Catastrophe

What usually is a big rainstorm quickly evolved into something we've never seen here in Augusta, Georgia. Helene was a category 4 hurricane that hit the panhandle of Florida and came up towards Georgia. By the time it got here it was still a category one hurricane. That's pretty impressive since we are 3 hours inland. The devastation that that storm has bestowed on this city is something I'd have ever imagined. It was a crisis of devastation for so many. It felt like an episode of the Walking Dead, but without the walking dead. 

The day after the hurricane hit, people were meakly coming out of their homes if they hadn't been directly impacted. If the storm had thrown a tree on their home or car, they were crying for help on social media for someone to aid them in getting out. The power was out and in some places, so was the water. All of a sudden, Augustans were thrust into the depths of primitive living. Only a few were prepared. The sights were surreal. The damage unthinkable. For the Thurmans, day 2 of this catastrophe was the first day of real work. The five of us, gathered up the rakes and chainsaw and went to cutting at the hardest hit of our properties...Holden drive. In all, there were 5 rentals with trees on them or through them. Add about 5 to that for roof damage and add about 30 to that for trees in yards and massive limb cleanup. It was a first for the kids. They'd never worked that long or that hard. I was proud that my kids were doing it with minimal complaining. On day 3, help came in the form of a worker and "Smurf", his helper. More work was done as I became master tractor operator. We moved so many trees and logs and limbs. The days start to run together because there was no weekend and there was only hard work to do. While I would hear stories of neighbor hoods pulling together and helping each other out, I was not a witness to that at all. We own the entire street of houses where we were working. It angered me that not one tenant offered to come out and help us work. We cleaned up their yards and their driveways, yet no one offered a hand. In fact, some spent their days just staring at us work as they sat on their front stoops. I saw the part of society that only exists to be served..what will you do for me next mentalitites. Thanksfully Monday came with a slew of our workers who were able to make it in. Some brought their own kids. Everyone worked hard. Everyone sweated. Although the first day of fall has come and gone, it has been a balmy 88 degrees most days. In Georgia humidity numbers, it feels like 95 degrees. Not fair at all. 

Food was scarce, no restaurants were open so it was also my duty to feed the troops each day. If anyone knows me, cooking isn't my forte. But I did venture to cook hamburgers one day and another day we had deli sandwiches. One day were down to PB&J sandwiches with no idea what I would prepare after that. But they all worked diligently. I appreciated everyone who showed up. I know I was paying them, but I was desperate for help....and they came. Day 5 was when I could tell people were getting restless. They had no power, the food had spoiled. They had no entertainment and obviously they weren't helping to move trees. I saw a bunch of runners and excercisers. People who just had to get out of the house. It was also the day we started hearing about the calvalry. Those linemen from Texas, Alabama, Maryland and who knows where else, coming to help put our power lines back up. I ventured out with my daughter to find that near the mall, there was a Burger King opening for the first time at 11 a.m. It was 10:59!!!! That day everyone got Whopper Jrs. for lunch and I didn't have to be creative! Today is day 10 and still some people don't have power. School has been postponed until after fall break giving the kids a solid 2.5 weeks off with virtually no responsiblity. Who can work on schoolwork without power? No one, because most everything is online. We found some people to start rebuilding the roofs. We found others to frame up some damage. Insurance companies were called and things are on the move. The city is waking up as there are no longer long lines to wait for gas like in the beginning. No single file shopping trips to Walmart for fear of looting. The ice and water were free flowing from different charities and city programs. Things were looking up. It is mostly all fixable.....mostly. There were some who didn't survive the storm. Some twins and their mother in Thomson. An elderly couple in bed in Beech Island, SC. A sweet lady we have talked with so many times at the club, Katherine McCall. Just like that, it was their time to go. That precariously placed fallen tree sent them to meet their maker. Its bad for most but for them and their families, it was the worst case scenario. I feel guilty having a best case scenario at my house. We had a whole house generator thanks to my overly prepared husband. We had gone to get food and when they said the water was getting cut off, we filled buckets and bottles with water. We didn't go one day without air conditioning. We watched movies each night thanks to our cell phone hot spots. We didn't really do without for too long. Why?

In a catastrophe, you feel guilty for having frozen food when everyone around you has to throw out hundreds of dollars of spoiled meals. If you have water, you feel bad that someone 3 streets over hasn't had a proper shower in a week. I guess that's natural. It was the reason I could work so hard to get those trees off houses. It was the reason we kept going day after day. We were ok at night. Safe and cool. We were ok. 

