Deep Sorrow

At 4:35 this afternoon, I got a call from Don's father. He had been working at the church all morning and returned home around 3 p.m. to find Don's mother on the kitchen floor. He called 911, but she was already dead. The phone was laying near her - it appears she tried to call for help, but we believe she had a massive heart attack and died before she could make the call.

I'm trying to get laundry done now and packing so we can leave during the night. After calling Don at work, telling the children, and calling my parents, I called our dear friend, Nicki, who used to live with us. She immediately came over and walked me and the children through the remainder of the day. While I took Deanna down to the school to get her books to take with us so she can stay caught-up on schoolwork, Nicki began a list at home of all the details we needed to tend to. As Don thought of things, he'd call them out and Nicki would write them down. By the time I got home, they had quite a nice list.

As I made each phone call to arrange replacements for teaching Sunday School or chaperoning the Field Trip, people volunteered to help with other things. I was able to mark about 2 items off my list for every one call I made. It was amazing.

I'm still numb, staying very focused on getting the work done. Don has said very little to me, but I'm sure he's still in a state of shock, also. Deanna posted her thoughts, very deep and sad, on her Blog, and we had a chance to talk about how she was doing. All she can think about is all the things she wanted to do with her grandma in the future and won't get to now.

As I was tucking Dane in, I scooted him over and climbed in bed with him. He had gone off to bed without being told or asked, and I was concerned that was him fading into the woodwork. I asked him how he was doing.

"It's going to be so different now, Mommy," he said. "Grandma always kept the candy dishes filled and made cookies for us when we came to visit. There's not going to be anyone to do that now."

Each of us are beginning to feel our loss in our own ways. I keep thinking of all the years with the children she'll miss and how Daelyn never got to stay for his week with them. He barely knew Grandma and never got his "special" time with her. For years, I've said that I was thankful Don's parents were so much younger than mine, because when mine were gone, I'd still have a set of parents. Both of mine have outlived her. I just can't quite get my mind around that.

I keep thinking of little things. Dane's worried about the candy dish, I'm worried about the dog and the pond. What's Grandpa going to do with Sassy, Grandma's dog? And she was the one who always reminded him to feed the fish in the pond. I was taking Dane's clothes out of his dresser drawer and ran across a pair of pajamas that are too long. I pulled them out of the dresser and added them to the pile of things to take, thinking, "Mom and I can hem these while I'm there."

I've thought about the amythst earrings that I bought her for Christmas this year that match the bracelet I gave her last year and the Healing Garden products that I've stashed away for her. She was so much a part of our lives and thoughts, it will be quite sometime before the realization begins to sink in that there will be no more Christmases with her, no more shared recipes, no more loving advice and kind ear to bend when I'm struggling.

And now I'm just rambling. I need to finish packing, but it's hard to pull myself away from these thoughts. I'm sure I'll have many more over the next few weeks as I begin to better understand the loss we've suffered.

Carole Doughty, my mother-in-law, was a loving, kind, charitable woman who treated me as a beloved daughter. The very things we loved about her the most are the things that make her death so hard to accept. But we have wonderful memories. I just wish we had more of them.

The Miracle of Reagan

My nephew's wife, Rachel, is passing through town on her way to visit Chad (her husband) who is in specialized Army training in North Carolina. She and her two babies spent the night at Grandma and Grandpa's house and I got to visit with them for a few minutes last night.

Her daughter, Reagan, is our latest miracle baby. She was born in trauma, having aspirated myconium before birth. She was very sick and they didn't expect her to live. She had gotten an infection from the feces, which had spread to her blood while still in the womb.

They put her on a machine that recycled her blood, cleaning it out, then pumping it back into her body, in addition to other life-support equipment. After an extended period of time on the blood machine, she began having little mini-strokes and had numerous brain bleeds. The situation looked hopeless, but her parents never lost hope.

