Five things about grief and moving forward in healing NOW!

The last time I posted was a year ago, on May 24. As I told someone recently, I haven't much felt the desire to write since Mom and Dad went on to their Heavenly home. Besides, most of my posts after they died were grief-filled downers or "boring" stuff about starting my new business, Tin Cats Antiques.  I didn't know what to do with myself anymore, so I couldn't write. I've been immobilized in my grief, plain and simple.

And, people, in general, stopped reading my blog. Readership when the blog was immensely popular consisted of wonderful, supportive fans of Mom and Dad, and friends kept up with their sad and painful journey through my writings, as well as the difficulties Kim and I faced in the caregiving process. We received so much support, I felt both overwhelmed and grateful.

My readership reflected exactly what happens with emotional support after someone you love dies: It died. I don't mean people stopped caring, I just mean people are people, and it's difficult to watch someone suffer and to believe you don't have the right words to say or to know how to help. We tend to turn away from that which makes us feel uncomfortable. That's just human.

So a couple of weeks ago. I posted an apology of sorts on Facebook about dredging up my grief again. It's anniversary time for Kim and me: Mom died three years ago on May 13, and Dad died three years ago today. I used to work with grieving people in my counseling career, and, of course, I saw people struggle hard when anniversary dates rolled around. It's just a well-known, given thing that happens to grieving people. Research supports it, as well.

And now I know it.

I apologized in my post because I don't want to wear people out with my stuff, but I posted anyway that, yes, it's anniversary time, and yes, I'm feeling it. (And for some reason, it's been worse this year than last.)

I received responses from friends I think I intuitively knew would come from my friends: "Don't apologize for your feelings." "Friends will be supportive, regardless."

That's true, of course. Totally true. True friends will be supportive, no matter where you are. I'll take it even a step further to say that probably if you find yourself grumbling in your head or wherever you grumble, "Get over it already" to anyone who is grieving, you might want to "unfriend" that person, both Facebook figuratively and Real-Life literally. Blunt, but true.

Five truths crystalized for me that day. Actually, they are absolutes I've learned about grief, grieving people, and friends of grieving people:

1. Grief never goes away. Ever. The pain can lessen, and then it can come right back and bite you unexpectedly. But the pain remains forever, and I would submit that the amount of pain is in direct proportion to how much love you have for the people (and pets) you lost.

2. We do not "get over" painful losses. As I was told by experienced others and now know to be true, we instead must learn how to live differently, without the loved ones in our lives.  Therefore, never tell a grieving person something like, "Don't you think it's time you moved on?" My response to anyone who would say that to me now is, "No, but I do think it's time I moved on from you."

3. No two people grieve alike; therefore, never tell someone how he or she should go about grieving. There's no right or wrong way, (although we do need to be mindful of getting stuck in unhealthy ways; that's a post for another time.)

4. Grieving people loved their lost ones so much that we want everyone else to love them that much, too. Seriously. We want you to know just how special and awesome they were. We want their lives to keep mattering, forever and ever. We want their legacies to live. Therefore, let us talk about the loved ones we've lost, as much as we want. And you can talk plenty about them, too. We desperately crave hearing your stories and memories about the people we've dearly loved. Do you find yourself annoyed by this or uncomfortable with it? Well ... you might want to rethink that "friendship" thing ...

5. There are no right words to say. Therefore, you don't have to avoid us out of fear of saying something wrong — except "get over it," of course. All you have to do is be there. Just listen. Just hug (or virtual hug). Just tell us you love us. Just tell us a favorite story about the ones who are gone. Check in every once in awhile. Just let us know you're thinking about us. And if you really think you have to have the right words, then the right words are these: "I don't know the right words. I just know I care about you, and I'm sad you are hurting right now."  It's not hard at all.

In addition to clarifying those five absolutes, something shifted positively within me when one of my mom's friends told me in those Facebook responses that my mom was very proud of my writing talent. My writing talent? Really? I thought I mostly practiced word vomit — at least that's been my style for the past three years.

