Merry Christmas Honey! I just called your brother and sisters to wish them a Merry Christmas and still after almost seven years, I miss calling you so much!
For most of your life honey, I wondered where you were. I couldn’t rest until I heard your voice and knew you were fine and well. It wasn’t much different with your brother and sisters babe. When I knew you were all safe and well, then I could settle down and relax. But I can’t call you now honey. So often I wonder where you’re at. What you are doing? Who you are with? And if you are okay. But I can’t call you. So I need to leave it to my belief system to put my heart at ease. For I believe you are loved deeply by the God of my faith, and only He can love you more than I do, and because you are loved so dearly, you are fine. I remind Him to watch over you for me each time I pray. Not that I doubt Him, but I think a mother’s love holds quite a bit of weight with Him since we both are in the habit of loving unconditionally. For you see honey, I believe He also has patience and a sense of humor. And so He’s not offended by my prayers that remind Him. Instead, He probably smiles and says “It’s Susie again.”
I love you my darling boy and I miss you so very much. I do miss hearing your voice. I miss your off-colored sense of humor. I miss hearing you say you love me and that I’m your Angel.
Honey I’m sorry. The last time I spoke to you, you said you loved me and I told you I loved you too. To which you replied, “No Mom. I really love you.”
Honey I’m so sorry I didn’t keep you on the phone longer. I’m sorry I didn’t ask you what was wrong. I’m sorry I didn’t pick up that you were hurting. I’m so sorry my darling boy. I wish I could relive that call once more. But I can’t honey. So I will find peace in knowing you are fine now. You have left your demons behind and are at peace.
But what are you doing honey? I hope all of the things you wanted so badly to accomplish here.
I love you sweetheart! Forever and ever my baby you’ll be.
Mom
Wednesday, December 25, 2019
Saturday, December 17, 2016
The Tattered Christmas Stocking
He followed the path the footprints made, not knowing where they might lead.
Not caring where it was he wandered on this snowy Christmas Eve.
The Christmas spirit eluded him this year as the one before.
He placed no tree by his window, or wreath upon his door.
There was no joy this Christmas time, nor could there be Christmas cheer.
It had died with her, with her last breath she took that Christmas year.
What had brought him out on this snowy night, he didn't know, nor did he care.
With a hollow heart he just followed steps in the snow that he found there.
The steps lead him down by the river, then down along the tracks.
He followed them in his misery, never stopping to look back.
He followed them down a dark alley to a makeshift tent at the end,
and stopped where a small boy was standing by a firepit warming his hands.
The boys clothes were dirty and rumpled. His young face was smudged and thin.
He stood looking at the man and the man looked back at him.
"What are you doing out here alone?" "Who wants to know?" The young boy said.
"Why are you out in this weather? Why aren't you home in bed?"
"Where do you think it is I'm at?" The young boy acted tough
"This right here is where I live and this is home enough."
"Where are your parents?" "They both died. I'm a man now on my own.
I don't need anybody. I do well enough alone."
The man glanced about the campsite and amid the makeshift mess,
a simple item caught his eye. It stood out from all the rest.
A red, tattered Christmas stocking hung against the wall.
Here in the heart of an orphan boy, Christmas wasn't void at all.
The boy still believed in Christmas and the hope that it might bring,
and the magic to mend a broken life and make the dark take wing.
Years came in and years went by and the boy became his son,
and every year at Christmas time they made certain this was done.
They hung the tattered stocking so the man would not forget
he had found the Christmas spirit in the steps that lead to it.
So this Christmas time should circumstance cause our belief to stray,
Let's just look close in a child's heart and let the Child lead the way.
Copyright - 2008
Susie Whiting
Not caring where it was he wandered on this snowy Christmas Eve.
The Christmas spirit eluded him this year as the one before.
He placed no tree by his window, or wreath upon his door.
There was no joy this Christmas time, nor could there be Christmas cheer.
It had died with her, with her last breath she took that Christmas year.
What had brought him out on this snowy night, he didn't know, nor did he care.
With a hollow heart he just followed steps in the snow that he found there.
The steps lead him down by the river, then down along the tracks.
He followed them in his misery, never stopping to look back.
He followed them down a dark alley to a makeshift tent at the end,
and stopped where a small boy was standing by a firepit warming his hands.
The boys clothes were dirty and rumpled. His young face was smudged and thin.
He stood looking at the man and the man looked back at him.
"What are you doing out here alone?" "Who wants to know?" The young boy said.
"Why are you out in this weather? Why aren't you home in bed?"
"Where do you think it is I'm at?" The young boy acted tough
"This right here is where I live and this is home enough."
"Where are your parents?" "They both died. I'm a man now on my own.
I don't need anybody. I do well enough alone."
The man glanced about the campsite and amid the makeshift mess,
a simple item caught his eye. It stood out from all the rest.
A red, tattered Christmas stocking hung against the wall.
Here in the heart of an orphan boy, Christmas wasn't void at all.
The boy still believed in Christmas and the hope that it might bring,
and the magic to mend a broken life and make the dark take wing.
Years came in and years went by and the boy became his son,
and every year at Christmas time they made certain this was done.
They hung the tattered stocking so the man would not forget
he had found the Christmas spirit in the steps that lead to it.
So this Christmas time should circumstance cause our belief to stray,
Let's just look close in a child's heart and let the Child lead the way.
Copyright - 2008
Susie Whiting
Thursday, August 4, 2016
Desperately Seeking Susie
I think I knew who I was in high school. I was "sweet Susie." Anyway, that's what everyone who wrote in the back of my yearbooks said. They always referred to me as being "sweet" and they had known me for almost eleven years, so they should have had an idea of who or what I was. Isn't that true? I don't think most of them knew I was shy back then. I covered it up by the friends I kept, and as long as I was with my friends, I was okay, but if I was left to walk down the main wing of Provo High School by myself, I lost my confidence. Safety in numbers, so I surrounded myself with my wonderful group of friends that kept me from the humiliation of just being myself.
