. My mom says I was busy raising both of them. It’s not far off the mark. To be honest, I was trying to raise myself, too. At the age of 16, I paid 1/3 of the household bills, went to school and worked. Mama kind of lost herself for a few years (that is a story of its own and for another time) so I did my best to take care of them both. Mama and I weren’t friends and we weren’t exactly mother and daughter either at this point.

As time marched on, we moved our little family farther and farther away from family and friends, always in pursuit of better paying jobs for my husband. From my perspective, the farther we moved away the closer my mother and sister seemed to get. Don’t get me wrong, I am glad they were because it allowed me to worry about both of them less. But deep in my heart, a part of me always wished that my mother and I were close, too.

Fast forward 25 years or so: My mother moved home to take care of her aging mother. My husband and I moved in with his parents so I could take care of them. Finally, my mom and I had a common bond, common experiences, and a host of common frustrations. When I left home at 18, I could have never in my wildest dreams have thought that this would be the catalyst for a better relationship with my mom, but it was.

I began rearranging my schedule so I could spend more time with both my mom and my grandmother. Making the trip as regularly as I could (at least twice a month) to give my mom a break, I found myself getting a much needed break from the deteriorating situation at home.

I discovered a friendship developing that I could have never imagined. I was always very close to my grandmother. Now, I became closer to my mother. Our relationship grew and developed all by itself. I embraced the changes. For the first time in my life, my mother and I had something in common. We began to get to know each other better and found that we each admired the other. For the first time, we became friends.

Last year was an emotionally draining year. Each new season brought about another major change. Spring brought the passing of my most adored maternal grandmother. Summer brought with it my mother’s diagnosis of inoperable, incurable lung cancer. Fall brought the passing of Dad as he finally lost his decade-long battle with Alzheimer’s. Winter brought the death of my most despised paternal grandmother. Two days after my father-in-law died, my mother took a fall and ended up with a compression fracture in a couple of her vertebrae.

It rapidly became obvious that Mama needed someone there with her, someone to help her, someone to take care of her. The next thing I knew, I was back home in Ms. taking care of Mama. I arranged and rearranged until I could work out being with her 4 nights a week. Right now in my life, it is where I need to be, standing beside her and lightening her load.

I never could have imagined being as close to Mama as I have become. I couldn't have imagined that she and I could discuss our past relationship as openly and as honestly as we do. Every day with her teaches me something new. I am evolving, growing, gaining new perspectives. I am no longer envious of my sister. Many, many hurts have been healed.

My mother is courageous beyond belief. She exudes a positive attitude. She is one of the strongest people I have ever met. She is a steel magnolia, soft and lovely on the outside but solid steel on the inside. She is bold and adventurous. She is outrageous and playful. She is outspoken and determined. She is one of my very best friends. But most importantly, she is the mother I always wished for and often prayed for. I can only hope to always make her proud to call me daughter.

Continued

Week 11


To finish answering the question, “Who am I?” I am many, many things which, when combined, all add up to, me simply being me. It is as simple as you being you. I am just me.

WHERE AM I GOING?

I seriously wish I knew the answer to that question far more than any other. I don’t think I have ever felt more unsettled than I do right now. I live with my mother 4 nights a week (3 ½ hrs away in another state), I work 2 nights a week and I am only home one night a week. I feel like I am constantly short-changing the people I love.

My mind swirls constantly with questions. “Will we manage to sell the house before the bank forecloses?” “Where will we live?” “Where DO I live?”

I just realized how frequently I tell everyone, “When I get there, I will…” I am always GOING, GOING, GOING and when I get there, I am doing, doing, doing. I wish wherever it is that I am going, I would be able to take a break. I neeeeed some down time and there is none to be had.

Where am I going? One simple answer springs to mind… wherever life takes me, of course.

But for now, I am off to ride in a St. Patrick’s Day parade with my mother and her friends. Happy St. Patty’s to ya!

Who Am I? To Be Continued...

Week 10

The life I have been living the last few years has revolved around taking care of loved ones whether elderly, ill, dying or all of the above. I guess it isn’t surprising that I would take time to reflect on who I am… where I came from… where I am going. The “where I come from” is, and always has been, a multi-dimensional answer in my mind. I guess they all are to be honest.


Where Do I Come From?

I come from my family. I am a product of the way I was raised and of the family who raised me… my family.

I come from my birth. It was cold and shadowed. For my mother it was a bit lonely. Her husband had dropped her off at the hospital and gone home to bed. She was at the opposite edge of the country from her family. Then I made my entrance. In that moment there must have been a definite moment of, “you and me against the world”. A bond was formed unlike any other. The bond of mother and daughter forged in that moment.

I come from my childhood. It was often a wonderful childhood. It was often a tragically devastating childhood. Good, bad, or indifferent, my childhood experiences helped shape me and mold me. They taught me that there are two choices you can make in the face of overwhelming adversity. You can lie down and let the bad things destroy you or you can jump up and fight back by refusing to let them have power over you. I frequently say, “I am NOT sorry for the things that have happened in my life because they helped me become who I am. I like who I am.”

I come from my marriage. I have been married since I turned 18. The lessons I have learned as a result would fill volumes. Suffice it to say it has been a major part of my entire adult life and has changed and shaped me as I have grown over the years.