And here's the coolest thing: On May 12 (the day before the anniversary of my mother's death), I was cleaning out the back house for an upcoming garage sale when I started rummaging through the two boxes of memorabilia, pictures, school assignments, essays, Little Dribbler's uniforms, report cards, calendars, artwork, BARBIES!, "Toddy" bear, my Audrey doll, letters and cards (email didn't exist then!) from family and friends — from birth through graduating with my bachelor's degree — that had been stored for years in my parents' attic. I found things that made me bawl hysterically, but I equally discovered things that made me laugh hysterically or smile with happy memories.

And again and again I read Hallmark cards from Mom and Dad signed, "We love you." "We're proud of you."

New ideas for blog posts started to flow that day, so I'm going to do my best to write again. I would like to honor my English teacher/Librarian mother's enjoyment of my writing.

I don't believe in coincidences. I believe that day I spent blanketed by memories, plus your supportive responses to my Facebook apology, edged me forward in my personal healing. That's just how it works, and that's why we cannot judge another person's grief journey.

Thank you for continuing with me on my journey. I hope you get something helpful from me now and then.

And I'm so grateful to report that the new ideas I gathered for future blog posts have little to do with debilitating grief. Thank you, God ... I think I get to move forward now.

A Fine Little Something About Grief

It's been five months since my last post. Mostly because every time I think about it, I think, "Who the hell cares?" So I don't write.

Perhaps that attitude is indicative of depression. Yeah, probably.

But here I am, and it's been exactly two years since Mom and Dad left us. That's how I feel: Left. They left us.

Left us.

I am selfish, yes, I know, but I miss them. You might think after two years, I might feel better. I can tell you that what is better are the memories. I think more about the good times than those awful, wretched months after Mom had that stroke and then Dad got sicker and then they both died.

So that's good. I don't think I could have gone on if I lived in the middle of that still.

The good memories make me smile. But those memories also make me miss them more. And that's why I feel left.

I understand it's not their fault. God chooses time of death and all that. But that doesn't change my feelings. So, yeah, they left us. All of us, not just me.

You see, it's still in the back of my mind how inconceivable it is that they are gone, because their influence is still everywhere. I guess in some comforting way, then, they are still here.

But it bugs the heck out of me that I can't see them or interact with them anymore. It makes me angry, in fact.

And I think, "God, why can't you let me see them together, just one more time, to see what they are doing with you and how they are feeling and what they are thinking? I don't think that's too much to ask."

So I will continue to wait.

In the meantime, I trudge along, still trying to find my way in this "retirement" type stage of my life. It's retirement because everything is part-time and on my own terms, mostly. I do the antiques, I craft, I listen to audio books, I take care of the house and the animals. And I sleep and rest a lot due to the chronic pain issues I face. That's a huge factor in my depression, not just grief. And living with chronic pain is a whole other post that maybe someone else who reads might relate to. So, I'll just shove that aside for now ... even though I can't really because at this moment, I hurt.

But I don't always just trudge. I skip sometimes, too, because that's life. Even in grief, good times happen. Lots of good times. I am grateful for those, and I think about those times, too.  So don't worry too much about this downer post. Keep in mind it is the anniversary of their deaths, so that counts a big something for my attitude.

I read a book recently in which one of the characters said, "You never really understand something unless it happens to you."

She didn't say "until it happens to you." She said unless.

Think about it. That's so true. There is no full comprehension about what anyone is ever going through. And that's how grief is. That is the one thing I have learned about it. It is my own grief to muddle through, just as your grief is your grief.

All we can do is try to love one another through it, without judging and without controlling.

So here I am, two years down the road to simply share that whatever you are grieving and however you are grieving it, that's fine. It's yours and you're doing it just fine. And if you don't feel like you're okay in your grief, then get help with it.