When I married Danny, he was my security blanket, so to speak. I was Danny's wife, and when we went out, he took control of the conversations which was fine with me. I was happy to relinquish the job to him, not thinking that perhaps I might not be coming off as being shy but as being something else all together.
Then along came my seven children, and anyone who knows them can understand that their personalities pretty much out shined their Mom's. But again, I was content to be Susan, Shannon, Daren, Sheree, Mark, Rainee and Haley's mom and let them shine. Still, I didn't think people would think I was anything other than shy, but I was to find out differently.
I had been having my nails done by a gal in Payson for quite some time. Her parents lived not too far from where Danny and I lived. One day she told her mother she needed to hurry home because she had a client coming for a manicure.
"Who's coming?" her mother asked.
"Susie Whiting?" she replied.
"Oh. She's a real bitch isn't she?"
"No!" Lainee replied. "She's very nice."
Lainee laughed when she told me her mother thought I was a bitch. When I asked her what I had done to make her mother think that, Lainee said I had done nothing she could think of; that her mother just didn't know me.
At the same time, my daughter's friend was working at a convenience store in Payson. I pulled in for gas one day when her friend was working and the manager of the store said "Oh here comes the rich bitch." (Referring to me.)
"Who Susie?" Haley's friend asked? "She's not a bitch! (For the record, neither was I rich.)
"Do you know her?" The manager asked Haley's friend?
"Yeah! She's like a second mother to me."
Haley's friend told Haley and Haley told me and I was again faced with the fact that for some reason, people were thinking I was being bitchy, when I really didn't mean to be. The truth was my shyness was shouting out one thing when I felt an entirely different thing. That has been about twenty years ago and I haven't changed and there are probably people out in the world who think I'm a bitch when I am still just shy. My shyness has kept me from wanting to participate in a lot of things.
So I was driving over to my daughter's a few weeks ago. The drive took a while and it gave me enough time to chastise myself. I'm seventy years old. Perhaps being shy shouldn't be an excuse any longer to not get out and get going. I could go to the senior citizen center and learn line dancing. I could take some writing classes. I could take some art classes. I love the law, I could go to BYU and take some of the law classes they offer senior citizens. By the time I reached Susan's I had gone over a myriad of ideas I could involve myself in and by the time I drove into her yard, I had reached another conclusion. I didn't want to do any of them. I'm content to do none of them. But then I felt guilty for feeling that way.
I went in and laid down on Rainee's bed and waited for her to come, the whole time thrashing myself for letting me get the best of myself. Rainee came in and crawled up beside me. "What's the matter, Mom." she asked. And I told her.
"Are you fu*!ing kidding me!" She said. "I can't believe you! Okay, so the fact is you are socially inept. That's a given. So you are not comfortable going out and being around a bunch of strangers at this point in your life. Fine! You've always been that way. For almost fifty years, you took care of dad. You were there for him day and night and you were there for Daren day and night. And you've been there for some of the others of us who have needed you pretty much constantly. You did dad's books for him for forty-five years. You took us to singing lessons, dancing lessons, karate lessons, swimming lessons, ski lessons. Then, you were the pitch hitter for twenty-five grand kids. You were there when we needed you to run them to school, or pick them up when they were sick. You went to every school play or performance they were in along with all the pageants some of us put our girls in. You went to their soccer games, baseball games...you name it you were there. And now you're telling me you feel guilty because you want to rest? You've got to be fu*!ing kidding me."
I told her to stop saying the F word and we went out to see what we were having for dinner. I felt her put her arm around me and I knew I was okay. I might not be all I could have been, but I've been all I should have been...wife, mom, and grandmother. I will just keep trying to prove people wrong. I will try not to be the bitch they might think I am.
When I married Danny, he was my security blanket, so to speak. I was Danny's wife, and when we went out, he took control of the conversations which was fine with me. I was happy to relinquish the job to him, not thinking that perhaps I might not be coming off as being shy but as being something else all together.
Then along came my seven children, and anyone who knows them can understand that their personalities pretty much out shined their Mom's. But again, I was content to be Susan, Shannon, Daren, Sheree, Mark, Rainee and Haley's mom and let them shine. Still, I didn't think people would think I was anything other than shy, but I was to find out differently.
I had been having my nails done by a gal in Payson for quite some time. Her parents lived not too far from where Danny and I lived. One day she told her mother she needed to hurry home because she had a client coming for a manicure.
"Who's coming?" her mother asked.
"Susie Whiting?" she replied.
"Oh. She's a real bitch isn't she?"
"No!" Lainee replied. "She's very nice."
Lainee laughed when she told me her mother thought I was a bitch. When I asked her what I had done to make her mother think that, Lainee said I had done nothing she could think of; that her mother just didn't know me.
At the same time, my daughter's friend was working at a convenience store in Payson. I pulled in for gas one day when her friend was working and the manager of the store said "Oh here comes the rich bitch." (Referring to me.)
"Who Susie?" Haley's friend asked? "She's not a bitch! (For the record, neither was I rich.)
"Do you know her?" The manager asked Haley's friend?
"Yeah! She's like a second mother to me."
Haley's friend told Haley and Haley told me and I was again faced with the fact that for some reason, people were thinking I was being bitchy, when I really didn't mean to be. The truth was my shyness was shouting out one thing when I felt an entirely different thing. That has been about twenty years ago and I haven't changed and there are probably people out in the world who think I'm a bitch when I am still just shy. My shyness has kept me from wanting to participate in a lot of things.
So I was driving over to my daughter's a few weeks ago. The drive took a while and it gave me enough time to chastise myself. I'm seventy years old. Perhaps being shy shouldn't be an excuse any longer to not get out and get going. I could go to the senior citizen center and learn line dancing. I could take some writing classes. I could take some art classes. I love the law, I could go to BYU and take some of the law classes they offer senior citizens. By the time I reached Susan's I had gone over a myriad of ideas I could involve myself in and by the time I drove into her yard, I had reached another conclusion. I didn't want to do any of them. I'm content to do none of them. But then I felt guilty for feeling that way.
I went in and laid down on Rainee's bed and waited for her to come, the whole time thrashing myself for letting me get the best of myself. Rainee came in and crawled up beside me. "What's the matter, Mom." she asked. And I told her.
