Winnie the Pooh had much wisdom

I don't remember the year. I must have been a teenager.

I had no idea I could write poetry. Ha!

How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard. — Winnie the Pooh

On more grief ...

My thoughts are a random hodge-podge of a mess today — and every day lately — it seems. You'll probably see that if you make it through this post.

Normally, I'm pretty articulate ... but not lately. I find that I just stay quiet when I'm expected to speak because I can't make the words come out right.  I'm sure many people around me are quite thankful for that. Enjoy it while you can. :-) BUT, I am listening.

Books I've been getting to learn
a few things. 

Instead of work, like many grieving people must return to, I have chosen to focus my attention on my parents' things. I have thrown myself into learning about all sorts of collectibles and vintage things I never really cared much about before. While I find it interesting, I also get somewhat frustrated because there's just so much, and the perfectionist in me wants to know all about all the categories RIGHT NOW: Pottery, glass, depression glass, cut glass, china ...

But this is an activity I can do alone, and being alone is what it's all about these days, whether that's right or wrong.

I have found that I'm having a difficult time responding to people when they text or email me. I get words going in my head ... but then I just stop. I don't know why. I really don't. I hope if you have been one of them, you will be patient with me and not take my delays or silence terribly personally. I'm just having trouble with words right now ... for everything, even the most unrelated-to-my-situation things.

This seems inadequate. I'm
not finished yet. 

I have spent time in my aloneness continuing to organize photo boxes — which is bittersweet. I laugh. I smile. I cry. I made my mom's memory box for me this week. I haven't gotten to my dad's yet. I've been thinking about the most appropriate ways to memorialize both parents, as well as save those things that tell the stories of my parents' lives. I have some ideas, but it will take some time.

Photo boxes ... with so many more
to add. My mom had wanted them
to be in albums. That's going to
take years, I think.

I'm grateful I have the time.

I've also focused my attention on all the things that have needed to be done around the house for quite some time. So, Dorsey's in the process of putting up a new fence in the backyard to replace the rotted one. We finally had the dead branches cut out of the trees, and one whole tree is gone now ... not sure how I feel about that. It was dying and a danger to my neighbor's house.

I'm working to replace a few things in the house — some are done, some still to come.

And in the middle of all these things I'm doing, I sometimes feel overwhelmed with sadness. Or I cry. If anyone sees me when I'm out running, they might see a few tears falling. I find that weird, by the way. Or I hole up in my Mom Cave for a few hours.

And one can only get so many pedi's and mani's. :-)

And, you know, I really have a TON of thoughts going on in my head about all the hatred going on in the country right now ... but I can't even articulate that. All I know is, I feel angry about the way people behave toward one another. And I suppose it's just fine that I can't get out what I'm thinking. I doubt I have anything new or profound to add. I'm just completely disgusted and baffled by the hatred ... especially the hatred that occurs in the name of God. Just ... stop. Please just stop.

So I'm done. That's my sad little world right now that's really okay and just a part of the process.

I miss my parents more than I ever imagined I could.

Some days, you just can't and you have to stop

It started last night. Full blown grief enveloped me, and here I am, still in my pjs today.

I told Dorsey I needed space today. Just let me be. I rescheduled my kitties' one year check up because I don't want to get out today. That's a hassle with all kitties at once. I need the energy for that.

It's the first day since my parents died that I've been totally overwhelmed with loss. I have spent every day since they died focusing on as many of the positive aspects of their time in heaven, and being grateful for those blessings.

I have gone through some of my parents things, mentally preparing for the task at hand. I've decided starting small on eBay is my focus for now.

I have caught up on house upkeep projects that have been neglected for many, many months (Tree work, plumbing, new fence to replace the rotting one, dishwasher, etc.)

And I've distracted myself by cleaning, getting my toes and nails done. Getting some facial treatments. Buying Dorsey much needed clothes and shoes. (I've refrained ... except basic necessities and running shoes.)

