Dads

As I stare at a blank screen with a flashing curser, I can hear three of my grandchildren playing a game at the table with their dad.  ‘With their dad’.  I hear laughter.  I hear the voices of my grandchildren bursting out challenges against their dad, commands to ‘wait’, and more laughter.  I find myself searching my memories for familiarity of their experiences with their dad. 

I love my dad.  One of my sisters in particular and I enjoy creating scenarios in our chat sessions that involve our dad and our mom and various other family members.  They are always joyous, loving, caring, and fun – often funny.  Not from memory.  We are not reliving actual experiences.  We’re creating a family dynamic where there wasn’t one.  The foundation is our belief that our parents truly and deeply loved us despite the scattering out of our family while we were yet quite young.

I saw a photograph of my eldest granddaughter taken just yesterday by her dad who had gone to check on her and the other kids that he and his friend had delivered to church camp a few days ago.  It was a beautiful photograph of her.  He always takes the best photos of her.  As my daughter and I discussed this I realized that he brings out her natural beauty when he photographs her.  It’s not because he’s a better photographer – in truth, I am.  I have fewer blurry photographs and get better angles.  But he brings out her beauty because of their relationship.  You can see it in her eyes in the photographs he takes of her – the adoration, the love as she is not looking at the camera, but at the one holding the camera, her dad.

I must confess that my very first response was not that of admiration of their relationship, but of suspicion.  Fear and suspicion griped my heart as I looked at the look in her eyes, knowing she was looking at her dad.  Thankfully, as my daughter and I discussed this, I realized that my response was not based on any of my son-in-law’s behavior, but on my own personal experiences.  So I said, “I need to ask someone who has had a healthy relationship with her own father if something like this is normal.”  I went through a mental list of people I knew and thought of each one’s relationship with her father.  Sadly, I only knew one person I could ask if it was ‘normal’ in a healthy father/daughter relationship, for the daughter to have such a look while looking at her own father. 

I asked my son-in-law about his relationship with his own father.  He assessed that it was a healthy relationship but what he described to me would still fall under the category of dysfunctional.  It was sporadically healthy at best.  So I thought about relationships I know about and realized that most can be described as sporadically healthy.  Then what makes the difference?  Why does one dysfunctional relationship result in the adult child perceiving it as a bad or hurtful relationship and another results in a positive perception? I think, in part, attitude.  Example – my sister and I do not have to create positive, loving and fun scenarios of our dad; we choose to, it’s our attitude towards him.  Though absent for most of our lives, we choose to love him.  She has more actual memories of him than I do, but what I do have, I cherish.  I hold those memories like precious children, close to my heart.

And I Breathe

Everyone waits for my next post, anticipating perhaps some deep insight in regards to my experience with the death of the woman who abused me for so many years – the same woman who I had gone to visit just last year and about whom I wrote I had forgiven.  What everyone does not know is that my life now seems to me that it has been like walking through a gallery, familiar with every image along the walls, and I have forgiven the culprit who caused the events displayed in those images in regards to each specific event.  I could walk through that gallery, and had numerous times, and knew what to expect – which image would next come into view.

Suddenly, my gallery changed when Norma Jean died in July – almost exactly a year to the day that I had gone to see her.  Suddenly there were new images that I immediately recognize, but about which I have long forgotten.  And now, I am acutely aware of images hanging in my gallery which are draped with black cloths, just waiting.  I stand at the end of the gallery and dare not move lest the slightest breeze cause one of the drapes to slide from its frame and reveal some stale secret.

So to those who wait for a new jewel to come from my most recent experience, your wait, for now, must continue.  But I will leave you with this – I do believe that there will be another jewel, possibly more, but like waiting for a diamond, such jewels take time.  Right now, I stand and breathe.  But I stand.  And I breathe.

