I guess this is why when I see people take a backseat approach to parenting I get so confused.  I can’t imagine that there is a more awesome responsibility bestowed upon us as humans than to shape, mold, and guide the little spirits which are gifted to us.  I can count on two hands right now the number of people who immediately come to mind who- for one circumstance or another (divorce, laziness, etc.)- have just decided they no longer want to parent their kids.  Really?  When was this sheet passed around?  I didn’t realize that children and the responsibility of parenting came with a return policy.

Is being a parent difficult?  Yes.  Is it exhausting some days?  Yes.  Is it the most challenging responsibility you will face in your lifetime?  I’d be willing to bet yes, but I can also assure you that it is the task which will most pay off in the long run if handled prayerfully and properly.  Am I implying that I’m a perfect parent?  Far from it.  I have made my share of mistakes, and will probably make more before they both cross that stage to get their diplomas; but there are two things I can go to sleep each night knowing with certainty there is no one on this planet who loved those children today anymore than I did and there is no one else on this planet who will stand up for them and protect them like I will.

I remember when my kids were little we used to go to the dreaded McDonald’s playland at least weekly.  That place was a nightmare.  It smelled like chicken nuggets and dirty socks.  I shiver to think of the bacteria festering on every square inch of that plastic hell.  This “playland” was very often just a loud, torturous, free for all for children under the age of 8.  One afternoon I sat and watched with my own eyes as a bigger kid took his foot and kicked my then about 3-year-old son in the face.  I was mortified.  My first instinct was to run to him, which I did.  My second instinct was to look around for the parent of this brute child whom I knew would be rising out of her seat to come and offer assistance and apologies.  Hardly.  After scanning the room I knew she had to be one of two women, both in their early 20′s, sitting and casually chatting with one another.  Neither woman so much as lifted an eyebrow.  I entertained for one second the idea of not saying anything.  What if they thought I was being pushy?  What if they thought I was overreacting?  Then SANITY set in.  My child is 3 years old and can’t stand up for himself.  If I don’t do this then who will?  It was a liberating thought.  It’s my job as Elijah’s mother to protect him.  I marched my not-s0-happy-yet-calm self right over to that table and stood there until these young ladies looked up.  “Your son kicked my child in the face and I just wanted to let you know because I’m sure you’re going handle this with him.”  The girl didn’t move.  There was no apology.  No disciplining of the child.  It turned into her noticeably being perturbed that I had even bothered her with this situation.  Chalk this up to the “kids will be kids” theory and just move on.  Wow.  Yes.  Kids WILL be kids especially when they aren’t being parented, guided, and instructed.  Anyone whose child has ever experienced an injustice at the hands of my children (and my having knowledge of the event) can be assured that their child will get an apology from mine and I will offer an apology as well.  How my child behaves is a direct reflection upon me.  I’m the parent.  It’s my job to ensure that my children know how to behave around others.  They are also expected to know how to behave when we are at home.  Do my children always do what they are supposed to do?  Of course not.  I don’t need to go into a complete psychology on the dynamics of a child’s mind and how it is perfectly natural for them to push boundaries, especially in times of stress or transition, to see just what exactly they can get away with doing.  My children do know, however, that for misbehavior there is consequence.  It’s not fun for me either, but I know it’s what God expects of me.  Just as I expect good behavior from my children, God expects proactive parenting from those adults to whom He has given the responsibility of rearing a child.

Today in church Pastor Greg made the statement that if God made you a parent He will provide you with the tools you need to do the job.  I think it’s easy for some of us to lose sight of that.  Myself included.  The truth of the matter is that parenting takes time.  It takes effort.  It takes prayer and consideration.  It involves mistake making and learning from those mistakes and moving on.  I don’t think there is any way for us to be the parents we were designed to be without having a direct line of communication with God.  How are we supposed to hear His instruction and plan for our lives and the lives of our children if our lines of communication with Him are full of static?  Greg said that God will give us the knowledge we need to protect them and to steer them through challenges.  He may even give us insight into future situations to be on guard for.

There are times my children may come home from school and tell me that a particular child was not nice to them.  Maybe the child called them a name or made fun of them.  I will usually begin by explaining to my kids that some people have bad manners and this is never acceptable, neither for other children to do to them nor for them to do to other people.  I then encourage my child to go to a teacher if the behavior continues again so it can be dealt with in the moment it happens.  There are times when even that doesn’t solve the problem.  If the issues continues I will then take it up with the other parent.  I think so much of how we handle situations in our lives can be influenced by whether we handle the problem negatively or positively.  A negative situation can be handled in a positive fashion.  I don’t have to find this parent at a ballgame and throw a chair at them.  I firmly believe the Jerry Springer-esque behaviors that so many adults exhibit are  childish, redneck, ridiculous, and fruitless.  If I truly want to get a message across to someone this is most effectively done in a calm, rational manner as opposed to throwing a screaming, insane, arm-flapping tangent.  I will calmly call or speak to the other parent in person.  In most cases a solution is found and that’s the end of that.  I’m sure there are some mothers out there who wouldn’t appreciate such a phone call from another parent, but let me tell you this- if MY child is the one making fun of someone or misbehaving I EXPECT to be informed.  Otherwise, how am I supposed to be dealing with this issue at home?  I’ve never been afraid to ruffle feathers when it comes to my children.  My love for my children will always supersede my pride.

