Like rogue weeds they grow
hardening with time
deepening with each memory
turning what was beautiful
into a ghost of itself
Scars on the heart
imprints of pain and loss
never erasable
but love can heal and cover
and soften the wounds
a gentle touch
can bring new life
the scars will fade
and the beautiful heart
will beat fully again
Every year at Christmas, I tend to go into a very reflective mood. Sometimes, when I am alone, I’ll sit and stare at the Christmas tree. In it, I see the past, but it also marks the end of a year, and signals the coming future. There are ornaments and decorations from years of past Christmases. There are old ones that the kids made when they were small. There are some given to me by friends and family. There are some that are store bought and end up on the tree every year. And then there are some that have a special significance. There are five little crystal angels that hang on my tree every year. These angels represent my children that we conceived but who never made it into this world. They are in heaven…they are angels. I believe that with all my heart. I believe life begins at conception, and although I do not know the answer as to why they had to slip away, I do believe we will meet someday in heaven. Each year, as I prepare to place the angels on my tree, I kiss each one, say a little prayer, for even though I never met them, I love them.
Sitting in a room with only the lights of the tree on, I recall the events of the past year and wonder what is to come in the new year. I tend to flash forward sometimes and wonder what my life will be like in another year when I next look upon the tree. I wonder what the world will be like in a year’s time. Perhaps most people wait until New Year’s to do all this reflecting. For me, it just takes a little time with the tree.
My thoughts take me back to the summer of my 14th year. In my mind’s eye, I see a summer day, probably a Saturday, and my 14-year-old self was bounding up the stairs to my bedroom. I most likely had plans to go listen to some records, and perhaps sing along to them using my hairbrush as my microphone. I probably felt carefree, even though I can’t recall my specific mood. But an image from that day is forever burned into my memory. As I neared the top of the stairs, I saw my daddy sitting on a high stool in front of the bathroom mirror. His face was lathered with shaving cream, and he was slowly and carefully removing his whiskers. He heard me coming, and turned to look at me. I don’t remember him saying anything, or even if he smiled. I don’t remember saying anything either. I just remember thinking it odd that he was sitting down to shave. I can’t recall if this happened before or after we were told that he had cancer, but I do remember the sadness in his beautiful brown eyes.
A 14-year-old girl doesn’t think to hold onto moments like that, to treasure them. I’m sure I let it pass without much thought. But now, years later, I wish I could go back to those moments when my daddy was still here with me. Now, in my more mature thoughts, I wonder what he had been thinking as he sat in front of that mirror shaving. Now I realize that he was sitting because he didn’t have the strength to stand for that long. I wonder if he realized, as he stared back at his reflection, that time was running short. I wonder if he felt fear or anger or regret. I wonder what went through his mind when his eyes met mine. I wish I could have that moment back. I wish that I had paused, and gone to my daddy and hugged him, even if it meant getting shaving cream all over me.
I know that the naivete’ of a child is sometimes a blessing, and that my teenage self had not absorbed the seriousness of his illness. I’m sure that was good for me then, but now, looking back, it makes me wonder if I missed out on some special moments that I can never get back. I know that he and mama tried to protect us, to shield us by not letting us see how sick he really was. In my memory, he was happy and healthy one week, and the next he was in the hospital, and then all of a sudden he was gone. Time makes no sense in my memory. Maybe that too is a blessing.
I can’t help but wish that I’d known that time with him was so short. I would have said things and told him things that I never got to say. I never got to say goodbye to my daddy. All I have are memories of a man I adored. Through all the milestones and markers of my life, I have wished he was there to share them with me. He was not there to intimidate my dates. He was not there to walk me down the aisle. He was not there when my children were born. But the legacy of his love, and the memory of his soft brown eyes give me comfort. I know he sees me, and I know that now he smiles.