I have. And that is just ... fine.

Still just that little girl at the little red table

My new all-encompassing activity of life, from morning until night. Because that's how I do things.

When I was a kid, I sat for hours at the red aluminum child-size card table in one of the two matching red chairs, and colored, painted and drew for hours and hours and hours.

I recently reverted to that little girl when Dorsey surprised me with a "craft" table for Christmas. I actually got it about a week before Christmas, and I knew I was getting it, because Dorsey made it for me. I guess I was spending enough time making messes at the dining room table that something had to change. I've painted A LOT of wooden plaques with game boards, pineapples, sayings, saltbox houses, roosters and chickens ... And, really, where the heck am I supposed to put all of these things?

But that's beside the point. I love my new little red table! I've been spending most of my time at it. I keep thinking that if I spend enough time at artistic endeavors, like I did when I was young, I will get better and better. Maybe I can regain some of that talent I had as a kid. (You know ... if you don't use it, you lose it, right?)

Lisa has seen her sack, but not her gift!

Sadly, I struggle with the same monster that lived in my head as a child — the self-deprecating, mean, evil voice that criticized every effort at every turn. What wasn't good enough then still isn't good enough now. I find that horribly demoralizing, considering the fact that 50 isn't that far away.

I'm not quitting, though, because I still get satisfaction from making these craft table messes ... the same as I did when I was little. I know enough now to understand three things: One, practice will make me better; two, I don't have to listen; and three, depression makes it worse, but this, too, shall pass.

I didn't really know these things as a kid.

Since about the first of November, I've struggled horribly with depression, which is nothing new to me; I've battled it my entire life. It's made its ugly mark on me in countless, destructive ways. This bout is mentionable because it feels worse than usual. My body hurts. My head, my bones, my muscles, my joints, my nerves. Every finger, every toe. Every hair on my head. I've slept a lot ... or at least lounged in bed or on the couch. I've watched every cheesy Hallmark Christmas Movie. It's a good thing I have many pairs of pjs. It's a good day when I take a shower. It's even better if I do my hair and put on a little makeup. (I apologize to anyone I've seen in public. I just haven't given a flying flip, just in case you have. I still had to go to the grocery store and run odds-and-ends errands, whether I wanted to or not.)

It's a good thing I got the Christmas decorations up when I did; otherwise, they wouldn't have happened. For about three to four weeks, I've been relatively worthless in accomplishing anything.

The new little red table.

But I did manage to paint Christmas sacks for wrapping presents. Not all presents, but a few. It provided an interesting solace for me ... after I threw away the first 10 sacks I did. And when I looked at what was most likely number 11 when I saw it again on Christmas Eve, I wondered why I hadn't thrown that one away, either. But I have to admit I've liked some of my creations. I've even wondered whether when Dad died, he channeled his talents back to me? I truly believed I had lost whatever God had blessed me with.)

I had some fun with this one ... and then I almost threw it away.

Painting sacks got me through Christmas. I have to admit I felt the grief of not having my parents here this year even more than last. Maybe I was still in a fog last year? Or maybe I was preoccupied with all the activity I smothered myself in? Whatever ... I felt completely lost this year.

And I will admit that I became one of  millions of scammed Americans recently. I will not share details, but it was related to my antiques business. Almost $1,000 later, I have been left to trust that the FBI is doing something with my tiny, insignificant little report. Somehow, I truly do doubt anything will come of it. I doubt, too, that I will ever know. That, in itself, is depressing.

We also spent $1,000 at the vet's office last week when we learned my precious Jasper has the feline leukemia virus. I had to beat myself up for awhile when I thought I had lagged on kitty vaccinations, but that turned out to be untrue, so at least I could give myself a small break there.

And I'm struggling with other things I cannot control and, thus, must learn to put somewhere in a perspective with which I can live. So I might paint so many sacks I can make a few paper quilts ... I don't know ... because there's a lot of bad stuff going on in the world right now.