I've been wasting time on eBay. I've been trying to figure out my plans for Socks and Blaze, my mother's outdoor kitties. I've been trying to figure out out how to get some of the furniture we are taking over to my house.

I've been planning the organization of selling some of my mom's things on eBay —learning a little at a time about these collectibles, dishes, furnitures and textiles.

And I'm wondering when I'll feel like cooking or baking again.

We've planned and booked a much-needed getaway to Santa Fe for our 14th anniversary. And we've planned and booked a much coveted Caribbean trip in December.

But eventually, all that distraction stops. Reality remains.

The tears must flow.

I'm in my Mom Cave, watching and listening to very nature DVDs we purchased for my mom to calm her never-ending anxiety. I don't know whether it actually worked.

I wonder whether any of the things we tried to make things better for her even helped ... she was in so much emotional pain. We tried so hard ... not sure it meant anything. Not sure what she could understand. Feeling guilty that it took us so long to get her to my house and she had to experience Hell Hole Heights. (Hillside) Sad that she couldn't have been with us in our house long enough to maybe get better and enjoy herself a little more. Sad that my dad pushed and pushed for her rehabilitation, sincerely believing she would get mobile and transferrable, when I knew deep inside she couldn't. I don't think Dad truly understood or accepted the depths of the issues. Facing and keeping my mouth shut when he would say things I knew weren't going to come about.

These things haunt me.

I'm just not in a good place today. But the tears are finally flowing. I suppose in a ridiculous way, that's positive.

My Summer Project

Old radio

Inside the old radio

Antiques vs. collectibles. Early Twentieth Century furniture and boxes. Early, mid, and late Twentieth Century collectibles. China. Cut glass. Depression glass. Quilts. Books. Figurines. Enamelware. Pottery. Dinnerware. Vintage purses and jewelry. Linens, gloves and handkerchiefs.

Old family quilt. One of soooooo many.

Plus all the modern-day 21st Century stuff our homes have these days. And junk. Yes, we all have junk. And the clothes, shoes and purses of today.

After spending some time at my mom and dad's, taking pictures, looking through things just for kicks and hopes of finding something really fun, I finally have devised a plan.

I think.

I'll do this one room at a time.

One room at a time, I will organize their things by sellable categories. I have spent hours already trolling on eBay, and reading antiques and collectibles books. I've ventured through the shops on 6th Street a couple of times and learned some about pricing items.

So many cut glass pieces.

Plus I'm desperately trying to figure out the differences between cheap collectibles and junk, and those items truly worth something.

I've found myself feeling overwhelmed and frustrated at times because I find it all interesting, yet I'm an expert at nothing. And I find myself thinking, "Hmmm, I might like to sell stuff like this on eBay, just for fun." (Still considering that.)

And then there's determining what we'd like to keep vs. what we have room to keep.

Old purse from 20s/30s.

And, of course, in the middle of all my eBaying, I've been shopping (dreaming) for more antique pieces of furniture for my own home — the 18th-19th Century stuff my mother-in-law used to deal with. I love that stuff and would have fun doing that professionally myself (with a whole lot of learning), but I am not at all interested in the hard work of moving furniture from site to site for shows.  (I remember how physically demanding that was for my in-laws. My body is already a mess.)

So, yeah ... how about an antique collector ... that would be fun.

My great grandmother Cummins painted
and signed plates, dishes and lamps.

I've also discovered I adore scoping out old books and looking for the treasures. That just might become a true hobby for me. Used bookstores exist all over the country. What a great travel pastime, especially when Dorsey is working and I'm killing time.

Anyway ... through all of this learning and wading through things and frustration, I've decided to prepare the house for the estate sale people by going through things myself. Because I want to. Because it's interesting.

So many teacups and saucers.

I might even like to become an expert in some of this stuff. Just for fun. I can't help but learn along the way, anyway.

So there you have it: My summer project.

After that, I'm hoping I will have a little more direction for what's next in my life.

