Daddy

The last couple of years seem to be a blur. Time certainly flies when busy living life. Since my Mother's passing in 2017, I have tried to keep a watchful eye on my Daddy. Calling him multiple times daily to check on him or having him over for a visit. Also, asking if he was taking his medications properly and keeping his doctor appointments. My Daddy was 70 years old when my Mother passed away and still very independent.

On November 28, 2019, our lives were once again changed. I received a phone call that ended in an ER visit and diagnosis of a stroke for my Daddy. He was left with impaired speech, weakness and a very strong impossibility of ever driving or living alone again. Since that time, he had a short hospital stay, an inpatient physical therapy stay and a skilled nursing facility stay for continued physical therapy.

On January 17, 2020, my sweet Daddy came home to my house. To say I was nervous would be an understatement. I had not been given any real expectation on what level of care he would require and how to handle it. It was simply a "learn as you go" situation. I was informed home health would come to my home to do physical therapy, occupational therapy and speech therapy. Beyond that, I had absolutely no idea what to do. So, on January 18th I began to figure it out.

My Daddy had grown used to a hospital environment and depending on the things that make simple tasks that had now become difficult, easier. A wheelchair and potty chair were delivered. A walker was purchased and from there as situations arose we adapted accordingly. Waterproof pads, bed alarm, bed rail, bibs, sectioned plates, adult diapers, comfortable shorts and t-shirts, slip proof socks....all the things that would, not only, make him safer and life easier for him but things that would help me keep him that way.

There has been a therapist of some description to visit Daddy five days a week since January. Each visit saw a small improvement. He was getting stronger and his ability to walk assisted improved slowly. However, the daily frustrations of losing his independence wore on both of us. I would have never dreamed that the man who raised me and took such good care of us would literally have to depend on me (the child) for his every need. My Daddy had become my child. A complete role reversal. And, my heart was broken. For him and for me.

When you're in the midst of the storm it's hard to see the blue skies on the other side. Each day had its own set of challenges for both of us. However, little did I know, those challenges would become some of my sweetest memories. In the beginning, I was so angry with him. As it turns out, he had not been taking care of himself at all. He did not follow doctor's instructions with regard to his medications and the possibility existed that his stroke was preventable. I simply could not process that he had not been truthful with me for two years in that regard. After reconciling my anger, I turned inward and blamed myself for not being more aggressive with him in overseeing his health. Though, when really thinking about it, there would have been no way to boss around an independent adult. Especially my Daddy. We aren't supposed to boss our parents. They boss us.

As Daddy's time with me continued we fell into a routine and each day became a little easier in some ways and harder in others. He looked forward to seeing his great granddaughter (my granddaughter) every morning.  I babysit her so they got to spend a lot of time together.  He loved her so. He would lose track of the days and every Saturday would wake up and ask when "the girl" would be over.  I would have remind him every time that she wasn't here on the weekend. In a lot of ways I think spending time with her kept him with us a little longer.

The last Saturday of my Daddy's life was filled with family and fun. We did not get to have Christmas with his sister and her family in December. So, we got together on March 7th. I was apprehensive about taking him to Georgia and getting to far away from home. But, everything was perfect. And, he enjoyed himself so much. I am so glad we went.

Daddy was prone to having bad days. Sometimes he was just tired and I had to remind myself that he was a 73 year old stroke patient.  He was particularly tired on Thursday. He catnapped on and off all day. It was just the two of us for dinner that evening. I woke him from a nap and asked if he was ready to eat. Then got him into his wheelchair and to the kitchen table. It was like so many evenings before. I gave him his medication, checked his sugar, put his bib on him and gave him his plate. And, like every evening before it, when he finished his meal he said "that was good." After dinner, I got him back into his favorite comfortable chair and turned on Family Feud. Watching Family Feud had become our quiet together time every evening. He would guess answers and laugh at Steve Harvey. And, when he was ready for bed he was ask to be "tucked in." This was like any other night.

When Daddy asked to go to bed I got him into his wheelchair and rolled him to his room. Just like all the nights before, I told him he needed to try to potty before laying down. As we started the process of standing him up to his walker, before he stood from his chair, he said "you have been so good to me." Those were the last words I would ever hear him speak.

My precious Daddy left this earth peacefully just before midnight on Friday, March 13, 2020, from a  brain bleed. He did not suffer and felt no pain. He simply slipped out of this life and into the next one. He had been missing my Mother much more than usual and cried often about it. I truly believe God called him home to reunite them and end his longing for her.