I took my mother and sister to visit our little baby in the ICU Unit at Birmingham Children's Hospital, fearful that might be the only time I saw her this side of Heaven. She was absolutely precious, with red hair and blue eyes, but her skull was distended twice it's size and we knew the fluid was impacting her brain. It was a hard visit, but we were able to talk with her and love on her.

Well, she lived. It was a miracle. The swelling in her head eventually went down but the doctors told Chad and Rachel there was no way to know how significant her brain had been damaged through this trauma. We would just have to wait and see what developmental milestones she missed.

She'll be 2 this August, and has missed NO milestones. She's an active, happy, SMART little girl, full of life and excitement. As I sat there this morning, watching her tuck her head under her arm to grin at me while she was pulling Great-Grandma's sweaters out of their neatly folded stack, I discovered that I just wanted to watch her and ponder God's goodness. When children are active or, later, rebellious, it's so easy to lose our perspective and forget what miracles they really are. Each one is a gift from God, a miraculous creation, but some bear the stamp of being even more miraculous, like Reagan.

My three were all incredible miracles. It's easy to forget that in the throes of life, but I do find myself gazing at them often, thinking about the fullness in my life because of God's gracious gift to me of these three beautiful children. My heart absolutely bursts with love for them, and I know they feel that.

As I watch Reagan, I just want her to know a couple of things: God loves her and saved her very life; there has to be a marvelous purpose for the great miracle of her, completely healed; we love her more than we will ever be able to express to her.

If she can get those three things firmly planted in her mind, she'll be far ahead of most of us and right where she needs to be.

Taking Humor a Little Too Far

Admittedly, we're a fun family. We enjoy being together so much that just about anything can be fun for us. Several weeks ago, on the way home from church, Don filled up his car at a gas station that has a car wash. You would've thought we were on vacation to hear the hoops and hollers as we went through. We love life, especially when we're together.

But I think the following is taking enjoying being together just a little too far.

We're sitting around the table eating dinner last night. For a minute or two, there was absolute silence. Then, out of nowhere (totally random, as Deanna would say), Dane yelled,

"Nuclear missiles!"

Daelyn cracked up, as did Dane. Deanna got tickled at how much they were laughing and burst into laughter herself. I couldn't be the odd man out, so I laughed, too. As we sat around the table, immersed in our own ridiculous humor, I shook my head.

When you enjoy being together, I suppose ANYTHING can be funny.

A Day of Peace

Despite the sickies who've been home from school and church over the last few days, I feel so peaceful. Dane stayed home Friday with a headache, nausea, and aching throat. Deanna came into the my bathroom while I was in there Sunday morning, rummaged through my drawer looking for a thermometer, then began telling me how bad she felt. I took the boys to church by myself. This morning, after checking on Daelyn after 7:00 to make sure he was up, I heard him coughing uncontrollably and decided to keep him home.

But I had the most peaceful Saturday I can remember in a very long time. I slept in, trying to recoup some of my lost rest from the last several weeks, then did a couple of things with the boys that they've been begging to do, including a library run. I did some laundry and some housecleaning chores, watched a movie with Deanna, then managed a short nap. I got up in time to make a nice dinner, clean up the kitchen, and we headed over to Kelly's house for a bonfire (or bonefire, as Deanna and I thought Dane said, but he claims he didn't).

Although Sunday was busy, it was also very peaceful. And today has been a wonderful day. I've gotten some cleaning and organizing done, most of the laundry finished, and had a very peaceful day, moving from room to room, despite Daelyn being under foot.

It's been an unexpected oasis in a life of craziness. And just what I needed to steady myself before launching into the last 6 weeks of school! A deep breath, a smell of Easter lilies, and a clean den - YAY!!

She's Slain Us All!

This afternoon, during Daelyn's soccer game, I went and got Ainsley, my dear friend's 8 month old daughter. I snuggled her, held her, then spotted someone I needed to speak with, so I tucked her under my arm and headed across the backyards.

While visiting, the games finished. Daelyn came over by me and was playing with some friends.

