Five More Sleeps

There are officially five (5) more sleeps until Christmas day. This will be my 61st Christmas and I am sad to say, that like everyone else in the world, I have often let the commercialism of the holiday, override The Reason for the Season. I guess it is all part of living in an ever-growing secular world, where things have become more important than the true reason we celebrate Christmas. Like most things, it's not rocket science. The purpose of December 25th is quite simply spelled out for us in the name...Christ-mas, but apparently even in all of its simplicity, we still forget. But I digress. 

So as a kid, my parents if not on the same page with anything else, always had a cease fire during Christmas and we always celebrated Christmas together as a family. Yes I know, we were a strange bunch, and trust me, my divorced parent's weird relationship was never lost on me. 

The first Christmas that I actually remember was in "the horrible house." I must have been about 6 or 7 and I was sick. Really sick. I had the flu and the pictures of me that Christmas show that I looked like walking death. I was pale and my eyes were dark. I looked awful and I imagine I felt awful too, but I don't remember that. 

That Christmas, my not-so-adoring grandma, and my always-adoring grandpa came to our house Christmas Eve. Mom and Dad were either together at the time or at the very least, together for the evening. For most of my life, we always celebrated Christmas on Christmas morning, but for whatever reason, that year it was on Christmas Eve. I have glimpses of memory of my grandma telling me I looked awful (duh, I was sick) and my grandpa trying to make me smile. Our little Christmas tree was in our den area and Mom told me that I needed to go to my room and play for a while. I must have felt bad enough to be compliant, and in a bit, I was called back out, to find that during my time in my room, Santa had arrived. I remember being upset that I had missed him. If only I had not been so compliant. 

The only gift I remember getting that year was a doll that was about three and a half feet tall. She was nearly as tall as me. She had some kind of mechanism in her that if you held her hand, she could kinda, sorta walk with you. I must have liked her a lot (although my history with dolls is long and sorted and a story for another time). I had that doll for many years, and during that time I gussied her up a bit, at one point cutting her bangs to a very fashionable (NOT), one-quarter of an inch. Not to worry though, later in her life, my brother Andy got a hold of her and appropriated the Native American culture all over her face. He also had a Native American kid's headdress that he adorned her with. He thought her a masterpiece, but looking back I think one, he watched too many westerns, and two if it happened now, he would most definitely have been canceled. 

The next year was another Christmas Eve celebration, this time at my grandparent's house. I was not sick this particular year and along with us, Aunt May, Uncle Eldrid and Nancy were all there. I remember this being a fun Christmas because Nancy was there and I got an entire Barbie Kitchen. It was teal and gold and I loved it. I played with it for years. 

A bittersweet Christmas that I remember was my grandpa's last Christmas. He was dying from prostate cancer and to keep him from being put in "a home" in his last months, my mom took him in. Yes, my mom and dad were long divorced by this time, but being the strange family that we were, Mom turned the guest bedroom into my grandpa's room and had a hospital bed brought in. When Grandpa came to live with us, so did my dad and grandma. It was a really strange setup, and definitely a story for another time, but we had Grandpa one last Christmas. 

Grandpa's bedroom was upstairs (we no longer lived in the horrible house), and he never came downstairs, except for that Christmas day. Aunt May and Nancy came over, (Uncle Eldrid had sadly passed by then), and our house was full. Having all the people there seemed to make it festive and having Grandpa there, sitting down in the living room and opening gifts with us, made it beyond special. 

I was about 11 this particular Christmas and even I could tell how hard coming down those stairs had been for him, but we listened to Christmas music and opened gifts and I remember knowing that this would never happen again. I was not wrong. 

When we moved to Mulvane, Mom became Christmas-obsessed. She would start the day after Thanksgiving, and it would take her a full week to decorate. She had someone make her an eight-foot manger and the outside was decorated with a beautiful lighted nativity. On the inside, however, it looked like how I always imagined Santa's house would look. We had decorations that dated back to the 50s and every year Mom got more. She also saved every toothpaste box Santa, and Christmas artwork masterpiece that Andy and I brought home from school. Every cabinet, wall, stairway, and end table was covered in everything from the beautiful to the gaudy. 

Our windows had Santa and a mix of mechanical dolls that moved, peering out. Our tree was always 8.5 feet and had every available inch covered with bulbs....and this is where my complete and total dislike for Christmas decorating came into play. Early on, I wanted to help decorate and was so excited to help with the tree, but after breaking several of Mom's (prized) bulbs, my services were no longer needed or appreciated. IF she dared let me help, it was under close supervision which took all of my creativity away. Because of Mom's extreme Christmas OCD, rather than fighting with me, she started decorating the tree while I was at school. Guess what? I didn't care! If the tree got decorated and I didn't have to get yelled at in the process.....cool! Andy's decorating experiences with Mom were much different. I think he had the same love for the process that she did and he had a gentler spirit and touch when it came to her prized bulbs. 

The Christmas's we had in Mulvane, were always so fun. Maybe it was because we had finally found a place we truly called home, and we had friends and events that made the season amazing. I remember caroling with my friends, Christmas parties, and going to midnight Mass. On Christmas morning, my dad always showed up, and we unwrapped our gifts and then had Thanksgiving dinner all over again. It was here we grew up, grew as a family, and started many traditions that I still have today. 

My first Christmas which was abjectly sad for me, was the Christmas of 1983. I had lost the person that I considered the love of my life. We had plans for the future, we were in love, but then like happens with many young college romances, it was just over. My heart was broken and being my first love and my first heartbreak, I was beyond miserable. I remember very little of that Christmas other than I cried day and night. I am sure I was a joy for my family and that I made that Christmas oh-so-special for them too. 

As Andy and I grew up and moved away, we started our own families and traditions. On my first Christmas with my husband Tim, we had no money. I was pregnant with Zachary and a week before Christmas, we had no gifts under the tree. My older son Wesley heard me talking to Tim about how sad I was that we had nothing under the tree. He was a sweet soul at eight years old, and I walked into the living room to find that he had taken all of his stuffed animals and placed them under the tree. He said, "Now we have something under the tree." It looked beautiful and I had to leave the room to keep from bursting into tears in front of him. Miracle of miracles, Santa came through, as well as Tim's over time, and we were able to have a few gifts after all. 

The Christmas of 2000, David was in the NICU. He had been there for three months already and he had another two months to go. By Christmas, he was doing well and we were just working on him gaining enough weight to leave the hospital. Most of that season was spent going back and forth daily to the NICU, but we did break away long enough to have Christmas Eve with my mom and dad at Andy's house. 

The Christmas of 2001, I had just lost Tim, six months earlier. I can honestly say that I have no memory whatsoever of that Christmas. Then the Christmas of 2002, I lost my mom on December 22nd. The only thing that saved that Christmas for me was that my Uncle Pat and Aunt Rita were there. They had come to see my mom in the hospital, but she passed before they could get there. So instead of turning around and going back to MO to spend Christmas with their family, they stayed and helped heal our family. Their kids will never know how much their sacrifice of not spending Christmas with their parents meant to us. It is something that I will never forget. 

The Christmas of 2003, I was living back in my childhood home. It was the home that in so many ways had healed me as a child and miraculously, would heal me again as an adult. It is here where I, my kids, and now my grandkids have celebrated every Christmas since. Yes, I still hate decorating, but with a little help from my friends, it always gets done, and I always enjoy it when it is.

This year, my heart hurts as Andy is never too far from my mind, and it is to honor his memory that I was able to decorate this year. I think about him almost daily and I try to remember all of our childhood Christmas's with Mom and Dad and him and I. Christmas was always a high point for our family. 

I know we are not special this year. We have the same issues as everyone else. Money is tight if not non-existent, we are grieving, and we have stress, struggles, and speed bumps a plenty. We also have each other and one of the family's best gifts this Christmas is the upcoming birth of a new addition. Zachary and his girlfriend are going to be first-time parents in July. I also once again, get to see the joy and excitement of the season through my grandkid's eyes, and I am grateful that for another Christmas, we are here together, safe and sound. 