What the heck does one do with painted sacks? I know it's a cheap practice medium.
When I went to bed last night, I wanted to throw this sack away. But I woke up
this morning and kept painting dots. 

And as I name a few of these reasons, I need to be firm in saying ... I — and the millions of other people in this world who suffer from depression — don't need a reason to be depressed. I know my life is good. I KNOW THAT.

But that's not how depression ... the mental illness kind ... works. I just happen to have a few reasons to exacerbate the monster's attack. So, yes, I suppose this one does feel a little more powerful than usual.

... God bless all the paper sacks and little red tables in my life!

Stories preserve lives ... so tell them

Oh, how I miss you, Mom and Dad. 

Recently, I was thinking about what I should do with this blog. I started it in dealing with my aging and ill parents, and then it became about them ... and it became wildly popular with all of the people whose lives my parents touched. Writing this blog and hearing the stories about my parents and the people who loved them gave me peace and even joy during that most difficult time of my life. I got to tell my parents' story(s), through me and through those who shared their own memories of my parents.

The single most important thing to me at that time was preserving my mom and dad. I could not bear the thought of their lives ending. I couldn't stand that what was so central to my life was about to be over or, worse, forgotten. I thought that if I could tell and share and hear their stories ... and get it all in writing ... I could save them. I could keep Mom and Dad alive forever.

That's how stories work, right?

To me, nothing in this world is more important than preserving, sharing, respecting and remembering peoples' stories ... their lives. That's all we have — stories. And every story is important. Every story matters. The tears, the joys, the losses, the failures, and the ultimate triumphs. Every person's story shares those same elements. Every life has enjoyed and endured those things. Our stories connect us to one another, from generation to generation to generation ... and they should be told.

Many are, thankfully, and that's how we are blessed with the books and movies we love so much. Of course, true stories of real people come alive in books and movies, but even fiction is based in fact. And every fictional character represents someone real.

So during that time of caring for my parents and subsequently writing posts for this blog, I preached that people should start gathering, saving, writing down ... everything possible ... those things that represented the lives of those important to them, especially for the older folks. I still believe this is a most important task and encourage all who can to do so for their loved ones ... and for themselves. I'm glad to say my kids and future grandkids will get to hear and see lots of stories about Jim and Nicki.

Clearly, my mother valued stories, as well. (She was quite the reader and book lover ... and had her master's degree in library science.) In 2007, she started a blog — Reflections on the Way We Were: Childress High School Class of 1963, that ran for several years. She and her classmates reflected on their lives and history. They shared their current lives with one another, as well. Those writings for all those years in that blog and the subsequent blogs along the way contain valuable history and stories about those people, as well as a ton of wisdom and insight! (Check out the "1968" post.)

How awesome is that!?

On Thanksgiving this year, Jennifer Johnston, one of my mother's classmates who wrote and administered the blogs with my mom, sent me a memory my mother had shared in the comments of one of the posts. Mom wrote about what Jordie and Cole were thankful for at that time in their very young lives, and, of course, it was cute. Jordie and Cole gave my parents so much joy.

I cried, of course. I shed tears of loss, but also of gratefulness. Tears that needed sharing in my still very raw grief. (I'm beginning to wonder whether it will ever end ... )

Jennifer has decided to close out those special blogs. They will still be available for anyone to read and/or stumble upon someday, but she is writing an "ending" that proves to be more central and uplifting than what has seemed lately like an endless line of obituaries for their class of 1963. I mean, really, how depressing is that? Jennifer is doing the right thing. Our lives are more than the endings!

I am so very grateful my mother had the foresight to create those blogs! She and those who shared of themselves and their memories helped preserve lives and history. She and they have given me and others stories. Of real people. Of real lives. Of real sorrows. Of real triumphs.