Me: "Daelyn, I have to take Ainsley back to Aunt Kelly and then we're walking home. You can either walk with me or I'll drop her off, then pick you up on my way back."

Daelyn: "I'll stay here and play."

Me: "Okay. But be ready to go after I give Ainsley back." I started to walk away, when Daelyn hollered to me.

Daelyn: "WAIT, Mama!! I need to tell her goodbye!"

He kissed her head, rubbed his face against her forehead and soft hair, smiled at her and, generally, just loved on her. He took her out of my arms and hugged her close.

Me: "Enough already, Daelyn. Let me take the child home!"

But my eyes softened as the smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. Is there anything sweeter than watching a child lavishly bestowing affection on a baby?

I think not.

Basketball Finals

The Elementary Intramural Basketball Finals were last night. Dane's team was competing for the championship. They play 4-on-4 and 2 10-minute halves. Though it's not quite a full-fledged basketball game, you'd never know it by watching these boys. They guard, dribble with both hands, weave in and out . . . generally, play like real basketball players.

We were excited about the championship, especially since Dane's team was playing. Don took off from work early so he could be there. We sat together in the stands critiquing the plays, rooting for Dane, and acknowledging good plays by both teams.

Dane's team played very well, but was one point down going into the last minute. With only 28 seconds left on the clock, Dane got the rebound, passed it to their dribbler, then headed down court to our basket. Ben (the appointed "dribbler") was heavily guarded, as was Dane, who was working hard to get into the open. Finally, Ben passed to another boy on the team who shot and missed. The opponent got the rebound.

We felt there was no chance. All they had to do was waste 15 seconds or so, since they were still one point ahead. I knew there was no hope for us.

But I should know by now to never say "no hope". The boy with the ball took a shot, missed, and Dane again got the rebound. With only 8 seconds left in the game, he passed to Ben and they headed down court. Ben moved slowly, as if he wasn't aware there were only seconds (less than 10) left on the clock. By the time he reached mid-court, the other team was all over him. It looked like time was going to run out with him still trying to find a clear shot or pass. Then, miraculously, he threw the ball high and out. Dane was standing at the perfect shot-distance from the basket and WAS COMPLETELY IN THE CLEAR!! The entire opposing team was guarding Ben. The ball fell neatly into Dane's hands who took a second, then shot a beautiful basket. As the ball cleared the basket, the buzzer sounded.

The stands went wild, including the spot where I was standing. Ben's father, Jimmy , looked down at me and Don, smiled and pointed in congratulations. I was thrilled beyond belief. Dane scored the final basket to win the game by one point in the final 3 seconds.

This morning, I stopped by the school office to take care of some business. The Elementary Administrative Assistant and the Middle School Principal/Athletic Director were standing in the office, talking with the secretary. When I walked up, she said,

"You're ears must've been burning. We were just talking about you."

"OH?" I asked.

"Well, Dane, anyway. Dennis was telling us about the game last night."

That's all they needed to say to launch me into my excited retelling of the events. I'm so proud of Dane. He kept his cool, played smartly, and won the championship for his team. I realize it took the whole team, but scoring that winning basket reminded me so much of the baseball game last summer (that I referenced above, next to Jimmy's name) when Dane pitched a no-run inning against his classmates' team. He's so quiet and unassuming, when he pulls off something like this, it's very unexpected and exciting.

Last night, after all the chores were done, I dropped in exhaustion on the couch and flipped on the T.V. Dane appeared around the corner in his pajamas.

"Mama, I'm too excited to sleep," he said. Join the crowd, my son.

A Time for Everything

I've been on a quest for several years now for some furniture. My problem is that I'm picky. I don't go into a store, look around, see something I like, and buy it. I think, ponder, pray, think some more, until I decide exactly what I want. Then I have to find that exact piece to be happy.