This year I have turned on the Christmas music and blared it daily (something I never do) and made my grandkids listen and learn. There is pretty much no Christmas song, old or new that they don't know. We have gone and looked at lights as a family, and started spending more time together doing fun things and enjoying each other's company. I think this year of all years, we are critically aware of how short life can be and just how fast time flies. 

I have also shut out the noise of the commercialism of the season and found myself looking towards both the crib and the cross more and more, and focusing on the birth of the Christ child. I think this alone has done more for my healing than anything else. 

So yeah five more sleeps and Christmas will be here, and as Christmas's go, I hope that the kids and grandkids remember this one, for the music, the laughter, and the fact that we were once again given the gift of being together and sharing the joy and memories of not just the day, but also, all the days leading up to it. After all, not everyone gets the miracle that we have as a family. 

I want to wish any of you who read this, a very Merry Christmas. I hope your heart is wrapped up in the beautiful Christmas Season and that you can share love and joy with your own families.

Happy Birthday baby Jesus.

Until next time.....

Even in Our Darkest Hours.......

As most of you who know me know, I may not be fearless in most walks of my life, but in blogging, I typically am. I usually have no fear of what I say or how I say it. Today though is different. 

I have wanted to write today's blog piece for a while, and when I finally got the permission to do so, all my writing fearlessness flew out the window, so it has taken me a while to get here. Why? Because this piece is about someone whose faith and strength astounds me. I am in awe of her and I want my words to do her story and her words justice. 

I feel this story is hugely important and should be told with the grace and dignity in which it has been lived. I know, like myself, others will hear this story and find their own healing and inspiration in it. This story, simply can't help but touch others deeply and profoundly, and I only hope that my telling of it will honor all involved. 

Years ago, I had a little hair and nail salon in our little town. I was the nail tech and my days were spent doing two things I loved, doing nails and talking to people. While I loved all of my clients, there were a few that were special to my heart. One of those was an amazing woman named Tutti. Her name alone provoked a smile and her outlook on life and the vivaciousness of her spirit lived up to her name. 

My nail table was tucked out of the way in a little corner of the shop, with good reason. When my favorites came in, often we spent a great deal of time laughing. Tutti wasn't only one of my favorites because of her spirit and personality, she was also one of my favorites because she gave me free rein over her nails. She would say, "What do you think suits me this time?" She would walk out with everything from palm trees, to fish, to tropical birds on her nails and she always seemed to love whatever I did. 

Tutti's favorite subject to talk about during her nail appointments was her kids and most especially,  her beautiful little curly-haired daughter named Stephanie. She would always walk in, sit down and say, "Now ask me what they did this week." Then she would regale me with some hilarious story that Stephanie or the boys did. It was obvious those kids were her heart and I loved every story she told. 

Eventually, I sold my shop and moved on. Too many hours smelling perms and acetone took its toll on me and I got out of the business. In time I lost track of my customers, even my favorites. Years later, I was doing a cancer walk at the old high school track when I was told that Tutti had battled cancer and had lost her battle a few years earlier. It made me tremendously sad that I had lost track of her and had not known this. 

It was at this same walk, that Tutti's daughter Stephanie was pointed out to me. She too was there for the walk. She was at this time,  a grown young woman, and a striking beauty. I immediately walked up to her and introduced myself, telling her that I knew her mother and that I was so sorry for her loss. Stephanie had no idea who I was, but she was kind and gracious and so amazingly poised. I saw so much of Tutti in her. 

Skip ahead to just several years ago. My David was in grade school and he was going through a really rough time with a lot of sudden changes in his school life that were prompting a great deal of seizure activity. I was at a crossroads trying to decide whether continuing in school was even the right path for him or not. Then along came Stephanie. She was an RN that had previously worked at the cancer center, but had changed jobs and been hired by the school district after her son was born. With all the issues David had been having, the school realized that they were on the verge of losing him as a student, and that at the time, he needed someone more medically based than a para, so they put Stephanie with him. It was one of the wisest decisions they had made at the time. In a lot of ways, Stephanie turned David's world around and in her, he found compassion and stability at the school that I don't think he had felt in the presence of others. 

Stephanie literally was a game changer for David and through her care and kindness, she gave him the  dignity and respect, that others had neglected in showing him. Her nursing skills were a Godsend too as she was ever vigilant where his seizures were concerned, and if she ever became concerned with his health, she didn't hesitate to bring those concerns straight to me. It gave me a peace of mind with David and school that I hadn't had for a while. 

The impact that Stephanie's presence had on David was so amazing, but deep in my heart, I knew that working at the school was not to be Stephanies true path, so when I was told she was leaving the school district, I was not surprised. I was even less surprised when I found out that she was going back to work at the cancer center. This was where her heart truly was at. 

Like time always does, it moved on. I kept in touch with Stephanie as all of us in the 21st century do, through social media. I watched Stephanie and her husband Jeff have kids and raise them. They were a beautiful family and they were busy with sports and coaching little league, moving homes and jobs, and establishing a life full of love and adventures that they shared in their pictures and posts. It was a joy to watch and a bright spot in my day to see Stephanie's posts. 

True to her kind nature, she often also posted about her job, or more often, her patients posted about her and how she had helped them through chemo and on their cancer journey. There were also the sweetest posts from Jeff on her timeline as he celebrated her on birthdays and anniversary's and Stephanie showed the same love in return. It was as if, even as young as they were, they realized what they had in each other and they were grateful for every moment they shared together. 

On July 11, 2019, as I skimmed a post Stephanie had made, I stopped reading mid sentence and had to start reading the whole post again. What I read literally brought tears to my eyes. I am sure that I was not alone. 

Jeff had been having some "concerning symptoms" and after going to the ER, they learned that he had a mass in his brain. After a brain biopsy, they learned that he did in fact have a Glioblastoma, which for those of us who don't speak oncology, this was a very aggressive brain tumor. Being true to the nurse that she is, in the same post, Stephanie was already in fight mode and she and Jeff were getting a game plan in place in which they had every intention of giving this cancer a run for its money. I was sure that if anyone could do it, this family could. 

Say what you will about small towns, but ours is a pretty awesome place. The minute word was out about Jeff's battle, our town vowed to battle right along with him. Stephanie and Jeff had an amazing circle of family and friends which grew exponentially in the days, weeks, months, and years that followed. People were reaching out to help this family in any way they could. There were fundraisers, t-shirts, and prayer requests going out to all churches, all faiths, and all people. While I am sure at times that Stephanie and Jeff felt this battle was a solitary quest, the fact was, there was love and prayers coming at them from all directions, especially from those whom Stephanie had been there for during their own cancer journey's. 

In the weeks that followed, you couldn't go anywhere without seeing "Team Hoag" and "Hoag Strong" t-shirts, and social media was filled with posts of family, friends, and strangers sporting the t-shirts in support of  Jeff and his family. The love and kindness this couple had given out so freely to others, was now coming back to them a thousandfold. This family was not fighting alone. 

Even though I never had the pleasure of meeting Jeff, I prayed for him daily and for Stephanie and the kids, because I knew from my own family experience with cancer, that it affected the entire family. I had read a little about Glioblastoma and I knew that this family was in for a rough road ahead. 

Early on, someone had posted on FB, "God gives the toughest battles to his strongest soldiers." This proved to be such a true statement. Jeff and Stephanie knew the odds of survival from this type of cancer, and yet they decided regardless of the outcome, cancer would not win! They refused to allow this monster to damage or destroy their lives, even when things got really tough. 

Anyone who has gone through cancer or loved someone through cancer, knows there are good days and bad days and sometimes those bad days are really, really bad. There are doctors appointments and specialists that often require travel to see, and through it all, the disease can become the focal point of your life. Cancer just seems to take control, and yet through sheer willpower and determination, Jeff and Stephanie fought cancer like champs and somehow continued to live their lives even in the throes of battle. They took vacations, family photos, celebrated holidays, coached sports and shared life, made memories with their kids, and shared laughter and love with family and friends. 

Jeff lived fearlessly and touched lives with his faith and indomitable spirit. Never did you see a picture that he wasn't smiling in and never did you read a post that gratitude for the life he had and all that he had been given wasn't in every word. Rather than let cancer consume him and make him bitter, he used it as a gift to spur on faith in others and motivate both old and young with the knowledge that even a disease like cancer only has power over us, if we allow it power. He never once gave it power. 