As I prepare for his funeral, so many memories and moments spiral through my mind. Memories from my childhood to now. And, the things that frustrated me the most about the last couple of months are the things I wish I could do today. I have questioned every decision I made and every action I took on his behalf. But I keep coming back to the same thought. I had the privilege of taking care of my Daddy one on one in a way he would not have received in a nursing home. My heart broke for him every time I changed his diaper, wiped his backside, helped him into the shower, handed him his toothbrush to brush his teeth, helped him get dressed, combed his hair, cooked a meal for him, did his laundry, helped him to bed or took him to a doctor appointment. However,  I was happy to return the favor because I knew he had done every bit of that for me. He was there for my first breath and I was there for his last.

He and my Mother are walking hand in hand in Heaven now. He is happy and healed.  He is where he wanted to be for the last two years. I know I will see them both again. Until then, I will find, yet another, new normal.

Generations

There aren't to many firsts left as the one year anniversary of my mother's death approaches. Really, only just two important firsts are left...my birthday and the birth of my first grandchild (and mother's first great grandchild).  My daddy is over the moon excited at the thought of a little one. He's so cute when he talks about things like needing to buy a car seat so he can take the baby places with him. Be still my heart!

I was fortunate enough to have known all four of my great grandmothers and two of my great grandfathers. And, completely blessed to have had all four of my grandparents until I was 36. Recently it occurred to me that in the last 10 years all four of my grandparents, my uncle (my mother's brother) and my mother have passed. That is a lot of people I love to leave us in such a short amount of time. However, I am thankful to have had them for as long as I did. So many don't get that. 

In these last days of preparation before my granddaughter gets here I have really, really been missing my mother. It's hard to put into words other than to say I'm about to enter a new phase in life in which I know nothing. I will be a grandmother. I want to ask her what I'm supposed to do. I know what to do but there have been so many times lately that I want to ask her questions or tell her how a doctor visit went. The baby tea was a couple of weeks ago. That was the first big, non-holiday related event that has taken place since her death. I wanted so much for her to be there. I am reminded daily that she is everywhere and always with me. However, my selfish heart wants to actually look at her and touch her. Hear her voice (even though her voice would irritate me sometimes). I chuckle now with a melancholy sigh about welcoming the opportunity to fight with her or at least have a disagreement with her. The smallest, most insignificant things are now the things I long to have with her. 

I decided to pull out a box of baby clothes I had saved and go through them. Looking to see if there was anything I could use for the grand baby. There were so many cute things I had forgotten about. And, as I pulled things from the box four tiny outfits stopped me in my tracks. I stood frozen for what felt like an eternity processing what I was looking at and remembering what they were and to whom they originally belonged. Four tiny little outfits that my mother had put on me 47 years ago and that I put on my daughter 20 years later. Four little outfits that will most likely fit my granddaughter when she arrives. In that moment, I realized that three generations will have worn these dainty little clothes. They are a little less bright than they were 47 or even 27 years ago but I will put them on my granddaughter, if for no other reason than, to take a photo. When this realization hit me the tears began to flow and the loss of my mother was as painful as the day she passed. All I could think was "she won't get to see sweet Anna Kate in these precious clothes. The same clothes her sweet baby girl wore in 1971."  

Everything is clean and put away. All washed in Dreft because that's what my mother would have told me to use. Even though I already knew it. Now, we just patiently wait for our sweet granddaughter, Anna Kate's arrival.

Coca-Cola Congealed Salad

As Easter Sunday comes to a close, I sit here listening to the dishwasher run and the dogs eat their dinner. It has been a beautiful day filled with food, family and laughter. Almost the perfect day. Almost. 

While everyone was eating, I looked around my table at their happy faces. Each of them enjoying the meal I had prepared and chattering about this and that. I cooked a typical Easter meal complete with deviled eggs. This year Daddy requested a Coca-Cola congealed salad. Something my mother used to fix for family gatherings. I had never made one (not that it's hard) but felt it was important to fulfill his request.  Seriously, we are talking jello and a few other ingredients. Nothing gourmet but most certainly filled with love and memories. He was elated when he realized I had indeed made the dish. It was like putting a memory of my mother on a plate for him. He mentioned that he had not had the dish in years and had several servings. Watching him enjoy it made me happy and sad. Happy that he was enjoying it and sad that my mother could not make it for him. 

Our first Easter without her was bittersweet. I cannot describe the emotion as it was something other than sadness. I was not sad today but certainly felt the void of her absence. Tomorrow will mark 6 months since we lost her. Time is flying and life is moving forward. As it should, I suppose.