Coping

I've been visiting with a new friend, Cristin, who was special to my dad — and I completely understand why.  She has checked on me throughout this process, as well as since my parents passed. She understands. She's been there. Her dad died from cancer, too. She took care of her dad, too. She knows the loss.

She checked on me today. I explained I had a bad case of the blahs lately. (I had talked to my friend, Lisa, about this, too. Lisa lost her dad after a horrible, miserable years'-long battle with debilitating MS. It's only been a couple of years since she lost him.)

Both Cristin and Lisa reminded me the blahs are depression.

I knew that. I knew because I have known depression my entire life. It's been a spirit-breaking battle, and until a couple of years ago, I was nasty, nasty, nasty to myself about it. I blamed myself for having weak character. I couldn't apply my compassion for others to myself. My attitude certainly only made my depression worse. I mean, who wouldn't be depressed for hating herself for something that wasn't her fault?

I have since experienced a few things so I can behave differently with myself and cope much better with the depression I was taught early on to be "endogenous" — the kind that's genetic. (Although I do believe it becomes a vicious cycle because the depression takes on a life of its own as a coping method for life.)

Discussion of that type of depression deserves it's own attention. I might get there at some point. Thing is, you don't need me to talk about it ... information is everywhere: Books, research, articles, support groups, etc. (Thank goodness!)

But these blahs feel much different than the depression I've been used to. This depression — being situational over the loss of loved ones — has a clear, easy reason for surfacing. The endogenous ... not so much.

I'm not frustrated with this one because I know exactly what it is and where it comes from. I am much nicer to myself about it.

I know that my tiredness will pass. I know my mind and my body need time to recover from my emotional marathon of a year.

I know (from dealing with the other depression) how important it is for me to stay close to those routine things that ground me in my day. For me, I have morning meditation and Bible readings, prayer, and writing. I have a wise group of people I regularly hang out with throughout the week. I "try" to get enough rest, but restless leg syndrome is a real bitch, you know? I don't drink, smoke or use drugs. I "try" to eat well — but, dang, that's really hard. I exercise regularly now that my parents have passed.

Those are the basics. I have lots of other things I could (i.e., think I "should") be doing right now that the blahs completely interfere with. I suppose they can wait and will still be there when the fog lifts.  I'm trying to be patient with myself about it.

Most important right now is what happens between my ears regarding the loss of my parents. There are days and times throughout the days when I want to focus on the way my mom looked the day she had her second massive stroke — the one that took her physical life.  I'm tempted to think about the fact that she didn't have much time to enjoy the garden we made pretty for her, or that she didn't get to see her Mother's Day gift, or that she suffered so much emotionally the last seven months of her life.

I get tempted to focus on how much my dad loved life and had so much left he wanted to do. I think about  how it broke his heart to no longer have the strength to play golf.  I think about the way my dad looked during his continual decline, and the way he looked lying in that hospice bed the last few days.

Then I have to make myself stop and get grateful. Yes, grateful. I have to stop right then and there and thank God that my parents are in a perfect and beautiful place of eternity now. They are physically, emotionally and spiritually whole. They are together. They are getting to do wonderful things (like play golf). All the questions they may have ever had have been answered. Whatever was not healed in this lifetime is healed now.

My parents are now with the loved ones (AND PETS) who went before them. My dad gets to play golf with Don Kaplan again (the friend who taught him to play but died of cancer when my dad was at Texas Tech ... this had a negative, life-changing impact on my dad). My parents got to meet and be with the baby girl they lost (Amy). (And I find it so completely ironic that my parents' "third daughter" in this life's name is Amy.)

And so much more I can't even know or fathom. I'm grateful, as Cristin put it, that today, my parents are having a good day.

And I'm grateful I have a faith that reassures me of these things. Otherwise, I would not be okay right now, and I would have no hope or light.

So, today, I think I'll have a good day with my parents.

How can this be ... ?