And, who knows? Maybe someone will come across those blogs dedicated to that small and special Childress Class of 1963 and transform the tales into something others might someday enjoy on a big movie screen. Why not? How else do stories come to life for all to enjoy and relate?

It's certainly something to ponder. And, again, please consider the task of preserving the lives of you and your loved ones ...

As for this blog ... I still don't know.

I'm just thankful for all the stories that get me through everyday life and connect me to you. Grief certainly makes life lonely sometimes.

Saddest but best lesson learned about grief support

Sadly, I have reached the age when others in my age range also are losing their parents. It's just the cycle of life, I know.

But that doesn't make it any better or even OK.  I have discovered in the two years of watching my parents suffer and then pass that not much is harder than this process. Not much rivals the difficulty and the grief of becoming an orphan, even at the ripe old age of 46. I believe I have said this before, but there is something childlike in all of us that reappears strongly when we lose our parents.

We always want and need our parents. If the relationship has been a loving and healthy one — even with the typical dysfunctions — or if the relationship was estranged or strained, we want our parents. We either want what we had, or we want what we always wanted to have in a parent.

It makes no difference, so I will say it again: Losing your parents is difficult, no matter what. I have learned much, changed much, hurt much, grieved much and continue in all these matters. I will never be the same.

I am writing this particular post because I need to share something that has been on my heart since Day 1, pretty much. I have often hesitated to write it, fearing it might sound bitter. I hope this one doesn't come across that way.

I now know that when my classmates and school friends — people with whom I once was close or spent much time with in school, sports, work or church — lost parents or a parent at far earlier ages than I did must have been as hurt by me as I have been by some of my former associates.

Here's why: I didn't "get it." I didn't understand the devastation of losing parents. I didn't consider that all support, any support from others but especially people they might have expected to respond in such a time would be and was eternally appreciated.

I failed to be a friend in several of my friends' lives, and for that, I will be forever regretful. If they noticed my absence, I am so sorry ... much more sorry than they might know, because now I do get it.

I hope to someday, maybe soon, make it right with those people who come to my mind immediately. And I know that besides those, God will make aware to me whomever else deserves an amends.

I realize there are all kinds of reasons people fail to attend funerals: conflicts, they live too far away, can't bear funerals, they were out of town, they didn't know until after the fact.  I've had all of those reasons myself. Some are quite legitimate, but really, we can generally work around most.

While attending a funeral for a friend truly might be out of the question, never is there an excuse for not offering condolences or a kind word. Ever.

I'm not sure I failed in that, but probably I did, being human and all. If I did, I will do my best to make that right, as well.

I have so much appreciated all the love and support and kindness people have shown me during this time. People came out of the woodwork! People I didn't know. People I had lost contact with. Even people I knew don't care that much for me. Just people everywhere. That is the best feeling in the world. It's also so important during the early grieving process, and especially as the grieving continues and peoples' lives go on.

Remember that. Let's try to be there for our friends and associates. A kind word and the smallest gestures travel miles.  Attending funerals in support of families and in remembrance of the one who has passed is ... I have no words for that ... Let's just do it if we can.

Change change change change change ...

Yep, here I am sitting in the middle of the utility room floor, painting.
I'm trying to accommodate for our cats. That old carpet had to go!
I need something I can easily clean!!

Mom and Dad's house is scheduled to close this week or next. We had offers on it within a day of it going on the market. I really didn't expect that, but I suppose that's good if it's time. Obviously, it is. The house is going to what appears to be a nice young family who will bring life to this house my parents loved. (Thank you, God. And you know the funny thing? The husband of the family owns a lawn business. My parents adored and doted on — built — that backyard. I just know this family will make it even better. And Mom and Dad would be so happy.)

Selling our parents' house is the last big thing for Kim and me to do with their "things." As we have checked off each of these tasks, I have surprisingly found myself in deeper depression than in relief. There's finality in all of this. There's the absolute, "They aren't coming back!" in all of this. (I certainly understand why some people put these estate things on the back burner for years. Kim and I are just extremely task-oriented, and well ... property taxes aren't fun to pay, especially when they're for no good cause.)

