The Good and the Bad of Coping with Firsts

It's been almost two months since I updated this blog. I've been in a world of reliving and coping with the events of last year that occurred around this time: Mom's birthday, Mom's stroke that devastated our world, Dad's birthday, Thanksgiving, Mom's move from BSA rehab —where we still had hope — to Hillside Heights (Hell Hole Heights). I remember decorating in earnest Mom's new room at HH. I wanted it to be as festively Christmas as possible for her. I wanted her to experience how much we love her.

And I remember Dad's dramatic decline in health, and Mom's change from being our mom to somewhat like a small and confused special-needs child, and then moments of clarity as our mom. I also remember the thousands of questions and the stress Kim and I felt as we tried to find answers for the future living arrangements of our parents.

For awhile, we had hope for Mom, because she was in the rehab part of HH. Little did we know what was about to happen after insurance said, "'Buh bye, bitches! Her life is over to us, so we are done," and made her move to long-term care (AKA, nursing home).

But that's not yet. Christmas is still coming, so I'll stop with the dreadful memories.

Kim and I (successfully) maneuvered through the birthdays and Thanksgiving, albeit tearfully. I've discovered that since Mom and Dad's initial passing in May, coping has become more difficult again. More tears than usual. More pleas to God for visits from my parents. More unpleasant memories of this time last year. I'm just there again, until I fight my way back to now and the blessings of my life — and the knowledge that all is well with Mom and Dad.

On November 24 — Dorsey's birthday — the Randall High School basketball teams had their season openers at home. Between the girls' game and the boys' game, the school (which would be Principal Steve Williams, boys' coach Leslie Broadhurst, and long-time "House of Doom" game announcer Chris Albracht) took time to recognize and honor my dad for his accomplishments and contributions to Randall, particularly to girls' basketball. Kim and I, along with Jordie, Cole, Vince and Dorsey, stood on the court while Chris read the most beautiful tribute — and "the fire hydrant story." (Stay tuned at the end). I wasn't tearful. I still needed time to process things. (The next day was quite awful, actually. But therapeutic. Things happen as they should.)

The most poignant moment happened when Chris asked everyone to "stand in a moment of silence for Coach Jim Wilcoxson one last time." (I'm even breaking down as I type that.) While I seemed to be in my own world during the presentation, other members of my family noticed, and were impressed and touched by, the dead silence and attention to this tribute to our dad and granddad. The audience. The boys on both teams. Everyone, whether or not they knew Dad. Such amazing respect.

What a beautiful thing Randall did for our dad and granddad. I will be forever grateful.

And so here I am. Here Kim and I are, about to face Christmas, the holiday that has always centered around our parents, where traditions run deep. What to do and how to do it? We don't know. We just will because that's what people do. Everyone who's ever loved someone close will have to or has had to face that year of "firsts." They do it, and we'll do it. Because that's just part of the circle of life.

>>> I have to interject that Thanksgiving was a different deal. For most of our lives, we spent Thanksgiving day playing in basketball tournaments and watching basketball, from my playing days until the day Dad retired. Jordie spent (spends) Thanksgiving with his Dad and his side of the family, and Kim has always spent Thanksgiving with Vince's family. So this year, Dorsey and I spent Thanksgiving at home and with our friend Dow. <<<

Christmas Eve and Christmas day will be the high hurdle of all hurdles for us — at least so far.

So here I sit and type. I haven't yet decorated for Christmas, and it's Dec. 2. But I don't care. There are no rules. Dorsey and I leave for Curacao next week. Maybe I'll decorate when we get back? I need to for Jordie's sake. I suppose we need to be as "normal" as possible.

But interestingly and very God-like, life hasn't been all bad and grief-stricken. I've also embarked on and been engrossed with a new life and business venture that has begun for me — and I'm so excited I can barely contain myself. I've never felt so joyful about something in my life. How can one be so miserable and so happy at once? Life is funny that way. (I will share soon.)

I hope not to wait another two months to write again. It's felt pretty good. :-)

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"The Fire Hydrant"

It was the first time for Jim Wilcoxson to coach against girls' basketball coaching legend DEAN WEESE from Levelland. Levelland had long been Canyon's rival in this game, and when Randall High School was born, it didn't take long for Randall to "hate" Levelland, too. It was WAR on the floor between Levelland and the schools of Canyon ISD.

Weese had won many, many — and I say many — state championships. Levelland was to be feared and revered! The first time Randall and Levelland played, Wilcoxson's team — the Randall Lady Raiders — won. (I was there. It was the most unbelievable, exciting, amazing thing I had ever experienced. Loud. Packed. Crazy. I remember how the Randall fans went wild at the buzzer. Truly one of the best days ever in the Wilcoxson family. The Lady Raiders went on to win the 1992 State Championship.)

After the game, Coach Weese was understandably not happy about the game's outcome. As coaches always do after ballgames, Weese and Wilcoxson met to shake hands. Wilcoxson, who never liked anyone to be unhappy and who had great respect and admiration for Weese, said to Weese: "Don't worry about it, Dean. Every once in awhile, the fire hydrant pees on the dog."

Yep, that's typical Wilcoxson. 

That's my dad. Oh, how I miss him and his stories and jokes.