Then There Were Tears

After the graveside service where her remains were displayed like a box of donuts on a stand (she was cremated and the box containing her ashes resembled that of a donut box or perhaps a box for a floral corsage), the family found a restaurant and pulled several tables together to seat the 17 of us.  Those we were not expecting brought family photos, or memorabilia and stories. Looking at the photo I've included, the second man from the left in the glasses, no hat looks so much like our Grandpa that we couldn't stop staring at him.  Everyone laughed and shared stories of various family members and of Norma Jean - who, they all remembered, hated being called "Norma Jean".  For the first time ever, being with them actually felt like being with family to me.  We shared a common  understanding about a particular member of the family and no one questioned that understanding or the validity of it.  I received warm smiles and hugs from everyone after the meal was over and we all went our separate ways.  They all agreed to pose for this photo on my request.  And they invited me to come and visit them any time.  It was amazing.
The ride back to Coleman was so hot (we couldn't get the blower to come on) that I was so focused on that, not much else penetrated my senses.  We got home and Steph rested before having to go to work and the afternoon and evening were spent visiting with Clinton and his family.  But eventually, they too went home.  Steph was still at work and I sat quietly in the living room alone... and I felt the first twinge of grief.  It hit like a bowling ball thrown at my chest.  After Steph got home from work we talked about Norma Jean.  I talked about the conversation I'd had with Kimberley on our way home.  Kimberley had asked if I would be upset, if, when I went to heaven, that Norma Jean was there.  (Before I reveal my response, let me just say, my grandchildren are not aware of the specifics of what happened when I lived with Norma Jean.  They know she had adopted me, she was mean, and that the court took me away from her, that's how I ended up living in the children's home.)  I answered that I would not be upset.  I told her that I was not happy that Norma Jean had died.  And that I did not want her to suffer for all eternity.  And I laughingly added that I believe that God would probably not put our mansions next to one another.  I also told her that what happened to her now was between her and God.   As I related all of this to Steph, I added that if she was not in heaven, I do not believe that it would be due to what she did to me or to anyone else for that matter.  It would be for what she did not do in her relationship with God.  (I hadn't realized that this funeral was the first funeral my granddaughters had ever attended.  Thomas was not there, he stayed in Coleman at his uncle's.  So Kimberley had a lot of questions.)
The cousins and I had agreed to take a break from going through Norma Jean's belongings.  As I already stated, I came home and visited with my family and they went to Bowser to visit other family graves and to drive by what used to be the family farm.  We also agreed to meet back over at Norma Jean's house the following day to get as much done as possible before they had to return to their homes on Monday (today).  We agreed to an early start and I left my home in Coleman around 7:00 to head back to Brady for the 4th day in a row.  It was on that drive back to Brady, after the services were over, family members (except for the two cousins) had all gone home and it hit again.  It felt as though I could hardly breathe.  I heard grief moaning from deep in my throat.  No words, just groans.  Tears blurred my eyes and wet my cheeks as I felt my hands shaking on the wheel.  I had to drive passed the cemetery on my way in, so I pulled in and drove right over to her grave site.  I got out of my car and as I did, gasps of grief erupted from my chest.  I walked over and brushed loose dirt off  her headstone.  Carole had put yellow silk roses on her grave.  I stood there and asked, "Where are you?"  I don't want her to suffer for all of eternity.  But it's too late... too late to change the outcome... it's been decided, what ever it may be.  I realized I had been looking for proof of an intimate relationship with God as I thumbed through the pages of several bibles found in her house.  I found notes for medicines for her mother.  I found song lyrics of some of her favorite old country and western songs.  But I did not find what I was looking for... evidence, proof.  It was too late to worry about it now.  And I wondered if I was at fault.  Did I give up too easily last year?  Was it too easy for me to tell myself that she was too far gone and she was already unreachable?  Could I have made a difference in the outcome of where she is now? 
Don't think that in me saying that that I am assuming that she is in torment.  What I am saying is that IF that's where she is, could I have influenced a change in That outcome?  Did I give up too easily and walk away?  I pulled a yellow rose from her bouquet and took it with me.  It's still laying on the dash of my car.
When the cousins got over to her house, we talked.  I told them that I was feeling twinges and as I started trying to share with them all that I've just written here, I choked up and began weeping... or, I refer to it as leaking.  Gay spoke up and told me that she had watched me from the first day dig and search through every piece of paper, every photograph.  She said she knew what I was looking for - proof, evidence, something to indicate that she did care about me.  When she said that, I couldn't contain my emotion.  Gay said that her advice to me was to let it go.  I would not find the proof that I so desired and craved.  It simply was not there.  And, she's right.  It's not there.  There are so few photos of me and even the letter I wrote to her last year has not been found, yet there are letters dating back in the 40's and receipts for her ice cream dating two years ago or longer!  Receipts for ice cream and no evidence of me?  That  hurts.  But she's right.  I already knew... I knew when I lived with her, I knew when I was still influenced by her though living apart, I knew when I visited her last year, I knew before the reading of the will.  This comes as no surprise.  Still, the fact remains that it is a fact and it hurts.  But there's so few photos of Any of her family - whether me, her own parents, brother, nieces, cousins.  There were thousands of photos of her dogs and hundreds of photos of her.  No family portraits hung on the wall unless they were of her.  No frame photos anywhere with the exception of one framed photo of her mother's sister on the bedside table in the back bedroom.  Albums full of photos of either her or her dogs or both.  Stacks and stacks of photos of her and of her dogs. 
So, there are occasionally tears of grief.  Grief that I meant so little to her.  Grief that, what could have been never was and now it's too late.  As I found more evidence of her influence on my life (our handwriting is almost identical, we shared the same taste in house robes, some jewelry and some other similarities) I had to deal with those things as now evidence of her influence on me... but it's also evidence of my desire to be accepted and loved by her... in other words, despite every effort (often deliberate) not to, I loved her.  And... then there were tears.