New cabinet for the newly-redecorated Jordie room — which was once Hart's room.

I continue think to myself, "It wasn't suppose to be like this."

Because it wasn't. Not in my child-like mind. Sure, most people assume they will outlive their parents (and that's how it should be, for the sake of our parents), but when it happens, it's a huuuuuuuge shock. I mean, Mom and Dad should always be there, right?

So, here I am, in the remaining days of wrapping up Mom and Dad's estate, and taking care of my own.

The former Jordie/Hart bedroom is in the process of becoming a guest room.
I have repainted furniture (from my grandparents' that my mom repainted for Hart's room).
When it's all said and done, I'll share some pics.

Although I always knew this, the notion that I don't have control over much in my life finally began to sink in about three years ago.  This became more and more clear as my parents became ill and then passed. Life last year became a matter of "do what you gotta do today," and that was absolutely it.

Here we go again.

You know if you've followed my life/blog recently that Dorsey was laid off from his job a little more than a month ago. This is scary stuff. Yeah, I know God has the solution all worked out and it's all good. That doesn't mean I always appreciate God's timing. I'm like, "C'mon, God. I know you've got this, but can we have this joblessness thing end sooner rather than later? Thanks!"

The truth is, we don't know where Dorsey will end up, job-wise. Yes, I'm finally willing to move from Amarillo. But I don't want to. It's not necessarily Amarillo itself. I mean, Amarillo is what it is. It's my home, good and bad. So you know what that means ... But it's home.

And I love my house ... my home for the last 14 years. I'm finally getting it into the shape I want it to be in ... the shape that matches the things we have, plus our style. I'm finally furnishing and making this house exactly how I've imagined for a very long time. (OK, yeah, I have even bigger picture ideas, but let's start small.)

And now, we might (likely) have to move, just to follow a job that will insure our livelihoods for at least a little while longer.

Such irony.

All this stuff I'm doing now — the ONLY things I have control over each day — is either for us or for whomever buys this house in the event we are forced to move from Amarillo.

Oh, the metaphors for life and homes and houses and all that ...

Let's get out of God's way

As much as I can bemoan aging, I can gratefully say this: Older means wiser. At least in my case. And more boldly confident. Not perfect, but progressing. Not fully knowledgable, but always learning. Keep that in mind as you read. (In other words, nowhere in this writing am I assuming myself to be perfect — past (especially) or present.)

According to a 2014 Pew Research Center study, 70.6 percent of Americans identified themselves as Christians in this country. That would mean the majority of Americans believe Jesus Christ is the son of God, and He came to die for our sins. That means we also believe in the Trinity — the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.

If you fit within that majority, stay with me. 

By reading and studying any of the Old Testament at all, we've figured out that human beings have proven themselves quite incapable of upholding any law of God perfectly — or even very well. In fact, humans in those days failed pretty miserably. (Maybe just like today?)

So that's where Christ came in. We, as humans, were so incapable that we needed God to help us out (save us). So He gave us Jesus, who came to this earth, lived as a human for 33 years and experienced exactly what it's like to live like we do; then He became sin for a short while (died on the cross; rose three days later), so that our sins would not condemn us anymore. 

By suffering crucifixion for us — by taking on our sin — Christ fulfilled the law of God — the law humans failed to to live up to — and placed us in a position of grace, mercy and forgiveness for our sins. Because He loved us. 

Thank God. 

And while Jesus lived on this earth, he taught us some very basic things. Not only did He teach us these things, He expects us to do our very best to follow Him and His teachings.

First and foremost, Jesus told us the two greatest commandments are these: from Matthew 22:37-40

“'Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.'"  This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.” (italics mine)

All of the law (of Moses — i.e., 10 Commandments) hinges on loving God and loving one another. If we manage to focus our attention on loving to the best of our ability (and relying on God to help us), then all the law — all of God's commands and the "do's and don't's" fall into place. ALL of them. 