Now that the dust has begun to settle a bit and life is returning to "normal," I am realizing my parents aren't coming back. It's difficult to imagine 46 years of life with my parents — and now, I'll be doing life without them.

I'm not liking that thought at all, and I've been struggling with it. Thoughts of moving on bring on the tears. Yes, I have plenty to keep me busy and plenty to live for.  I have lots of things I am excited to tackle and places I want to travel.

I am at a place in my life where I know how to appreciate and enjoy what I've got, where I've been, what I've been through and all that other mess. 

It's all good.

Except ... my parents are gone.

I look at pictures of them, both recent and when they were young, and I think, "Really? Just like that, in the blink of an eye, your role in this life is over."

I don't like that thought. But I do take comfort in knowing legacies and memories exist and move forward with us.

It's just our job as friends and families to keep our loved ones alive. We must never stop thinking about them. Never stop sharing them with others. Never stop talking to them or looking for them in "signs" around you. Then life can go on without them ... just different.

Mom was so sweet during her illness, when she wasn't
anxious or afraid we were leaving her.

How can this larger than life man be gone?

So very sweet.

It's a game of 52-Card Pick Up

I wonder whether Chloe is grieving?

I've had a hard time getting into writing the last few days.

Ninety-nine percent of what I've written to date has been about my parents. The popularity of my blog — particularly because of peoples' interest in my dad — has rested on stories about Mom and Dad.

I've kind of lost my fire now that their stories have mostly been told.

I know, there's still plenty more regarding the whole grieving process and what adult children face when taking care of the things that represented their parents' entire lives.

And as an "ager," I know there's more than enough to talk about. Good stuff. Bad stuff.

I suppose I'll get there.

I'm still too busy doing a whole lot of nothing and engaging in meaningless busy-ness, though — even though I have a bunch of things waiting for me to do.

I had a friend come up to me yesterday and encourage me to concentrate on being kind to myself now that I had more time to focus on myself.

So I went to the gym ... which I have been doing, thankfully.

And I sent Dorsey this text:

That wasn't very kind, was it?

Maybe I'm just grieving.

This time ... it's the big things

I spent almost three hours Wednesday with a good friend who drove here from her home in Denver to come to Dad's funeral.

Her name is Amy, and she was one of my earliest childhood friends. She was truly part of the "good ol' days!" She was so much a part of our family for so long during our younger years that my parents considered her their third daughter. She was like a sister to Kim and me.

But as life would have it — life happened — and we took two very different paths. She became a star athlete and college basketball player at the University of Texas, and I settled into a somewhat less "exciting" life. She had her life; I had mine.

Plus, you know how it is, when kids part ways in high school by going to different schools, circles of friends change based on who you see the most and spend the most time with. That's basically what happened with Amy and me.

All ya need is love, love. All you need is love.

We talked yesterday about how we regretted drifting apart, but I told her I knew somewhere inside of me she would always be there. There's a saying that the people who are meant to be in your life and stay in your life will always find a way to be back in your life.

This seems to be playing out now, and I could not be happier.

We reconnected a few weeks ago when she came to see my parents, Kim and me. She's been close by ever since ... and she and her family are planning to move back this way in a couple of years. Even better!

Reconnecting with Amy has been one of the greatest blessings I've experienced during my parents' illnesses.

But Amy's not the only person, although she's the most significant person from my past.

One of the other great relationship blessings has been in getting to know all the people who were so special to my parents — from the coaches and their families to my parents' high school classmates. These people have been amazing! They have treated Kim and me so well and have been so kind and loving. They have all helped out in so many ways, but specifically, emotionally. I've had some nice text, e-mail and Facebook conversations with many of them. I feel as if I've gotten to know my parents better by hearing about them from their friends' perspectives.

I can't fail to mention many of my dad's former players, too. So many have been so wonderful and supportive and friendly. It's been a beautiful thing!

Family that we have not been particularly close with — I think mainly due to geographical distance — have come closer, and we've had some great, intimate conversations. We've even learned a thing or two about family secrets. Ah, drama! What would a family be without drama?