As we embark on week 2 of cleanup, we have to do shift our focus to rebuilding. At least we're good at that. We've been doing it for 21 years. 

Waiting on Death

I quietly walked into the room. Her large King-sized bed that I remember climbing like a mountain to get on as a child, has been replaced with a tiny twin medical bed. 

The house itself was sparse in decor. There were no more pictures on the walls or on the mantle like before. I don't know when all of that disappeared or why. I hadn't been inside her house in such a long time.

You see, I am the worst of the worst granddaughter. I know that. My Grandmama has had dementia for years. So many that I cannot really recall when it started. What I do remember vividly is the day I visited and she no longer knew me. I was a stranger to one of the most wonderful and influencial people in my entire life. This woman who I had known through every season of my entire existance had lost me in her mind. I was no one special anymore. Over and over she asked if I knew her. She asked me if those were my children and with each question a part of me died. I mourned my grandmother after that. I had lost her...all of her. It was all gone. She'd never again recall our Christmases at the old house or how I'd play with all her old hats. She didn't remember the amount of her peach cobbler we could all put away or the family yard sales we had under her carport where we had watermelon seed spitting contests. The great move from her old house to her new wasn't even a distant memory. She had even forgotten the people she told me not to date and why. How can I thank her for being my rock during surgeries and recoveries when she can't even remember my name? My heart broke and I mourned because my Grandmama was no more. And so I stopped. I stopped visiting. It was too painful and she was already gone. 

Her body was not done however, for years now. That strong woman has held on longer than anyone imagined. Her daytime caregivers became her family and their numbers grew as they now watched her around the clock. 

A call from my cousin came through the car stereo as I rode out of town to get my boys from camp a couple of weeks ago. "You  need to go see her," she said. The end was drawing near. I had avoided going for so long but I knew she was right. So when I came back home, I visited. There in that hospital bed laid a tiny woman. She was so small...smaller than I'd ever seen. She smelled fresh though, as I bent over and kissed her cheek. She was well taken care of. I'd heard stories of her not being able to walk or even talk these days, so I was surprised when she opened her eyes and turned a little and in a very clear voice said, "Thank you!." 

I understood her just fine and it even made me smile. I didn't know what to say. How do you say I'm sorry for abandoning you? I sat in the chair near her bed and I held her hand. I stroked her white hair back around her ear and I whispered, "I love you Grandmama." She stirred a little with eyes still closed. I continued to speak into her ear and kiss her cheek. When I kissed her, she'd smile. I'd do it again and again just to see that smile. She had been in so many dark places with this disease. The anger, the fear, the crying spells she'd have were scary and painful to watch. But here was that smile I hadn't seen in so very long. Then, she opened her eyes and scanned the wall in front of her. She turned towards me and proceeded to tell me about little boys running around and how clean this place was (her own house). She even muttered something about throwing something over the fence. All of it I understood. To see her so "alive" made me kiss her over and over again on that cheek. I will never forget the look she turned and gave me. It ws a signature Willette look. A little furrow in her brow but with a smile - all to say, you silly girl. Again I laughed. She turned on her side and the visit was done as she drifted back off to sleep. She was peaceful. She had smiled!

Apparently its painful to die, or so my dad tells me. He said that she moans in pain so Hospice keeps her on a steady diet of Morphine. I am sure she's just hurting from starving to death because she refuses to eat or drink anything.  Always a stubborn woman. 

I am glad of one thing. She forgot long ago that she lost her baby boy to cancer. No mother should have to endure the loss of their child. To forget it was the only gift this disease gave her. 

Today I took my children to see her one last time. This visit had no smiles. There were no words. She didn't even see me when she opened her eyes. Instead she stared past me into something else. Each child held her hand as they sat in my lap. Tears flowed down both mine and Addison's face when Grandmama laid her other hand on top of Addison's. Their's was a special bond. There wasn't anything left to say. So I leaned over and kissed that cheek for the last time on this side of heaven. This time I whispered for her to give Papa and Darrell a kiss for me. "I'll see you when I get to heaven. I love you. You were a great Grandmama."

Till she meets Jesus though, we wait. We wait on death to come. We've said our peace and kissed our last kiss. She can go home now Lord. She can go. 

If tears were a measure of love....you were phenomenal. I love you Grandmama. 

Turning Tides

Last night, as every night, I charged the boys with their nightly task of getting ready for bed...bath, hair, teeth. You would think this was the hardest list on earth to remember. It never changes, this nightly routine. It's the same, day after day, and yet my 9-year-old boys do not remember they have teeth. Every night I have to remind them to brush their teeth and they act as if it's the first time they've ever heard it. 