"Are you fu*!ing kidding me!" She said. "I can't believe you! Okay, so the fact is you are socially inept. That's a given. So you are not comfortable going out and being around a bunch of strangers at this point in your life. Fine! You've always been that way. For almost fifty years, you took care of dad. You were there for him day and night and you were there for Daren day and night. And you've been there for some of the others of us who have needed you pretty much constantly. You did dad's books for him for forty-five years. You took us to singing lessons, dancing lessons, karate lessons, swimming lessons, ski lessons. Then, you were the pitch hitter for twenty-five grand kids. You were there when we needed you to run them to school, or pick them up when they were sick. You went to every school play or performance they were in along with all the pageants some of us put our girls in. You went to their soccer games, baseball games...you name it you were there. And now you're telling me you feel guilty because you want to rest? You've got to be fu*!ing kidding me."
I told her to stop saying the F word and we went out to see what we were having for dinner. I felt her put her arm around me and I knew I was okay. I might not be all I could have been, but I've been all I should have been...wife, mom, and grandmother. I will just keep trying to prove people wrong. I will try not to be the bitch they might think I am.
Saturday, April 30, 2016
Who are the Teachers
V1:
Who are the teachers
in this school that we call life?
Who do I learn from? How do I measure
what I'm taught is wrong or right?
Where does the knowledge come?
From he who owns the mansion on the hill,
the one who's trained to heal,
the preacher from the pulpit,
are they right?
Or is it the homeless in the park, the addict in the park,
the lost soul walking aimless in the night?
Who are the teachers?
Who are the teachers?
Who do I learn from?
Chorus:
Who will teach me,
to judge another isn't right?
Who will teach me,
the candle that I hold, deep within my soul
can bring forth light?
Teach me to be kind,
to find the path that winds,
back to where I came from long ago.
Who are the teachers? Who are the teachers?
I need to know.
V2:
Who are the teachers
in this school that we call life?
Who do I learn from? How do I measure
what I'm taught is wrong or right?
Where does the knowledge come?
From one who wears success upon his sleeve,
who never seems to grieve,
the banker, or the lawyer or the such?
Or is it the child in the cold,
the lonely or the old,
the one who doesn't ask for much?
Who are the teachers?
Who are the teachers?
Who should I learn from?
Who are the teachers?
Who are the teachers?
Who should I learn from?
Who are the teachers
in this school that we call life?
Who do I learn from? How do I measure
what I'm taught is wrong or right?
Where does the knowledge come?
From he who owns the mansion on the hill,
the one who's trained to heal,
the preacher from the pulpit,
are they right?
Or is it the homeless in the park, the addict in the park,
the lost soul walking aimless in the night?
Who are the teachers?
Who are the teachers?
Who do I learn from?
Chorus:
Who will teach me,
to judge another isn't right?
Who will teach me,
the candle that I hold, deep within my soul
can bring forth light?
Teach me to be kind,
to find the path that winds,
back to where I came from long ago.
Who are the teachers? Who are the teachers?
I need to know.
V2:
Who are the teachers
in this school that we call life?
Who do I learn from? How do I measure
what I'm taught is wrong or right?
Where does the knowledge come?
From one who wears success upon his sleeve,
who never seems to grieve,
the banker, or the lawyer or the such?
Or is it the child in the cold,
the lonely or the old,
the one who doesn't ask for much?
Who are the teachers?
Who are the teachers?
Who should I learn from?
Who are the teachers?
Who are the teachers?
Who should I learn from?
Thursday, April 14, 2016
My Man
He lay looking out the window as I sat down by his bed.
"What is it that you're looking at?" and this is what he said.
"Look up there at those mountains, that I have ached to climb.
I just can't seem to make it, with these old broken legs of mine.
There are ragged tops a waiting, meadows in different shades of green,
The monarch elk's a bugling where the wild eagles scream.
There's a five pound lunker, swiming in a deep blue hole.
I know that I could catch him if I could carry up my pole
and turn over a rock in cold wet dirt, and gather a worm or two.
But I'm a little worn out. I've got some restin' I must do."
So he closed his eyes and I held his hand and I saw him faintly smile.
"I'll get the camp fire burning," he said "and I'll wait for you a while.
There's no need to hurry. It's okay to take your time.
I'd wait for you forever; my green eyed girl of mine."
I lied on the bed beside him. He kissed me on my cheek.
I didn't feel another breath, but I didn't need to weep.
For looking out the window, I could see this man, my love.
Climbing up that ragged mountain towards the clear blue sky above.
Susie Whiting~ 2015
Sunday, January 24, 2016
Those little Things
I didn't know. I didn't think I took things for granted but now I know I did. I think I could find all kinds of excuses for why I did, but now the excuses seem like my enemies. They have robbed me, but the valuables taken weren't missed until now...now when it's too late to get them back.
For example. I remember standing at the front room door. Danny is headed off to work and I have seven children to get fed, dressed, and off to school. There's commotion in the background and because there is, I hurry. He gives me a hug and I kiss him goodbye, but it is ritualistic. I'm angry that it was.I should have let the world stop for a moment and taken time. I should have paused to feel his hands on my waist. I should have paused and looked deeply into his eyes. I should have taken a deep breath and captured the scent of Irish Spring soap on him topped with a splash of Elsha 1776. But I was in a hurry.
Had I not been, I would have felt the crispness of his work shirt and appreciated how his Levis hung on his hips. I would have paid attention to how he brushed his moustache and how his kiss tasted like Colgate toothpaste. I would have paused and felt his arms around me and laid my head on his chest and listened to the beat of his heart.
But I was in a hurry. I didn't stay by the door and watch him walk to his truck giving his belt a little tug along the way. I didn't watch until the taillights of his truck disappeared before turning around to face my day.
I didn't know how much I would miss all those things I took for granted but oh how I do.
I hold a pillow tight and pretend just for a minute it's Danny; long enough to tell him I love him and miss all the Little things; the tiny seemingless unimportant things that together made up our life together.