When I first gave birth so many people said to me jokingly, “Too bad they don’t come with an instruction manual.”  We as parents aren’t given a manual on what we are to do perfectly do in each circumstance.  Our children likewise aren’t given a manual on how to perfectly behave in each circumstance.  We are, in essence, the “manual” for our children.  They will do their learning through us.  They will see in us how to deal with this world we live in.  That is why it is imperative that in order to give the most informative and up-to-date information and guidance to our children we must literally bury ourselves in the Word.

I can promise you this- if we don’t parent our children ourselves then our children will be parented by the world around them.  Think how scary that though is.  Society is selfish and sinful and corrupt.  As Christians we are IN this world, but we are not OF this world.  Thank goodness.  That’s our saving grace in this insane rat race.  So, mothers like myself who find yourself newly single- I urge you not to lose sight of the harsh transition your children are going through.  Their lives are literally turned upside down.  This is the time your children will probably need you present the most.  Don’t be so wrapped up in that new boyfriend or search for one that you put your kids on the back burner because you’re too busy planning your outfit for Saturday night.  Dads, I can’t even tell you the vital importance you have in your children’s foundations.  You are to be the very reflection of Christ in their lives.  Don’t bring these children into the world and then think it’s okay for you to bolt when times get too hard or when you’re transitioning on to your next family, next phase in life.  All of us, whether divorced, single or remarried, have the same responsibility to our children.  If you are man/woman enough to bring a child into this world you should be man/woman enough to do the best job of parenting that you can.

I’ve heard it joked that when our kids are young our only job as parents is to make sure that they don’t die.  As a new parent you are so careful and cautious about each breath they take, each step they make… This doesn’t stop at infancy.  We need to be just as watchful over them and mindful of them throughout their lives.  Your ultimate responsibility for your child(ren) is to see that they come to a saving knowledge of their Heavenly Father.  Their safety and their success here on earth is secondary.  You have a spiritual responsibility to your children as well as a physical one.  Parenting is a hands-on, 24-hour-a-day responsibility.  The moment you become a parent your life stops being about you.  That’s how it must be.  That’s how it should be.  Parent with conviction.  Let your children rest securely in the love that they witness you possess for them through your parenting.

I was just reading the other day someone explaining what it feels like to lose a loved one.  And by “loved one” I mean a person who truly is a daily part of your life and one whose absence leaves a gaping hole.  I read this person say that in time the hurt goes away.  I’m not buying into that.  Today I sit, feeling just as sad and hurt about his absence as I did the day he left.  The only difference is that now, instead of having to face it everyday head on (impossible not to do through each conversation and moment I had with him), I simply refuse to let myself go there.  There’s not even 1% of me which feels ready to face that reality.  I’m smart enough to realize this probably isn’t the best coping skill to utilize in the year following a death, but for me- well, it just has to be right now.  I know my dad is gone and he’s not coming back.  I just need to mentally press pause and leave things where I can best cope with them.  In time I know I will have no choice other than to begin a slow and challenging unveiling of reality from the moment he left until my current circumstance.  It is said God doesn’t give us more than we can handle.  I’m trusting, but standing on that tightrope with one leg dangling out to the side searching desperately to find my balance.

Our closest friends are aware of the sweet meaning that snow has taken on for the Elder women.  I wrote my dad a poem about the snow while he was very ill.  The day he was taken to the funeral home and we would see him for the last time a beautiful, gentle, and unpredicted snow began to fall and my mom and I discussed the significance.  I reminded her that I had written about the snow for him and she said she knew.  She stated that the only difference is that this time we’re looking out and it and he’s looking down.  Those words were so powerful in that moment.

Last night the most beautiful snowfall began in our little town.  Messages from sweet friends began rolling in to remind me (us) that God was blanketing us in His love in preparation for the next few days.  I have no doubt that my sweet daddy up there, in that same earthly way he always wanted to see us happy, quietly pulled God aside and asked Him for this small favor.  It means the world to me.  I know it does to mom and Jess as well.

I loved that man.  I still love that man.  I know people are often spoken highly of after they pass, but each thing that I say of him is true.  I don’t have to sit and think and stretch the truth to make him sound fabulous.  He truly was.  The day after my dad died I went to the store.  I remember being almost angry that life was still going on all around us.  Surely the absence of such a huge, powerful soul would cause time and life to stop even if just for a moment. 