Christmas

The last present has been opened, the last guest has left and the fire is only embers. Another first has come and gone. Our first Christmas without my mother. I started the day trying to remember last year with her but couldn’t. However, the memories of my childhood Christmases with her were vivid. The Christmas I got my first puppy to the Christmas I got my first stereo rushed through my mind. She has been there with every decoration, every family gathering, every meal, every gift purchased and she was there today. I could feel her presence and her absence at the same time. As the day comes to a close, I can't help but think about what gift I would have given her had she been here. It was so odd to not have a package under our tree with her name on it.

 

Merry Christmas Mother. I miss and love you.

Thanksgiving

Our first Thanksgiving without my mother came and went like any other day. Except it wasn’t any other day. It was like any other Thanksgiving in that Chris and I prepared and cooked for days. We got up early and put the turkey in the oven then began final preparations for the family and friends who would be arriving for lunch. Everyone arrived, we ate, we visited and they left. It wasn’t until the house was completely quiet that I fully realized the extent of her absence.

I have been cooking Thanksgiving for years but it hit me that I would never eat her cooking again. Though it’s her recipes I have used all this time, it’s not the same. She had not really cooked much in a long while. However, she would bring the cauliflower salad every year. She wanted to contribute in some way. Ashley and Allison took that on this year. They did a fantastic job. And, as I scooped it onto my plate I thought about her and her insistence on bringing something. She was so stubborn. It made me smile.

So, here we are the first holiday without her came and went as I know the rest will. My earthly, selfish side is angry and heartbroken but my spiritual side knows she is feasting at the side of Jesus.

(I dreamed of her for the first time last night. She, her parents and her brother were all in my kitchen. I suppose they were all with me for Thanksgiving…if only in my dreams.)

Finality

The last piece of finality to the dream from which I cannot awake has been completed. The marker notifying the world that my mother Judy Yvette Eskew rests in this place has been installed. The marker that tells everyone who may venture by when she entered this life and when she exited it. The marker that gives a brief description of her various titles because there isn't enough room to properly describe everything she was to her family and friends.  The marker that will mirror my daddy's when the time comes with "together forever." That is all. The final part of the permanence of her absence.

I thought of her today while getting my nails done (actually, she's on my mind all the time).  I thought about how pretty her nails looked for her viewing. I thought about how much she enjoyed getting her nails done. I thought about the fact that manicures were the last grandmother/granddaughter outing she and Ashley had together.

Tonight, I'm planning our Thanksgiving menu and making my grocery list. While flipping through my cookbook I turned a page and there it was, a recipe in my mother's handwriting. Handwriting. Just ink on paper. But so much more than that.

 Seemingly benign things invoke an emotion. That is my life now. Part of my new normal. To know that when I least expect it something is going to pull thoughts of my mother from the back of my mind to the very front and center of it. Kind of funny in a way considering she loved to be the center of attention.

One Month

Life as I knew it came to a complete halt just 4 short weeks ago. It’s all a blur. Yet still very raw. The good days are starting to outnumber the bad ones. However, when a wave of emotion hits me there is no stopping it. And, the waves come at the most unexpected times.

My trip to California was a great distraction. Lots to do. People to see. Places to go. The last run of the Zac Brown Band tour. Bittersweet for the band and crew but a quiet sigh of relief for me. Being alone during tour season usually doesn’t bother me. And, this year was no different until my mother passed away. Chris could not be with me the day we buried her. He had a show to play that night and had to get on a plane before the funeral. In all the years he has had to leave, that morning was the most difficult. Not that I couldn’t bury my mother without him. I didn’t want to do it without him. Chris has been my rock. He has wiped almost every tear and listened to me drone on and on about my thoughts and feelings. He has truly been my earthly anchor in this storm.

I now find myself gravitating toward friends who have lost a parent(s). Not because I want to talk about it but because I know they understand my broken heart. An unspoken bond of motherless and/or fatherless children now exists. A club of sorts none of us wanted to join. 

So many have reached out in one way or another. Cards, calls, texts, emails, social media and in person. Kind words from every single one. It is heartwarming to know so many people love me and loved my mother.

Today is Halloween. Though not a major holiday still a first without her. We are making chili for dinner like we do every year and I can’t help but think about how much she loved my chili. She asked me to cook it for her all the time. It’s so strange to smile through tears.

Memories

The memories are bombarding me faster than I can put them on paper. Some I haven't thought about in years and others I've thought about recently. Some vivid, others fading. Bits and pieces of my life that were held together by one common thread...my mother. Now that she's gone I'm horrified the memories will fade with her. Realistically I know they won't but my mind is so overloaded right now.