Cancer, though it may only strike one in the family, is very much a family disease. Stephanie, being an oncology nurse, remained hopeful but realistic. Her posts gave a candid look into her world.  She was holding on for dear life to her husband, her family, and her future, and yet, being the faith-filled woman she is, she was also very aware that their hope might not be God's will. Because of this reality, she at times posted some of the most real and moving posts I have ever read, acknowledging both the emotional trials she was going through and yet the gratitude and faith that she never lost sight of. 

One such post was just months into the cancer diagnosis when she said, "This season is one of the toughest of all times. Sometimes it can feel lonely and heavy, but I know I have a wonderful tribe of women in my life that are always checking in and willing to help carry a few bricks. I've never been good at accepting help, but I'm so thankful for these women- they get me, and they show up even when I try to push them away." 

On Jan. 1, 2020, Stephanie wrote a beautiful post about her blessings. She refused to focus on anything but the good and gave a laundry list of blessings and gratitude. It touched me deeply and I am sure I was not alone. She was starting 2020 with gratitude, grace, and hope in the midst of what many, myself included, might have fallen apart over. 

In 2020, they added a fur baby to their family and continued fighting. Stephanie shared the occasional update on Jeff's health but more often than not, their posts were full of them living their lives, experiencing milestones, and enjoying the life they had as a family. 

Through the entire ordeal, Jeff and Stephanie lived their cancer truth out loud and their kids, even as young as they are, were aware of what was going on. I think one of the most poignant posts I ever saw, was in August 2020, from Stephanie who had shared a picture of their huge backyard, and their 7-year-old son mowing it with a push mower. Her post began, "The lines in our yard use to be straight. Jeff's a perfectionist at heart, and the straight lines he made in the yard reflected just that. 

Today, I cried over crooked lines. I cried because this 7 year old volunteered to mow the lawn for his dad. Our yard is no small task, but he mowed every single line and pushed up both sides of the house against those dreadful hills." 

I couldn't help but stare at the picture of that small figure in that big yard. That young man was learning some of lifes toughest lessons at such an early age. That is likely one moment in his life that he will never forget. 

In November of 2020, Stephanie shared fall family photos they had done. As I looked at those beautiful, amazing photos, I couldn't help the tears that snuck out and traveled down my face. There was something so beautiful about each of them. They were precious memories caught in a perfect moment. Something told me deep in my heart that these photos above all the other photos they had shared over time, would always hold a special place in all their hearts. 

Through the holidays, I had not seen many posts from Stephanie. I figured that like everyone else, it was a busy time. I truly hoped that no news might mean something positive. 

On February 19, 2021, a post from Stephanie caught my attention and made my heart sink. The news was not good. The tumor was continuing to grow and essentially they had run out of good choices. Jeff was on a new medication and they were just praying that it would stop the growth. Stephanies final words on the post were, "We knew this was going to be a bumpy road and at some point, we may find ourselves in unchartered waters. It's frightening, and I keep telling myself it's not supposed to be like this, but I know we're not done here, this battle's not over- we're not giving up Hope, and we'll continue to stand on His promise.... and that's my promise to them."

The faith she had. The faith she shared. The faith they had together. I was in awe. 

On April 5, 2021, I held back tears once again. Stephanie shared a picture of a smiling Jeff holding both his children when their youngest was born. You could just tell that next to being Stephanie's husband, being a dad was his favorite thing in life. His face was beaming. Stephanie's post stated, "I experienced one of the most heartbreaking moments as a parent yesterday. Individually, I had to tell my children that their daddy will be transitioning to heaven soon. Those heart-rendered faces are forever etched into my brain. They're fighters, and I pray that one day they find that special kind of perspective on life, that only comes from such heartache. Starting today, we're signing onto hospice. We've finished the course, we've kept the faith and as Jeff told Dr. Truong 'we won'.

She ended it by saying, "I'm heartbroken, but I'll continue to search out the blessings in these raindrops. It's going to be 'okay', even if it's not the okay we wanted...." 

Oh those last words! I cried like a baby.  

On April 27, 2021, Stephanie's post began, "Jeff took his final breaths last night. He crossed over to his heavenly body- no more cancer and no more pain. He WON." 

Even now as I read those words, the tears flow. Having lost my own husband, my own best friend, and the one I planned to grow old with twenty years prior, I knew the pain and sadness she was feeling and her words in the midst of all that pain, literally took my breath away. 

In the days and weeks that followed, there was an outpouring of love for Stephanie and the kids and so many beautiful memorials and memories of and for Jeff. His strength and his faith while fighting such an uncompromising and evil opponent touched so many lives and the lessons he taught about strength through adversity and never giving up, will stay with so many for the rest of their lives. In my mind though, the most important lesson he taught, was to his own children. He showed them that life isn't always easy or fair, and sometimes life doesn't go our way, but through it all, you can always find joy, peace and so many things to be grateful for, and in the end, he taught them to both live and die with grace and dignity in the acceptance of God's will. 

On June 14, 2021, nearly two months after Jeff died, Stephanie made this post. 

"I read something the other day that said ‘True Joy is found in the release’… read that again. It’s powerful and it’s real, and my heart needed to read it.

I returned to work a few weeks ago, and my heart needed that too. For me, a large part of my identity is in the release. It's giving back and helping others, but also on a more simple scale- it's holding the door for someone, providing a compliment to a stranger, taking a phone call in the middle of the night, or just providing a shoulder to someone in need. I'm not saying it's the same for everyone, but part of my Joy comes from sharing it with others.

Someone asked me the other day if I planned to share my journey with grief. I'm not sure my perspective will be helpful to anyone because I think we all carry it differently, but I'm willing to share and be vulnerable in the hope that maybe it will help someone.

So the truth is, I ended up on my kitchen floor Friday afternoon crying, because I simply came across a picture of Jeff from a year ago. It crumbled me. I let that wave hit me and hit me again, and you know what happened?.... I eventually got up.

Often times I find myself trying to validate my feelings, but I'm learning there is no right or wrong. When you're standing in the ocean you can't stop a wave. All you can do is ride it out and know that it won't last forever.

I realize that a part of me went with him and throughout this new journey comes finding that part of myself again. My goals and perspective have shifted slightly. The success and future of my family is now solely on my shoulders. I'll probably end up on my kitchen floor a few more times, but I promise you I will keep getting up and moving forward.

Maybe that's also part of the release though... going forward towards things that provide fulfillment, happiness, opportunity- but doing so unapologetically. God's going to lead our hearts down the path he's created for us... we're faithful, ready, and all in.

Whatever it is that's weighing you down, find a way to put it back into the world... and see what goodness might just come your way."

As I read this, it struck me so deeply. It was in that moment, that I just knew that this story had to be told for others outside our little town and outside Stephanie and Jeff's close-knit circle of loved ones and friends to read. I knew how deeply Jeff's story had affected me. It was a story of strength and determination with undoubting faith that in the end, he would win. He did. But moreover, this is also a love story. It is the story of a love so strong and a faith so deep that even when the ending wasn't what Stephanie had hoped for, she still found the grace to be grateful for the life she shared with Jeff and their kids.

Loss is never easy and when you lose the one you were supposed to grow old with, sometimes the pain is excruciating, but to see beyond the pain and to keep taking those next steps forward into unchartered territory takes a strength and faith that not everyone understands.

I am extremely grateful and honored that Stephanie allowed me to tell her story and to share her journey with you. It is my hope, that through Stephanie's words and the life she has lived and continues to live today, that she may give someone else the strength they need to keep the faith, to hold on to hope, and to fully understand, that even in our darkest hours......God always gives us light.

It's Been A Year

On May 9, 2021, it was not just Mother's Day. For one of my closest friends and her family, it was also one of the hardest days of their lives. It was the one-year anniversary of the loss of their beautiful daughter Kylie. Those of you who follow my blogs may remember my blog about her last year. 