If I had my life to live over again, I'd take nothing for granted for I know now how important they all are; those little things.
For example. I remember standing at the front room door. Danny is headed off to work and I have seven children to get fed, dressed, and off to school. There's commotion in the background and because there is, I hurry. He gives me a hug and I kiss him goodbye, but it is ritualistic. I'm angry that it was.I should have let the world stop for a moment and taken time. I should have paused to feel his hands on my waist. I should have paused and looked deeply into his eyes. I should have taken a deep breath and captured the scent of Irish Spring soap on him topped with a splash of Elsha 1776. But I was in a hurry.
Had I not been, I would have felt the crispness of his work shirt and appreciated how his Levis hung on his hips. I would have paid attention to how he brushed his moustache and how his kiss tasted like Colgate toothpaste. I would have paused and felt his arms around me and laid my head on his chest and listened to the beat of his heart.
But I was in a hurry. I didn't stay by the door and watch him walk to his truck giving his belt a little tug along the way. I didn't watch until the taillights of his truck disappeared before turning around to face my day.
I didn't know how much I would miss all those things I took for granted but oh how I do.
I hold a pillow tight and pretend just for a minute it's Danny; long enough to tell him I love him and miss all the Little things; the tiny seemingless unimportant things that together made up our life together.
If I had my life to live over again, I'd take nothing for granted for I know now how important they all are; those little things.
Thursday, December 24, 2015
A Letter to Danny ~ December 24, 2015
Merry Christmas Honey:
I'm sitting here watching the lights sparkle on the Christmas Tree, listening to my collection of Christmas music and missing you. Four years have passed since you left, and four years isn't enough time to get over missing you. I'm just remembering how patient you were with me when I insisted in putting up five Christmas Trees and even had lights on your old farm tractor. "What a loon," you said yet proudly showed it off to family and neighbors.
Remember, our first Christmas Album was Johnny Mathis. We listened to it over and over during the Christmas Season until I found Roger Whitaker.
I'm thinking of the few special moments honey. Moments when everyone had left on Christmas Eve; when the food had been devoured, when wrapping paper and ribbons were what was left of the hours upon hours of shopping, hiding, wrapping and displaying, when you had had one more piece of your mince meat pie, when the night was dark and quiet and it was just the two of us. There might have been a total of two hours then, two hours between Christmas Eve and Christmas morning when it would just be you and me sitting on the love seat, my leaning against you and you with your arm around my shoulders, watching the fire crackle in the fireplace. "That's craziness," you would say and I would reply "Yep," and we would go off to bed to wait until morning when we would open our own packages from each other. As I sit here right now, how I miss those two hour increments. What I wouldn't give for just two more.
I hope if I can instill anything in our children and grandchildren, it will be not to take a minute, an hour, a day, a smile, a laugh for granted. And for them not to count the importance of a day by it being a happy one. Even the worrisome, sad, the hurtful, the mad, are important. The worrisome, sad, the hurtful, the mad are those days by which they will grow. It will be the happy ones where they will gain strength to grow again by whatever means.
Johnny Mathis is singing "Let it Snow", there's no mince meat pie since it was only you who liked it. There is food to be prepared and presents to wrap for tonight, and when it is all done, I will sit and miss you; our two hours.
I love you honey. I miss you. I hope when I start to drift off to sleep tonight, in the corner of my mind I will hear you whisper. "What a loon."
Longer than the 12th of Never.
Susie.
I'm sitting here watching the lights sparkle on the Christmas Tree, listening to my collection of Christmas music and missing you. Four years have passed since you left, and four years isn't enough time to get over missing you. I'm just remembering how patient you were with me when I insisted in putting up five Christmas Trees and even had lights on your old farm tractor. "What a loon," you said yet proudly showed it off to family and neighbors.
Remember, our first Christmas Album was Johnny Mathis. We listened to it over and over during the Christmas Season until I found Roger Whitaker.
I'm thinking of the few special moments honey. Moments when everyone had left on Christmas Eve; when the food had been devoured, when wrapping paper and ribbons were what was left of the hours upon hours of shopping, hiding, wrapping and displaying, when you had had one more piece of your mince meat pie, when the night was dark and quiet and it was just the two of us. There might have been a total of two hours then, two hours between Christmas Eve and Christmas morning when it would just be you and me sitting on the love seat, my leaning against you and you with your arm around my shoulders, watching the fire crackle in the fireplace. "That's craziness," you would say and I would reply "Yep," and we would go off to bed to wait until morning when we would open our own packages from each other. As I sit here right now, how I miss those two hour increments. What I wouldn't give for just two more.
I hope if I can instill anything in our children and grandchildren, it will be not to take a minute, an hour, a day, a smile, a laugh for granted. And for them not to count the importance of a day by it being a happy one. Even the worrisome, sad, the hurtful, the mad, are important. The worrisome, sad, the hurtful, the mad are those days by which they will grow. It will be the happy ones where they will gain strength to grow again by whatever means.
Johnny Mathis is singing "Let it Snow", there's no mince meat pie since it was only you who liked it. There is food to be prepared and presents to wrap for tonight, and when it is all done, I will sit and miss you; our two hours.
I love you honey. I miss you. I hope when I start to drift off to sleep tonight, in the corner of my mind I will hear you whisper. "What a loon."
Longer than the 12th of Never.
Susie.
Friday, October 30, 2015
Fallen Angel
He chose to walk into the darkness
As the storm blew in his face.
The road he chose to travel
Lead him to a darker place.
He forgot who he once was.
Along the way he was misplaced.
The stranger in the mirror
Owned a stranger's face.
His heart was beat, abandoned
When the demons took control,
But the heavens heard his cries
As he quarreled with his soul.
And it's someplace in the distance
I now see him smile and hear him sing.
I know my son is happy.
My fallen Angel has his wings.
As the storm blew in his face.
The road he chose to travel
Lead him to a darker place.
He forgot who he once was.
Along the way he was misplaced.
The stranger in the mirror
Owned a stranger's face.
His heart was beat, abandoned
When the demons took control,
But the heavens heard his cries
As he quarreled with his soul.