I’ll admit something and I had hoped not to have to go here- I’ve really let myself pull back from God this year in the middle of all these adjustments.  I’m not angry at Him and I don’t hate Him, but I guess deep down I do have lots of questions and I’ve not used a great deal of judgment in some areas of my life.  My earthly covering is gone now- no father, no husband.  I guess I have let myself flounder around a bit.  I’m sure if my dad were here he would want to have one of our infamous discussion over the kitchen table about life and decisions and consequences. 

This year my first order of business is to get right with my heavenly Father and to come to terms with the loss of my earthly one.  Both, frankly, are daunting tasks which I know I must do.  I want to make my father proud.  I want to be an example to my friends and the world of the hope and fulfillment we can find only in Christ.  I want to make both of them proud.  The snow is such a precious reminder to me that even during times they may feel far, they wish the best for us.  They are still looking down.

I know I’ve written on these before but I can hardly do a thorough story on Rogersville without mentioning the most predominant stories- news making stories actually- which have given me and my friends quite a good laugh.  Some of you may have seen on Jay Leno several years ago that a couple of convicts escaped from the Hawkins county jail, propped the jail door open with a Bible, and went on a beer run.  I think the best part of the story (other than using the Holy Bible as a means of escape) is that these guys, after partaking in their beverages, RETURNED to jail.  They didn’t want to escape really, they just needed to head to the Rockies I guess.  Here’s to good friends- tonight is kinda special…. for a jail break/beer run.  So flippin’ funny. 

My second favorite story is fairly recent.  Police discovered and infiltrated a local meth lab (these are pretty popular in this county apparently) and upon entering the residence were promptly greeted by monkeys.  Yes, I did say monkeys.  One monkey in particular was so large and aggressive that it actually attacked an officer.  This immediately became necessary fodder for my friends and myself to incorporate into our everyday dialogue- i.e. “I’m as mad as a monkey in a meth lab” or “I’m as riled up as a monkey in a meth lab”… you get the picture.

I truly could go on about 10 pages with more stories, but I’m just going to give you one more.  I’m writing this primarily for my friends Jeff and Todd, both of whom I have no doubt will laugh themselves silly from the corners of Colorado and California.  They’ll be as happy as two monkeys in a meth lab after reading this.

Carolynn and I were at dinner last night at the Mexican restaurant when she told me the following story.  I almost blew guacamole out my nose.  I’ve thought all day how to write this properly for full effect.  Here goes… Carolynn lives on Broadway.  For those of you unfamiliar, Carolynn is my mom.  Yes I call her by her first name.  We’ve been over this in earlier blogs.  Catch up.  (lol)  Broadway is a street within the historic district in beautiful, scenic Rogersville.  The Broadway Avenue area is a picturesque neighborhood with many other lovely, old homes in a variety of colors.  Several doors down from her some rather interesting characters have recently moved in.  I won’t give names.  This place is small enough, but let’s just say these people are outsiders too.   As neighbors, and former real estate clients, she has some issue to discuss with these people, so here goes Carolynn walking down one of Rogersville’s original, limestone sidewalks (one which I’m sure Andrew Jackson himself must have walked or roller-bladed on) <insert eye roll> from her two-story, pink Victorian house to this client’s home.  She was instantly greeted by her client’s much younger uh…… boyfriend.  Boyfriend is standing on the front porch of this home in the historic district, hollering out at the top of his lungs to one of the two horse-sized German shepherds chained to trees in the yard, “I love you, Sabrina!”  Interesting character to say the least.  Carolynn at this time has been greeted by a few other female neighbors who just happened to be passing at the time and they all convened in the client’s yard.  Imagine the movie “Steel Magnolias”.  These women all three are true Southern Belles with accents as sweet and as thick as molasses.  The very picture of Southern charm.  As they were standing around talking the group of women are approached by the dog-hollering boyfriend.  According to my mom, and she SWEARS this is true, he is wearing a t-shirt which has a picture of a huge rooster on it and the rooster has a saddle strapped to its back.  Written below in big, black letters it says, “Free Rooster Rides”…only they didn’t use the word “rooster”.  You following me?  My mom said she and the other two women were so mortified that it took all the strength they could muster to stare this man directly in the eyes and pretend they couldn’t read his shirt.  Perhaps you’re thinking to yourself- “Okay, that’s not so bad really”.  Please let me continue…

This same man who likes to wear shirts which reference his parts was seen driving a truck into his driveway just a few nights previous and he and his older girlfriend together hauled out an entire DEAD hog and hung it from a rope thrown over the branches of a tree in the yard.  I’m talking hog was hung crucifixion style and the two of them went at him with electric knives cutting him into bits.  Mind you, lest you forget, this is taking place on Broadway Avenue- not on someone’s farm.  If historical zoning frowns upon vinyl siding and has regulations about how far from the road a fence must be placed, I have a sneaking suspicion that going “Deliverance” in your front yard on wildlife and livestock would be a major no-no.

