Losing a Friend is Never Easy

Today a sweet friend of mine went home to be with the Lord. My heart is saddened by his passing, but I know his worn and weary body is completely healed now. 

C.G. was 97 years old and had been married to his highschool sweetheart, Earlene, for 70 years! Please keep her in your prayers. 

Both C.G. and Earlene loved their family and friends deeply, but loved the Lord most of all. 

They were simple people who enjoyed gardening and serving their community. They also were huge fans of the Georgia Gym Dogs and loved taking others to their meets. 

Many tears have fallen today because of a deep loss, but God has collected every one and stored them in His bottle. 

I take comfort knowing I'll see C.G. again one day. I'm so thankful he loved Jesus. 

Father's Day Memories

 

Daddy was a Sergeant 1st Class

I miss my Daddy every Father's Day. He was one of the most unique people I ever knew. Though quiet and pensive most of the time, the wheels of his mind were constantly turning. How do I know? I watched him like a hawk. 

I learned so much from watching my Daddy. As I grew up, I found one of the best ways to gain his time and attention was to be where he was. If he was under a car, working on something like changing the oil, I crawled under with him asking him a million questions - "What are you doing, Daddy?" "Why are you doing that?" Usually, he'd let me ask away without answering. 

Occasionally, he'd ask me to hand him a tool. If I knew what it was, he'd smile and not say a word, but if I messed up, he'd let me know. Needless to say, I wanted to please him so I learned very quickly the names of tools and how to use them. 

Daddy loved to tinker. He'd take things apart and put them back together again just to see how they worked. His Father had been an inventor and held several patents, so I guess Daddy came by his curiosity naturally.

Our little family

Daddy was a simple man. He never asked for much, especially in the way of material things. I think, since he grew up without much, he learned to make do with what he had. 

But as we grew up, we learned he'd often put the needs of others before his own. He'd often go with holes in the bottoms of his shoes or wear things until they fell apart. 

He was a hard worker and a good provider. When I was growing up, he usually worked 2 jobs. With 3 little mouths to feed, money was always tight. My mother was frugal and we learned quickly that money didn't grow on trees. 

Mama & Daddy's engagement pic

We did the best we could with what we had and though money was always tight, Daddy found a way for us to take a vacation each year. 

He had a friend named Bill who owned a motel in Florida. I think Bill's last name was Reid, but I'm not positive after all these years. The motel was nothing fancy but Bill let Daddy have a room in the hotel with a small fridge for $50 a week. What a steal! I don't know how we all managed to fit into the room, but we did it every year for years. 

Back then, my brother, sister, and I didn't understand that we were technically poor, or at least lower middle class. It didn't really matter. Mama and Daddy did what they could to provide for us and we were grateful. 

Daddy enjoyed going to the drive in theater. We'd often go the Starlight Drive in. While Mama and Daddy were enjoying the movie, we'd play on the playground. 

Daddy with his cigarette

He also enjoyed watching TV after a long day at work. He'd sit and watch wrestling or baseball for hours as he smoked a cigarette and occasionally had a can of beer. The simple pleasures in life seemed to be what mattered most to Daddy. 

On weekends when he wasn't working, he'd drive fifty miles to my Granddaddy's house to help him fill contracts for a local cotton mill. All weekend long, Daddy would be out in the shop while my siblings and I played with our cousins. 

Daddy also enjoyed fishing. Once he took my brother, sister, and I on a family fishing trip he and his brothers put together. It was the first time my Daddy and Uncles had taken us kids on a trip and it was one I'll never forget. 

I followed behind Daddy as he set up the trot lone along the riverbank. To this day, I can't remember if they caught anything or not. 

I was too busy hanging out with my cousins. We were preteens on that trip and we didn't play foolish childhood games anymore. Instead, we cut up and listened to music on the radio. 

I remember that evening we had the radio blaring to "China Grove" when one of our other cousins began to scream in pain. He'd been hooked by his brother who'd thrown his fishing line out while standing too close on the riverbank. Instead of the hook flying into the water as it should have, it ripped into my cousin's flesh. Daddy came to his aid with a trusty pair of pliers. As he and my Uncle Donald were discussing the best way to remove the hook with the least amount of pain, Daddy's suggestion won out. They cut the barb off the hook and pushed it through my cousin's skin. 