So last night I start my reminder chants to my boys ,"Go take a bath. Wash your face..brush your teeth." Alex complies and William is missing. He is quiet. He is hiding. I wait. I call. No William. Alex goes into our 2-person shower to start his bathing. I find William who is crying. "I don't want to take a shower with Alex!" I question why. They have been together for 10 years..rarely apart. Baths and all have been a duo task their entire life. But tonight William refuses. "Why don't you want to go ahead and take a shower?" I ask. 

"I don't want to see Alex!"

If you are thinking they had a fight, that's where my head was going too. I try to pry into the situation to see what Alex did to him. 

Turns out..it was nothing. Alex hadn't done a thing wrong. William was conscious, for the first time, that he didn't want to see his brother without clothes and he didn't want to be seen without clothes. Why this hit today..no clue. But it hit and it hit me hard. It has begun. The turning of the tide...the transition of my boy child into "growing up." Like a flood it all attacked my future at once. That snuggly boy will need me less and less. He is starting to think of life without me. And then the tears began to fall. I didn't just cry. I wept. I know the path of men. I know that it is likely they will grow up and be gone. They will cling to their wife and her family and then his own family. I will become a holiday visit to plan. William, seeing my grief, came over to hug me and in the most understanding and aware maturity he told me, "Don't worry Mom. I'll come back for the holidays." I wept more. It will be Christmas and birthdays. It will be that I will no longer be a part of his everyday life. It broke my heart. I wasn't ready for the beginning of this growth to start right now! I'm not ready! 

The older i get, the more i seem to have these "Aha!" moments in the middle of a random day that will take me to my knees. 

That little boy came back to his Momma after his bath to hug me and make sure I would be ok. He laid in my arms as I realized this is short-lived. He was wise beyond his years that night as he held his weeping mother and comforted her heart. I am sure this is a picture foreshadowing a scene in our future.

I also thought of my own parents and the lack of time I carve out for them in my busy life and I felt deep guilt. Althougg this perspective was painful, I realized that kids move out so you can turn around and take care of your own parents as they reach their elder years. I will have things to focus on except it won't be the starting of life, it will be coordinating the end of life and doing my best to show my parents, through taking care of them, that I love them dearly. It's a lot. It's a LOT! I kissed my son and dried my tears. I blew my nose and prayed that God would hold me through these times I am going to face. They are coming. 

Recliner Realizations

Today I'm at Augusta Oncology. I'm anemic and every 2 years or so my iron levels bottom out. I realize this because I start falling asleep while driving my kids to school. It feels ridiculous to be so tired when I just got up. Today the treatment room is full to the brim. Hardly a seat is available when I walk in. A nearby nurse directs me to a chair where I sit and get cozy. I always wonder to myself if all of these people have cancer. Some I can tell for sure. They wear a crocheted hat on their bald head that was donated by a talented charity group. Some have very drawn faces and look frail. Some appear normal and some appear sick. I've determined that many of the cancer patients have family with them. Faithful wives and children wait alongside their family members for nothing more than support. They are useless for these hours during treatment as most patients sleep. 

Across the way, I hear a bell ring. The entire room erupts in applause. I join in. I realize that some one has finished an entire year of treatment. A YEAR! There's a sweet elderly man who is chatty next to me. He tells me how he rang the bell the first time. He said he thought he would be done forever. That was not the case. He is currently being treated for his 3rd type of cancer. He said he won't ring the bell again because you're never really done. I tell him he looks great to which he replies..I wish I felt as good as I look. I feel sad for him and proud of him at the same time. He's a spunky little man with a camouflage ball cap and blue eyes. I look around and I feel for all these people.  I'm convinced cancer is never really done.  It's such an evil parasite of a disease that just keeps coming back. It is a thing I literally hate. It has taken children and young adults and middle aged people I've known and it's straight from the devil.

My IV has started now.  My little friend told me it looks like Karo syrup. I told him that it is and that's how I'm so sweet. He laughed. 

It's cold in here. Frigid even. Blankets abound in this place where they are obviously trying to preserve the inhabitants like a walk-in freezer. My guess is that germs don't live very well in cold places. My friend finishes his treatment. I notice his bent little body as he gets up to leave and the difficulty in just getting his jacket on. He is one of the frail ones worn from multiple fights for his life. And yet...he's a jolly soul. I want to nap. But there's incessant beeping from multiple machines. I will just "rest my eyes" as my Papa used to say.