We lived in Bremen, Georgia for a short four years when I was a kid. I was four years old when we moved there. I have blogged about the house before. My paternal grandparents purchased and moved into it when we moved. They lived there the rest of my childhood and all of my adulthood.  So the house holds many special memories for me. The house sat on five acres and was across the street from railroad tracks. Back in the 70's there wasn't anything close but Interstate 20, a Holiday Inn and tank farms. My parents also owned some land down the road on which they grew corn. My mother would take me into "town" to shop. There was a children's store in downtown Bremen that the Tarpleys owned. That's where she bought my clothes. When I decided I wanted to take piano lessons she had to drive me to Carrollton which was the next town over. When I decided I wanted to take gymnastics she drove me to Carrollton. We went to the drive-in movies in Carrollton. I saw Grease at that drive-in. Pretty much if we wanted to do anything we drove to Carrollton.  Just on the other side of downtown Bremen there was a hotel named Green Acres that served the best fried chicken. My mother loved to eat there. I know the hotel is still there but that's all I really know about the place now.  I drove through Bremen not that terribly long ago and while a lot has changed a lot has stayed the same.

Summers in Bremen were long and hot. But we lived on a foothill so there was always a breeze. I would swing and play while daddy was at work. In the evenings my little brother (who was born after we moved there in 1976) and I would play in the dirt while mother and daddy would tend their garden. We would get so dirty that mother wouldn't let us go in the house. And, because we literally lived in the middle of nowhere she would bathe us in the backyard. She would grab a bar of soap, shampoo and the water hose. All the bath time necessities! Oh, life in the country.  Mother loved to work in the yard. I remember she would get on the riding lawn mower and use a towel or a twin sheet to wrap my brother around her so he could sleep while she cut grass. Who knew her make shift baby wrap would be fashion today!?!

My parents would have a big hay ride in the Fall. The festivities would last all weekend. Friends and family would come from everywhere. There would be campers in our front yard and people in the house. The more the merrier. My mother was the best hostess. She would cook and make everyone feel at home. Daddy had a long flatbed trailer he would put the hay on and everyone would pile on and he would pull us to the property they owned down the road. That was back in the day when living on a country road meant you could ride in the back of a pickup or on a trailer without worry.  Once we would get to the property, the men would build a huge bonfire. The women would pull out food. Everyone would eat and at some point in the night the guitars would come out and the singing would start. 

Christmas there was always magical. Our house was very old so it had 14 foot ceilings. Mother always got a 12 foot tree for the den. While 12 feet is tall by any standard to a little kid it is absolutely enormous. On Christmas morning I always woke up to the smell of breakfast cooking and sounds of music playing. Not Christmas music though. It was either Captain and Tennille, The Statler Brothers, Sam Cooke or some other (what we call Oldies now) artist my mother liked. If I close my eyes I can see her in her favorite night gown standing at the stove. 

Vast Sea of Emotion

Monday will be two weeks since my mother passed away. I never thought I could feel so many emotions in such a short span of time. I have laughed, cried, been angry, felt nostalgic and felt nothing at all. I know about the 5 stages of grief. I guess that is what I'm experiencing. But, feeling like a crazy person has me riding a roller coaster on which I really don't want to ride.

There have been moments of laughter. Ah...laughter. My mother loved to laugh. My family has a bit of a dark sense of humor so many would think us awful if they overheard some of the things we have found funny in this situation (and there is no way I will put them all out there for the world to read.) However, I will provide a couple of examples.  So, when my parents chose their mausoleum location years ago, my mother told me she had chosen "heart" level. Her rationale? So I could fling myself in unbearable grief against the wall to mourn her passing and she would be at my heart. Thus, when I went to the cemetery to visit her the first time, I flung myself against the wall and audibly said "you got your way Mother." But, I found it hysterically funny because I could hear her saying "yep, I sure did get my way, like always!" OR, on the night before her visitation we were eating at her house with Daddy. Allison and I had not eaten at her house since she moved back from Georgia a few years ago. We both made mention of that fact. Then, without skipping a beat Allison said "she's in heaven right now saying...great, I had to die to get you to come eat at my house." We howled because that is exactly something she would say. 

I have cried to the point I was sure there wasn't a tear left in me. But more would come. I have cried wondering how we are all supposed to go on without her. I have cried thinking of her absence for the upcoming holidays. I have simply cried for no reason at all.  Seeing her things causes the deepest sense of despair. Not for materialistic reasons but because the plates in her kitchen are the same plates I ate on as a child (yes, they are complete with harvest gold, avocado green and burnt orange fruit in the center). The china in her china cabinet is the same china she used for special occasions most of my life. She loved a pretty home. She was extremely organized and neat. Her things made her house a home. The daunting task of cleaning out her closet is before me.  It may have to wait a minute.