It was easy to write about her because she was larger than life and left a huge hole in the hearts of those who knew and loved her and even in the hearts of some who didn't have the honor of knowing her. When writing that blog piece at the time though, I had no idea all that would transpire in the year to come and all that I would learn. 

Kylie's mom and I have been friends for well over 40 years. In fact, I can't really remember a time when Thiry (her mom) and Kylie's Aunt Berty, weren't a part of my life. They have both been there through just about every high and low of my teen and adult life. It is a bond that is as close as sisterhood and because of this, watching what Thiry has had to go through this year has at best made me feel useless and helpless to help her and Kelly, and at worst, devastated me knowing that I had no earthly idea the depth of pain and sorrow that they were going through. All I could do was let them know I was there for them, and then let Thiry reach out as she was ready. She actually has at times and then at others, she pulls away and pulls within, trying desperately to make sense of a senseless situation. It's a God and time thing, and both are way above my pay grade. 

I will say though, that because of Kylie, I personally have changed and I can honestly say that there has not been one day in the last year that I haven't thought of this girl. 

Kylie's parents started a Remember Kylie page on Facebook right after she died, and throughout the year, there have been so many people share pictures, videos, and even stories of their memories of Kylie. The amazing thing is that there are a lot of people who joined the page who never knew Kylie, but through the posts and pictures, they felt like they did. She became almost as big a part of them as she was to those who did know and love her. Many is the time I have thought that Kylie was still working her magic as she was still touching lives, hearts, and souls even though she was no longer here. 

In October, Thiry and Kelly held a memorial for Kylie at the lake. It was a cool, crisp fall day that somehow to me felt like a Kylie day. There were so many people there and the memorial service was amazing. I couldn't help but look around and see just how many people's lives she was still touching in the moment. 

My two older sons both went and we also took my 7-year-old granddaughter. The whole service was just so wonderful that it made me very glad that this was little W's first experience with a funeral/memorial service. I left feeling that Kylie would more than approve. I also feel that Kylie was also working hard that day, as my older son, W's dad, who is usually very stoic was actually very moved by the service, something that doesn't often happen. And my other son ended up running into someone he had no idea had a Kylie connection and with whom he had a very contentious past. On that day, he ended up seeing the past a little differently and found some peace. It was a situation that I thought would never happen, but I have no doubt, Kylie put it into motion. 

As I said before, because of Kylie, I have changed. I now sport a beautiful sea turtle tattoo on my right wrist. I am convinced that Kylie and God had a hand in it. I got the tattoo back in June during the heat of the COVID lockdowns. I had no thoughts of getting a tattoo at the time, but one night I had some awful nightmares. While I can't remember what they were about, they woke me up suddenly, and as I woke up, my first and only thought was that I had to get a sea turtle tattoo on my right wrist. Specific...right? Yes, I knew Kylie loved sea turtles, but I myself,  had never given them much thought and I definitely had never thought of getting one tattooed on me, but for some reason, I could think of nothing else. 

I tried to fight the newfound need for the turtle tattoo, but the entire day, I became almost obsessed with the thought, so I tried to call a place. I was told that tattoo shops were not open because of COVID, and when they did open up again, there would likely be a months-long wait because of the backup. I was almost relieved because I wasn't sure I was ready for another tattoo, but apparently, Kylie would have none of it. As I opened Facebook, out of nowhere there was someone in my newsfeed that was in the next town that did tattoos. What??? I had never seen this person on Facebook before, but I had an uncontrollable urge to message her. Low and behold, she worked out of her home and had an opening the very next day. I sent her what I thought I wanted and in less than 24 hours, there I sat getting the most beautiful sea turtle I had ever seen before, tattooed on my right wrist, with Kylie's initials underneath. Best of all, I barely felt it. I can honestly say that I love the tattoo, not just because it is really beautiful, but also because I think Kylie had a hand in me getting it. 

Because of Kylie, I hold my own children much closer to my heart now. We can't possibly know God's plan for our life or our death, but I make sure that not a day goes by that I don't tell my kids how much I love them. Also because of Kylie, I do my best to go out of my way to be kind to others. I try to listen when others speak and to really hear what they have to say. I try to step out of my comfort zone at least once a week and see more of life than is just in my little piece of the world and I try to be my own genuine self and both celebrate and respect who I am. In my mind, these are all messages that Kylie sent the world, through who she was and how she was and I guess I feel that the best way to honor her now, is to honor who she was and how she lived her life. I think Kylie's genuine love and kindness for and towards her friends, family, and even complete strangers should be humanity goals for all of us. 

Through Thiry and because of Kylie, I have become much more in touch with my faith and I have opened myself up to the unimaginable wonders that might be beyond this earthly life. Of course, there are times that I can't help but wonder what might have been where Kylie is concerned. What might she have done and who might she have been as an adult? Then I remember that you can't dwell on the what-ifs. You can only focus on what is and I think in Kylie's case, what is, is still Kylie being Kylie and God has her hard at work, as she is still touching lives, bringing people to faith, and helping people to be the best versions of themselves they can be.

So Kylie, it has been a year. It has been a tough one for those who love you, but it has also been one of miracles and blessings that I have no doubt you have had a hand in. Give my mom and your grandma Ruth and Aunt Laura a hug for me and keep up the good work. You continue to make this world a better place by touching us, one person at a time. 

Until next time, hug those you love, be conscious of the blessings and miracles all around you and........never forget to say...... I love you!

 

Grief: You Are Going to Feel How You Feel Until You Don't Feel that Way Anymore

As I write this, in this moment, it has been 19 years, two hours and 55 minutes since the last time I saw you, hugged you, kissed you and said "I love you," to you. For those doing the math, that is 228 months, approximately 912 weeks, somewhere around 6,939 days and right around 166,552 hours. Broken down even further....that is real close to 9,993,201 minutes since last I was walking out the door, not knowing that in an instant, my world was going to change forever.

I break this down in such a way, because over time, sometimes the months and weeks have passed quickly with the business of life taking over and sometimes, the loss has been so painful and so excruciating that it feels like life has stopped and it has been all I can do to get thru the next minute. I guess this is simply the nature of grief.

On July 2, 2001, at about 7:30 in the morning, I kissed my husband, told him I loved him and walked out the door to take my mom to a doctors appointment. My mind was on the news of her health that we might hear that day and little else. Other than that, it was a normal summer day and not for a second did I think it would be anything else, but by 1:00 that afternoon, my life would be shattered, my heart would be irreparably broken and nothing from that moment on, would ever be the same in my life again, because at 1:00 p.m. was the time I came home to find that my husband had suddenly and unexpectedly dropped dead of a brain aneurysm.

I had lost people before Tim, and I have lost people since, but with the exceptions of my mother a year after, and my baby daughter many years earlier, no death has ever taken from me or affected me like his. It was losing Tim that taught me about falling completely apart and then eventually finding my way back to life. It taught me about abject loss and then slowly seeing the blessings that surround every tragedy in life. Most of all, it taught me about the beauty of grief and the strength and purpose that can come when you begin to move on with gratitude.

Skipping ahead to this year (2020), there has been a great amount of loss in my world. Some have been by extension of those I care about, and some have hit me right in the heart, leaving another piece  of my heart, wounded and bleeding. Those wounds never completely go away. The best we can hope for is that they scar, leaving us a permanent reminder of who we loved and what we lost. Maybe it is because of all that has been lost this year that I felt the need to write this and since I woke up very early today with Tim on my mind, I write this in his honor.

If you make it out of childhood, there is an overwhelming probability that at some point you will lose someone you love and depending on just how long you live in this world, the chances are even better that you will lose several in your lifetime. The fact is, no matter how many times we lose those we love, the grieving process will happen and it will always be different. Grief is not a one size fits all occurrence and if anyone tells you differently, then they likely haven't dealt with a lot of loss.

Yes, there are stages of grief that we all tend to go through, but we all don't go through them the same way and we don't all go through all the stages. When I lost Tim, I went from hysterical to complete calm in a matter of minutes. The "knowledge" of his death in those first few minutes, knocked the wind completely out of me. I felt as if I was living in a nightmare and I was begging to wake up. I remember screaming and then there was the realization that I was a mom and I had young children that were more lost than I was. I then became calm, in an almost auto-pilot kind of way, and I began to organize and give direction as if I had to clean up and control the situation.

