Finding the Good

 Last week was full of wonderful things. I read a great book. I worked the election with great friends and sang off-key karaoke in a Waffle House afterward out of exhaustion. I had a wonderful manicure, I ate good food, and I played cards with friends and laughed a lot. I rounded out the week by helping with a Christmas project to benefit deployed military. It was truly a great week. Finding the positive was really easy last week.

Then, late Sunday night, my son called. He was obviously upset and my mom heart dropped. His brother had been killed in a senseless act of violence. My son and Hunter shared a dad. Taylor was 7 years old when Hunter was born and though they lived in separate houses, they grew up together. They shared stories, memories, and when you saw them standing together, it was obvious they were brothers. Although it was late, Taylor started the 6 hour drive home to be with his dad and extended family. My heart broke for Hunter's mom, dad, brothers, grandparents, uncles, aunts, and friends. This was going to be a truly horrible week.

The week got worse. My mom called Tuesday morning, sobbing and yelling into the phone. She had fallen in the yard and could not get up. I hustled my students to a nearby teacher's classroom and rushed to her house. Her hip was broken and an ambulance rushed her to the ER.

A hospital stay and surgery during the time of Covid. A funeral for a 20 year old with a big smile. How can there be anything positive in this horrible week of pain? There was. There always is.

Like most 20 year olds, Hunter did not have life insurance. However, in less than a week, friends, family, and complete strangers donated over $11,000 to pay for his funeral expenses. That is a huge blessing to this family. There is enough pain without having the added stress of trying to figure out how they will cover funeral expenses. If you gave, THANK YOU! If you didn't, it's okay. Please pray for the family. The funeral was not the end of their pain. The donations are a huge positive.

Yesterday, despite Covid, the church was packed. Mourners sat every other row. Many wore blue flannel to honor Hunter. The salvation message was preached and many present raised their hands when the preacher asked for those who had prayed the sinner's prayer of salvation to raise their hands. HUGE positive!

Hunter's mom sobbed through the service. My hearts broke for her and still does. During the service, his dad got up and walked across the sanctuary to where she sat to comfort her. Theirs was not a gentle parting of ways. Both are angry. Both are hurt. When he walked to her, he was showing that love overcomes all the hate. He was comforting the mother of his children. I was proud of him. Positive!

Will has had challenges over the last few years. I have avoided him. It is hard to see the man you loved not be who he should be. But this week, I saw the guy I knew long ago. He was there standing strong, mourning but standing strong. Positive!

I sat with a pew of Marines during the funeral. All decked out in their dress blues. They were there to show Taylor support. One and his wife had cooked Taylor dinner the night before. Two had spent hours in the garage letting Taylor vent and cry and vent some more late into the night. They exemplified that the military is a brotherhood. They have each other's backs always. Positive!

When I called my principal to tell him that my mom had fallen and that I needed to get to my mom. He didn't scold me for not putting students first or tell me I needed to complete paperwork. He asked what the address was. He was heading to help me help my mom. I LOVE that! I don't think I will ever be able to explain what that meant in that moment, but I was overwhelmed. His first thought was to come help. POSITIVE!

My mom's hip replacement surgery went well.  She was surrounded by prayers. Co-workers and friends reached out daily to ask what they could do to help us. Positive.

Don't get me wrong. It's been a horrible, terrible, gut wrenching week.  However, I just wanted to say that in all the pain and stress of everything, positive things happened. I believe life is normally like that. There are pockets of joy and love and hope mixed in with the bad. We just have to take a moment to appreciate that they are there. Those pockets are what makes it possible to survive all the rest.

Please overlook the rambling and lack of wit in this post. It's been a week. Thanks for being part of the good in my life and the world.

Happily NOT Medicated...