Remember when you were a kid in gym class, and they let you jump on a trampoline? You always had “spotters”, people who held their hands up and were there at the ready to catch you if you started to fall. Weight lifters have spotters too. If the load gets too heavy, the spotter is there to lift it off of you and place it back in it’s proper place. Funny how these roles carry over into real life. I’m a spotter. I’m always the one who’s there behind you, with my hand upon the small of your back, waiting to help you steady yourself if you start to fall. Lately, I can’t help but wonder how come the folks who are always in the front aren’t very willing to switch positions and be the spotter for a while. We all need a spotter now and then, don’t we? What happens to us spotters when there’s no one willing to stand behind us and become the support? The answer…we fall. And most times we fall alone. Not only do we fall alone, but we hide the fact that we’ve fallen. We are the perennial “I’m fine” people.
Spotters put on their happy face and never let on that they’re slipping. Life gets heavy sometimes…for all of us. Spotters are pleasers. They don’t want to let anyone down. They take their support role very seriously, at the expense of their own strength. We crumble in private. The weight of holding everybody else up gets heavy, but we don’t give up. We’ll stand behind you, come hell or high water. We’ll take every “no”, every “I can’t make the time for you”, every disappointment, and we’ll place it on our own backs and carry it ourselves. It’s in our nature, and something we realize, but can’t help. I always think to myself that I would still much rather be a spottER than a spottEE.
I guess my point is this. To all of the spottEES out there…take time once in a while to look behind you. More times than not, there is someone there who always holds you up, always encourages you, always listens, always has time for you…always has their hand on the small of your back. Maybe once you realize they are there, you’d be willing to switch positions once in a while. Be grateful for your spotters.
Her name was Mary. Mary and her husband have been friends of the family for the past 30 or so years. Mary has always had a sweet spirit and a beaming smile. She dedicated her life, personally and professionally, to helping others. The love of the Lord shone through her eyes.
For the last several years, Mary has been battling cancer. It always bewilders me that this insidious disease strikes the most lovely of people. I tell myself that maybe it is because they can handle it with such grace that their lives become an inspiration to others as to how to live victoriously, regardless of the possible outcome.
Mary was such an inspiration. She passed away a few days ago at a relatively young age, and flew home to receive eternal love and reward. Family, friends, and acquaintances gathered together at the funeral home last night to reflect on and celebrate the life of a woman who touched us all in some way. There was a large crowd…a true testament to her contributions in this life. As I patiently waited in a very long, slow line moving towards where Mary lay, I became very reflective in my thoughts on life and how we live it, and the impact we make on others. I managed to maintain composure as I embraced her family and offered my condolences. But still, the thoughts raced through my mind. Except for these times when we must come face to face with the reality of death, how often do we think of the legacy we will leave behind when it is our time to go? While none of us want to think in a morbid way, or process thoughts of our own mortality and death, it still crosses the border into our minds at some point in life. I have lost loved ones and friends, and even though they are no longer here with us, their memory still lives vividly in my mind and heart. No matter who it is, and no matter what kind of life they have lived, somebody somewhere will always remember that person. The question is–how will YOU be remembered?
That thought was my companion all through the night last night. I wondered – when the time comes that I am lying in my casket, what thoughts and memories of me will be in the minds of those people I leave behind? The answer lies in the way we conduct ourselves while we are here. If we treat others as we should, and as we would like to be treated, we can believe that, in some way, our lives will positively affect those around us. If we show love, respect, compassion, and kindness, that is what the legacy of our lives will be as those we’ve known reflect on us. While I’ve always tried to be a kind-hearted, pleasant person, Mary has inspired me to be even better — to be the best me I can be. I will make extra efforts to speak more kindly, forgive more easily, and try to smile through it all. I want that to be my legacy.
Not to sound morbid here, but I’ve been thinking about death for the past week or so. Before you get concerned, it’s only because my daughter-in-law lost a family member recently, and watching them experience the grief process brought back some memories for me. I realized that the world really only allows us four days to accept, grieve, and recuperate from the loss of a loved one. Think about it. A loved one passes away…day one. If it is unexpected, you spend that day trying to wrap your brain around the fact that your loved one is no longer with us. That’s hard to do. It is not normal for that person not to be there, visible, and part of your life. A pain sears through your heart, and you try to console others around you as well as dealing with your own emotions.