I swear to you, as much as I complain about this place I laugh about it too.  Where else does this stuff happen?  I tell my out-of-town friends and I think they think I’m making the stuff up.  I consider myself creative, but I don’t think even I could come up with these little jewels.

So, the next time you want to vacation to somewhere lovely come to Rogersville.  Bring a camera.  You just may get to take some pictures of monkeys in meth labs, obscene t-shirts, and animal slaughterings.  Who can put a price tag on those memories?!  Priceless.

A quick update: I am still here.  I am at my home with my children.  They are cute, happy and adjusting.  I am waiting, not so patiently, for the lawyers and the judge to do their work.  It’s an incredibly frustrating process and a slow-moving one at that.  I have a theory that if the lawyers conducting this horrific process had to experience the emotional turmoil equally to that of the people going through a divorce….well, my guess is that it probably wouldn’t take 3 months to a year to complete.  Just sayin’.

For those of you who have been wondering I am no longer on Facebook, but hope to soon return.  I needed the break from cyberland.  Sometimes it’s easy to bury yourself in all of the hooplah and status updates and funny comments and pictures, but it has become necessary for me to take the time to focus on my real life and the issues at hand.  It’s funny how much I’ve missed Facebook.  I’ll be with girlfriends and something funny will happen and I’ll say, “DANG!  That would make a hilarious status!”

I wanted to say “thanks” to all of my friends who have contacted me, Jess or my mom to find out how we are doing.  It’s nice to feel missed.    Thanks also to sweet Pat for the card of encouragement and the Starbucks gift card!  PERFECT!  It was such a sweet surprise and very much appreciated.

I’m learning things about myself this year that I didn’t know.  Some things good, some things bad, but one of the biggest lessons I’ve learned is that even when I literally don’t have the strength to get out of bed or to face another day I know I can do it… I have to.  In the heat of this battle I’m still standing, head held up and I’ll keep on going.  This year has not been kind to me or my family.  From early January we’ve had obstacles, big ones, which have had to be overcome.  Most of you know I grew up in church and that I have faith in a God Who pulls us out of the muck and mire.  Another lesson I’m learning is that regardless of how many Bible verses I can recite or point out to you it is when you find yourself in the very most heated parts of the battle that you truly learn how committed you are.  I’ve surprised myself this year with the doubt and confusion and question I’ve let crawl into my life.  I’m just being honest here.

I’d love to pretend to all of you that I’ve been the picture-perfect example of GRACE in action, but I’ve not.  I have doubted and questioned and whined and complained and blamed.  I’ve done a child’s share of finger-pointing and fussing about the state of life, but the reality is I didn’t just wake up one day living here.  I’ve been living on this unstable foundation for a long time.  You can’t build a sandcastle on the shore and then complain when the waves come crashing in.  Waves crash.  That’s what they’re supposed to do.  Either move your castle or be prepared for a lifetime of rebuilding.  I just chose, for some reason, to build too close and I’m having to live with that decision.  It’s been a tough reality to face and has forced me to do much soul-searching.  I’ve stated in my writing before that it can be very scary to have to take a good look at yourself.  You may not find the you that you’re trying to convince the world of.  I’m so thankful that I have people in my life who accept me even when I’m not nearly as fabulous as I’d like for everyone to think I am. 

The purpose in my writing this is two-fold.  First, I would ask for continued prayer.  I receive any that you will send my way.  Prayers especially for my children and that God will direct all those in charge to decisions which will be in the best interest of the 2 most valuable ”possessions” that I have.  Secondly, I’d love to hear back from any of you who wish to speak.  It’s easy to know you’re a Christian.  It’s easy to know the perfect thing to say, but when it comes down to time to DO those perfect things, do ya sometimes just get a little tired?  I have.  The fight in me isn’t gone, but it certainly is looking for a little down time.  Hopefully soon.

I don’t want anyone to misunderstand.  I’m not a downer on love.  I’m not trying to take the “magic” out of anything, but I’ve learned that if we had a more realistic view of what love truly is…. well, maybe we wouldn’t make some of the foolish mistakes that we do.  I saw a button once that said, “Disney gave us unrealistic expectations about hair and men”.  This is a humorous way to look at it, but I firmly believe that the Disney-ization of relationships causes young women to believe that the fairytale is the brass ring we are all to strive to achieve and anything less is us “settling” for less than we should.  I’m afraid the movie industry and our willingness to set the bar so high has actually proven a disservice to females of our generation.