I started crying during my family's gift exchange. When my family opens their presents on Christmas Eve, it is a bit of a free for all.  My sister and I hand out gifts to everyone and they open them immediately.  I sometimes envy those families on telelvision where each person opens a gift, everyone ohs and ahs over it, the person says thank you to the giver, and they move on to let someone else open their special present. Our way is more fun though.  Everyone still says thank you.  The drawback is that no one ever knows what anyone received, except for what they gave.  The only gifts I am aware of from this year are chairs my sister-in-law made for my sister and great-nephew.  She's really talented and I wish she had drawn my name which brings back to me crying.

My niece drew my name for the gift exchange this year.  She's my niece but she really fills the role of my little sister having came home from the hospital on my 16th birthday.  (I had my very own version of 16 Candles because of it ~ but that's a different story....) She was 9 when Taylor was born and she became Taylor's surrogate big sister then.  In other words, we are close. For Christmas, she gave me a orange-and-white polka dotted storage tote with stationary in it to write Taylor while he's in basic training and a picture frame shaped like a flag with a smiling man in fatigues holiding his young child. My eyes began to water.  I put it down and handed out some more gifts.  Nope...  I am not one of those people who can cry without my face registering it.  My nose become red, my skin blotches. I am an ugly cryer. When people started asking if I was okay, I went outside and really cried. My mom in typical mom fashion said...  You are going to need to get stronger.

This is the last Christmas before Taylor enters the military.  We don't know yet where he'll be next year.  I doubt he'll be home and I hope he is stationed somewhere I can visit. I thought of all that instantly when I looked at the picture frame and yes, I cried. I love Christmas.  It will never be the same. Different doesn't necessarily have to be bad though. I just need to process the changes.

My family wants to me to go to the doctor and request medication before Taylor leaves in early February. I don't want to do that.  I want to rely on prayer and the people around me and yes, Moma, my own inner strength. I know Taylor is doing what God has called him to do.  His enlistment into the Marines is a good thing. So, I am going to remain happily drug-free and non-medicated.  Pray for us.

You Know The Places Where Your Memory Lives..

If I were to ask you what your alma mater looks like, you could tell me. You might now choose the obvious details that outsiders would choose; you are not an outsider.  You know the inside scoop, the hidden places.  The spots that make the school.

 I wanted to include a photo in each graduation announcement that Taylor sent out to his friends and family.  This is an area called the cave.. it is a back walkway between buildings at his school. I never knew this existed, but then again, I didn't attend school here.. I think the picture captured an artsy feel but it's not the picture I chose to include because you cannot see Taylor face.

 This is one of a group of large rocks at the bottom of the parking lot. Again, I never knew these existed as an outsider to his school.  It was our first stop.  This is Taylor's school... he knew where to go for cool shots.  This is great and feels very much like Taylor, but I didn't choose it either because you can't see his face well.

This is in front of Taylor's school.  It's the pickup area.  This I knew.  I've walked through these doors for school programs, meetings, to sign him out.  You can see his face.  I did include this in the announcement along with several other shots.  I finally decided that one picture wasn't enough.

Think about your house, your church, or your school.. Where are the special places that memories live that an outsider wouldn't know about?

Wonder Why Disney Killed All The Mothers?

There are no mothers in the Disney classics.  Go ahead.. run through the movies in your head..  I'll wait here.  Yes, Bambi had a mother, but she was killed.  She was the one and only death of a positive figure in a Disney movie until Mufassa died in The Lion King. Have you sifted through them all and realized that there are no mothers?

I wonder if Walt Disney's childhood was scarred by a horrible mother or if he knew that none of the perils that the princesses would be forced to endure would happen if a mother was around? My guess is the second one. The stories would not have worked.  Bambi's mother protected him, so she had to go to progress the story. Cinderella would have never have been forced to work more than to do her fair share of chores; Snow White's mother would have been thrilled that her daughter was the fairest of them all. Ariel's mom would have figured out a way for her to be a girl for a while without losing her voice; Belle's mother would have made her husband a famous inventor so Belle wouldn't have been lost in the woods and taken to the Beast's castle. Moms celebrate their children, love their children, protect their children..  The stories that Disney made his millions from telling simply would not work if a mother was present. A mother's love changes everything.