In the days following her death, I found myself angry at everyone who was just going about their lives as if nothing had happened. How dare total strangers continue with their day! Did they not realize the world had lost my mother? Did they not realize the world was supposed to grieve her loss?  Logically, I knew that's not how it goes. But emotionally, I felt everything should just stop (if only for a moment). 

I have felt nostalgic for my childhood. Missing the mother I knew as a little girl. The mother who was my everything. The mother who could fix all the wrongs in my tiny world. The mother that knew exactly what to do in any situation.  Remembering playing in the garden while she and Daddy would tend it. Remembering her putting my hair in a ponytail so tight my eyes would slant. Remembering her teaching me how to twirl my first baton. Remembering her teaching me to cook and take care of a home. 

And then, there's been nothing. A numbness that is almost painful. Not being able to laugh, cry or be mad. Just nothing...

 I have experienced all of these in a second or over the course of a day/days. However, in spite of grief, life continues. As shall I, one moment at a time.

Until we meet again...

Monday, October 2, 2017 was to be like any other Monday. Go to work, come home, make dinner and tackle whatever the day may bring in between. However, that Monday would turn out to be nothing like a regular day. During the night I learned of the horrific shooting in Las Vegas. Many killed and many more wounded. As daylight entered, the news stirred with assumptions, facts and conclusions. But still, it was just another Monday for me. Time to get dressed and go to the office. Went to work, got a few things done and headed home. When I got home Chris was busy getting ready to run an errand. While chatting with Chris and reading social media,  I learned of Tom Petty's cardiac arrest and (at the time) his death. Shock and disbelief that such an icon was gone overcame me. My childhood musical favorites are slowly leaving us. Yet, once more, it was still just another Monday. Until...

At approximately 4pm I received a phone call I will never forget. That phone call would make all of the sadness and tragedy in the world pale in comparison to the emotions I was about to experience. My daddy called and said to me "your mother has died." Wait, not my mother. Surely he was mistaken, confused or pulling a terrible prank. My mother is only 66 years old. She's to young to pass. He has to be wrong. I jumped in the car and raced to their house. Hoping above all hope that this gut wrenching news was not true. However, as I topped the hill to their home and rounded the corner, I saw two emergency personnel standing in their front yard. I knew by the look on their faces that the unthinkable had happened. I rushed into the house to find my sobbing father standing in the kitchen with a police officer. Daddy pointed towards his bedroom. I immediately walked in to see another member of emergency personnel standing by the bed with the most somber of expressions. Then, I looked. There she laid, motionless and quiet. She appeared to simply be in a deep restful sleep. At the same time, she looked so small and frail. Indeed, the woman who had birthed and raised me was gone.

Unless you have experienced the loss of a parent, I cannot express in words the thoughts that race through your mind in a millisecond. As I stroked her hair, my entire life with her flashed before my eyes. Every single emotion I had ever felt for or with my mother was occurring at once. Then, I guess out of emotional self-defense I simply went numb. Survival mode kicked in and I began to make phone calls. First to Chris, then to my girls and afterward to family and friends. The rolodex in my head was spinning with "who do I need to call?" It is the most surreal thing to say the words "mother has passed away." How do I comfort the person on the other end of that call when I don't exactly know what I'm feeling myself?

The last few days have been a blur. Friends and family have rallied and been wonderful. But life has to get back to some type of normal. A new normal. In the days ahead there will be all the "firsts." Thanksgiving, her birthday in December, Christmas, Mother's Day and every single one will be a little less bright without her. 

My mother was a force of nature. She was always the center of attention in a crowd. She was a fantastic cook, kept an immaculate house and would give you the shirt off her back. She was demanding and critical but she loved with every ounce of her soul. She could tell you off and tell you she loved you in the same conversation. She was strong-willed and pushed everyone around her to be a better version of themself. She loved music and was always singing. She loved people.

Now, it seems I find the most comfort and peace sitting at her grave. Strange as it may sound, I feel close to her there. I know she's in heaven where there is no pain, suffering or sadness. I also know I will see her there one day.  But, for now, I have to find a way to live in a world that is a little less without her. 

Until we meet again...Mother, I love you, 

Your sweet baby girl

You are never to old to dream a new dream

As many know, I embarked on a new professional journey a few months back. I traded doing work as a mortgage/foreclosure/evictions litigation paralegal for a real estate license. It's funny how events unfold and you don't realize until much later, those events had to take place in order for you to excel in ways you hadn't imagined. While I am still growing a business, I am the happiest I have been in years. I have worked for and with some really wonderful attorneys over the years. And, I have worked for and with some really not so wonderful attorneys. Sometimes, knowing when to say enough is enough is the most difficult part of taking a leap of faith. My husband likes to talk about never having a Plan B. He says if you have a Plan B, you will inevitably fall back on it. He is right about that on so many levels. In my case, the decision to have a Plan B was the right choice and now that it is Plan A I am excited for the challenge.