In those first few hours, life went by quickly in a slow-motion kind of way. There were things to do, questions to answer and a never ending line of people coming in and out helplessly wanting to help. I remember in the moment I was so grateful they were there, but at the same time I couldn't focus or even comprehend reality, so I was just blank inside. Again....auto-pilot.

The days that followed were non-stop. People continued in and out, making arrangements that I never planned to make and making decisions that I had no idea how to make. All of this was going on, along with the fact that I still had kids. I had to be a mom and help these children who looked to me for guidance, to get through something that I didn't have a clue about getting through. All I wanted to do was crawl in bed and not move, not think and not feel, but instead.....I had no choice but to keep moving and keep answering questions and making decisions.

It was nearly a week of everything but the kitchen sink being thrown at me. There were people in and out and in a funny sort of way, it felt as if a new normal had set in. Then there was the funeral. There were faces, kindness, me trying hard to look as if I was still me, when somewhere inside I knew that the me that left the house on July 2nd was gone forever as surely as if I had taken my last breath the moment he did.

Then it was over. Tim was buried. All who had come to say good-bye, left. They all went back to their lives and I was left alone, raising kids and having to figure out what each minute going forward was suppose to look like. I was angry for the first time. No I was not angry at Tim, because I always knew that Tim would have never left if that had been his choice. I was also not angry at God. I was raised to understand that none of us is guaranteed in this world and none of us leaves this world until the moment that we have accomplished everything we were meant to accomplish. No....my anger was at the world. I was so mad that everyone got to go home and resume their regular lives. How could this be? How could everyone else just go back to business as usual, when my life had virtually stopped?

I don't know for how long the anger lasted, but I do know that it took a toll on who I was as a person and my relationships with those around me. Some days I would force myself to get up and be a semi-functioning human being for the sake of my kids and some days I just barely functioned. It was a mixture of grief, guilt and anger. I could barely talk to people, even those closest to me, because I was seething with anger at them. I did not want to hear and see how they were going to work, enjoying their summer and doing the many mundane, everyday things that make up life, while I was caught up in a weird place where I had to exist but couldn't move from the pain that held me in place. It got to the point where I didn't answer the phone or the doorbell and the only time I left the house was out of necessity. Looking back now, I can't tell you whether this period in time lasted weeks, months or years, but even today, if I think about it, I can come back to a touch of that dark emptiness that filled me during that time. It was suffocating and I remember wondering if I would always feel that way and if I would survive. All these years later....I have those answers. No....I would not always feel that way and yes....I would survive.

At some point, the wound in my heart began to heal a bit and start to scar. As harsh as the old saying, "Life goes on" is, it is true. Those left behind after a loss, have no choice but to fall back into life and eventually start living again. No, that life didn't look much like the life I had previously, but slowly not only was my heart starting to heal a bit, but so was my mind. The anger slowly subsided and I began to be very grateful for those people who even in my darkest moments when I refused to let them in, stood by me. I was blessed to have some people in my life that loved me enough to give me time and not turn their backs on me. I also began to see the positive in the negative. Yes, I had lost Tim, but the blessing was that I had ever had him at all. I began to see that Tim and I had put a lot of love and happiness in our short years together. We had more in our few years than some people have in decades of marriage. He had given me kids who were constant reminders of his heart and soul and each time I looked at them, I saw him. In time I came to realize that Tim had been a gift and our time together had been something special that God reserved for only the two of us. Tim had given me love, a life, children, joy, laughter and strength. In a very real way, while he was alive, Tim gave me what I needed to survive when he died.

After Tim died, I learned that as much as he changed my world and my life with his presence, he also changed so many others. There was a period of time, when out of the blue, I suddenly had people coming to me and telling me what he had done for them at work or in a passing moment in their lives. I learned of people he had encouraged, gone to bat for or helped in some way. I heard stories of how his kindness, strength and humor had changed peoples lives and it validated what I already knew. Tim had not left this world without doing exactly what he was put here to do. I was so grateful in this knowledge.

Once the healing seemed to be fully underway, a new normal had set in. I could go several hours without feeling alone or missing his voice, but grief is a strange thing and it doesn't let go easily. I remember driving one day and a song came on the radio. It was "The Dance," a song that had been a favorite of Tim's and had been played at his burial, and that song tore through me like a grenade. It literally took my breath away and made me have to pull off the road. Tears flooded me and I cried like I hadn't cried since the day he died. I was angry and frustrated that after all this time, I could still be brought to my knees by of all things....a song. Once the tears subsided though, I actually felt better and the healing continued on. This however, was not the last time over the years that I would be brought down out of the blue and I am sure, even at this stage of the game, it can still happen under the right and unexpected circumstances.

I think of all the things that I have gone through in my grieving process, the most startling, sad, beautiful and reassuring gift though, has been my dreams. Over the years, there have been several and when I wake up, I am left feeling beautifully sad. In those dreams, Tim always comes to me and lets me know that he is always with me. His visits to my dreams always come at a time when I am struggling and his presence is comfort and the dream stays with me long after I am awake. I still am blessed to have these from time to time and I have come to see them as a spiritual extension of his life.

Today, all these years, months, weeks, days and minutes later, the grieving process still continues on, but it is not the devastation of those early days. Today, it is a smile when I see a picture or a tear when a memory hits me full on. It is a subtle ache instead of a searing pain and it is an understanding that while the loss was painful, if given the chance, I would do it all again because he was my person. He was my love and he gave me so much and that pain was just a reminder of how much I loved and how lucky I was to have him in my life.

So if I were ever to give someone any advice on grief, I would simply say, don't let anyone tell you how you are "supposed" to do it. Grief and grieving are personal and as I said earlier, not all grief is created equally. It is a process in which there are no real rules and no shortcuts. As Tim used to say, "You are going to feel how you feel, until you don't feel that way anymore." Today I feel grateful. I was blessed that God gave me Tim and I am grateful that I see his light continue on in our kids.

Tim Elam

Sept. 20, 1961 to July 2, 2001

The One....Before the One

It is funny, how sometimes you can hear a song and immediately be taken back to a certain time or place. It is so clear in your memory that you remember every detail, smell every smell and feel every sense. It happened to me just the other day. I rarely have time to think in the present, let alone take a journey back in time, but I guess it was taken out of my hands. In this case, I didn't even hear the song. Someone posted on facebook about another song and the rat maze of my brain immediately thought of the song and I was there.

We all have a first true love. The one. In my case, I had the one, before I married the one. The one...the first one, was the last thing I expected. I had gone to school away from home and I hated it. I felt alone, deserted and I had barely come out of my dorm room for three days. My roommate had decided to have as much sex with as many guys as she could her freshman year and so far, she was doing a stellar job. I was out of my element and definitely way too naive for college life. Just when I was ready to call home and beg my parents to end my suffering, he happened. He and a friend showed up at my door. He was a sophomore and he scared me to death, but with some persistence he managed to pry me from my room. He was different than anyone I had ever met. He was smart and funny and there was something about the way he looked at me that drew me in. It was almost as if he could see inside of me and it made me feel more shy than I had ever felt in my life. 

Once he had pulled me from my room....he and his friend decided to show my roommate and I, the doughnut shop which made their delectable offerings at night and had a back door where you could go and get fresh hot doughnuts. It was the first time I had ever had such a thing and little did I know at the time, it was the start of many firsts in my life. I remember as we got into his car, he motioned for me to sit next to him (bench seats were nice like that). As I hesitantly moved closer, I could have sworn I felt a dart of electricity as he touched my hand. From that second on, the boy and I, the one....were inseparable. In that moment all fear of school, being away from home and the unknown washed away. There has never been another moment in my life like that. 

Our relationship grew quickly, but almost from the beginning it was full of uphill battles. Somehow though, we always seemed to clear the hurdles and grow closer. He showed me places and things that I had never seen before and to this day I am sure that my love of Star Trek is thanks to him. I also can't watch M*A*S*H without thinking of our Monday night ritual of never missing an episode and watching the final episode together in his friends room. 