My sister's good friends from high school and college have all been so kind to reach out to me, as if I were a part of their bunch, too.

I've even somewhat reconnected with a few friends besides Amy from my past, although not quite so intensely. Some former coworkers have stepped forward, as well.

And, of course, there are those folks who have been active in my life in the last couple of years.

All of this relationship "love" has been the silver lining for me.

And all of it has solidified for me exactly who and where my attention needs to be in my life. Remember that 10-80-10 rule I've talked about, taught to me by someone way wiser than I?

It's that first 10 percent — that 10 percent who do and will love you no matter what — that deserves your time and energy. They love you no matter what you've been through. They love you no matter what you've done and have forgiven you for it, because they believed in you enough to know you could straighten up. They love you because they know your heart.

It's nice if along the way you add a few more to your 10 percent from the 80 percent that currently doesn't really care about you one way or the other, but, eh, that's just icing on the cake, I guess.

But you're being just plain foolish to give any kind of thought, attention or energy to that last 10 percent — that percentage of people who are going to dislike you no matter what. Get over those folks. It's their loss, and it's about them, not you. Get. Over. It.

Tough times like what I've recently encountered remind you (ok, me) — again and hopefully for the last time —to whom and where to give myself.

And it's also the sharpest (and shameful) reminder — again, to me anyway — about the kind of friend I should be and need to be to others who are and have been important to me.

I Drive Your Truck — and other things

"The best advice I ever had about grief was that it takes what it takes, no more no less, and that no two people grieve exactly the same way." — Joe Hopkins, childhood friend to my parents

I truly believe what Joe Hopkins relayed to me in a recent email. And as I've said before, I find grief to be a somewhat fascinating process — so as I painfully experience mine, I hope to at least watch it from a third-person view and learn a little, too. 

I also believe in the merit of Elizabeth Kubler-Ross' famous model of the stages of grief. I have experienced enough loss in my life — though most definitely not the loss of close loved ones — to know how one cycles through those stages of denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance, sometimes not so much in order, and sometimes repeatedly until true acceptance makes its way to the heart and the brain. 

So here I am, in the middle of a grieving process that began the day my mother had her massive stroke on Oct. 16, 2014 and I subsequently watched my dad's already terminal cancer progress with lightening speed.  

There was that grief.

And here is this grief. Mom and Dad are gone. Now, I'm experiencing sad, yet also interesting, things.

For example, my wardrobe has largely consisted of "Life is Good" T-shirts, jackets and hats. My mom had even more T's than I do. I've kept her collection to wear, and I'm fully aware when I have one on that it's hers, not mine. 

I wear my dad's pajama bottoms (draw string) and one of his T-shirts to sleep in. And I bought the Moon Pie T-shirt at Cracker Barrel the other day — which I've already worn — in remembrance and honor of his famous "Nehi and a Moon Pie" reference to me and to every kid he ever coached, I think.

The "Mom Cave"

I created my "Mom Cave," which is a space in the front of our house that has had many functions over the years.

The "Mom Cave" now has the comfy recliner we bought for my mom's room when she was staying at "Good Life" (which is a great place, by the way). There's her tiny TV and the relaxation DVDs that calmed her. As soon as I get around to it, I will hang the pictures we had in that room at Good Life, as well. 

The room is now my space with my Bible study and devotional stuff, as well as my writing tools.

But most of all, if you look at the picture, you will see photo boxes and containers. These hold all the treasured family photos from both sides of our family my mom had organized in Ziploc bags; she fully intended to one day put them in photo albums.

That is my job now. This room is where I will do it.

I avoid my parents' house right now. I have since all this began. All I see is their absence at this time. The day will come when Kim and I have to go through everything. But not yet. 

I cry at random things at random times. (Example: I see a highly functioning older person (80s and up) and cry because my parents didn't get to be that way, too.) 