And it's someplace in the distance
I now see him smile and hear him sing.
I know my son is happy.
My fallen Angel has his wings.
Sunday, October 11, 2015
Daren's Letter- October 11, 2015
Hello Sweetheart:
I can't believe it's 2015. When you died, I thought life would end or at least stand still. I couldn't possibly see how it could go on without you in it. But guess what honey? It does and it has dragged me along with it.
You know sweetheart, your addiction was such a demon in both of our lives. I know how much you struggled and you knew how much I did. Unfortunately, it was stronger than the both of us put together. That is what addiction is. It is a strong, unrelenting force that doesn't care about the addict or about those who love him. Yes, my darling boy. You were an addict but...I wonder.
You have six siblings and between you all, there are twenty-four children. Those thirty people watched what you went through. They were there on the sidelines watching, wondering, hurting, being frustrated. They saw you fight and they saw you lose. But as I laid in my bed thinking about you again last night, I realized something once again. You were a teacher. There on that stage of addiction, you were teaching those other thirty people about it. You were teaching them that it could deprive you of all you hold dearest; your family, your true friends, your dreams, your hopes, your future and eventually, your life. They stood there watching and your lessons seeped into them. And because you taught; because they learned, they will not go down that road. You were their teacher, and you were their savior. Thank you darling.
I don't know about this life. That is the truth. Everyone has their beliefs, but no one really knows what this life is about. As I ponder, I can't help but feel that whatever road we are on in this life, is one we chose to travel on before we came. I think that road has exits, but I think even when those exits are taken, somehow, someway we manage to get back on the road we were meant to be on, to learn those lessons we were meant to learn. And with that belief, I think of you. Was the road you traveled the one you chose in the pre-existence to travel on? Was it not happenstance? Was that hard and rocky and muddy road you walked one you chose to walk so you could be a teacher? Are the homeless, the broken, the drunken, the lost actually teachers also. Should we all take a step back and look not with our eyes, but with our souls and see what the lesson is we should be learning from them. For there surely is one. Is that why we should not be judgmental, because if we are, it makes us unable to see what lies beneath those teachers. It makes us unable to learn.
Your addiction was not the total of the man you were my darling boy. You were amazing. You were kind, caring, helpful, giving, loving and one of the funniest people I have ever known. Your sense of humor made many of my days much brighter. No my son. Your addiciton was the part of you that would help guide your own sons and the children of your siblings away from that that tortured you.
As I sit here, not quite two years since you left me, I am overwhelmed with love and gratitude. I thank my God that you were mine. I thank my God that I got the whole package that was my son.
I love you Sweetheart and miss you every day.
Mom
I can't believe it's 2015. When you died, I thought life would end or at least stand still. I couldn't possibly see how it could go on without you in it. But guess what honey? It does and it has dragged me along with it.
You know sweetheart, your addiction was such a demon in both of our lives. I know how much you struggled and you knew how much I did. Unfortunately, it was stronger than the both of us put together. That is what addiction is. It is a strong, unrelenting force that doesn't care about the addict or about those who love him. Yes, my darling boy. You were an addict but...I wonder.
You have six siblings and between you all, there are twenty-four children. Those thirty people watched what you went through. They were there on the sidelines watching, wondering, hurting, being frustrated. They saw you fight and they saw you lose. But as I laid in my bed thinking about you again last night, I realized something once again. You were a teacher. There on that stage of addiction, you were teaching those other thirty people about it. You were teaching them that it could deprive you of all you hold dearest; your family, your true friends, your dreams, your hopes, your future and eventually, your life. They stood there watching and your lessons seeped into them. And because you taught; because they learned, they will not go down that road. You were their teacher, and you were their savior. Thank you darling.
I don't know about this life. That is the truth. Everyone has their beliefs, but no one really knows what this life is about. As I ponder, I can't help but feel that whatever road we are on in this life, is one we chose to travel on before we came. I think that road has exits, but I think even when those exits are taken, somehow, someway we manage to get back on the road we were meant to be on, to learn those lessons we were meant to learn. And with that belief, I think of you. Was the road you traveled the one you chose in the pre-existence to travel on? Was it not happenstance? Was that hard and rocky and muddy road you walked one you chose to walk so you could be a teacher? Are the homeless, the broken, the drunken, the lost actually teachers also. Should we all take a step back and look not with our eyes, but with our souls and see what the lesson is we should be learning from them. For there surely is one. Is that why we should not be judgmental, because if we are, it makes us unable to see what lies beneath those teachers. It makes us unable to learn.
Your addiction was not the total of the man you were my darling boy. You were amazing. You were kind, caring, helpful, giving, loving and one of the funniest people I have ever known. Your sense of humor made many of my days much brighter. No my son. Your addiciton was the part of you that would help guide your own sons and the children of your siblings away from that that tortured you.
As I sit here, not quite two years since you left me, I am overwhelmed with love and gratitude. I thank my God that you were mine. I thank my God that I got the whole package that was my son.
I love you Sweetheart and miss you every day.
Mom
Wednesday, September 9, 2015
Happy Birthday Robert
It amazes me how people, complete strangers, come into your life, snuggle in and claim a place. So it was with you. I didn't know back in the 80's there was tall, skinny, lanky redheaded guy waiting on the horizon of my life waiting for the time to come in, and claim his place in my own life and in my heart. But there you waited and when the time was right, you met my daughter, and loved her and married her, probably not knowing how true it is that you weren't just getting her, you were getting her whole family, good and bad.
Back then, you lived in your little apartment you shared, drove your little blue car, and wore those god-awful little shorts some men wore back in the 80's, with white crew socks pulled up your calf. I'm sorry sweetheart, but you did not make a fashion statement. You and Shannon started going together and you both shared in each other's lives. I remember her going to work with you as you cleaned floors at a supermarket at night and how you worked together at the Chevron Station on center street. You quickly became a part of the Whiting's crazy family get-togethers and from that point on would always participate. I remember one Christmas Eve in Provo, as I was out getting things ready for our annual Christmas Eve party, I came home to find you had cleaned my house for me; scrubbed the kitchen floor and everything. That was the BEST Christmas gift in the world.