No Tears

It's no secret that I have not posted in quite some time.  The move is not completely over - it's being quite drawn out and that drawing out was contributing to my frame of mind that prevented me from posting.  I had just determined to fight that frame of mind more aggressively and not allow depression to defeat me when I got the call.  My friend had found Norma Jean's obituary in the paper.  I was stunned into silence.  I had not taken the call because when I'm depressed I don't feel like talking to anyone so I didn't answer my phone.  But I checked my voice mail that she had left me and sat stunned... but, no tears. 
I called her back later and got the information as to where she was taken.  I called for information regarding her services.  When I asked why they said there may not be any services, they said it was due to not being able to find her next of kin.  I told them that I knew her brother had died in 2003 and she had no other siblings.  But he had three daughters and I did not know their last names or where they lived.  Later I called back and reluctantly confessed that I might be her next of kin if still considered her adopted daughter.  They took my contact information and gave me the contact information of two of her nieces.  I called and the one known to me as Sissy called back on a conference for her older sister, Gay, herself and me.  We had about a one and a half hour reunion over the phone.  When they asked what had happened between me and their aunt - I gave them the condensed version but also gave a couple of examples of why the court took me away from her.  They were so apologetic, so compassionate, understanding and seemed to know (though not of the specifics) that it had to be something bad.  Their family had known her as crazy Jean for a long time and used to laugh about it.  Until they got older and started noticing that she was mean, cruel, vindictive and loved to torment everyone, including them and their dad (Norma Jean's own brother).  We shared memories and experiences, and for Norma Jean, there were no tears.
We began the process of going through her house looking for a will.  We found it on the first day.  But the process was slow and it makes sense that the will was found by my Daughter who wasn't taking so long, reading every note she wrote, looking at every photo for much longer than a glance.  We were looking at her life, pieces of it that we found stacked, tucked and strawn all over the house.  We were talking and sharing memories of their aunt and for several years of my life, my... my... my momma.  When one found a large bag full of jewlery just before we decided to call it quits for the day, I told them I was eager to sort throught that bag.  I wanted to see if I could find the wedding rings I'd accussed her of stealing from me 33 years ago.  I described to them how the rings looked.  Then as my Daughter and I drove home it occurred to me that for Norma Jean, there still had been no tears.
Gay called me shortly after we got home.  They had found the rings - my wedding rings stolen 33 years earlier.  While Steph and I were driving home, they went by the funeral home.  The funeral director gave them an envelope containing what she had on her when she died.  When they poured out the contents, they recognized by my description, the rings to be my wedding rings.  Two of her nieces and I met at the attorney's office the next morning before going back over to her house again, repeating the process of looking at every piece of paper, no matter how small, reading everything, looking at every photo and sorting through her belongings.  More memories, more stories shared, and still no tears for Norma Jean.
The next day was Saturday.  We were having graveside services for her at 10:00 a.m. and agreed to meet there and forego sorting through her belonging for one day.  We were more than surprised at the turn out at her funeral.  More family members showed up from Richland Springs and San Saba.  They reintroduced themselves to me.  I had felt duty-bound, being considered the daughter, to greet those who had pulled up behind us at the cemetary (we were waiting there to determine where to go as no one knew where her plot was located).  I was amazed at the reception I received from those family members.  There was no accusation, no judgement, no shame on you for abandoning her all these years - as though, they too knew.  She had neighbors show up at her funeral - who were blatantly judgmental, rude and accusatory, not just of me but of all of her family.  From them, I saw tears.  But from her family members, I glanced around, and there still were no tears for Norma Jean.