To me, that means the wisest and most efficient things I can attend to in my own life are loving God and loving you. If I truly love God, then I want to and will do what pleases Him. It means that if I love others (and remember, too, that love covers a multitude of sins), then I'm in this imperfect world living a life that produces the fruits of the Holy Spirit, which are these:

"But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faith, gentleness, self-control. Against such things there is no law." — Galatians 5:22-24

Have you seen these much lately? From the so-called majority of Christians in this country?

I haven't. As a majority in this country — a majority that is supposed to be loving, kind, good, gentle and self-controlled, we have failed. 

Fellow Christians, to "hate" a sin means to reject it, to turn from it, to not do it. Nowhere in the Bible does hating a sin mean viciously speaking toward another human being, calling people insulting or despicable names, condemning them or behaving in ways that harm them. 

Not anywhere.

And nowhere does the Bible place sins in a hierarchy. A sin is a sin is a sin is a sin. That means in light of recent events, hate and self-righteousness are just as bad as the other sin(s) we condemn. 

We need to get off our high horses of self-righteousness and recognize that our job as Christians is to spread the GOOD news of Jesus Christ. If it's good news, why the heck would we beat someone over the head with it? Why would we tell people horrible things about themselves, threaten them and try to force them to believe what we do? 

Jesus didn't do that. The disciples didn't do that.  If God gives us free will and a choice to accept or reject Him and/or His teachings, then we need to do the same. Hounding, harassing and hating is not part of the deal. 

Jesus simply, strongly and lovingly presented the Truth to unbelievers. Then He gave them the opportunity to choose whether or not to accept that truth and abide by that truth.

If a group of people rejected Jesus' teachings, He — and later the disciples — moved along to another group of people. If people accepted His teachings, Jesus and His disciples stayed awhile to nurture the faith of the new believers so that they, too, could grow stronger and spread the word. 

In love. 

But this love thing isn't just about "unbelievers;" it's about us — brothers and sisters in Christ, whom Jesus wants and prayed for (John 17:21) to be as one, to stand ONE with Him and with God — with God's Holy Spirit being the connecting key to doing just that. 

We're failing at that, too. We are condemning and criticizing one another for sinning within the Christian faith. We are self-righteous and put ourselves above others — again placing sin in some kind of hierarchy.  

We need to remember that we are not the ones who are supposed to convict one another of our sins. The Holy Spirit does that. And as the Holy Spirit does this, it guides us to a stronger life in Christ. This is a process and takes time. (And, please, let's let God do the judging.)

One of the coolest and most loving things about God is that He works with us from wherever we are spiritually. All of us are at different places in our faith, yet many of us try to force other Christians to be exactly where we are, because in our own minds, we're in a better, higher, more Godly place. 

Perhaps God should decide that. 

One thing I believe about God beyond a shadow of a doubt — because He loves us and understands us in all our weaknesses — is that because He knows our individual stories and the stories behind our stories, He is infinitely patient with us. He uses our lives, our experiences, our strengths, our weaknesses, and yes, our very sins, to get us where we need to be in Him.

As fellow Christians, we have got to get out of God's way! Instead, we need to be working alongside him; we need to be like Christ — producing those fruits of the Spirit. Be as gentle and encouraging with someone entangled in sin or in some deep, dark hole or untruth of life as God is. Do with others what you would have them to do with you.

Remember, God gives Christians choices, too. And time, thankfully. He doesn't harass us. He isn't mean to us. Neither should we harass or be hateful to one another. 

Christians, we need to repent. We need to reevaluate our actions. We need to take our own inventories, instead of everyone else's. 

As a majority in this country, while we have been busy tearing one another apart, we also have been quite busy tearing this country apart. 

Is that what we want? Is that what God wants? 

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.

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.