Day two…you have to now plan services for your loved one. You want it to be special, to be something that pays tribute to their life and their loves and likes and something that signifies the type of person they were. You have to pick a casket, flowers, music, literature, resting place, a place for services to be held, announcements. You will have to deal with insurance and wills and all sorts of legal obligations. All of this is thrust upon you while you are in the throes of despair. Having a clear head to take on these duties is a true feat.
Day three…visitation day. You’ve chosen the arrangements, made the announcements, and now it’s time to allow visitors to pay their respects. You’re tired, emotional, drained, sad…and yet you have to greet people and try to connect emotionally with all of their stories. You have to answer inevitable questions surrounding the passing of your loved one, and not just melt into a puddle of tears.
Day four…funeral day. Today you have to say your final goodbye to your loved one. You will visit with them, sit with them, gaze upon them one last time. You know you will never see that person in this life again. You soak in as much as you can as you look upon the sleeping face of the person you love. You know they are in a much better place, but it is the hardest thing you’ve ever done. It’s almost more than you can bear to watch them close the lid of that casket for the final time. You are a zombie throughout the service. You remember words here and there, a bit of a song, something sweet someone said. But it is all in a haze. You can’t imagine you are there, doing this. But it has become reality, and somehow you’ve got to carry on. You feel as if no one could possibly understand your pain. Somehow you get through the funeral and procession to the grave. Final farewell.
Day five. It’s all over. Everyone has gone back to their lives and routines, and you are expected to do the same. The world still turns, the clock still ticks, and nothing is different to anyone but you. I can remember my first day back at school after my father passed away. I was 14 years old, in the 9th grade in high school. I went back to school and felt utterly alone. Looking around at my classmates seated in each room with me, I knew that I was the only person who no longer had a dad at home. I knew that I would never experience the things that they would with their fathers. Mine would never be waiting up for me while I was out with a boy. Mine would never walk me down the aisle. Mine would never see my children. Mine would never know what I made of my life. I’ve missed so much not having my dad here with me. I console myself with the belief that he can see from where he is, and watches over us. I believe I will see him again, not in this life, but the next. I believe there will be a great family reunion in Heaven. So, even though the world grants us four days, I have held my father in my heart all throughout my life. I do not visit my father’s gravesite very often. I do not believe he is there. He is closer to me when I’m just sitting in my living room than he is at that piece of ground. I can look up at his picture on my wall, see the smile on his face as he sat beside my mother, and know that he smiles still as he looks down on his family. I miss him terribly, but I do believe he is in such a joyful place, and has none of the trials and tribulations of this world any longer. We just have to keep that in mind as we go through those four days…
What if tomorrow
what you didn’t say
becomes lost forever
as pride caused you delay
What if tomorrow
opportunity has passed
and a life of regret
is all that will last
What if tomorrow
you wake up to find
many hurts would have healed
if you’d only been kind
What if tomorrow
that friend you’ve neglected
grows tired of the heartache
of feeling rejected
What if tomorrow
blessings taken for granted
start to wither and die
in the soil where you’ve planted
What if tomorrow
you try this instead
to live by those words
that are written in red
What if tomorrow
the ones you hold dear
see the change in your heart
as the truth becomes clear
What if tomorrow
it’s not all about you
and reaching out to others
becomes just what you do
What if tomorrow
you see the sands falling
and suddenly realize
there’s no time for stalling
What if tomorrow…