You are never to old to dream a new dream....

Things I think about late at night...

I spent the day cleaning deck furniture and helping my oldest daughter move into her new home. After a long, exhausting day one would think I would go right to bed and sleep. Oh, but no. My body is tired but my brain is not. Therefore, I have been laying on the couch for the last couple of hours just listening to music. In light if the recent death of one of my all time favorite artists, Prince, I decided to pull out the iPod and let my thoughts drift. Two hours later after listening to Prince's Greatest Hits, Fleetwood Mac's Greatest Hits and Elton John's Number Ones, I am evermore convinced good music is mostly dead. Real artists actually playing an instrument and singing, all without the aid of autotune. By no means am I an expert or am I what I would describe as a music sob (the description of which is for a later blog). However, I recognize that just because an artist may sound great recorded that same artist may not sound so great live. The true musicians I love so much can do just that...perform live and sound as good as their recordings. While I do not discredit all of today's artists I miss the music that was. And by "was", I mean the music I was raised hearing. My parents' music, my early music and that which truly moves me. 

https://youtu.be/O6P2_i0Y6ms

https://youtu.be/IhyMvQ_N7Zc

My life...

The last few months have been absolutely wonderful. I have had the rare opportunity of having Chris off the road and mostly home.  Life has been, by my definition, "normal".  I hadn't really given much thought to this fact until recently. I guess because it has been a while since he has had to leave. We have settled into a routine of sorts. But, last week I had the opportunity to drop him off to meet the band bus here in Birmingham. As I drove away, the familiar feeling of "I'm alone" returned. Though he was only going to be gone for a day I became very aware that tour season is about to be in full swing. I'm not complaining. I knew when I married Chris that he was a touring musician. It thrills me that he loves what he does for a living. So many of us are trapped in jobs that we hate. But, very soon, I will be relying on dear friends and family to be there when he cannot. Luckily, I have some pretty fantastic friends and family. It helps tremendously to live in the community where we both grew up. We have a great support system. So, to my friends reading this....be prepared! You're about to be back on speed dial. Just remember that you love me! :)

Unplanned Encounters.....

Last week Chris and I went to Wal-Mart to pick up a few grocery items. Little did we know that what seemed to be a quick errand would profoundly change the way I view life. As I said, we only had a few items to get. One of which was coffee creamer. We approached the dairy isle and there was a lady standing there making her choice. As she browsed the selection we patiently waited. After she had decided what she wanted, she turned and saw that we were standing there and gave a small smile. She appeared to walk away. However, as Chris reached into the dairy case to get the coffee creamer that he likes, we hear "why would you buy that one? It's a dollar more than the other brand." The lady we had been waiting to move was questioning Chris' choice. This exchange started what would be nearly an hour long conversation. Normally, I would have found a polite way to move along to get back to my shopping but on this particular day something stopped me. This sweet lady told us how the store brand bread is the same bread but in different packaging than a particular name brand. She also told us that the store brand milk was the same milk as that packaged by the name brand milk company.  I'm not sure how but the conversation went from discussing the price of food to how she came to live in Alabama. It was very clear that she was from Massachusetts. Her accent was undeniable. She began to tell us about a dance her mother forced her to attend as a young girl. It appears that she met her future husband at that dance. He was in the military during WWII. What was so fascinating about her story was that she was recalling every detail as if it happened only yesterday. She had a twinkle in her eye and the way she spoke of her husband made impossible any doubt that she truly loved this man. As she is telling this story I was quickly doing the math in my head

and coming to the conclusion that this lady is well into her 80's. Upon this realization, I became even more intrigued by her sharpness, sass and vivaciousness. Yet, there seemed to be a deep loneliness. As our conversation continued, it became apparent that her beloved husband had passed away. Though she spoke fondly of her grown children there was an obvious unspoken emptiness her husband once filled. There were many more stories and I enjoyed every one. Listening to this lady talk about her life reminded me of how short life truly is and how we only have a short time to make it everything it has the potential to be.   One day I will be that lady. How do I want to reflect on my life? How do I want to tell my story to strangers in Wal-Mart? I hope it's with a twinkle in my eye, sharpness, sass and vivaciousness.