I'm recalling little things today, like sitting in the Fox theater with you and Shannon watching Superman. Why have I bookmarked that little point in my life?
When you came into our family, you inherited Whiting traits. It was then you found out how much you loved to fish, camp and hunt. You would spend a lot of time with us in the mountains and would grow to love these things like we did. I remember being with you and Danny as we road-hunted up Schofield Canyon.
You stepped into our family and stepped up to the plate, not only in the good times, but also when things were pretty tough. You stood out on our driveway with Mark, both of you holding baseball bats ready to take on some pretty tough guys who were out to get Daren. You and Shannon were a wonderful support for me when Danny suffered his "great depression". I always knew if I needed you, you would be there. There were many times I called. There were many times you came.
Along with your great traits there were also some not so great. You were the most accident prone person I had ever seen in my life. It was as if you saw an opportunity for an accident and ran over and inserted yourself in it. One day as I watched out my kitchen window, I saw you get on your horse. Instantly, I knew an accident was about to happen. Sure enough, your horse reared up, you fell off the back and it fell on top of you. It was amazing you walked away with only a broken wrist. Then there was the time you put your finger in the cement mixer. Not one of your better choices. I made certain to keep our Worker's Compensation Insurance in place. I knew if I happened to let it lapse, you would get hurt.
You went to work for us when Danny started installing cable television lines in Park City. Part of the job included making certain when we left a job site, it was in as good or better condition as it was before we went on the property. Danny could count on you to see that done. You were a perfectionist in so many ways. Later, you worked for us in installing natural gas pipe lines. You were always a dependable worker. When we would have our company parties up the canyons, you were always there helping out.
I was a lucky mother-in-law. I got to be in the delivery room with you when Shannon delivered your three little girls via Cesarean. Oh how funny it was when she gave birth to Ashley. At first you were there gently rubbing her forehead. As the procedure proceeded, your gentle rubbing became a pat. Pretty soon Shannon called out "Mom-m-m-m". I looked down to see you pounding on her head. I reached over and took hold your nervous hand. Shannon made certain I was there with you when Katie and Kacee were born. How you loved your three beautiful little girls. There was never a question of that. They were your pride and joy.
The road of life is strange. You think you all on the right one and that you have your convoy of people following behind when suddenly one takes an exit and you find the journey not the same anymore. When two people start bringing out the worst in each other instead of the best, it is time to take an exit. You and Shannon divorced. I may not have liked your actions sweetheart, but I always loved you.
In "Life According to Susie", I don't believe God decides you've lived long enough and decides its time for you to die. I believe before we came to this earth, we knew what we were coming for; that it was us, not God that decided what path we would take, what our purpose would be and ultimately the time we would exit this life. I believe, the God I believe in is there loving me and supporting my decisions and hearing me cry out for help and helping me with conditions. If for instance, my life's purpose was to learn compassion for the poor and so I decide to come to live life being poor; that is my decision. I come into life with that purpose. If however, down the road, I find that struggling paycheck to paycheck is too hard, or being without is too hard or various other "too hard" things and I cry out to God to help me by winning the lottery, God will not answer my prayer the way I want it because it will go against what my original purpose of life was for. The God I believe in is always there to love me and help me as long as what I ask doesn't go against my life purpose. I don't believe it is God that decides when we will die. I believe we decide that before we are ever born. I believe you decided when you would leave this earth. I believe Danny decided when he would and that Daren decided when he would. I don't believe that on 9/11 God spared me and my family when he didn't spare all the others that died that day. That would, it seems to me, be a cruel God. My God isn't cruel. I believe it wasn't our time to exit this life yet.
I don't believe that when my own dad chose to exit this life when I was nine years old, that he didn't love me enough to stay. It was simply the time he had already decided upon as his exit point. He had fulfilled whatever his life purpose was. I believe Danny and Daren chose to leave when they did. They had fulfilled their life purpose and had decided upon that time as their exit point. And I believe my dear one that you chose the day you left because you had fulfilled your life purpose. I could get upset with you. I could rail against you and ask why you were so selfish as to leave your beautiful girls. Why you would leave them with the pain, guilt, hurt, that you left them with. But the truth is. I don't know. I don't know what you had decided to learn when you came to this earth. I don't know if you stayed longer, if it would have caused more harm than good in the overall scheme of things. It would be silly for me to speculate that I know or understand more about you and your life than you do. So my dear one, I accept your decision. I accept you knew what was best for you and in the long run for your girls. But your passing like with everyone's has left pain. But it has only left pain because you were loved. And you were only loved, because you loved.
Happy Birthday Robert. I'm so glad you were born. I'm so glad that when you painted your life, you included this old woman in it. I'm so glad that the last words I said to you, were "I love you." I bet there aren't many men who can say they had their mother-in-law; their ex mother-in-law at that, speak at their funeral. Oh wait a minute. You didn't get a choice in that. Did you? Too bad! Bad planning on your part.
I hope wherever you are at today (and I believe it is somewhere pretty spectacular) you are sitting at a lake's edge or along a river bank with Danny and Daren, fishing pole in hand with a rib steak ready to go on the grill.
I love you dearly.
From your mom by choice.
Susie
Back then, you lived in your little apartment you shared, drove your little blue car, and wore those god-awful little shorts some men wore back in the 80's, with white crew socks pulled up your calf. I'm sorry sweetheart, but you did not make a fashion statement. You and Shannon started going together and you both shared in each other's lives. I remember her going to work with you as you cleaned floors at a supermarket at night and how you worked together at the Chevron Station on center street. You quickly became a part of the Whiting's crazy family get-togethers and from that point on would always participate. I remember one Christmas Eve in Provo, as I was out getting things ready for our annual Christmas Eve party, I came home to find you had cleaned my house for me; scrubbed the kitchen floor and everything. That was the BEST Christmas gift in the world.
I'm recalling little things today, like sitting in the Fox theater with you and Shannon watching Superman. Why have I bookmarked that little point in my life?