So we went to Olive Garden last weekend…my son, his lady friend, and me. Olive Garden is hands down my favorite place to eat. I love everything about it…from the atmosphere, to the smell of Italian food, to the little chocolate mint at the end of your meal. It was crazy busy, and we ended up having to wait about 45 minutes to be seated. People were standing everywhere. As we took our place along a wall, waiting with buzzer in hand to be summoned for dinner, in came a large group of people consisting of about 6 adults and 8-10 kids. Small kids. Noisy kids. Well, since I do work in a pediatric office, I am pretty well used to the sounds of children all day. That part didn’t bother me so much. The adults corraled them into a circle and had them sit on the floor indian style, directly in front of where we were standing. Once seated, every one of those little children pulled out a “DS” or whatever the heck you call those little video game things, and started playing video games. Maybe it shouldn’t have bothered me. Maybe I should have been thankful that they were entertained. Maybe it’s just a sign of the times. But, alas, it bothered me down to my core. I think of it as a “sigh” of the times. Things that I continue to see that just make me sigh with disbelief. You see, it takes me back to when I was a youngster. When my parents took me to a restaurant, to church, to the store…anywhere…I was expected to behave and act like I had some home training. And if I didn’t, there would be consequences. Excuse me for getting up on my soapbox here, but since I am around children everyday, it worries me for the future. I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again. Everything nowadays has to be instant. Instant entertainment, instant messages, instant pictures, instant gratification. We don’t even have to speak to other humans anymore because we can send them a written message in an instant. But, notice the lack of communication and social skills that these children of today are suffering from. I’m not saying technology is a bad thing. I’m just saying that we as a human race are going to evolve into mindless, unthinking droids because we don’t have to think for ourselves anymore. We don’t have to entertain ourselves. We don’t have to interact. We don’t have to socialize in person. We can rack up tons of friends on the computer and never have to have a personal relationship with any of them. We can sit with a device in our hand and access the world, but at what price? So call me old-fashioned if you want to. But as long as I breathe, I will still want to read an actual book (not one on a “Kindle”), I will want to spend time with my friends (in person!), I will want to talk to those I love and care about (with my voice!), and I still expect children to behave in public! Is this too much to ask in these times?
I had a very special day with my mom today. I was at her house for my usual Sunday visit, and it turned out that it was just the two of us as my brothers had other plans. After we finished lunch, we were sitting at the dining room table, just chit-chatting as mothers and daughters do, and I asked her if she had anything with my Daddy’s signature on it. I asked her this because I have nothing whatsoever with his writing on it, and have always wished to have something like that. My Daddy passed away 33 years ago, when I was 14 years old. I have always felt like there was so much that I never got to know about him. Well, this question that I posed to my mother today paid off big time. She sat there for a moment, thinking if there was anything she could give me with his signature on it, and couldn’t think of anything. Then, she said “Well, I do have some old love letters he wrote me before we married.” My eyes popped wide open, and the obvious question flew out of my mouth…”Why have you never showed them to me??” She replied that she didn’t think I’d be interested. WHAT?? I said, “well, let’s go find them right now!” So we went to her bedroom, and in the bottom drawer of her dresser, she pulled out a small stack of old, yellowed, worn love letters. I was amazed at how good my Dad’s handwriting was! I felt like I was holding a treasure.
We went back to the dining table, and I opened each one carefully and began to read. I always wondered where I got my so-called writing ability from, and from reading his words, he was a very good writer. I smiled so big I could hardly contain myself. His loving words to my mother, before they ever married, just melted my heart. The first letter I read was dated Dec. 8, 1948, the year before they wed. It was all I could do not to cry, but I knew if I started, she would too. 
It was a side of my father that I never knew. He spoke of missing her and wishing to be with her again, and even made a little joke at the bottom of the first page. I asked her to please let me borrow them to copy, with the promise that I would return them to her safely. She finally agreed to let me take them. I could tell she was worried about losing sight of them. She said they were all she had left, and that she takes them out from time to time just to read his words. I told her I knew they meant the world to her and I would protect them. So, I have them with me to copy, and I will now have words written by my father to my mother, and it is the most special thing I have received in a very long time. She told me that no other man could ever hold a candle to him, and that is why she had never dated or remarried after he passed away. She was a relatively young widow, at age 50, and she could have found a new love, but nothing could measure up in her eyes. That’s real love. I’m proud to call Anna and James my parents. 