This boy made me feel like no one had ever made me feel before. He was sweet and romantic. He wrote me poetry and left me notes just to let me know he was thinking of me. Then one day he told me he loved me and in that moment, I realized that I loved him too. When we were apart, life was not the same and I counted the days until I could see his face and feel his arms around me. Time couldn't go by fast enough. Then once together, I never wanted our time to end. He made me laugh and he seemed to understand just who I was. No one had ever really cared enough about me before to find out who I really was and it felt amazing. 

As we grew closer he took me to meet his family. During that trip, most of it was a blur with the exception of two things. One, he asked me to marry him and two we went to a little bar with his brother and the song played and we danced. Of course it was the song that came to mind just the other day and shot me back to all those years ago. I could see him so clearly....his arms around me as we danced. I could smell the smokey air and hear the clink of bottles but mostly....I just felt that feeling of total happiness in that moment. It was one of the few perfect moments I have ever had. 

Of course life doesn't stay perfect. One day it all just ended. I never really was sure why. It came on the tail end of a tragedy in my life and that, with the loss of the boy, was almost more than I could bare. His loss left a hole in my heart for many years. In fact, I don't think I ever truly got over the one.....until I met the one. Until I met my husband, the boy set the standard and all others seem to pale in comparison. No one else seemed as kind, as smart, as funny nor could they even begin to touch my heart the way he did. I went through a lot of painful, sad years and some pretty painful and sad relationships.Then, when I met my husband, it was the first time in years that I didn't think about the boy. There were no more comparisons and my heart no longer belonged to the boy. I was free of the pain and I never looked back. 

One might think that was the end of the story, but thanks to fb....it was not. I am not sure who friend requested who all those years ago. It was likely me requesting him as in my early fb days, I frantically tried to reconnect with everyone I had ever known.....ever. We had both grown up and moved on. Both of us have families and lives that took us far from who we were all those years ago. I had forgiven our ending even though I still had no idea why it happened, but somehow it no longer seemed important. He is married and happy leading the life he was destined for. I once again have a hole in my heart that no one will likely ever be able to fill. So the boy, now the man, and I are once again friends. We share the connection of a time many years ago when the world was a different place, but that is where it ends. Now we talk a couple of times a year checking in on each other and catching up on our respective families, then signing off until the next time. Then the song. 

The memory was clear and brilliant and perfect. It made me smile thinking of that girl and that boy and all the dreams they had that night. It was bitter sweet and maybe even a little painful too, knowing how the world would soon change for them, but in that moment it was all either of them could have ever wanted. Life though, has a way of working out the way it is suppose to and he and I were not meant to be. Today we are nothing more than just a passing memory for each other of another time and another place.....and honestly,  I am good with that. However, for a brief moment in the middle of a horribly screwed up day, it was really nice to take a trip back and remember a time, when I was innocently and completely in love, with the one...... before the one.

Yay It's Monday?!

Today's blog comes with a warning. I have no clue in what direction this is headed or what is going to slosh out from my brain, flow through my fingers and end up on the page. I think it is pretty safe to say that by the end, we are likely to all be surprised!

*Monday's are normally my "like" or "not like" blogs. Today however, I think there maybe a little like, possibly a smidge of love, a whole lot of don't like, some possible wants and maybe even a hate or two. Really though, who the heck knows what I might decide to unload? Again....WARNING!

I know I have expressed vehemently in both the past and the present, how much I really don't care for Monday's. Well, this week....Monday is so unbelievably welcome, as it means this last weekend is over! Now don't get me wrong, it didn't all suck, but the insight and perspective I ended up with after the last 48 hours was literally exhausting. It all started with a friend coming over Friday night. She and I had actually not really talked in several months so we thought WOW....what a great time to catch up. Poor girl. She had no idea what she was in for when she innocently asked, "So....what's been going on?" The last seven months came pouring out and I am very sure by the time she left she was good with waiting to see me another seven months!

My weekend continued on with me spending the better part of Saturday and Sunday, doling out sage advice to 18 year olds. Well, it sounded sage coming out. Who knew 50+ years of life experience would come in so handy and be so disregarded by those barely out of the womb? Don't correct me. Those 18 years went by fast. In my book....that's barely out of the womb! Doling out advice....sage or otherwise....always proves to be time consuming, exhausting and invariably makes my me wish my mother was still around so that I could apologize to her for being a dumbass all those years ago when I too thought I was too smart for sage advice.

On a more positive note, a big part of Davids back yard project was completed on Saturday. We now have a completed pool and deck. We capped the completion of the project off with a tween pool party that I had promised to a young girl who had spent part of her summer helping with the project. We had the pool, the fire pit and we tried the projector out for the first time. There were a couple of bugs and we learned that old pool liner puts off toxic fumes if you try to burn it in the fire pit. All in all though, the party went well.

Yesterday, when I wasn't doling out advice, I was laying on the couch sneezing, hacking, aching and feeling like crap. Not sure whether it was too much advice, too much toxic fire pit or just too much perspective on my life. Whatever the case though, Sunday wasn't one of my better days. I found myself about 3 o'clockish, longing for Monday. That's when I knew that this particular weekend had worn out its welcome and it was definitely time to move on.

So today it's Monday. Here is where all that stuff I warned you about in paragraph two* comes in. Perhaps it is a combination of what came to me this weekend, this summer and quite possibly even as far back as Dec. 31, 2013. Well....here goes nothing......

I hate doing it all alone! I didn't sign on for this.
It is no fun being a half century old and feeling like the only thing you have going for you is advice that no one else appreciates and won't.......until they too are a half century old.
I like having goals. They direct me and sometimes even motivate me.
I hate having goals because when life steps in and my goals become non-existent...I fail. I am not a fan of failing.
I like the show Extreme Weight Loss. I like watching people make goals and keep them.
I really like a new drink I discovered.....Apple Jacks. Jack Daniels and apple juice. Yummy....and no, I am not drinking one as I am typing this.
I don't like that my car tags are due in three days and I can't afford to get them.
I don't like getting tickets because I don't have my car tags.
I like the Disney show Good Luck Charlie. It makes me laugh and sometimes I need a good laugh and I am not above watching the Disney Channel to get it.
I don't like that I will be starting August financially short and overdrawn. As overrated as bill paying is, it is still a requirement to live.
I love that Disney brought back Corey and Topanga for Girl Meets World. Yes, there maybe a Disney theme developing here.
I like time by the pool not thinking.
I like doing dishes by hand and listening to music because once again....there is no thinking.
I don't like bedtime, because that's apparently when I do all of my thinking.
I love my blogs. They keep me sane.
I don't like to always have to be the one to make things "okay" for everyone else. It simply is beyond my skill set.
I hate doing it all alone! 
I want someone to step in and make everything alright for me for once. Is that really asking so much?
I love my family....immediate, extended, blood and framily and there is nothing I wouldn't do for any of them. I just wish some of them felt the same.
I want David to walk and talk and have an amazing life.
I hate that I can't give him more.
I hate being judged as a daughter, sister, mother or person. Walk in my shoes and then we'll talk.
I don't want to be rich, but caught up would be terrific.
I am thankful for all who have been so kind to David over the years. I hope someday to pay it forward.
I hate that my mom is no longer here and that I am without her sage advice. 
I hate having bills and no money.
I hate not having a job.
I hate that no one has discovered my amazing writing skills and hired me on the spot!
I hate that I am not good at more.
I love home grown tomatoes and homemade bread.
I miss my husband.
I miss our house.
I miss our family back then.
I miss sharing it all.
I hate doing it all alone! 
I hate always being the strong one.....when I am anything but strong.
I hate to cry.
I like to laugh.
I like to cook.
I like to read.
I love to dance like nobody's watching.....even if they are.
I love to sing like I can....even though I can't.
I love to hear Z sing. He actually can!
I love to hear David laugh.
I love sitting around the fire with my friends and forgetting about advice, money or the fact that not all those I love are with me.
I love knowing that each time I fall, I get up stronger.
I love that I am smart, determined and that my words can be both gentle and powerful and sometimes both at the same time.
I hate doing it all alone!
I love having the faith to know that there is a plan bigger than mine, better than mine and that things will eventually all work out.....even if I'm doing it....all alone!