It scared the rest of us to death and as we were all chided about the importance of having good distance between each other while casting, I know I was shaking in my shoes. I felt my cousin's pain as he screamed out and I didn't want to experience that again.

He loved to fish!

We all knew Daddy loved fishing and we had several other opportunities to witness him sitting by a riverbank on other trips we'd taken through the years. One of his favorites was to Lake Marvin, an old Girl Scout retreat, way up in North Georgia. 

My brother loved to fish, too, and they'd often spend time together talking about bream, crappie, or catfish. 

Daddy taught all of us to bait a hook, take the fish off the hook, and how to clean the fish. I didn't mind any of that, but I sure didn't like the taste of fish and don't eat it to this day. 

At our old house, Daddy had a folding table he'd set up in the back yard after coming in from a fishing trip. He'd line that table with newspapers and get out tools for cleaning the fish. 

He didn't have fancy stuff. He used a sharp kitchen knife to slit the fish down the belly, showing us how to remove the entrails. Then he'd cut off the head and take a spoon to descale the fish. I always hated when the scales would pop up and stick to my face as we were scaling together. He'd go so fast and I'd try to match his pace, but never learned to do it as quickly. 

After the fish were cleaned, he put them in a big bucket of water and rinse them a time or two before we cooked them on the grill or he'd take them inside for Mama to cook.

At my wedding

When the famous "Billy Bass" singing fish came out one year, we got one for Daddy. He loved that it was motion sensored and whenever someone would walk in front of it, it'd start to sing "Take me to the River." 

But as the years went by and Daddy's health declined, he no longer went fishing. Oh, he loved to talk about it and loved hearing other folks tell about their trips. He really enjoyed hearing details of my brother or my nephew's trips because they'd often kayak when they went fishing.

Daddy's old Ford

Daddy wasn't a man of many words. I think he thought long and hard about what he wanted to say before he said it. Sometimes he'd blow you away with things he said and sometimes, he'd say things to make himself smile at our reaction to what he'd said.

I wish I could talk to him one last time. If I could, I'd tell him I wasn't able to keep his asparagus growing in the garden or tend his blueberries because the property sold not long after Mama went into the nursing home. I think he'd be understanding, but I still feel bad I didn't get to keep that promise I made to him just before he passed away. 

Losing someone dear to you is hard. It's even harder when there's a special holiday each year that brings that person to mind. But I'm thankful for the time I had with my Daddy. I'm glad he didn't mind my being under his feet as he was working on things. I learned so much from him even when he didn't explain what he was doing. 

His quiet strength, his mischievous smile, and his fighting spirit are what I miss most. One day, I'll get to see him again and we'll catch up. Maybe he'll say, "What took you so long?" or "Did ya come to see me?" things he said often as we were growing up. And I'll smile as I do my best to hold back the tears.

Sweet dreams

For the past several years, I've struggled with chronic insomnia. It's gotten so bad, I dread the nighttime because I know, when it's time for bed, I'm not going to sleep. But on rare occasions, especially when I take medication to help with sleeplessness, I dream. 

Last night, I dreamed about my brother. It was a very odd and unexpected thing, especially since he's been dead for 491 days at the time of this posting. 

My brother and I were very close and when he was diagnosed with esophageal cancer, I was devastated. His cancer diagnosis came after my breast cancer diagnosis, so I knew a lot of the things he'd face as he began treatment, but I didn't expect him to die so suddenly. It was a heart wrenching experience, and I didn't feel we had the chance for a proper goodbye. Maybe that's why God allowed me to have the dream about him last night. 

Dreams are fickle, as most people know. You can't trust them, but this one was so unique, so comforting, and peaceful, it was vastly different from other dreams I've had in the past. 

I don't know exactly where we were in the dream, but I was in some type of large building wandering through crowds of people. As I worked to find my way, I caught a glimpse of someone who looked like my brother. As our eyes met, I jumped up to see above the people and threw my hand in the air to wave. Within seconds, we were close. The sea of people had parted. As we stood there, face to face, we smiled. There were no words, just a knowing. I knew he was my brother. It's kind of like I felt his spirit, but I don't want to sound weird and new age-y. It's difficult to explain. 

We began walking together down a hallway. As we walked, we talked without saying anything. It was like we were expressing our sadness over missing each other but at the same time, we were glad to be reunited. 