Happy Mother's Day to all the moms reading!  May you live happily ever after.

It's Not How Many That Matters...

When I entered the chapel today, walking a few steps behind my mom and dad in the traditional family march of mourning following my aunt's casket, I looked around and was saddened by the small number of mourners present.  My aunt had been retired for a number of years; she had been mostly confined to her home the last few years due to health concerns and family issues.  There were not large numbers of people from a church congregation or from work relationships or from volunteer agencies. Most of the people there had came to lend support for one of the family members. My aunt had lived a small, quiet life the last few years of her life; she was going to have a small quiet burial. It seemed so wrong.

My aunt had a miscarriage - twin girls - when my mom was pregnant with me.  She always said that this was why I looked so much like her. I always argued that I did not resemble her.  I wanted to look like my small, elegant mother.  I refused to say that I shared any traits with this loud woman who laughed all the time and pinched my cheeks.  If you thought that older relatives who pinched little children's cheeks were simply figments of a screenwriter's imagination for television, you were wrong - my aunt, Martha, pinched my cheeks over and over when I was little.  She was beautiful too, of course; her beauty came from her laughter and her heart and those startling blue eyes of hers. Now, of course, I want to share those traits. My aunt loved to cook.  She loved sweets especially and when I was younger I loved for her to make banana split cake.  It makes me smile thinking of it now. The cake was delicious. She cried easily and went to pieces as my mom would say whenever there was a stressful situation. In a family where strong women are valued, this is not a great trait.  I cry easily too, but then I get over it.  I like to think Martha did too. I have wonderful memories of her. I wanted the chapel to be overflowing with others who would testify to her wonderfulness.

There was a song, and then the preacher began to speak.  It was a typical funeral message until he started reading things the grandchildren had told him about their grandmother. How she loved to laugh, how she would do anything for anyone, how she was an amazing cook, how you could not come visit without being fed. My eyes overflowed with tears. To these five grandchildren, five great-grandchildren and her two sons who were audibly weeping throughout the service, Martha meant everything.  They knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was a great woman, that their lives had been shaped by the bounty of her love. She didn't need an entire chapel full of people.  The family that she cherished was there. The number of mourners doesn't matter; the amount of love that you share on this earth does. Make sure that the people you love know it!  Call them right now for no other reason than to talk to them.  They'll be gone quicker than you think....

Love You Like A Sister.... Well, Maybe Not...

My mom's sister died last night.  My mother was in the room along with my aunt's youngest son when she passed. I had visited a few hours prior to check on my mom and say goodbye to my favorite aunt.  As I watched my strong beautiful mother gently brush back the hair from her sister's face, I was reminded of how I always used to sign the notes I wrote to my friends in junior high with LYLAS (love you like a sister).  The closing was meant to convey how close the friendship was, but .... is there anyone that shares the bond that sisters do?

I am the youngest of four; my sister is the oldest.  Personality theorists would say that birth order is what defines our relationship.  They would be wrong. My sister was my first role model.  I wanted to be exactly like her. Lynn was beautiful and cool and amazing.  To her, I was a brat.  Because there were two boys and two girls in my family, we had to share a room.  She became a teenager when I was 6.  She would lock me out of the room and only allow me in to sleep. The movies would have portrayed that I resented this; I didn't. It made me imagine all sorts of adventures that she must be planning on the other side of the door. I read her magazines; I read her books.  I wanted to be the cool teenager that she was; she ignored me.  As the youngest child, I spoke baby talk when I started school.  Lynn promptly told all her friends I was mentally challenged. No one ridiculed me because there was a rule against mocking a disabled child.  She also told them that I was adopted.... At night though, in the darkness, she would talk quietly to me.  She would ask me about my day.  She would let me creep into her bed to sleep when the scary movie she had  finally let me watch proved to be too scary for my little six year old mind. I knew she loved me.