So there you have it. Yay.....it's Monday?! And apparently, I am feeling a bit alone!

Happy Mother's Day

Today we remember the person that brought us into this world. Fed us! Clothed us! And the one who took care of and nurtured us. She was our disciplinarian and our biggest cheerleader. She is also the one we spent years telling  "In a minute," "Do I have to?", and  "He/She did it!" She is the one we gave gray hair to, caused to spend many sleepless nights over our health and our bad choices (or maybe that was just my mom), and the one we ran to with our knee scrapes and heart breaks. Yes....today is the day we celebrate MOM!

At my age and in my generation....we are long past the age of thinking our mothers were sadly misinformed about the world and simply had no idea of what they were talking about. We are now fully aware of just how wise she was and what a keen sense of the world she really had. It was us in our faux wisdom that were sadly misinformed and had no clear understanding of what the world was about.

Also at my age....sadly many of my friends have begun to lose their mothers and I know quite well (this will be my 9th Mothers Day without mine) that there isn't a one of us that wouldn't give just about anything to hear our mom's words of wisdom just one more time; to hug them just one more time; or to be able to tell them "I love you," just one more time.

For those of you who still have your mom's....today is the day to forget that she doesn't like your boyfriend, that she tries to tell you how to raise your kids, or that she is spending your inheritance on a cruise around the world. Today is the day however.....to remember that she has always been there for you, that she loves you beyond words, and that she simply is not going to be around forever. So cherish her and never forget that when she is gone....Mothers Day will never be the same.

So to all my family and friends.....I wish you all a very Happy Mother's Day and I leave you with this video my son Z made of his grandmother.....my mother......Mary Jane Dougherty Jacques.

The Story of Ruth

A life well-lived. Can any of us ask for more than that? And yet some just seem to do it better than others. Ruth Poteete was one such person.

I met Ruth many years ago when we moved to Mulvane and she was our mail lady. She always delivered the mail with a smile and in the spring and summer she would often stop and visit with my mother who spent every waking moment in the yard when the weather allowed.

It wasn't until my sophomore year in high school that I connected Ruth to a very pretty, shy girl in my class named Berty. Berty and I had gone to school together for 3 years but not until I practically attacked her in Foods class asking her about her older brother whom every girl in the school had a crush on, that we actually met. I guess my big mouth and her shyness were the perfect match and from that moment on......we were friends.

Berty came from a large family (12 kids to be exact....6 boys and 6 girls) who were headed up by Ray and Ruth Poteete. Ray by this time was retired military working for the post office and between the post office, working on his passion wood working and his other passion running.....he wasn't often around and when he was, he kept to himself. Ruth on the other hand was around. She ran her home with the efficiency that only a military wife with 12 kids can. Her word was law and even though she was small in stature.....she could be a force to be reckoned with. I was privy to a couple of situations where I witnessed the wrath of Ruth and no one doubted that she meant business.

Ruth's home was a welcoming home with a door leading from the garage to the kitchen that was perpetually open. Along with her own 12 kids a steady stream of extended family and friends came and went through that door over the years....and always they were welcomed by Ruth with an ease that was both inviting and comforting. Looking back though....I suspect that after 12 kids....nothing much surprised her nor rocked her world to any extent.

When I first started going to the Poteete's on a regular basis....it was sort of a fantasy land for me. There was constant commotion, laughter, yelling and just plain life going on in that house and most of it taking place in the kitchen. To a girl with one brother who spent a great deal of her time alone.....this was a world I had only dreamed of. My fantasy though was their reality and I am sure they saw their house with different eyes than I did.

I think the thing I liked most about going to the Poteete's was Ruth's reaction to my being there. Her reaction was simply no reaction at all. If I was there.....I was treated like everyone else which meant I might be handed a dish towel and told to dry dishes, or a dust rag and told to go dust something. Often on Sunday's I was put on "Thiry duty," and told to go find Thiry (Berty's younger sister) who would always mysteriously disappear when she was suppose to be helping fry chicken or do dishes. I always found her hiding somewhere trying to sleep. I once even found her in the tub with the shower door shut. Ahhh....good times.

As Thiry got older, she, Berty and I became inseparable. Every Friday and Saturday night (and sometimes Mon.-Friday night too) we were gone. However, Ruth's rule was no one went anywhere on Saturday until the house was clean. This often meant that I was recruited to help in order to speed the process up. Looking back this is rather amusing as my house cleaning skills would never have and I am sure never did pass the careful inspection of Ruth. Even her own daughters were known to have to go back and redo a job more than once on more than one occasion which explained Berty's belief that things were never clean enough for her mom because she obviously had dirt in her eye. Possibly though.....Berty should have expressed this thought when her mother was not within ear shot as I believe her opinion was met with the evil "Poteete look!" If you have seen it....you know the look  I am referring to and Ruth passed that look onto each of her children! Go ahead....tick one off and see what kind of look you get! LOL

Every Sunday the house on Greenwich was alive with people. After Mass everyone gathered for fried chicken and a pot luck of assorted foods in the Poteete kitchen. For years every Sunday I could make it....I was there. My mother would have had a nervous break down having her house full of people, noise and commotion every week, but Ruth took it all in stride. In fact she seemed to thrive on having her family around and she could always be found holding a grandchild and enjoying the company of her children. After dinner when the kitchen was clean and everyone was just sitting around...Ruth would often tell stories of her past growing up in Moline, KS or about adventures she had had in Japan, the Phillipines or many of the other places she and Ray had traveled while he was in the military. My favorite story was of her experience being in the Udal, KS tornado back in the 1950's. The tornado virtually wiped out the whole town and because of the time it hit (night) there was no warning. It was a frightening experience to say the least, but like everything else....Ruth seemed to take it in stride.

Ruth had her onery side too. The Poteete house was always inundated with animals, but they were never allowed in doors. My two favorite animals where Bogart and Dinky. Bogart was weiner dog mix and Dinky was Heinz 57 whose mother was Bogart and whose father could have been any dog. Well one of them (can't remember which one) had puppies. They were so cute but Ruth had no intention of keeping more dogs so they were being given to anyone who would take them. There was one left and she was so cute. She was black and white and I loved anything puppish. Ruth knew it and told me to take the puppy home. I knew taking that dog home was going to ensue the wrath of my mother and I really did not want to go there. I told Ruth I better not, as I fawned over the puppy and then tried to hand her over to Ruth. Ruth was having none of that. She gently handed the puppy back to me and said, "go ahead. Your mother won't mind. Just tell her I said it was okay." Now I knew my mother and I knew it would NOT be okay. But I wanted that puppy so I decided to sneak her home and Ruth being the "generous" lady she was even provided me the box to sneak her home in and food to tide me over until I had found a way to break our new little addition to Mom.

As I knew would happen.....my mother about busted a kidney when she found out that I smuggled contraband in the form of a puppy into her house. As I stood there watching the vein in my mothers forehead throb as she was telling me not just NO....but HELL NO.....I burst out...."but Mom....Mrs. Poteete said it was okay." Normally telling my mother that someone elses mother had okayed something, thus trying to trump her would have been hazardous to everyone's health involved. But not this time. Mom picked up the puppy, looked it over and said...."She is pretty cute. Fine....we'll keep her." It was a WOW moment.