Despite the whole issue of perhaps doing this backwards, it's also very difficult. Styles disappear and reappear over years. For instance, I won't settle for end tables for my living room that don't have enclosed cabinets. I need the storage space (it's where I put our games) and I have to be able to close a door on it so it doesn't always have to look perfect. For about the last 10 years, the popular style has been open - no drawers or cabinets with doors. I've had to wait it out, hoping the styles would change back to enclosed cabinets sooner rather than later. I finally got my end tables, after about 8 years of shopping for them, the year before last. Now, the trend is moving back towards enclosed cabinets and drawers.

I've had the same issue with many other pieces of furniture. When I bought my end tables for the living room, I also bought a sofa table that matched. It's lovely and has three large drawers down the middle and enclosed cabinets on either end - just what I needed. The problem - I don't have the right sofa and, until I do, I didn't want to put the sofa table in the living room.

I put it against the back wall of our den, which needs an occasional table, but it's far too big for that location. It became painfully obvious within minutes of settling it in place that it's just too long. The heighth is perfect, but it's overwhelming large for the space where it temporarily lighted.

Now I have another problem. Don has taken over the cabinetry. All his computer papers, disks, and miscellaneous other stuff has found a home in the sofa table. When I move it to its permanent place, I am going to HAVE to replace it. But finding the perfect piece for that location is quite an issue. It needs to be about the same heighth as this one, but much shorter. However, we've got to have those cabinets for all of Don's computer stuff.

I've also been on the hunt for the perfect couch. I want a light-colored leather sectional with recliners. But not just any light-colored leather sectional will do. I'm picky about styles and I have to be able to arrange it in a "U" shape

Several years ago, I saw exactly what I wanted at a discount furniture outlet.

"That's the perfect one," I told Don. "We need to snatch it up!"

"If they have it here now, honey, I'm sure there are lots of them available other places. Let's look around."

Big mistake. One I'm sure he'll never make again. When we finally, many years later, find the perfect couch once again, I'm quite certain he won't be paying discount furniture outlet prices for it. He'll be lucky if he can buy it without having to auction off the house or children.

Yesterday, in my continuing quest, I visited (for the second time) a Bassett furniture store that's going out of business. No light-colored reclining leather sectionals, but I did find a leather and wrought iron stool which I bought as a footstool for the den. Last time I was in this store, with a friend, we diligently searched through EVERY piece. We tried out some leather couches, thinking perhaps I could substitute a couch and loveseat combination for my sectional. We also considered several fabric sectionals. But with Don and the children's allergies to dust, I'm really trying to avoid fabric furniture. The leather traps so much less dust and can be wiped down frequently. It just IS the way to go with the kinds of allergic problems with which we deal.

A couple of weeks ago, I bought a new, COMFORTABLE bench for our dining room, which I love, and am moving the old natural wood Parson's Bench into my bedroom to sit at the foot of my bed. I originally bought it for my bedroom, but that was before some furniture my parents sent down to me took up it's space. It will replace my teakwood carved Hope Chest, which will move into the far end of the living room, in front of the double windows, and serve as a window seat.

I guess I'm making progress - slow but sure. I still need my couch, the occasional table for the den, and a piece of furniture to replace the bookshelf Don uses for storage of envelopes, checks, magazines, etc., that is an eyesore. And a nice computer table that we can close up when the piles of stuff that have taken up permanent residence near the computer threaten to overwhelm me. When that's all done, I need to find a new dining room table and chairs with a matching china cabinet.

Just a few little things. But, if I take them one at a time, I think it's all do-able.

In the right season.

That Little Old Pine Tree

When Dane was in Second Grade, his class went on a field trip to a tree farm. Each child came home with an evergreen sapling. Dane proudly planted it in the front yard and we've babied it for several years now. During the growing season, Dane will sometimes come into the house twice in one week and beg me to go out and look at it.

"It's so much bigger than the last time you looked, Mom," he'll plead. Inevitably, I go outside, ooh and aah about how big it's gotten, examine the new growth, and stand at a distance while Dane measures himself against it for the millionth time, smiling and nodding.