I take comfort in my "Dad Stories" and my parents' "together" stories, yet I cry. But that's OK; I don't avoid that. I listen to the songs played at my parents' funerals, especially "Spirit in the Sky" at my dad's. It just makes me laugh. 

My tattoo. I got this Exodus 14:14 tattoo with the eating disorder recovery symbol two years ago. ("The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still.") It became a significant reminder verse for the control freak in me to chill out and stop putting my hands and my will into everything because I was simply screwing everything up!! All I could do was the best I could do, pray about it and leave it up to God.

Little did I know how much more significant this verse would become as I walked through these months with my parents. I even passed it along to my control freak sister, and she is using it, too. 

Yesterday, I had it touched up. I wear it proudly (along with the "Believe" tat on my left wrist). 

By the way, my parents were never fans of my tattoos! :-)

Last, but definitely not least: My dad's beloved truck. When he turned 70 in November, he decided that it was time he got to buy a brand-spankin' new truck just the way he wanted it. 

So he did. He got a 2015 Toyota Tundra in "Childress Bobcat Blue" with all the bells and whistles. 

He drove it right up until the last month or so of his illness. Oh, he loved that truck!

While I've never pictured myself as a pickup truck kind of girl (I'd prefer a BMW or something), I cannot bear to let go of that truck. So I'm buying the truck. I've found I love sitting up high, and it drives so smoothly, it's like a regular car. 

I told my dad before he died that I would buy it, take great care of it, and keep the radio station on K-Love. 

That's what I'm doing, and now I guess I'm a pickup truck kind of girl — even though Jordie says I look kind of funny in it. 

It is my dad's truck, and it's about to have a little "I Drive Your Truck" reminder on the dash. 

Time to turn the page to start a new chapter — with many thanks

This journey of caregiving for my parents, grieving through the losses of their health, and then experiencing their back-to-back deaths has exceeded any experience in my life — ever — both in the pain and the blessings realms.

I know I'm about to climb in earnest the mountain of grief that's waiting for me. I know I'm not alone. So many of you have been there already in your lives. I'm sure I'll write some about grief as I go.

But I see that it's about time for the current chapter in my life and on this blog to close ... although I'm sure what has become so much apart of me will continue to seep into the rest of my life experiences and writings.

I want to thank each and every person who has walked this journey with me. Your support, your love for my parents — it's simply been overwhelming. I think it might be months until I can completely sort out and put into its proper place in my brain the significance of it all. I'm more than touched, too, by how many people from my lost past have reached out to show me love. Thank you, thank you. You will never know how much that has meant to me.

While this chapter may be about over, I know I can reread it any time I want, even as I begin the new one.

Because here's the thing: You let me and helped me tell my parents' story. You let me honor them by sharing them with you. I know that if I learned a few things, then surely you must have, too.

"I strongly encourage each and every person with an aging loved one to get busy gathering stories and memories. Write them down. Scrapbook them. Photo album them. And share them. Share them with your loved ones if they're still living. Hand them down from generation to generation and let your loved one's legacies live on forever."

This has been the greatest comfort I have found in this entire process, especially as I watched so many older folks in the various institutions we experienced seem to just wither without love.

Caregiving, experiencing my parents' deaths, the reflections I've had upon my own life, especially during such an already personally life-altering time — all of these are parts of aging. I'm more than grateful to say that perhaps for the first time in my life, I experienced a difficult thing gracefully. Wow, guess we all gotta grow up some time. :-)

One thing I have grown used to and know I will miss — and I find this astounding — from the time I began this blog in early January until now, it's had over 30,000 page views. Holy Cow! That's because of my parents!

I can't imagine writing anything else that might capture such interest. (And, frankly, I'm not up for any more lost loved ones. For all I know, you're tired of that drama, too.)

<sigh> Oh, well.

I'll just continue to do what I love and what works so well for me therapeutically — write. You never know (knock on HOLY wood) what's around the corner.