Adventures in Travel

Ok, so I just got back from an amazing trip to Punta Cana, Dominican Republic. And I must say that every time I travel there is a tale to tell. This trip is certainly no different. Let me start by saying that I get super stressed out when I travel. Well...I get stressed with the getting there and getting home. The "in the middle part" is generally relaxing and enjoyable. But I digress. Getting to PC was uneventful. However, the arrival was interesting to say the least. I have never felt so much like cattle as I did going through customs upon arrival. Actually it wasn't to bad. Just hot (open air facility in 80 degree weather with hundreds of your closest strangers gets a bit warm). The approximate 1 hour bus ride to the resort was good and check-in at the resort seemed to go smoothly. UNTIL...we went to what we thought was our room to find that, not only did our key card not work, the room was already occupied. OOPS! No biggie. Just a trip back to the front desk to get the proper room and key. We get into our room and the vacation begins (my vacation anyway). Fabulous couple of days. Spent quality time with my honey, hung out with some great friends and saw my sweet husband play two incredible ZBB shows. 

Now, let me back up for a moment and say that we have been in a tropical paradise complete with palm trees, sand and sparkling blue ocean. This would have been awesome except for the fact that we both burn so easily that SPF 1000 doesn't keep us from becoming very crispy within minutes. So, even though I love the beach, the sun hates me. It's an ongoing battle or love/hate relationship. However, I couldn't be so close to the ocean and not at least stick in a toe. My dear trooper of a husband walked with me to the beach where he dutifully stood under a palm tree (fully clothed mind you...jeans, t-shirt, tennis shoes) and says to me "go ahead I will wait right here." I literally walked to the water's edge, let a wave wet my feet, took a few pictures and walked back to the shade were my rapidly melting husband stood patiently waiting (I'm fairly certain that I heard his skin sizzling just a little).

On to the departure. The airport was very busy but that's no surprise. We get in line to check-in and check our luggage and end up behind this family that clearly had no idea that they were not the only people traveling. The teenage kids looked completely disgusted, the dad was oblivious and the mom was a control freak. She kept asking questions and chatting with the guy behind the counter. Totally held up the line. As if that wasn't bad enough, it turns out that they were on our flight. Four hours later I discover that the cosmos must hate us because we wound up behind this same family again going through customs in Atlanta. HOW did this happen?!? We had less than an hour to get to our connecting flight and this lady was chatting up the dude checking passports. WHAT?!? At this point, Chris had already been whispering some things in my ear that had me laughing so hard that I was in tears. So when he sees this same family in front of us that had been in front of us leaving PC all he can say is "oh lawd, she gonna chat up the passport dude so much that Homeland Security is going to take her family in the back for complete cavity searches." I was howling!! I'm surprised that I wasn't the one carted away.  Those who know me well know that when I get really amused I will laugh to the point of tears. A friend of mine once told me that she had never met anyone who could laugh and sob at the same time. 

We made it to our connecting flight just in time. YAY! Made it to Birmingham, got to the luggage carousel and people started to gather to wait for their luggage. In all of my years of people watching there is one thing that remains constant. When waiting for luggage people seem to think if they hover over the conveyor that in some way it makes their bag come quicker or maybe they can will the baggage handler to pull theirs from the plane first. One thing is certain, the people standing so close to the conveyor look like they are staking claim to that little piece of real estate for queen and country and would defend it to the death. And don't you dare try to get around them to get your luggage. So, Chris and I are standing back waiting with grand anticipation for our luggage to appear...and we wait...and we wait. My luggage finally appears. We thought for sure that Chris' luggage would be right out after mine. But no. His luggage decided that it wanted to ride on the flight after ours. At least we know it's on it's way. 

There are so many more things I could say/write but it's late and I'm not up for writing the next volume of War and Peace. 

Until my next adventure...

2014

Another year in the books. 2013 came and went so quickly I almost feel like I missed it. (but trust me, I didn't) Since my last post I have been busy with the holidays, the girls, keeping up with Chris and his schedule, working, traveling and living life. We had a great Thanksgiving, an awesome Christmas and a wonderful time ringing in the new year. I did not make a resolution. But, then again, I never do. Bring it 2014!!

In other news, the older I get the more I realize the importance of tolerance and kindness even when my feelings and opinions differ from others. I will not get into the boring details but in the last handful of weeks I have read so much intolerance, disrespect and disregard for difference in opinion on social media that my heart is heavy. We see ads that warn against cyberbullying as it applies to kids and teens but what I have read recently is nothing more than cyberbullying among adults. I suppose there is courage behind a screen and keyboard versus saying mean and hateful things to a person's face.  What is even more disturbing is that the ones bullying actually think they are founded in their attacks and lack of understanding or willingness to see a point of view other than their own. Grown adults that include professionals, stay at home parents, young people, older people and political figures. I read their comments and truly wonder if they would actually say these things in a public place and say them the way they are typed? These comments and posts just further validate for me that society has deteriorated to a point that other people's feelings and opinions mean nothing and are to be disregarded if they do not align with our own. Society has lost the ability to just agree to disagree. 