Lynn married her high school sweetheart when I was 12. I sobbed throughout the entire ceremony.  Not graceful tears that leaked from my eyes... Big gulping sobs.  My sister was leaving me. She didn't though.  Lynn would pick me up for sleepovers, send me encouragement cards in the mail, and let me wear makeup. I knew she missed me too.

Lynn and I have taken vacations together with our children, camped together, shopped together, gossiped together.  We have had screaming matches and not spoken for weeks.  We have inside jokes and call each other whenever one of us has a secret that we cannot share with anyone else on this earth.  We are each others worst critics and fiercest protectors. We laugh and laugh and laugh over stupid stuff. She can make me cry quicker than anyone. She is the other half of me.

My mother will bury her sister this week.  My heart hurts for her. I don't even want to imagine losing my forever friend.  Friendships end; sisterhood doesn't.

My sister, oldest brother, and me yesterday..

It's Not About The Front Door

When Taylor swore in on Tuesday, his recruiter presented him with three t-shirts to commemorate the day.  One is a long sleeve black shirt that has the Marine Corps emblem on the side and Marines across the front. Taylor wore this when we went to the mall yesterday, and several people commented on it. There was a level of respect paid to him simply for wearing the shirt. Semper Fi!

However, Taylor is a Marine not because he wears a shirt that says he is.  He is a Marine because of the person he is, the fine man he has grown into. Last week, he told me that the house is only as strong as its foundation; the front door doesn't matter. That's pretty deep for an 18 year old. What he meant was that life isn't about what people can see.  What truly matters is what something or someone is founded on, what they stand for, what they are made out of. I tend to worry about appearances.  I want the titles.  I need the affirmation that I am doing a good job. None of that matters. 

We have spent this Easter surrounded by amazing people who have helped lay the foundation of who Taylor is - my parents, my siblings, my family... These people along with his coaches, teachers, friends, and other family members are responsible for Taylor being willing to lay down his life for ours.

Brandi taught Taylor Bible story after Bible story in Children's Church when he was younger.  He will tell you that one of the reasons that he wants to be a Marine is that someone must stand up and protect the family.  This is based upon a Bible story where the family members where placed behind the weaker parts of the wall because the leaders knew the soldiers would fight the hardest to protect their families even if the wall was weak. Brandi helped lay the foundation early.

Jared was Taylor's youth leader for a time. Jared is a Godly man, and serves as an example of the upstanding man you should strive to become.  When Taylor was in Youth, Jared explained that he tried to never lie, to NEVER lie.  Not just big lies but even small half-truths like not telling his wife what he had bought for Christmas.  What an example to have during your forming years! Jared helped lay the foundation during his teens.

Taylor and I have went on several mission trips beginning with one to Louisiana the year after Katrina.  Taylor was about 12 years old, and yet JJ put hm to work as one of the men.  Taylor became a mason's helper during that mission trip and worked for him throughout the following summer.  Taylor learned rock work, wiring, sheet rock, and a slew of other construction type skills under JJ. Tay never went through an awkward stage of self-doubt about his skills as a man because of upstanding Christian men like JJ who trusted him to work hard.

Cricket and Taylor are as close as brother and sister although they are cousins.  From the time that Taylor was born, the two have shared a special bond.  She carried him around on her bony little none-year old hip and taught him everything she knew. When I traveled for work, Cricket would move in and care for Taylor. She drove him to school, to practices, to games.  I would come home and while Taylor would be glad to see me, he mourned the loss of Cricket a little. She would allow him to ride on the trunk after getting the mail.  She would blow the horn and random people and wave.  She was fun and young and amazing. Cricket helped Taylor know he was valued and special.  She helped make sure the foundation was strong by showing Taylor love from day one.

I am leaving out a gazillion people, but the point is that Taylor is who he is because the people who have surrounded him during his lifetime.  You have made a difference (either positive or negative) on the people you meet.  Lay a strong foundation and don't worry so much about what the front door looks like...