My mother and I used to argue in my 20′s and 30′s when she would say that people in my generation were so selfish.  She explained that my age group seemed to be only concerned with what made us happy.  She spent hours explaining to me that “happiness” should never be our life’s goal.  “Happiness” is a feeling and a fleeting one at that.  What we need to be striving for is to be walking in God’s will.  I bucked her on the “happiness” part for a long time.  I don’t think I understood what she was saying.  A lesson she taught me without having to say it in descriptive terms was the lesson of committment.  The older we become the more choices we are allowed to make.  Part of the maturing process is to be accountable and responsible for those decisions which we chose to make.  I imagine when we are all standing before the Lord our discussion had better not be plagued with explanations of why we tried to make ourselves happy at every turn.  I don’t think He’ll buy into our stories and explanations of WHY we deserved to do such and such and WHY we made such self-centered decisions.  I’m pretty sure His response would sound something like, “Really?  Then where did I come into the picture?  If it was all about you and your happiness then what about MY will and MY fullness?”  You can’t take a situation, wrap it up in a lovely red bow, and stamp it with the words  ”God’s Fullness For My Life” just because it fits in nicely with your quest for happiness.  Finding His true fullness requires introspection and cleansing.  It may mean giving up some things that we find fun and entertaining.  Heck, it might even require that we examine ourselves thoroughly (insert shiver here) and come face to face with who we truly are.  I will tell you from experience this is NOT an easy thing.  We risk finding out that we may not be exactly the person we’ve tried to convince the world that we are.  It can bring you to your knees.  I have the rug burns to prove it.  Am I saying that we won’t ever have happiness in our quest to achieve God’s fullness for our lives?  Absolutely not.  What I am saying is that everything that brings us happiness isn’t necessarily part of the fullness plan that He has for us.  We just have to decided how long we want to continue to drive this bus on our own.  A bus can only have one driver.  Who’s it gonna be?  Us or Him?

The older I get the less tolerance I find myself having for those who proclaim a longing for a closeness to Him and yet continue to live lives so obviously lead by self.  The funny thing is, I don’t even see it as judgment.  At my age I’m seriously too tired to even be judgmental.  There’s no point.  I’m not responsible for anyone else and no one else is responsible for me.  I view it as more of an ownership issue.  If you’re living in sin, let’s just call it sin.  If you’re seeking His fullness, then call it that.  If you’re a fence straddler at times, just own up to it.  There are many times that I’ve been that person who has been selfish.  I think back to my 20′s and I hang my head.  That was a decade-a fun one at that- but one filled with such selfishness.  I was young and immature and selfish.  Shamefully so.  I think I began the tip of my maturity journey in my 30′s and the moment I became a mother at age 33 my entire world shifted off its axis.  I would dare to say this is the time that I gained true perspective.  In that moment on September 23, 2003 I was responsible for another little being.  My needs and wants fell away silently and painlessly.  All I wanted was this scary, exciting new chapter of my life.

*** It’s always interesting to me to jump on here and finds drafts of stories I’ve not yet finished.  This is one of them.  I began this December 14 of last year.  Several things have changed since this blog began.  I have lost my father and my marriage is falling apart.  Interestingly enough, even after reading this and fighting back several overwhelming eye rolls I think I still stand by my original words and thoughts.  I’m not one to be giving relationship advice at this time so I’ll save the rest of my words in that area for when my wounds are less fresh and I will have hopefully gained some perspective.

What I can say tonight is THANK GOD that life and love are more than a feeling.  My feelings have fluctuated so much in the past 6 months that often times it is difficult to discern the true emotion from that which has kicked in if only to sustain me.  I am allowing myself to take a little time out from life lately and regain my strength.  It’s difficult to be what I like to consider myself- independent, funny and grounded- when I feel like my foundation has been rattled and most days I’d rather just pull the covers up over my head and stick straight pins into voodoo dolls of several people who shall remain nameless.

I won’t be in my self-imposed time out for long.  Just long enough to get back to myself.  It’s taken 41 years to get me to this point.  I promise it won’t take that long to get me out. 

I have written several blogs about my father and his condition as it was happening.  “I’ll Watch the Snow With You” was the turning point.  It was in this moment that I let myself begin to mourn the loss of my father while he was yet still on this earth.  The night he died I wrote “Gentle Passage” in an attempt to give a brief accounting of the miracle we all witnessed the night he died.  Today I will attempt to give a broader snap shot of the events which occurred in the house that night.  My mother has requested this story.  She says there is much of that evening that she can not recall.  This is for her.  It is not a story that I have wanted to write.  Today marks 17 weeks since he died.  I began this blog on week 8 and again around week 12.  I just couldn’t do it.  It still feels unreal and dreamlike.  I find that I often refuse to allow myself to “go there”.  I will come across pictures of him or hear a song which reminds me of him and I have to move right on past it.  I’m not ready to be there yet.  So, one of the hesitations in writing this has been that I know I will have no choice but to go there.  Maybe it’s time.  This Tuesday bears special significance in the fact that in less than 4 hours, when the clock strikes midnight on Wednesday, May 4, my sweet mom and dad would have celebrated their 42nd wedding anniversary.  This is my gift to them…