We continued on for some time enjoying each other's company and then, I felt our time was coming to an end. 

In my dream, we never said goodbye to each other. He was just there and then he was gone. 

When he vanished, I wasn't sad or upset. I was thankful we'd been given one last opportunity to "visit." I took comfort knowing he was at peace, and we'd meet again one day. I think he felt good at having been able to "checkup" on me. 

Now I don't believe in contacting the dead or anything like that, in fact, the Bible warns against it, but I do think, at times, God allows brief encounters for those who're struggling with the death of a loved one and often times, those experiences come in brief dreams. 

I've only dreamed once or twice in a similar way about a loved one who's already passed on. Each time, it's been a comforting thing, not an unpleasant or scary experience. 

We don't understand the ways of God and while I'm not positive this was His gift to me;

(Jimmy in the camo hat)

I'd like to think it was especially since it gave me a type of closure I've needed for months. 

Loving someone is complicated and is definitely an investment. It's a conglomeration of feelings, tangled together with experiences that often span years and years of time. But it's so worth it, don't you think? 

Many people lose loved ones before having a chance to apologize or make amends for hurtful words or actions. It's so much easier to release someone you love when you know you've done everything in your power to show your love to them. 

I'm thankful Jimmy and I were able to spend many good days together before he left this earth. Those sweet memories are priceless. 

I'm also thankful I've been able to keep all the text messages we shared as he was going through cancer. Being able to re-read those has helped me on days when I've missed him terribly. 

There are also photographs and videos to help ease the pain. I look through them when I need to "see" him again. 

We're only here on this earth for a brief moment and then we vanish like a vapor, the Bible says. 

Whether my dream was a gift from God, as a last goodbye, or whether it was my mind imagining a random scenario, I'll never know until I get to heaven, but I like to think it's the former. 

God is a good God. He knows our needs and He wants to bless us. I'm so glad He loves us so. And if He can use a dream to speak to His prophets of old, I think He just might choose to allow someone like me to dream a little dream of her beloved brother. 

Almost a firecracker

Happy Saturday! Today would have been my Daddy's 90th birthday. It's so hard to believe he's been gone for 11 years now. I sure miss him. He used to always tease and say he was almost a firecracker. He loved the fourth of July and would always shoot off black cats and M80s. Mama was always afraid he was going to blow his hand off because he'd wait until the last minute to throw the firecracker. He loved to put them in tin cans too to hear the loud bang. He would laugh and laugh. Of course, we only got to hold sparklers, but it was so fun to see his boyish excitement over something so simple. 

He'd always stop at roadside stands a few weeks before the holiday to buy fireworks. His parents used to live in Griffin GA which was a little mill town. No one there made more than probably 10,000 a year if that, so little luxuries meant everything. 

On the fourth of July, we'd usually fire up a little charcoal grill in the backyard and cook hotdogs and hamburgers. It was a big deal because we didn't get to do things like that often. Daddy loved cooking out, too. I can still see him shirtless, in his jeans and loafers with his Brylcreem slicked back hair. He'd be sweating like a pig but he loved every minute of it. 

My brother, sister, and I would be running around the yard barefoot playing tag or chase or something and Mama would come out occasionally with her apron tied around her waist to oversee what was happening. 

When it was time to eat, we'd usually go inside because the bugs were bad in the summer, but sometimes, we'd get to eat outside. That was a treat, especially when we had a ripe, juicy watermelon for dessert. Daddy taught us to spit the seeds and we had a blast with red juice running down our chins and yellow jackets buzzing all around. 

There are so many things I remember about him. He was so fun loving but also had a temper at times. I miss him and think of him fondly. 

Losing parents is hard. Even when you're grown and know death is coming, there comes a time when you'd give anything to hear their voice again, to feel their touch, or just sit in their presence. 

Daddy, you were a firecracker in my book and always will be! You were something else! You lit up my sky with your smile.  

Preparing to lose a friend to cancer

This weekend, I had the opportunity to spend some time with friends I hadn't seen in almost a year. During that time, cancer invaded their lives. 

It came as a surprise to me when I received the email. It said, "Stage 4 pancreatic cancer, spread to the liver." As soon as I read those words, I cringed. Pancreatic cancer usually takes a person fast. 