Sunday

For as long as I can remember Sunday has always been a melancholy day for me. I did not grow up living down the street from my grandparents or any relatives for that matter. Therefore, weekends were for visits either by them to our house or a road-trip to Georgia. Though our family wasn't 1000s of miles away seeing them was not a spur of the moment thing. Sunday has always been the day to leave. Now that I am grown, Sunday has become an alone day and once again the day to leave. When Allison comes home from college she has to leave on Sunday afternoon to get back to school. Ashley is usually doing her thing and Chris is almost always on the road. Hence...Sunday is a very lonely day. But the silver lining is that Chris and the girls always come home. That is something that warms my heart and makes me very happy!!

Insomnia...

Why are my eyes open!?! I am completely exhausted but my thoughts are not. I'm not exactly sure why my brain is in over-drive tonight. Ehh...it happens sometimes. 

The weekend was wonderful. My dad's birthday was Friday. The girls and I took him to dinner. I absolutely love his sense of humor. He has always been a bit of a prankster and possesses a dry but witty personality. He is not a talker but when he does he says the funniest stuff. So, at the restaurant I tell our waiter that it's my dad's birthday. At the end of our meal the waiter comes to our table and asks my dad his name and then asks him how old he is. Without hesitation my dad answers "I'm 30 today." The waiter looks at all of us and then looks at my dad with confusion on his face and asked my dad a second time how old he is. And for a second time without missing a beat my dad said "I'm 30."  Hilarious!! 

Saturday was a busy day full of vet visits, errands and Alabama football. Vet visits went well, errands were conquered and Bama won! It was a good day. UGH, it is now 4:47am on Monday morning. Thank goodness Columbus Day is a firm holiday or it would be a really long work day. 

Maybe I'm still awake because I'm excited! My sweet boy is on his way home! YAY!!

Dixie Dreamin'

So I'm driving home from work today, listening to my Ipod and pondering all the problems with the world. Thinking about today, tomorrow and yesterday all at once.  Then, a song came on that simply made me forget about all of that. At the very moment I realized what I was hearing all I could do was smile. For a brief five minutes, I was simply thankful for my simple Southern upbringing and life. Good family, good friends, wonderful times making wonderful memories. For that five minutes, I did not think about what a mess the world has become, worry about the future of my children, family and friends or stress about healthcare and politics. For that five minutes, all I thought about was warm summer nights, fireflies, laying in the cool grass looking at a clear sky, bright stars and a full moon, walking barefoot, riding in a pickup with the windows down and swinging on a tire swing. At the end of that five minutes, the world wasn't so important anymore and my perspective was more positive. Worry about the things I can change and let the rest go. God has a plan. He is in charge so no need to worry. In that moment,  I realized that life can be as simple as I choose.

With all of that being said, thank you to the Southern Boys Band for a song that allowed me, if only for a few minutes, to lose myself.  https://soundcloud.com/the-southern-boys-band/dixie-dreaming

Milestones

Some readers will completely get this blog and others will not have a clue with regard to what they are about to read, at least not until they experience it for themselves. Some might say that I'm being whiny and, in some ways, they will be correct. BUT this is my blog so I'll whine if I want too! I would prefer to call it sweet reflection and sudden reality.

When the decision is made to have children the planning begins, the big news arrives, a baby is on the way AND even more planning starts. Dreams and expectations culminate in the precious birth. THEN, there are the milestones. As parents, we measure everything in our child's life by "firsts." First steps, first words, first tooth...I could go on and on with the firsts. I have been blessed with two daughters so I have gotten to experience all the firsts twice!! 

My baby girl will be moving to college soon. Therefore, I have really been reflecting on the last 18 years or rather the last 22 since that is the age of my older daughter. Through all of the reflecting, something occurred to me and I almost stopped breathing. There are no more firsts. Well, almost no more. As their mother, the only really big milestone left for me to experience with my babies is to see them get married and start families of their own. There are a couple of firsts other than that but they aren't the biggies in comparison. 

I suppose the silver lining is that once my girls have their own children I will have the pleasure of seeing them experience the firsts with their babies. Hence, the circle of life. Did I mention that I'm feeling extraordinarily old tonight?