Most of our sweet friends have followed my family’s journey through this slow ascension into confusion- for both dad and the rest of us.  His disease, corticobasal degeneration, was similar to Alzeheimer’s and Parkinsons.  (Interesting that I keep typing this in present tense and have to change it to past…. denial…. sometimes it’s a great place to reside.  Anyway…) As best as any of us can recollect the symptoms began around 3 years ago with slight changes and proceeded slowly but surely to the place he remained in his last days- a place of absence and unrecognition.  It was beyond painful to watch, but we knew that God was with us and that He would hold us up on those days we were too weak to move, and He did.

On Tuesday, January 4 my mother and I were both anxious awaiting the arrival of a hospital bed to be delivered to my parent’s home.  We trusted that this new equipment would provide my dad with a new level of comfort and would make the seemingly impossible task of moving him from one place to another just a little bit easier.  I arrived at her house that morning and was there when the medical equipment company arrived.  We were blessed in the latter stages of my dad’s condition with a sweet, young girl named Devin who would come and sit at the house with dad when mom needed to run out on business or to go to the store for groceries or whatever was needed to care for him.  Devin had come that morning and mom and I had made plans to go to the store to get new sheets for his new bed and some other necessary items.  We said our goodbyes to dad and to Devin and mom and I left.  We ran to the store and even decided that since it was so rare that we got to share a meal out together that we would go and get food and coffee.  We did and then returned home around 3 p.m.  Upon entering the house we both went and checked on dad and he was so hot, even to the touch, that he had sweated through his shirt.  We immediately began to remove his t-shirt and I ran for the thermometer.  His temp was high.  Too high.  I got on the phone and called our family doctor, Dr. Blaine Jones, and my dad’s hospice nurse (who had never even yet been to the home).  Things were happening so fast that I don’t think it even sunk in that things had grown as crucial as they had. 

By the time Jenna (hospice nurse) arrived we had called Jessica and asked her to pick up some liquid Tylenol.  It was impossible at this point for my dad to swallow a pill.  Jenna came and checked his vitals and had much difficulty finding a pulse because it was so faint.  I remember asking her if we should put socks on his feet because they were so cold at this time.  She looked at us very lovingly and in the most perfect, considerate terms began to explain to us what was happening.  His body was shutting down.  The blood was leaving from his extremities to protect his vital organs.  My mother asked her to come with us into another room and talk to us very frankly.  “What are we talking about, Jenna?  How much time?”, said mom.  “He truly has a matter of hours to a matter of days at the most.”  In that one moment it was like driving a car into a brick wall.  Seriously?!  Already?  You just got here.  It can’t be time.  I have no doubt that nothing other than the all-inspired, strengthening hand of God fell upon the three of us like a blanket to prepare us for what was about to happen.

During the next few hours she contacted a doctor and asked for a prescription of morphine to keep dad comfortable.  He wasn’t trembling.  He wasn’t struggling.  She said it was simply to ensure his comfort.  I didn’t even want to say the words out loud, but I’d always heard that morphine sometimes has an effect on the body which actually can speed up the dying process.  In my mind I resolved myself to the fact that if this was indeed the day he was to die, then we wanted it to occur in the most peaceful fashion possible.  After a series of phone calls to a pharmacy and a pharmacist who was a family friend we were told that the prescription would be filled even after closing hours if necessary.  There are many days that I hate living in this little town, but on that day I witnessed the benefit of having sweet friends who worked in positions such as these to offer their services.  We are forever thankful to all who orchestrated those events.

Dad got received his first and only dose of morphine at 7 p.m.  She explained to us that we may witness the slowing of his breath and that this was a normal part of the process.  We witnessed the slowing and even the complete stopping during several occasions.  I remember looking at Jenna during one such event for affirmation that things were ok and she just sweetly looked at me and nodded her head solemnly.  This continued for some time until she felt she had done all she could.  Jenna left the home afterwards and instructed us to call her at any hour that we needed her.  The next little while remains a bit fuzzy to me, but I remember that in the most amazing fashion our dearest friends just began to appear at the house- for no real reason really.  We were surrounded by friends of my parents and friends of Jessica and myself and other family.  People quietly took their positions.  Some gathered in the living room and others joined us by his bedside.  My mom and Jessica stood to his right.  I took my stance at his left.  My friend Wendy appeared after leaving small group and just stood and held my hand.  There was much crying as the three of us talked softly to my dad and told him that he was the most wonderful and amazing husband and father that any group of women could have ever been blessed to have.  I have a strong memory of my dad, who had his eyes closed through most of the ordeal, looking directly at my mom and just staring.  I believe it was in this moment that he knew he was about to be standing in the presence of the Most High.  Then, as if it had been perfectly scripted, Jessica began to pray.  She talked to God and thanked Him for this man.  It was indescribable.  I followed next.  The sweetest words that I believe had ever been spoken were said in that room that night by three women who loved a man unconditionally.  When I finished my mom began to pray.  It was amazing.  Literally, as she said her final words, my father took his last breath at 8 p.m.  It had been one hour since the medication and he was gone.  No struggle.  No fight.  Just peace.