I come from a coastal town. A place where most folks knew your business before you did. A place you couldn’t get away with much cause somebody knew who you belonged to and your grandmother or mother knew the whole story before you could make it home. A place where you rode your bike all over town, stayed out til the streetlights came on every night, and kids felt truly safe.

I come from growing up in the church. It was as much a part of my life as breathing. Sunday school, church, home for a BIG lunch, youth group, choir, night church, it was what Sunday was all about. I miss those days more than I could ever have imagined.



Who Am I?

The obvious things come to mind like familial connections. I am daughter, wife, mother, grandmother, sister, aunt, in-law, adopted mom, etc.

I am a nurturer. I am inclined to mother the people I love. I worry about them and feel an urge to take care of them.

I have always danced to the beat of a different drummer. I will ALWAYS dance to the beat of a different drummer.

Wild hair styles, the clothes I wear, piercings and tattoos do not in any way define who I am! But, they are an expression of who I am.

I am headstrong and have a bad habit of jumping into things feet first only to find myself, as my Mama says up to my ass in alligators.

I have grown independent in my middle age. I’m often sorry it took me so long to have faith in myself.

I have good business sense. I loved owning my own business and making my own rules. Corporate America and I seldom agree on anything but the bottom line.

I am fiercely loyal. I am trustworthy, hard-working, and dependable. I am passionate, playful, and temperamental.

I am shy around people I don't know. People often mistake my shyness for aloofness. They are wrong.

I wear my heart on my sleeve. My heart breaks, far more often for others than it ever has, for myself.

The world sees me as tough as nails. I see me as a big ole blob of marshmallow (which, just for the record, I can’t stand). Isn’t it funny how our view of ourselves rarely matches the view of others?

I talk a lot. When I am anxious or nervous, I chatter incessantly. If I am anxious or tired my southern drawl is more pronounced than any other time, I think.

I am a defender of the oppressed, infirm, and down-trodden, no matter what the circumstances are. The young, the weak, the elderly, I champion them all at all times!

I only know how to love unconditionally. It frequently causes me great pain. It often causes me great joy.

There isn’t anything (inside the law) I wouldn’t do for someone I love.

I am inclined to make friends I will keep forever and shy away from “fake” friends. The real friends I have are one of my greatest treasures.

I am going to do something rare for me and say that while I give this question and the next, further thought, this post is going
TO BE CONTINUED…

We Are All in Essence Dying

Week 9

“Why do we wait to be diagnosed with a terminal illness to feel a sense of urgency about living? The fact of the matter is from the instant we take our first breath, we are in essence dying. Why can’t we live our lives to the fullest without a dire prediction?” -This is what I started to write on Saturday night. Today’s date loomed large as it is the anniversary of my beloved grandmother’s death. This led me to some serious thoughts on the subject of death, which ultimately led me to some serious thoughts on the subject of life. I went to bed with a vortex spinning in my head on the weightiest of subjects… the complexities of life, death, and life-after-death. I do not recommend this as a method to induce productive sleep.

In April of 2010, my 88 year old mother-in-law was put on a ventilator. As her medical power-of-attorney, I had to make a decision as to when we should remove it. I waited a week to allow time for the family to come say their goodbyes. Nobody came. My husband helped to care for his father so I could remain by her side. I treasure the last 48 hours in a way that no one could ever understand… unless they have been in those shoes with someone they have deeply loved.

In November of 2010, I lost the sister-in-law I cherished. We talked on the phone the day before. We talked on the phone almost every day for 10 years! We were in the middle of a conversation, discussing what the four grandkids that lived with me would be wearing for Halloween, when I arrived at the grocery store. I asked if I could call her the next afternoon. She said yes. She died the next morning. It still bothers me that our last goodbye was more of a “to be continued” that can never be continued; that there were things left unsaid between us.

In February of 2012, I rushed home to Mississippi because my youngest granddaughter was born two months early. Fraught with worry, I watched that tiny little girl struggle to grow stronger, struggle to survive. I left the NICU and went to my grandmother’s house. At 92, I knew she had already begun to give up on life. As I stood by her side telling her about the tiniest new member of our family, she grasped my hand. Her eyes cleared for a moment as I showed her the photo I had taken for her of her great granddaughter. She squeezed my hand weakly and said to me, “I just want to go home, Baby.” The following morning it became apparent it was her time to go. I was blessed to be by her side until she passed away peacefully as dawn broke on March 3rd.

In October of 2012 Dad lost his battle with Alzheimer’s. Once again, I was destined to be there as another soul I loved left its body. At the age of 90, it was his time and he was more than ready for it. How different it is when a person has lived a long, full life and is called home!

In August of 2012 my mother was diagnosed with lung cancer. Words like “terminal”, “inoperable”, “stage 3b”, “less than 3 months” began to swirl through my life like a hurricane hitting the beach. Mama, however, took it in her normal headlong stride. She refuses to give up. Here it is, March 2013 and technically, she has beaten all of the doctor’s predictions. Her bucket list continues to grow and her attitude against her disease does, too. She is one of the bravest people I’ve ever known and I am proud that she’s my mother.