Last winter, I decided the little evergreen needed some shaping up. If it's going to grow into a beautiful front yard Christmas tree, we need to work on it. While Dane was at school one day, I trimmed it - the higher branches shorter, the lower ones longer, to give it that nice conical shape that's a requirement for all real Christmas trees.

When Dane came home from school, he had a FIT!!! I had trimmed the top back.

"Honey," I tried to explain, "it was gangly. The top needed to be trimmed back so it will fill out. You want a nicely rounded tree, not a tall, skinny one."

The convincing didn't go well. All Dane could see was that his much-beloved heighth had taken a hit. For the next week, I probably caught him in the front yard measuring himself against it at least a dozen times. Finally, after about a month, he admitted to me quietly,

"Mama, my tree really does look better. You were right to trim it. It's growing better now and looks healthier."

I know it must've been a hard statement for him to make, but it was true. The tree was growing much faster, looked cleaner and neater and, in general, seemed much happier since its trimming.

This year, just before the hint of Spring, I took my scissors to the tree yet again. However, this time, I was smart enough to hide the evidence. I got rid of all the pieces I had cut off before Dane got home from school.

He didn't even notice. But he brought up something about his garden and I erroneously thought he was talking about his tree, and made some remark that tipped him off. Shortly thereafter, I saw him looking it over closely.

When he came back into the house, I eyed him suspiciously, waiting for the maelstrom of frustration and comments about how short it was again. None came. Instead, Dane walked into the kitchen and said,

"My pine tree really looks good, Mom. It's beginning to take on a nice shape. I can't wait to see how it likes its trimming this year."

Boy, was I shocked. But my son is accepting the facts of life. We all need shaping and pruning, and are much happier once the job is completed. Yes, we may groan and whine as the shears are cutting and we may mourn that particularly tall spike on the top that was cut back, but the satisfaction of being put back in order quickly overcomes the memories of the pruning.

I think there must be an analogy here somewhere . . .

Another Installment in the Donovan Saga

A friend came by the house a couple of weeks ago to visit and, of course, Donovan began jumping up, trying to greet her.

Me: "Daelyn, take the dog and lock him up in the bathroom, please."

Daelyn obediently disappeared with the dog. I noticed the boy didn't return and then realized he was staying in the bathroom with his beloved pet. About 20 minutes later, they both re-appeared in the kitchen.

Me: "DAELYN! I told you to put Donovan in the bathroom. Honey, he's going to jump up on Aunt Laura."

Daelyn: "I DID take him to the bathroom, Mom. But Donovan and I had a long discussion and he has agreed to not jump up on Aunt Laura anymore if I let him out of the bathroom."

How do you respond to this kind of reasoning and love? With what's quickly becoming my "pat" answer.

Me: "Daelyn, you can't trust him. He lies."

The Flip Side

A couple of years ago, while watching 60 Minutes or 20/20, Andy Rooney did a spot on mixed nuts. He purchased several different brands of mixed nuts, then dumped them all out, separated them into types of nuts, and counted them.

The brand made no difference; essentially, every can had roughly the same breakdown of types of nuts. Most of the nuts were peanuts and the rest of the order has slipped my mind, but the thing I remember the most is that the fewest of nuts were pecans.

Andy Rooney said this didn't surprise him, that pecans are the rarest and, therefore, the most expensive nut. It surprised ME. I would've thought walnuts or Brazil nuts (he didn't include Macadamias in his count - they don't put them in cans of mixed nuts) were rarer and more expensive than pecans. But that's probably because I LIVE in pecan country.

Specifically, my house is in a pecan orchard. But we see pecan trees throughout the area when we go on trips. My children can even recognize pecan trees just from the leaves and the way the branches grow. This area of the south really is Pecan Central.

Every Fall, we pick them. The children sell them and make spending/Christmas money. I shell them and pack them away in the freezer for my baking. They're so common for us that I substitute them in recipes that call for peanuts. They taste wonderful and freeze great. You can even thaw them and refreeze over and over again without damaging the nut or the flavor.