One of the reasons I liked Ruth so much was because she seemed so different from my own mother. As kids often do when they are less than pleased with their own parents....they compare them to other parents. When I was mad at my mother....I am sure Ruth was thrown in her face on more than one occasion. I always saw them as polar opposites until one evening. I am not sure whether Ruth was looking for a child, picking up a child, or just needed a break and for whatever reason ended up at my house. I know though that it was an unusual occurrence as to my knowledge other than their chats when Ruth was a mail lady and a few necessary chats regarding Berty and I....they had never really talked. Mom invited her in and they sat down in the kitchen and began a conversation that lasted at least a couple of hours. I perched myself on the stairs where I could hear but not be seen and listened as these two women whom had seemed so very different to me, suddenly became more and more alike. Both were brought up small town Catholic girls but that is where I thought the similarities ended. The reality was Mom was a single parent and Ruth often felt like one. Both had to put up with a great deal from the men in their lives and both were suffering through their childrens teen angst. Both also hand younger children at home whom they were trying to sheild from the older ones shenanigans. The way they talked you could tell that in many ways.....they were kindred spirits. Amazingly....Ruth had many nice things to say about me to my mother and she let her know that she was glad that Berty and I had found each other as she felt my "personality" had helped to draw Berty out. Mom of course felt that Berty had a settling effect on me and was so happy that I had a friend such as her. It was a surreal moment....these two so very different seeming women.....suddenly showing themselves to be very much alike. It was also surreal because a moment like that never again happened for these two. They ran into each other from time to time and again had a few obligatory phone conversations....but never again did such a conversation take place between them. Also...never again did I compare the two or throw Ruth in mom's face.

As the years went on.....I was invited into not only Ruth's home but also Ruth's family. She seemed to know that her family filled a void in my life and she told me on more than one occasion that I was around so much....she had decided to make me on honorary Poteete. It was an honor. I was even invited to a Christmas or two....which again was different than the Christmas's I had grown up with. With 12 kids you would go into the poor house trying to buy for everyone so Ruth stuck to the true meaning of Christmas raising her brood and taught them that it was about the giving NOT the receiving. Christmas at Ruth's was celebrated after midnight mass on Christmas Eve. Everyone came back to the house where of course....there was food galore and then gifts were open. Ruth's gift to everyone was always.....socks. When I got my first pair of socks.....I almost cried. It truly meant I was part of the family (in my head anyway....lol) The kids, who had drawn names the previous Christmas Eve....then presented each other with gifts that they had hand made. I remember a Christmas or two both Berty and Thiry panicking because come Dec. 23rd they had not as yet completed their gifts. It was a beautiful tradition which left a lasting impression on the character of Ruth's  children.

When the last of their children were out of high school, Ray and Ruth decided to leave that wonderful house on Greenwich and move to rural spot in eastern KS, then eventually they moved to Emporia and then Topeka. I missed the Sunday dinners and seeing a house full of Poteete's on a regular basis. But whether I had a wedding, a baby shower, a baby or any other major event in my life....Ruth always seemed to find a way to be present for it. Every Christmas....hers was the card I looked forward to getting and every special Poteete occasion that I could make it to.....I so looked forward to seeing her. She always seemed to be laughing and enjoying this new found stage in her life. I will always picture her with her beautiful white hair, her wonderful laugh and her glasses hanging from a chain around her neck. And her famous words to everything...."oh my!" 

When my husband died....she was there at the funeral. Ruth had never really been a verbally demonstrative person. Her feelings for others were always conveyed through her actions. I remember very little about that day. I remember it was hot, Thiry was pregnant and Berty, Dan (Berty's husband) and all their girls were there. Other than that....I remember little else....except for Ruth. She came up to me with tears in her eyes and hugged me. She said, "Lisa....I wish this hadn't happened to you. I am so sorry. I love you." Those words touched me more than anyone will ever know and like many other things about Ruth....will hold a special place in  my heart.

Later, when my own mother died....Ruth again touched me with her words. She let me know that she was always there for me.....that I was her honorary daughter and that if I ever needed her.....she was only a phone call away. I never dialed that number....but it was always a comfort to know that if I had ....the voice on the other end would have been one of love and compassion. It would have been Ruth.

When I heard Ruth had been diagnosed with Parkinson's I truly was not worried. Maybe it was my lack of knowledge about the disease....or maybe it was just how well I knew Ruth, but I felt Ruth was stronger than any disease. With the proper medical care....I figured this was merely a speed bump in the life of such a strong woman.

I was thrilled beyond words when I heard that Ray and Ruth were moving back to Mulvane. I envisioned getting to spend some good old fashioned Poeete time again with this amazing family. I had hopes of Sunday dinners with lots of noise and chaos and heck.....I might even go help clean on a Saturday for old time sake. The move however coincided with Ruth having med issues and her Parkinson's giving her a run for her money. I was having a garage sale and Ruth had some stuff she wanted me to sell. As I sat there in my garage...I saw an elderly woman pull up and get out of her car. She literally was shuffling very slowly to get across the street. Not until she was half way up my drive did I realize this was Ruth. She sat and talked for awhile and told me her meds were giving her fits. She let me know in no uncertain terms though.....this was merely a set back and as soon as her meds were adjusted, she would be back to her old self. She was right. A few weeks later I rode my bike by her house to find her walking in the yard picking up sticks and much more her old self. I began to make that a regular bike/walk route and would stop and visit anytime she was out.

In April of 2010 it was discovered that Ruth needed a heart valve replacement and a valve repair. She had been tired and not feeling well and her heart valves appeared to be the culprit. It was felt that after the surgery....she would feel tremendously better. This was not to be the case. After her surgery it was one health issue after another. She had trouble with her Parkinson's, she was dizzy, she felt awful and old health issues became present health issues. She was either in the hospital or a rehab most of the time.....being able to spend only a short time at home.

When she was in the hospital she was at the same hospital where my youngest had weekly physical therapy. So on therapy days I would sneak off and go visit Ruth. Several times she was obviously feeling too bad to have company....so I would go in, squeeze her hand, kiss her forehead and leave. She always managed a smile and a "thank you for coming by." One time though, when she was in the ICU.....I caught her on a good day. As I walked in a nurse was with her. Ruth seemed truly happy to see me and introduced me as her "honorary daughter." The nurse then laughed....."with all the daughters you already have....you need an honorary one too?" I laughed too as I had always kind of felt the same way. Ruth however did not laugh. She simply said...."yes!" We proceeded to visit about Berty, Thiry, her grandkids, my kids, Ray, the hospital staff and jello. Every time I would start to leave she would squeeze my hand a little tighter. Finally when I knew my son would be just about done with PT.....I told Ruth I had to leave. She smiled and said..."I know." She then grabbed my hand and said..."I love you Lisa!" Tears rose in both our eyes. They drift down my cheek now as I write this, for what I didn't know then was that was the last conversation we would have....and those were her last words to me.

Ruth continued her trips in and out of the hospital over the next few months. Her body was getting tired and complications from her health issues were taking their toll. On Thanksgiving morning I talked to Berty who told me that the drs. had told them she was not going to get better. Thanksgiving evening Thiry called crying. That is a sound I have only heard a couple of times in 30+ years. Ruth was gone! The reality was processing. I left for the hospital to say goodbye. The whole trip up their I had thoughts of Sunday dinners, Christmas socks and a smiling Ruth with her glasses hanging from her neck. I also had the same sinking broken hearted feeling I had had nearly 8 years before as I drove this same route to the same hospital to say goodbye to my own mother. I also worried that maybe my need to say goodbye to this woman and my presence at such a time might be viewed as intrusive to the family. I hoped though that maybe my being their might offer some kind of solace in all of this sorrow. My fears were alieved when I walked in and Thiry grabbed my hand and said "Thank you for coming," and Berty hugged me with both relief and the understanding that only three decades of friendship can bring. I have no doubt that Ruth had designed it that I could not only come to say goodbye to my surragate mother but also so that I would be there with the two women who meant more to me than anyone else in the world.

At Ruths funeral....Father said: "She survived a Tsunami, a prairie grass fire, a devastating tornado, and an large earthquake." I think I knew all of this but wasn't sure. I did know however that she was a small town girl who married a man who became military. While he served, she was at home raising 12 kids. She had little patience for whining and even though she was small in stature she could put the fear of God in you (i.e. the Poteete look). She loved plants and birds and the outdoors, She laughed often, loved with all her heart and lived her life to the fullest. Yes.....Ruth's life was a life well spent. So Ruth, I thank you for making me one of your own. I thank you for the Sunday dinners, the explorations of your house to find Thiry, the puppy, the Christmas cards, the socks, and most of all...for giving me the two very best friends a person could have. I know you are in heaven sitting at the kitchen table discussing us girls with my mom. Please be kind! lol I love you beyond words and miss you dearly. So dear Ruth until we meet again....R.I.P.