Complete Confidence

When everything else feels wrong, something needs to be right.  We need that, don't we; that glimmer of hope, a thread of hope, any semblance of hope on which to cling.  You have to find that something right every day sometimes.  It's not always the same thing.  Some days it's merely the fact that the sun came up after several days, weeks, perhaps months of clouds.  Some days it's a perfectly timed phone call from a dear friend or loved one.  Some days it may be a moment with your cup of coffee while hearing the birds singing their morning song of thanks and praise.  Some days it may be the arms of a child wrapped around your neck.  Some days it may be the complete acceptance of your pet as it lays it's head on your leg to receive your affection.  It can be anything that you can think of that on the right day, at the right time makes your heart fill with love and gratitude and makes your spirit sigh and proclaim, all is right with the world... or at least proclaim, there's still hope.
Don't think me down, blue or discouraged today.  Quite the contrary.  My inspiration today comes from the variety of responses I've seen and heard to today's date - February 14.  There are those thrilled with the day and will buy the pretty cards and boxes of chocolates - some go for the more expensive Valentine's Day items like diamonds or even cars.  There are those that proclaim this day as so commercial it is anti-love and anti-romantic.  There are those who suffered the sting of loss too recently than for this day to be nothing but a painful reminder of that loss.  There are those missing a loved one whose job has taken him or her to another country - perhaps constantly in danger.  There are those who have sworn off of love forever and those who vow that they will love again.
I couldn't help wondering if there are those who find it difficult to find that one thing today that helps them to believe, hope is still alive.  I have found myself in so many of the categories I listed that my heart goes out to those who dreaded today's dawn and for whom this day cannot end quickly enough.  I suppose those are the one's who are my true inspiration for what I write today.  Because I want them to believe, to hold on, to find something today that touches their wounded or aching hearts and let's them know - today's sun will set like it did all the days before, and unless The Lord comes today or changes something drastically, it will rise again tomorrow.  And because of what you are going through, what you are feeling, today more than most days, The Lord is so tender toward you, is even nearer... it's only the clouds covering the sun that keeps you from seeing that He's there.  So just like you know the sun is there on a cloudy day and await for it to rise again through a stormy night, know that He is there full of love and grace abounding for you!  On days like today, you may have to look a little closer, try a little harder to find that hope but just remember He is The One Who has promised that He will never leave you or forsake you!  I have suffered enough and healed enough to confidently attest to that truth!  If there is only one sure thing for you today, you can stand on that fact with complete confidence!

Sweet Blessings!