We love our pecans. Every kid in the neighborhood knows how to do the pecan stomp - how to position a juicy, ripe nut on the cement and jump on it just right to shatter the shell without mutilating the meat, a fine art in this neck of the woods. We roast them, candy them, butter and salt them, eat them for snacks, bake with them . . . and all free of charge if we get out there and pick each Fall.

On my way home from dropping the kids off at school today, I was sneezing and thinking about the layer of yellow pollen covering EVERYTHING. Car colors have been obliterated. I had to run the windshield wipers this morning to be able to see out of the van window. Last night, while taking Donovan out to tinkle, I made the mistake of laying my palm down on the deck railing. YUCK! It was covered in yellow dust.

Nothing gets by unscathed. It seeps into everything, including our lungs. It's more than a nuisance - it's a health hazard. All the children are feeling puny. Dane came home from baseball practice last night with such a bad headache that when I went into his room to take him a dose of Ibuprofen, his clothes were in a blob next to the bed and he was already halfway to dream land. Daelyn refused dinner last night and breakfast again this morning - he feels bad. Deanna's dragging around like the walking dead. I can't stop sneezing and, generally, am just sluggish. We all feel crumby and I'm sure the yellow sludge everywhere is playing a big part.

Then it hit me: this is the price we pay for those lovely pecans. The yellow pollen is pecan dust. I'm sure, in other areas void of pecan trees, they don't run into the Yellow Haze every spring like us. We have to suffer through the spring pollen to be able to enjoy pecans throughout the year.

It's a trade-off. Is it worth it? I guess it depends on which day you ask me. But, the bottom line is this: it is what it is. This is where I live, and I'm not moving because of pecan pollen. This is what the trees do, and I'm certainly not going to change them. It is what it is.

Time to pull out that extra dose of allergy meds.

Another Negative

With the temps topping out in the 90's already (for those of you who don't live in Augusta, yes, it's true!), I don't think there's any chance of growing a spring garden. I have to move right into our summer garden if I'm going to do any gardening at all.

Maybe I can try lettuce in the Fall this year!

Maundy Thursday

Tonight, after the scriptures were read, the sermon was preached, dinner together (as part of the Liturgy) was finished, we had taken Communion, and the foot-washing ceremony completed, we moved into the Sanctuary to continue our Maundy Thursday Service.

As we knelt and responsively recited Psalm 22, the Altar Servers slowly and methodically stripped the Altar and Sanctuary. The Icon of St. Bartholomew, the Patron Saint of our Congregation, was covered in a black mesh cloth. The burlap covering the Altar was removed, folded, and put away. The prayer book and cross on the Altar, the burlap adornment and Bible on the Ambo were all removed. As we neared the end of Psalm 22, Fr. David looked around, walked to the back wall, and blew out the flame of the Holy Candle. It's amazing how much the loss of that little flame seemed to darken the Altar area.

We bowed our heads for a final prayer and, at the end, as we were just raising our heads, a black cloth was pulled from the top of the cross down over it. The effect was shocking. In silence, the congregation made their way out of the Sanctuary.

My spirit is stilled. My heart is waiting. As I sit here typing, I'm very aware that the hour is near when Jesus was betrayed by one of His beloved. At this very moment, Jesus was probably praying and sweating blood in the Garden of Gethsemane on the Mount of Olives. So many of our religious holidays don't take place on the actual day that they occurred, but this one is different. We can trace the exact date of the Passover and know the weekend that Jesus was crucified.

Daelyn will be taking his first Communion on Easter Sunday, in honor of Christ's resurrection. But, tonight, there is little joy as we await the hour of His death. It is a somber time, one in which we contemplate the great sacrifice that was made for us.

Lord, deliver me of my sin. Make me fresh and clean and help me to stand anew before you, worthy of the price you paid for me.

Amen.