What seems like seconds later, I awake to my own machine beeping. My infusion is done. The lady to my left asks me if I had a good nap. I smile and tell her I looked forward to it all week. They come with her 3rd bag of treatment. I hear her telling the nurse about how her hair fell out last time in the shower. She will still be here for a while. I smile at her and wish her a restful day as well. As I walk outside and the sun warms up my very cold skin I think about all these people and all the hours they spend staring at each other from the little recliners while life busily continues outside. Time marches on. It was one of the first hard lessons I learned as a teen..that nothing lasts forever as I said goodbye to my lifelong best friend during her epic period of rebellion. I sat in the floor of my laundry room and cried over the friendship I was losing.  Realizations. Some are eye-opening and some are terrifying. At the end of that situation, she did return to her senses and we reconnected. She moved back to Augusta but another life without me had begun. It was never the same. 

There's lots of time to reflect when you're waiting on an IV drip. Each chair holds an entire world that I'm not privy to. Each person has a story and an experience. In that light, I wanted nothing more than to be kind to everyone there. I would have hugged everyone if I could. Instead I just saw them in their present circumstances and said a prayer and smiled. If only we saw everyone..really saw them in their current situation to the point we just loved on them and never became angry at how they were acting. If we could deliver grace on a regular basis to our children, our husbands, our coworkers, the mean woman in Wal-Mart, the friend who never calls or the waitress at the restaurant who really doesn't want to be at work today. If you need help in seeing people for who and what they are made of,  maybe you should sit in the chemo room a while and glance into each life.  It truly bestows a wider perspective. 

Prodigals

 As I was getting ready this morning, I kicked something unseen across the floor. It chattered across the wood. "What was that?" With my ever waining eyesight, I squinted to see the object against the hardwoods of my bedroom. With creaky morning-back and legs, I bent down to pick it up. It was an earring. My earring. From the depths of my brain, I remember this earring. I remember that I searched for it. I was upset it was lost. I moved everything in my room looking for this one earring. Surely, this couldn't be THE earring I had been searching for. It had been literally years since I've laid eyes on it or its sister. If I was right, I had put the other away for safe keeping just in case the match showed back up. 

Where is that box? I searched through one of my many "junk" drawers in my room. A haven for all things miscellaneous. A refuge for things forgotten. I haven't looked at any of this in so long....where is that box? I finally uncovered the little burgundy box and opened it. There, were many earrings that had lost their mates. Old looking and tarnished, I had kept them in hopes that one day they would be reunited with their mate. Today, was someone's lucky day! It was my lucky day! I dug through the small box of misfits and there at the bottom was the match. 

I had hoped this day would come. I had done all I could do to find this little thing. I had given up as we often do. I had put it away with just a glimmer of hope that the lost part would one day be found.

It seemed like a profound reference to people as I married up the two halves of this puzzle. I have done all I could in some situations and in the end I had given up except for one small glimmer of hope. Every now and then when the time is right, that missing part will show back up...that person you thought was hopeless shows up..better. They will be tarnished and rough looking, tangled with dirt and dust, but there they are. Is it a rebelllious child, a lost friend, or an estranged husband? It could be. 

After a minute polishing up my earrings, both looked as if they had never been apart. They were a whole complete set again. They were beautiful. 

I put away the little box of misfits with renewed encouragement that one day their mate would return just as this one did. There's hope. There's always hope. 

Do you give what you get?

Keep in mind that everyone's reality is formed from their experiences. Sometimes they are predictable, but sometimes, they are not and the person they become is a far cry from where they started. 

In many circumstances, children become what they see. If they see their parent drinking heavily, they follow suit. If they grow up in a family of smokers, they too will smoke. The same goes for swearing and promiscuity and simplifies down to the tiniest details. Do you make your bed? Why or why not? 

However, there are people who take that information and use it as a guide of what to NOT do. For instance, my husband hates coffee and cigarettes equally. In a growing age of coffee perfection and baristas popping up on every corner, it's an unpopular opinion to have. I have longed for the length of my marriage for him to start a pot so that I could wake up to that glorious smell. I imagined the two of us sipping a cup and talking on the beach condo balcony. Alas, that will never be. I came to terms with that early on to the point that I donated my new coffee pot from the wedding registry to the local Goodwill a few years into our marriage. 