For the past week I have given much thought to relating the most recent events.  It has taken some time for me to process everything!  I am astounded, in awe, amazed... and for the past week I have been speechless!
A little background information may help you grasp the impact of what has recently happened so, let's begin with that information.  For the past nine years my Daughter, her husband and their growing family have lived with me in my two-bedroom house.  When we first moved in together, they numbered four and it was just me alone - so five people in a two-bedroom house.  Their number grew to six while I remained at one until a few months ago when a friend of mine who had lost her job moved in to room with me temporarily.  We expanded to a household of eight in a two-bedroom house.
Recently, my Son-in-law was blessed with a very good position making considerably more money.  He presented that we should consider renting a larger house.  Now the two-bedroom house is in my name and it is nearly paid off.  However, aside from the over crowding, it needs considerable, serious attention.  Local utility companies began writing letters to me to get the house up to code, the floors were rotten and we were constantly getting splinters in our feet.  We had to remove the cabinet doors from the kitchen cupboards because they were more of a decorative size than for dishes or the usual kitchen items.  It was cold in the winter and hot in the summer.  I could continue with a long list of what was wrong with that house, but it would be faster to say, it had served its purpose and was overdue for retirement.  It was the first... only house I have ever owned.  The taxes, repairs, more repairs, and more repairs we put into that place really worked our budgets over mercilessly.  I decided that for a single woman on my meager income, home ownership was not all that it was cracked up to be.  I agreed with my Son-in-law when he proposed looking for a larger house to rent.
We were looking but not avidly.  It was more like keeping our ear to the ground, sort of thing.  My Daughter and Son-in-Law were on their way to Abilene to do some shopping when they had to stop off at his brother's house in Coleman as a favor for his Mother.  Their Sister-in-law mentioned a house around the corner from them that was for rent.  She thought it had four bedrooms.  My Daughter and Son-in-law decided to check it out and it turned out that it has five bedrooms, three baths, a decent living room, dining, kitchen, breakfast nook and laundry room.  It obviously needs a lot of cosmetic repairs but it seems structurally sound.  So they returned home and talked to me about it.
It is my nature to resist change.  My immediate reaction was, no, I did not want to move to Coleman.  My Daughter, knowing a little something about me, presented the proposition by asking me how I would like to quit my job and stay home.  That little something that she knows is that I am domestic by nature and much prefer that lifestyle than to work - even the six-hours-a-day that I am working.  She caught my attention - not that I would seriously take her up on it, but I was intrigued as to why she thought she could make such an offer.  I listened to her enthusiastically tell me about the house.  Then her Husband came in and picked up where she left off - again, with much enthusiasm.  They both made it clear that they wanted me to move with them - even offering me the master bedroom with private bath.  They told me it would be large enough to hold my home office, my full-size bed, the twin bed my friend is sleeping on, my treadmill, my chest, my sewing machine and still have room to spare.  We all agreed to drive to Coleman the next day (which was conveniently, a Saturday) to look at the house and make a decision together.
I was amazed at the size of the house - coming from a cramped two-bedroom, it looked huge!  We walked through looking and talking about the cosmetic issues.  The landlord did not pretend that it would not be an issue that it needs cosmetic repairs and offered to supply the materials and knock off of the rent for the labor if my Son-in-law did the repairs.  He also said that there would be a rent-to-buy option in the lease agreement.  The house is a little more than a block away from the school - and when I say school, I mean from Kindergarten all the way through High School.  They are in separate buildings, but on the same campus.
We decided that Saturday to take the house.  The enthusiasm they had for getting moved 35 miles away would almost make your head spin!  We had about 80% of everything moved by the following Wednesday when we went to bed that night in our new residence!  This Wednesday we will be in there one week.  We still  have about 10% remaining in my old house to pack and carry.  Then we will clean up my old house and property and I will eventually put it on the market - although I don't think it wise to try to sell it as a house for a residence.  It would be best marketed as investment property for someone to tear down and rebuild on the nice size lot.
We have heard stories from those we know of how they or someone they knew stumbled upon a sweet deal such as this and have longed for it to be us.  You could say that we happened to be in the right place at the right time that this time the sweet deal is ours but how we see it is; God orchestrated for us to be in the right place at the right time and blessed us with this sweet deal!
There's more, but some of this enormous blessing was a monetary gift by an anonymous "Christian Friend" (which is how the card was signed) and to say any more than that would be saying too much other than saying it was an unexpected and very generous blessing!  I am amazed!  To be so loved, so cherished, so treasured by my Father in heaven!  Amazing sweet blessings!

...Comes Much Responsibility

My inspiration today comes from the weather - it's unseasonably warm.  I learned a lot from my ex-husband who was a dairy farmer.  Unseasonably warm temperatures is potentially hazardous to crops, especially fruit trees.  Unseasonably warm temperatures can cause premature budding and the buds become vulnerable to the inevitable freeze that (in this part of the country) typically comes just before or right around Easter.
As I wiped my brow this morning and gazed at the rain clouds rushing by overhead - too high to benefit this immediate area - the thought occurred to me that with knowledge (information) comes much responsibility.  I immediately felt it my duty to pray in behalf of the farmers and anyone who owns a fruit tree, for the protection and preservation of their crop and thereby, their income.
That, in turn, led to another sense of responsibility.  I repeated to myself that with knowledge (about something - anything) comes much responsibility.  I applied that to a particular scenario.  Suppose someone learns of a potentially hazardous situation in which someone is doing something harmful that could adversely affect that individual and everyone with whom he or she works.  What is that one's responsibility?  If that one keeps quiet about it, wouldn't that one be just as responsible for any harm that might come to anyone working with the individual that is doing something harmful?  Why does knowledge come to anyone if not for that one to have the opportunity to do something with that knowledge?
Today, it is so easy for people to resist getting involved.  No one wants to make waves.  No one wants to "create a problem where there isn't one" - when what they really mean is, "nothing bad has happened yet, keep your mouth shut".  But shouldn't having such knowledge put the recipient of that knowledge in the position to do something to prevent something bad from happening?  Along with knowledge comes much responsibility.
Regarding my inspiration for this topic, I have no control over the weather.  Should I be concerned about the crops of some unknown farmer or individuals?  Along with knowledge comes much responsibility.  I say yes.  I have this knowledge, therefore, I can do what I can do.  Since I cannot control the weather, I can talk to The One who does have that control.  Regarding the scenario - do I look the other way, it's not my problem?  Or do I have a sense of responsibility to do something to try to prevent something hazardous from potentially happening?  Along with knowledge comes much responsibility.