We all felt an unbelievable sense of loss that night, but everyone who was in that room knew that the Lord Himself had been present.  It was beautiful.  It gave me the assurance that we all serve the most mighty and righteous Lord.  He took my father home and restored him to his perfect self, and for that the three of us will be eternally thankful.  Thank you, Jesus.  

We miss you so much, dad.

If I looked closely enough I could see it, but I choose not to see.

Too much, too soon, too painful.

I know the day will come, but please God, tell me it doesn’t have to be today.

I miss you like I’ve never known missing.

Unbelievable void through which nothingness continues to blow.

Someday I will decide to see it, but that day is not today.

I remember your voice, your face, your laugh.

I remember the you that I knew for a lifetime.

I know you are in a place of peace.

I hope to be within me someday as well.

My girlfriends and I joke that Valentine’s Day is really nothing more than a boost in the economy for Hallmark, Russell Stovers and whatever company makes those horrible, chalky-tasting conversation hearts. It’s not that I’m anti-romance, mind you. I just think we should show our love and kindness for one another everyday of the year. It’s important to me that the people closest to me know exactly how I feel about them… everyday. I don’t need a date on a calendar to remind me that I need to tell my loved ones how much I appreciate them. We should as often as we can. This being said, I will NEVER turn down a box of chocolates- regardless of the holiday- so feel free to keep those coming!

Maybe one of my biggest issues this Valentine’s Day was that several in my family are sick with this awful flu that seems to be going around. We have slowly passed it through my house from the kids on up and now I am seeing the same thing happen in the homes of many of my friends. As I am about to step up on my soapbox here, let me grab a bottle of Germ-X hand sanitizer and we will continue… May I be so bold as to ask a favor on behalf of the general public? I usually don’t make it a habit of speaking for anyone but myself, but in this one instance I feel we will all benefit. Parents, if your children are sick (running a fever, achy, flu-like symptoms) please, please keep them home. Make an appointment, see a doctor, find out if they are ill; but for the love of all that is holy please don’t send a child with a 102 degree temperature to school to expose his/her class of 20 or more children to whatever it is your little darling is carrying.

I have two children. I know that it is sometimes impossible to catch illness right as it is occurring. We’ve all been there. You send your child to school perfectly well and fine and three hours later the clinic calls and your little baby has inadvertently offered an encore presentation of his/her lunch which is now spewed all over the gym floor. This is not the situation of which I am speaking. I am talking about that moment of reckoning a parent must face in the morning when your child is complaining of not feeling well, but you are already running late for work and you don’t have a “plan b” in place for the day. I would like to offer this advice- try to always have your “plan b“ in place. That way, on a morning when your child truly is sick you will know immediately who to call. As a mom I totally understand that illness can be unfortunate and even (dare I say) inconvenient at times, but the fact is that when you entered this elite group of people known as “mothers and fathers” you took on the responsibility of caring for your child at any cost. Keep those sick babies at home, or at nana’s house, or with granny until they are well and then send them back into the fold. Otherwise, our adorable little nose-picking and hand-licking angels will continue to perpetuate this cycle of flu until next Valentine’s Day… where you will find me sitting by a box of Russell Stovers chocolates with my number two lead pencils close at hand.　

 I’ll Watch The Snow With You

My mom and I had a discussion about my father today. For those of you who do not know, my father has a condition called “corticobasal degeneration”. It is, in a nutshell, similar to Alzheimer’s and is every bit as cruel and heartbreaking. It is neurological and irreversible. Two words I have grown to hate in the last year. We began to notice that something was not right with my father about 3 years ago when he began walking almost as if in slow motion and would stand with his arms drawn up into his sides. As time progressed, we noticed that he was having trouble remembering little things. Fast forward to the present…

Today my father doesn’t always know who we are. He is confused much of the time and the most painful part for us as his family is the feeling of complete and utter helplessness just having to sit by and watch this happen to someone you so dearly love. My father is not in any sort of physical pain and for that I will be eternally thankful. He is, unfortunately, keenly aware that something is not right with him and I know it frightens him.