When you came into our family, you inherited Whiting traits. It was then you found out how much you loved to fish, camp and hunt. You would spend a lot of time with us in the mountains and would grow to love these things like we did. I remember being with you and Danny as we road-hunted up Schofield Canyon.
You stepped into our family and stepped up to the plate, not only in the good times, but also when things were pretty tough. You stood out on our driveway with Mark, both of you holding baseball bats ready to take on some pretty tough guys who were out to get Daren. You and Shannon were a wonderful support for me when Danny suffered his "great depression". I always knew if I needed you, you would be there. There were many times I called. There were many times you came.
Along with your great traits there were also some not so great. You were the most accident prone person I had ever seen in my life. It was as if you saw an opportunity for an accident and ran over and inserted yourself in it. One day as I watched out my kitchen window, I saw you get on your horse. Instantly, I knew an accident was about to happen. Sure enough, your horse reared up, you fell off the back and it fell on top of you. It was amazing you walked away with only a broken wrist. Then there was the time you put your finger in the cement mixer. Not one of your better choices. I made certain to keep our Worker's Compensation Insurance in place. I knew if I happened to let it lapse, you would get hurt.
You went to work for us when Danny started installing cable television lines in Park City. Part of the job included making certain when we left a job site, it was in as good or better condition as it was before we went on the property. Danny could count on you to see that done. You were a perfectionist in so many ways. Later, you worked for us in installing natural gas pipe lines. You were always a dependable worker. When we would have our company parties up the canyons, you were always there helping out.
I was a lucky mother-in-law. I got to be in the delivery room with you when Shannon delivered your three little girls via Cesarean. Oh how funny it was when she gave birth to Ashley. At first you were there gently rubbing her forehead. As the procedure proceeded, your gentle rubbing became a pat. Pretty soon Shannon called out "Mom-m-m-m". I looked down to see you pounding on her head. I reached over and took hold your nervous hand. Shannon made certain I was there with you when Katie and Kacee were born. How you loved your three beautiful little girls. There was never a question of that. They were your pride and joy.
The road of life is strange. You think you all on the right one and that you have your convoy of people following behind when suddenly one takes an exit and you find the journey not the same anymore. When two people start bringing out the worst in each other instead of the best, it is time to take an exit. You and Shannon divorced. I may not have liked your actions sweetheart, but I always loved you.
In "Life According to Susie", I don't believe God decides you've lived long enough and decides its time for you to die. I believe before we came to this earth, we knew what we were coming for; that it was us, not God that decided what path we would take, what our purpose would be and ultimately the time we would exit this life. I believe, the God I believe in is there loving me and supporting my decisions and hearing me cry out for help and helping me with conditions. If for instance, my life's purpose was to learn compassion for the poor and so I decide to come to live life being poor; that is my decision. I come into life with that purpose. If however, down the road, I find that struggling paycheck to paycheck is too hard, or being without is too hard or various other "too hard" things and I cry out to God to help me by winning the lottery, God will not answer my prayer the way I want it because it will go against what my original purpose of life was for. The God I believe in is always there to love me and help me as long as what I ask doesn't go against my life purpose. I don't believe it is God that decides when we will die. I believe we decide that before we are ever born. I believe you decided when you would leave this earth. I believe Danny decided when he would and that Daren decided when he would. I don't believe that on 9/11 God spared me and my family when he didn't spare all the others that died that day. That would, it seems to me, be a cruel God. My God isn't cruel. I believe it wasn't our time to exit this life yet.
I don't believe that when my own dad chose to exit this life when I was nine years old, that he didn't love me enough to stay. It was simply the time he had already decided upon as his exit point. He had fulfilled whatever his life purpose was. I believe Danny and Daren chose to leave when they did. They had fulfilled their life purpose and had decided upon that time as their exit point. And I believe my dear one that you chose the day you left because you had fulfilled your life purpose. I could get upset with you. I could rail against you and ask why you were so selfish as to leave your beautiful girls. Why you would leave them with the pain, guilt, hurt, that you left them with. But the truth is. I don't know. I don't know what you had decided to learn when you came to this earth. I don't know if you stayed longer, if it would have caused more harm than good in the overall scheme of things. It would be silly for me to speculate that I know or understand more about you and your life than you do. So my dear one, I accept your decision. I accept you knew what was best for you and in the long run for your girls. But your passing like with everyone's has left pain. But it has only left pain because you were loved. And you were only loved, because you loved.
Happy Birthday Robert. I'm so glad you were born. I'm so glad that when you painted your life, you included this old woman in it. I'm so glad that the last words I said to you, were "I love you." I bet there aren't many men who can say they had their mother-in-law; their ex mother-in-law at that, speak at their funeral. Oh wait a minute. You didn't get a choice in that. Did you? Too bad! Bad planning on your part.
I hope wherever you are at today (and I believe it is somewhere pretty spectacular) you are sitting at a lake's edge or along a river bank with Danny and Daren, fishing pole in hand with a rib steak ready to go on the grill.
I love you dearly.
From your mom by choice.
Susie
Sunday, May 10, 2015
Motherhood
She looks into the face of her newborn baby. She doesn't see the wrinkled skin, the nose somewhat flattened and perhaps the head a little misshapen from the journey into this world. No. She sees the most beautiful baby in the world.
Lost in a special part of her mind that is governed by her heart are the times morning sickness forced her to pay homage to a porcelain god, the protruding stomach, swollen feet, stretch marks and the walk of a duck. They were just hurdles along the path leading to this precious gift she now holds in her arms. Hurdles that would sleep until once again awakened to appear along another path to motherhood.
She will sing lullabies, and in the dark of night listen for the gentle sound of breathing and thank her god when she hears the steady rhythm. She will laugh over a bowl of carrots on top of the head and a little face covered with birthday cake. She will cry over a fevered brow and a skinned knee, being careful that this precious one she loves will be oblivious to her tears.
Her hand will reach out to aid the first step which will one day lead along a path that will end at the school door. She will feel the small hand slip from hers as she relinquishes her care to that of another and as she turns, the tears will come again.