Why does he staunchly hate those two things? It's quite simple. His mother was a chain smoker and drank coffee like water. His mother, who died of lung cancer, is dead and when he smells coffee or cigarette smoke, it takes him back to those memories. The memories of the bathroom full of smoke tinged with coffee aroma after she would get ready for the day are triggered each time he smells those 2 things. As much as I or anyone would hate to admit it, some of our childhood experiences last forever regarding their effect on us...and our coffee.  Did he come with a "No coffee" warning label? No, he did not. Did I know I would have to sneak coffee like a druggie? Again, no. After 20 years you do what you gotta do to survive. :) Interestingly enough, his only brother has never smoked either. So in this respect, they both did the opposite of what they saw growing up. Like I said, you never know which way that person will use the experiences given to them. Will they be damaged? Will they be better off than their predecessors? There's no way to really tell. 

I often wonder what traumas my children will or have endured that will reflect on who they become. Will my Sunday morning rants about getting ready and hurrying to be on time spook them from wanting to go to church when they're older? Will my lack of cooking skills push them to be better cooks? It really is all a mystery as to what will stick in your child's craw and what will wash over them unnoticed. 

I spoke with a friend last week who cited that every now and then she and her oldest grown daughter have a come-to-Jesus meeting where the daughter lays blame on the mom for the way she was treated in situations growing up. These same situations have been a topic of discussion at counseling sessions according to the girl.  So the question rises to the top of my brain; is my friend guilty of wrongdoing? Will I ultimately be guilty of wrongdoing against my children? Will I be the cause of their unhappiness or difficulty in relationships? These are all such loaded questions. Considering that friend of mine is the most caring and loving person I have ever met, I would trust her any day and any time with my own children. I would even suspect from listening to her stories of her children, that she did a much better job raising her kids than I am currently doing with mine. My wonderings just lead to more questions and my questions lead to....TERROR that I'm doing everything wrong!

And then I remember a really important word that looms over every wrongdoing I've done or that I've had done to me. A word that gives lenience and forgiveness to the 20-year-old new mother who has no idea what she's doing with these children because there's no class, no books, and all she has to go on is her own experiences. A word that will hopefully remind my children that their mom was STRESSED so often and tried very hard to do things correctly even though she sometimes swore like a sailor. 

Grace

That is one of the most powerful 5 letter words in existence. It is about bestowing on someone else forgiveness when they deserve it and more often when they don't. It involves the giver not even being asked for it. It comes with maturity and the ultimate example is set through faith in Jesus. Most people whether they are or are not a believer, consider it a good thing for someone to forgive a wrongdoing and move on without expecting consequences. However, it is easier for a believer to swallow because they have been given the most grace and have fully accepted the gift.

Today, I pray for you to give grace to someone and for someone to give grace to you. I pray that the fear of your failures and shortcomings are met at some point with the gift of grace from someone you've wronged. And...I pray that for me too. Lord, let these kids get over whatever trauma I've put them through. Let them find You and their source of grace so that they will be able to use all of those experiences to shape themselves for something better. Something greater. Something stronger. Amen.

High School

 There's something about being in a high school that brings about all the familiar insecurities of actually being in high school. These are things I have long since worked out and yet, my daughter starting 9th grade is triggering a lot of emotions inside. Its just been one week. One very long and emotional week. Monday was wonderful. Tuesday was not. Wednesday was a cry-a-thon. Math was a wicked joke to both her and I from day 1. I'm glad that we're hitting the ground running but jeez. Then there's the drama of the JV volleyball team. She needs to study. She needs to play. She's not good enough to play. She's running laps for missing practice so she can understand math. It's a lot for a young girl ....and her mother. My triggers and my momma bear are building up a lot of attitude reguarding this season and I'm trying not to be THAT mom. But I'm close. I'm close to texting a coach and I'm close to texting some kids' mothers. And yet....

It's not my fight to fight. This is HARD. I know I have to let her work through this. In the long run, I understand my daughter isn't always the most liked because she's not the most understood. She doesn't act like a 14 year old because at heart, shes 26. She's always been an old soul. She is doing good to dress in green paint and shamrocks, but she's not a yeller...or a screamer...or a cheerer. She's not the one to be with the "in" crowd. She isn't going to be popular or even on the outskirts of that group because she can care less. Well. Most days she can care less. Then there are days her heart is broken. Kids that don't understand the perplexities of the human brain tell her "I'm done with you, Addison." They don't have the key to unlock her personality. I'm just beginning to unlock it myself. I wish so much to fight the battles for her. I want her to be "normal" even though I never was nor am I sad that I wasn't. This perplexing paradox of motherhood and reliving my youth through my child. It's tough on all of us.