Some days dad doesn’t know where he lives and some days he can’t recognize who we are. The first day I witnessed this happen at his house was just a few months ago. My dad couldn’t name one of Jessica’s children and in that tiny instant I felt like the whole world fell apart. We try as hard as we can not to let him see us cry, although it isn’t always possible. I can’t speak for Jessica or my mom, but I try to save my sadness for the privacy of my car or my home. We want dad to know that we are all okay and that we are always going to be here for him. We’ve told him this many, many times. I’ve often thought about how terrifying it must be to have your memory slowly leave you. Years and years of family trips, experiences, life- just trickle out little by little. I can’t really let myself think about it for too long because the feelings are just too overwhelming.

My mom told me today that she saw my dad standing in the hallway looking through the glass pane of their front door. She said that he turned and looked up the stairs and shouted out, “Amanda, come down here! Look, it’s snowing!” My mom said, “I’m sure he thought you were a little girl and still lived at home with us.” I don’t know where my dad was at that moment in his own mind, but I want to make a promise to him. This is the best way I know to express it:

I’ll watch the snow with you, Dad

No matter where you are.

I know sometimes inside your mind

It feels you’ve traveled far.

I’ll watch the snow with you, Dad

However you see me-

A woman grown with children now

Or pig-tailed girl of three.

I’ll watch the snow with you, Dad

And if you forget my name,

Please don’t feel sad or think I’m mad

I love you just the same.

I’ll watch the snow with you, Dad

Wherever you may be.

I’ll watch the snow with you, Dad

I’m just glad you’re here with me.

Addendum: On the evening of Tuesday, January 4, 2011 Jesus decided it was time to let my father come home. It was the saddest, most beautiful, and most victorious moment I’ve ever experienced.  The following day several family members went to the funeral home to see dad one last time.  The moment we stepped out of the car our Heavenly Father, in the most breathtaking fashion, sent down a beautiful and gentle snowfall.  Snow had not been predicted until the weekend.  My mom and I held a private conversation inside and I whispered to her, “You know I wrote that poem for dad about watching the snow with him.”  She immediately responded, “Yes, Amanda, I thought about that too.  The only difference is this time you’re looking out at the snow and he’s looking down on it.” 

I thank the Lord that He gave us this sweet reminder.  We have been blessed that a lifetime of snowfalls will forever hold new significance. 

Thank You, Jesus. We love you so much, Dad. ~Amanda

The most amazing event has occurred today.  At 8 p.m. on Tuesday, January 4 my father left this realm and found himself starring directly into the face of Jesus.  Today began like any other day and we all found ourselves excited at the prospect of a hospital bed being delivered to the home of my parents.  This bed, we had hoped, would provide him with a new level of comfort and that all along has been our primary goal for him.  Dad always wanted to be at home.  This is where he stayed.  Some people didn’t quite understand, that’s okay.  In the last year I have seen my mother invisibly put on a “superwoman” cape and do whatever necessary to see to it that my dad remained at home through his illness and tend to his every need.

Today, my dad decided- along with the Lord- that it was time for him to quit fighting.  There was no struggle.  We were enveloped by a circle of precious friends and we prayed and sang and talked to this man until he took his final breath.  It was peaceful.  God sent an angel named Jennah, our hospice nurse, to our home and she talked us through the start of the process.  We were told that we might have a few hours… a few days at the most, but the Lord’s timing took over.  My father was not in pain.  We feel truly blessed to have been a part of his process, his life, and the way it ended.

I can’t express in words adequately what it feels like to see the man who was your superman for all of your life looking so helpless and so weak.  I had privately prayed for weeks that the Lord’s will would be done and be done swiftly.  I defy anyone to tell me that God doesn’t answer prayer.

Today I’ve had two different things running through my head.  The first is the song “It is well with my soul”.  Friends, it truly is.  When you have the assurance that your loved one is a believer in Christ and you have no doubt whatsoever about his outcome, it covers you with the most amazing and unearthly peace.  We all knew where Tripp would be going.  No doubt about it.  How could we help but rejoice in his passing?  No more sickness.  No more confusion.  Only perfectly and miraculously ordained perfection.

As Jess and I were praying privately at his bedside I kept having two words swim through my mind…. “gentle passage”.  That is what we prayed for and that is exactly what we received.  We are so sad for what we have lost, but we are so REJOICING for what we know he has gained.  The Lord never failed us.  He never left us.  We continually felt completely covered by His blood and His grace.

Prayers continued for what felt like hours through his passing.  Mom prayed.  Jess prayed.  When he died, I said to the Lord that we claim victory in His name and rejoice that this servant of the Lord was now standing before Him.  The words kept repeating, “Thank you, Jesus…. thank you, Jesus… thank you, Jesus.” 

We truly are blessed.  What an honor to be able to call myself the daughter of such a Godly man.  My dad loved the Lord.  His very purpose in life was to lead other to Christ.  This was job he fulfilled unashamedly.  I have learned so much from this man.  I hope to be even just a glimmer of the example of Christ that he was.  So, although death comes with sadness we know that it is trumpeted by a jubilant sounding of GLORY TO GOD IN THE HIGHEST.