Our home church was hosting a women's crafting event. Since many of my old friends there know how much I love crafting, I was invited to participate. Since we'd moved many years ago, the hour and a half trip made attending every service difficult. We missed the fellowship, but tried to stay in touch through phone calls and the internet.

I eagerly accepted the invitation knowing I'd have a chance to see some of my dear friends and in particular, I'd get a chance to visit briefly with Jack, the one with pancreatic cancer. 

The day was lovely. The women and I had a blast making fall decorations and centerpieces. It felt good to be surrounded by friends. They didn't know it, but I hadn't been out of the house much over the past few years.

When our crafting time ended and we'd cleaned up the supplies, our husbands came in to see if they could help. We loaded them down with boxes to take to the cars. 

As Jack reached to take a big box from the preacher's wife, I was surprised. He was so thin. Cancer had taken a toll on his body, leaving his 6 foot frame frail.

Trying to help, I rushed over to my husband and whispered in his ear, "Take that box from Jack! He's too weak to carry it," but my husband shook his head no. I wondered why and was saddened that Jack was struggling under the weight of the box. 

A few minutes later, I understood why my husband refused to take the box. If he'd taken it from Jack, he would have wounded Jack's pride. Though Jack was visibly weak from chemo, he still wanted to be treated normally.

On the way home, I couldn't help but cry. Seeing what cancer had already done to my friend was upsetting. There was nothing I could do about it. 

When Jack had received the bad news, I was his first contact. He knew I'd been through breast cancer and I would be able to answer some of his questions. As we talked on the phone, I listened as he asked about every aspect of the cancer journey. I wondered how much information to share and how much to withhold. I didn't want to discourage him but knew he needed answers. So I decided the best thing I could do was be honest with the questions he asked and not divulge information on anything else. 

It's so difficult to know how to help a friend with cancer. Every case is different. But when a friend reaches out, it's our responsibility to be there for them, in any way possible. And that's what I've tried to do for Jack. 

My heart breaks knowing treatment is only going to make him weaker. I want to wrap my arms around him and give him a heads up but won't. I also want to reach out to his wife and let her know I understand how she feels. I know her fear, but I am trying to just be the listening ear. I want her to share her feelings when and if she wants to, I don't want to pry. 

The reality is that I'll lose a friend very soon to cancer. And while I don't want to believe it, I see it, right in front of my eyes. 

I hate cancer so much. I don't understand how one person can do so well and another have a totally different outcome. 

I honestly believe chemotherapy does a person more harm than good in fight cancer. That's one reason I refused it when I was diagnosed. I'd done my research and I'd listened carefully as the oncologist explained what may or may not happen. 

But each person has to chose for themselves. We do whatever it takes to stay alive and sometimes, that means taking the risk of suffering more bodily damage to do so. 

Please pray for Jack in the days ahead. Maybe, just maybe, the chemo will give him a few more months of life. And if not, pray that God takes him home quickly so he won't have to endure more pain. 

Life is so short. We can never take a day for granted. 

She's gone

Mama and Daddy share the same gravesite

In a split second, her life is over. My sweet Mother has left this earth and slipped into heaven. The days have become a blur as we managed to say our last goodbyes and make funeral arrangements. So many details have gotten lost in the shuffle as our emotions ebbed and flowed.

And now that the funeral service is over, her casket placed with my Father's, we try to process everything that's transpired over the past days, weeks, months, and years.

We knew this day was coming. It wasn't a surprise, but we just weren't ready for it to be so soon. Mama was ready. She'd told us over and over that she wanted to go home to heaven, so how can we begrudge her that last request? She's gone and we celebrate knowing she's no longer in pain, no longer bound by the time constraints of this world, and no longer kept out of the presence of her Lord and Savior.

It's hard to grasp though. When you've loved someone for so long, how do you let them go? It's hard not to want to cling tightly and be selfish, but that wouldn't be the right thing to do.

Beautiful Allatoona

So in the days ahead, my brother, sisters, and I will find our own way of getting through our grief. I'm sure it will be different for each of us since we each had our very own and special relationship with our Mother. And I'm sure the grief won't be short. I'm sure it will come in waves, rolling over us when we least expect it. The memories, too, will be constant. Something we see or hear, smell or touch will remind us of Mama. And that's a good thing, I think.