Tribute to Coach Wil from Cristin Weiss

With her permission, I am publishing for you today the beautiful testimony Cristin Weiss Betzen shared about my dad at his funeral yesterday.

While much of my dad's service was hilarious — coaches' stories and my goofy dad stories — Cristin offered a touching tribute and another side that I believe balanced the humor with the man inside.

I cried when Cristin spoke yesterday, and I cried again today as I reread what she said.

Before I let you see this, I have to say that I believe I have found a kindred spirit in Cristin. I have been so blessed to share this journey with her. She reached out to me. She has been there every step of the way, and she has shared so many of the same spiritual sentiments I believe.

I am a better person for knowing Cristin. Thank you, Cristin, for coming into my life, and thank you, Dad, for making that possible.

****

For my coach…June 1, 2015

Please know that when I got the message that Coach Wil wanted me to speak here today…it’s one of the truest honors of my life.

When I was 16 years old, I was in his locker room.  He was asking a few people what integrity meant.  He wasn’t getting the answer he wanted, so finally he said, “Cristin Weiss, tell everyone what integrity is.” 

I said integrity is – at the end of your life, being truly proud of what you have done and who you have become. 

Cristin Weiss Betzen

I had no idea then, nor did he, that 18 years later, he would ask me, at the end of his life, to again tell everyone what integrity is.

Integrity in coaching … I could tell you that he didn’t run the score up on his opponents, that his greatest rivals were his best friends, and that he cared more for us than just as players, but that’s true of a lot of coaches, and it should be true of all coaches. 

However, the following story makes this man truly exceptional among coaches.  Last September, I ran into Coach Wil at the golf course.  I had not seen him for some time.  He told me of his cancer, this time terminal, of his treatments just finished, and his life in general, and then he blew me away. 

He apologized for the way he had treated me as a player.  He said he didn’t think he played me enough and so on.  He even cited a specific game in Plainview.  I was speechless, and I am rarely speechless. 

Fortunately it wore off, and the next day I wrote him a letter.  Some of it read like this … “I truly appreciate the things you said to me yesterday, but I feel I left a few things unsaid.  I believe everything happens for a reason.  Whatever disappointment and frustration I experienced in high school basketball was a part of strengthening me and solidifying my faith in God, my faith in my parents and all they taught me, and my faith in me.

“I didn’t know it at the time, but I can see it now, it all happened the way it did to prepare me for that day when my daddy took his last breath.  Without every bad and ugly experience I had, I would not have been ready to survive that moment or the last 12 years without him.  It all happened for a reason. 

“As for you, when I think of you, Coach Wil, I don’t think of Plainview or playing time.  My memories of you are on the golf course.  When basketball was over and I was finished playing for you, you had no reason to still care, and yet, you met me everyday at lunch to work on my golf game.  It was unsolicited and not required, and yet you came.  That is what I carry with me of you — a good man who always cared.”

Can you imagine that this man, this coach, thought about his treatment of a player for 16 years and then apologized?  So Coach Wil, I stand corrected.  That is integrity.

Integrity in marriage … Again I share with you a letter I wrote to him for their 50^th wedding anniversary…”Congratulations on being “always” people.  Let me explain.  So often the English language fails to capture the true gravity of a situation.  There have been so many times in my life where there have been no words…except for one.  One word, my favorite word, truly captures the magnitude of every moment.  Always.  I have been an always kind of person since I was born, but not everyone is.  Not everyone can live this most powerful word. 

“Well, 50+plus years together, through good times and really hard struggles, through major milestones but especially through the countless, tiny, everyday, minute moments that fit together to make up a lifetime, always together, always with love, always there.  You have lived it.  You make it look easy and comfortable.  You make it timeless.”

When I wrote that letter, I had no idea just how much of always people they were.  50 years together just wasn’t enough.  I have been forever changed by witnessing their love story play out.  Most people have to drink the poison to get their ending, but their love needed no poison, just each other. 

So again I change my 16-year-old’s answer because that is integrity.