Practice, Practice, Practice... And It Will Be Great!

The EHS production of Bye Bye Birdie opened last week. My students told me not to come see it yet.  They felt the play wasn't ready quite yet.  I respected their wishes and waited a week.  I cannot say if they were ready opening night, but tonight they were wonderful.  Hard work always pays off.

If you are reading this and live near Easley, head out to see the play.  I guarantee that you will laugh at Mama who does a respectable Northern accent and old lady walk.  You will be impressed with the props.  You may even the references to history that are sprinkled throughout the play. You will see dreams inching closer and closer. It is well worth the small admission price.

I do not know all the performers in the play.  I have had the pelasure of teaching several of them however. Katy who plays Spanish Rose was a premature baby who fought to live in the early weeks of her life.  She (like Taylor) was saved through treatments funded by the March of Dimes and through prayer.  Katy is a tiny thing, but she knows exactly what she wants to do with her life.  She will be studying drama when she enters college next year. I fully expect to see her on the big screen one day.  There are three sisters who figure prominently into the play; each totally different from the others but all incredibly talented.  Anna Cat and Caroline teamed last year for the Wizard of Oz. They returned this year to showcase their talents along with their little sister Mary Helen.  Caroline has an amazing voice.  For Christmas, I was one of the fortunate ones who received a CD of Christmas music sung by her. She will also be famous one day.  Anna Cat is a comedic actress.  Hilarious! Little sister plays a little boy in her first dramatic turn.  I wonder how the older girls convinced her that was a good idea...  She was hilarious though.  The tap dancing sad girls practiced a few steps in my class this year, so I was glad to see that all the extra practice paid off as they looked like true dancers up on the stage. Great Job girls!

Now, if I can just get the tune We love you Conrad... oh yes, we do... out of my head..

Cel-e-brate Good Times... Come On! Let's Celebrate...

It rained today. Not a huge detail, except when you are hosting a cookout at your house for your son's birthday to which about forty people are invited.  It was wonderful though despite the rain. People are what make celebrations great, not the details. Surround yourself with amazing people.

This is Taylor, Scotty, and Lucas who are being great sports and playing with the military-themed party decorations I bought.  The items might have been too young for them, but it is the people, not the details that make the fun... Both of these guys have been amazing friends to Taylor through the years.

  

It rained, so the cookout became a cook -in.  My brother-in-law is amazing and he actually cooked the hamburgers and hot dogs under his carport before transporting them over to our house. If you look closely, those are soccer chairs that the guys are sitting in...  This group is wonderful though; that's what really matters.  

This is Taylor's cake that his godmother, Pam, made for him.  She is one of those amazingly talented people who can make cakes like this.  The top layer was an entirely separate cake.  The number 18 was also displayed on each side of the cake. Delicious!

We forgot candles, and by the time we remembered, there were so many cars blocking the drive that we needed to improvise.  Yes, his candles were matches.  I'm betting the wish still counts.

 

Rain also presented problems getting to the house without getting soaked. The kids figured it out though... Jared had on rain shoes; Kathryn did not.  Most of the friends present were ones that Taylor had met in preschool or elementary school.  He met Jared and Kathryn volunteering at Salvation Army though.  The three clicked and became fast friends. 

Speaking of fast friends, this is G playing with my great-niece, Wrenn. G and I met 6 years ago when we began teaching at the same school. She became part of the family after opening her home to my entire family during an ice storm.  My niece was getting married and everyone was without power, except G.  She rescued the day, and joined our family.

G gets the last picture because she put it all into perspective this afternoon after the party.  I said it was a great party except for the cookout being inside, my nephew getting his car stuck in the mud, and Taylor's dad arriving late.  She responded... there was still food and laughter, he got his car out, and his dad was there.  he's exactly right.  Stay focused on the positives! Happy Birthday Taylor.  It has been a great day!