Those memories will help us keep her alive. Learning how to accept the memories as they come and not be overwhelmed by the sadness that accompanies them will be the hard part, but I'm hoping I can choose to remember not only the memory but the way I felt when the memory was made. If I can do that, I'll be okay.

After her service, I spent the day at Red Top Mountain. One of Mama's favorite picnic spots. We used to go there as children with my Mother and my Aunt. It was an inexpensive day trip and we loved being out in nature.

As I sat by the lake and reflected, I could almost feel Mama's presence. Listening to the nesting birds in the trees overhead, I wished she were with me. We'd be having a heartfelt conversation, I'm sure. That's one of the things I'm going to miss the most - calling to share a bit of news with her or just hearing her voice. I sure hope I never forget the sound of her voice.

Where are you breasts?

It’s been two long years since I saw you. Since that time, I never gave thought to your fate. Where are you breasts? Do you lie sectioned and frozen in a laboratory freezer somewhere? Were you sliced and diced for medical students to look at you under a powerful microscope? Were you stained and smeared on a slide? Were you shaved into microscopically thin pieces and dipped into solutions only to be resting in Petri dishes on a cold hard counter? Were you examined and studied, talked about behind my back? Where are you breasts? Or, after being used and abused were you casually discarded in a red Biohazard container? Did you rot among other tissue samples in a landfill far away? I can’t help but wonder what happened to you. I didn’t even get to tell you goodbye. If I’d thought about it, I could have made a plaster cast to memorialize you or I could have taken beautiful photographs of you.

I didn’t think one day I’d miss you but today, when I woke up, you were the first thing on my mind. My hand traveled across my chest to touch you and you were gone. That’s when I remembered. Could you have been saved? Did I speak too hastily when asked my preference by the surgeon? Should I have taken another route? Should I have opted for a lumpectomy and chemo instead of mastectomy and radiation? But if I had, would we still be here today but in a much more painful and prolonged way? Would we have started out small, a tiny incision and chemicals that poisoned you only to eventually have you lopped off anyway? Should I have endured countless mammograms and months of testing in an effort to keep your mutilated form? Or did I do the right thing in taking the second choice presented, to completely remove you, to discard you and pretend you never existed? Should I have let the surgeon cut you out and leave empty folds of skin to hold tissue expanders and later silicone replacements? Should I have allowed the fat deposits on my stomach or back to be carved into makeshift breasts to give me an illusion of normalcy? Could I have dealt with reconstructed breasts, mounds of flesh sewn into place devoid of nipples and feeling? Or was I right to just agree to completely remove you?

Where have you gone breasts? Do you lie in a pile joined by others just like you, some of them larger and some vastly smaller, all shapes and colors? Do you wonder why you were tortured? Why abandoned and forgotten after all your years of service? I watched you grow from tiny breast buds at puberty into full, voluptuous friends that fed my children and satisfied my husband and now you’re gone, missing in action, decimated, mutilated, and all but forgotten, but I can’t forget you. I still remember you. You were important to me. Where are you breasts?

In your place lie two imposters, silicone forms devoid of nerve endings, blood flow, or feeling. They have no semblance to you. They are smooth gel filled pinkish blobs with tiny raised nipple-like impressions. They are much heavier than you. They require washing and drying but only after removal from a mastectomy bra which holds them securely against my chest. When I walk, they don’t gently bounce up and down as you once did. They are firm and stationary. Some days I choose not to wear them. I leave them lying in their storage containers. I don’t want to look at them and be reminded they’ve taken your place…poor substitutes for what God gave me. Am I bitter? To a degree, yes. Do I feel betrayed? Yes! I wish I’d known exactly what the future held so I could have made a more informed decision about surgery and treatment, but doctors don’t give you all the details. They don’t talk about the emotional trauma that comes with breast cancer. They don’t talk about those difficult days when your breasts are gone and it feels like the world has stopped spinning and you’re left standing alone stripped naked and bare. They don’t talk about the devastation, loss of femininity, and lifelong changes that will occur. They keep it hush hush, a secret hidden in the dark. But we find out. And some of us do quite well with the change. Some of us make do and move on. Others struggle. Some days are good and some days are bad. But all of us wonder, where are you breasts and why did you have to go? Why? Why? Why….