Nobody Warned Me: Moving forward to a New Beginning

"... but one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and reaching forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus." 

— Philippians 3:13-14

June 1, 2015: Two weeks after we buried my mom, today we buried my dad. His service was beautiful and so appropriately him. Thank you to all who attended, who sent well-wishes, and who participated by sharing their stories. I laughed, and I cried.

And a very special note of thanks and awe to Chuck Alexander (Insufficient Funds/First Presbyterian Church)— your voice astounds me, and the way you sing "I Bowed on My Knees and Cried Holy" is like no version I have ever heard before. (I think you do it better than Michael English.) That was exactly, exactly the way my dad would have loved it. I cried with gratitude as you sang.

****

I knew this time would come. The day in the chapter of this story in which both my parents were gone, at least in this life.

I just didn't know they would pass so closely together — or at such young ages. As I've shared before, I thought my mother would live long past my dad. I feared she would suffer for a long time from losing him.

Mercifully, that is not the case.

I suppose God, Mom and Dad decided that Jimmy and Nicki should continue to be together in Heaven. They were a team for 55 years. Why stop now? I believe Mom went first so she could show Dad the way.

Or something like that.

I wonder if my mother was beckoning my dad when he was standing between here and there? I would like to think so.

I could ponder these questions forever, and they would and will give me comfort and things to smile about.

But still, here Kim and I are with the true "now what?"

It seems obvious that after we have settled post-funeral tasks, the answer is to just get back to living life the way it was before. She goes home to her family and business — which she will — and I put my house back together and resume whatever it was I was doing before.

The thing is, I had kind of been in transition mode when this all occurred. I was enjoying a peaceful life of freelance newspaper work, house projects and traveling with Dorsey to his various work sites. It was the calm blessing before the storm.

And why wouldn't I want to live in Bend? WOW.

As much fun as I had on those trips, especially to Bend, Oregon, (twice, where I'd love to live), Northern California (twice) and to New York and Connecticut for Jordie's birthday last year, the past seven months of my life have been the most meaningful. They've been the hardest and most painful, too. Ever. (And I've put myself through ridiculous amounts of pain in my life — so much so that I could reign as Queen of Ungraceful Aging.)

The peaceful calm I had been blessed with provided space and time I had never before experienced to begin a personal transformation — to a physically, spiritually and emotionally healthier me. This had been a two-year strengthening process when the dam with my parents' health broke loose.

The blessed work that began in me — what is now three years ago — took off at breakneck speed. I can honestly say I will never be the same.

Neither do I want to be.

So ... here I am. A different, better and much stronger person. (And I'm sure my sister is, too, but she has her own story to tell someday, if she wants.)

I have choices I never had before. Some truly are new opportunities, and some I just never believed I had. I have a different mindset and a renewed faith.

I feel intensely grateful that God let me have that time with my parents so they could finally experience the healthy me. They got to die knowing I was exactly how God created me to be and that they always knew I could be. That's all they ever wanted for me. Thanks be to God for that gift!

I realized, too, in this journey, that of all the things I've ever strived for in my life — for all the things I've ever run myself insanely ragged — the last seven months gave me exactly all I've ever wanted, too — the same thing my parents wanted for me.

For whatever reason (and perhaps another story for another time), it took me an exceptionally long time (45 of my now 46 years, to be exact) to accept God's grace for me in all my imperfections and finally get my bearings. Accepting God's grace was the secret all along. Why it clicked for me when it did on that exact date in July of 2014 is something I still ponder.

So you know ... It takes what it takes —both to get you where you need to be and to keep you there. My blessed last seven months with my parents (and my sister) has been the catalyst to plant me where I need to be now and allow me to grow. I'd be a fool to turn back now, so I won't. My job now is to continue to respect and honor God and my parents in whatever I do from here.

God is good ... in ALL things. He can and has transformed every unfortunate or ugly or cruel or tragic circumstance in my life into something beautiful. (Romans 8:28)