How she waited impatiently for the tiny sound of "ma ma" to come from the lips of this precious spirit placed in her charge...and then it came.
"Mama. I need a drink of water."
"Mama. There's a monster under my bed."
"Mama. I'm hungry."
"Mama. I don't know how I got gum in my hair."
She will participate in car pools, be a room mother, bake cookies, bandage knees and other skinned places, teach fingers do not belong in noses, and to be kind to friends. She will explain that missing teeth do not make a child ugly regardless of the little boy down the street calling you a jack-o-lantern. She will teach A-B-C's and 1-2-3's and "Itsy Bitsy Spider." And when the long day has come to an end, she will kneel beside the bed and teach her child to pray.
She assures her young girl that no, she is not ugly, she is not too tall, too short, or too fat or too thin. Yes. She too had blemishes and yes, they eventually will go away. She explains that clothes, the makeup, the house one lives in, or the car they drive is not as important as they seem right now. That someday, the cheerleaders will also have babies that need diapers changed.
The sound of "ma-ma" rings in her ears.
"Mom. I need a new dress."
"Mom. I need a ride to the mall."
"Mom. Did you get my gym suit washed?
"Mom. I"m hungry. What's for dinner?"
"Mom. I did have my homework done. I don't know what the teacher is talking about."
"Mom. Can I take the car?"
Her heart stops for a moment as she places the keys in the hand that she held and supported through the first steps.
She watches headlights shine through the window and with each set that doesn't pull into the driveway, she prays for the safety of this one she loves. And when the lights finally pull in and the car shuts off, she sighs and smiles and prays a silent "Thank You." She now will sleep.
Lost in the part of her mind, governed by her heart, she will forget the nights without sleep, the roll of tissue floating in the toilet, the bangs cut clear to the scalp, the mud tracked on the carpet, the dented fender and her cashmere sweater loaned to a friend. These are just the hurdles of motherhood, tucked away to sometime reappear as memories that will bring the smiles. And the sound of "ma-ma" rings in her ears again.
"Mama. He loves me."
"Mama. He wants to marry me."
"Mama. I'm going to have a baby."
And the tears come.
She watches her daughter paying homage to a porcelain god. Her stomach is starting to protrude. Her feet are swelling. Is that a walk of a duck?
The time comes. She watches her daughter locked in the pain of motherhood and wishes she could take the burden on for her, but knowing that she can't reaches down and kisses the forehead of this special spirit that she loves so much. Her daughter reaches up and takes her hand and holds on tight realizing how many times she has depended upon those hands. She looks into the eyes of her mother and understands.
And the tears come.
Lost in a special part of her mind that is governed by her heart are the times morning sickness forced her to pay homage to a porcelain god, the protruding stomach, swollen feet, stretch marks and the walk of a duck. They were just hurdles along the path leading to this precious gift she now holds in her arms. Hurdles that would sleep until once again awakened to appear along another path to motherhood.
She will sing lullabies, and in the dark of night listen for the gentle sound of breathing and thank her god when she hears the steady rhythm. She will laugh over a bowl of carrots on top of the head and a little face covered with birthday cake. She will cry over a fevered brow and a skinned knee, being careful that this precious one she loves will be oblivious to her tears.
Her hand will reach out to aid the first step which will one day lead along a path that will end at the school door. She will feel the small hand slip from hers as she relinquishes her care to that of another and as she turns, the tears will come again.
How she waited impatiently for the tiny sound of "ma ma" to come from the lips of this precious spirit placed in her charge...and then it came.
"Mama. I need a drink of water."
"Mama. There's a monster under my bed."
"Mama. I'm hungry."
"Mama. I don't know how I got gum in my hair."
She will participate in car pools, be a room mother, bake cookies, bandage knees and other skinned places, teach fingers do not belong in noses, and to be kind to friends. She will explain that missing teeth do not make a child ugly regardless of the little boy down the street calling you a jack-o-lantern. She will teach A-B-C's and 1-2-3's and "Itsy Bitsy Spider." And when the long day has come to an end, she will kneel beside the bed and teach her child to pray.
She assures her young girl that no, she is not ugly, she is not too tall, too short, or too fat or too thin. Yes. She too had blemishes and yes, they eventually will go away. She explains that clothes, the makeup, the house one lives in, or the car they drive is not as important as they seem right now. That someday, the cheerleaders will also have babies that need diapers changed.
The sound of "ma-ma" rings in her ears.
"Mom. I need a new dress."
"Mom. I need a ride to the mall."
"Mom. Did you get my gym suit washed?
"Mom. I"m hungry. What's for dinner?"
"Mom. I did have my homework done. I don't know what the teacher is talking about."
"Mom. Can I take the car?"
Her heart stops for a moment as she places the keys in the hand that she held and supported through the first steps.
She watches headlights shine through the window and with each set that doesn't pull into the driveway, she prays for the safety of this one she loves. And when the lights finally pull in and the car shuts off, she sighs and smiles and prays a silent "Thank You." She now will sleep.
Lost in the part of her mind, governed by her heart, she will forget the nights without sleep, the roll of tissue floating in the toilet, the bangs cut clear to the scalp, the mud tracked on the carpet, the dented fender and her cashmere sweater loaned to a friend. These are just the hurdles of motherhood, tucked away to sometime reappear as memories that will bring the smiles. And the sound of "ma-ma" rings in her ears again.
"Mama. He loves me."
"Mama. He wants to marry me."
"Mama. I'm going to have a baby."
And the tears come.
She watches her daughter paying homage to a porcelain god. Her stomach is starting to protrude. Her feet are swelling. Is that a walk of a duck?
The time comes. She watches her daughter locked in the pain of motherhood and wishes she could take the burden on for her, but knowing that she can't reaches down and kisses the forehead of this special spirit that she loves so much. Her daughter reaches up and takes her hand and holds on tight realizing how many times she has depended upon those hands. She looks into the eyes of her mother and understands.
And the tears come.
Friday, April 10, 2015
A Letter to Danny ~ April 9, 2015
Hi Honey:
I was just wondering. At the times when I miss you the most, is it because you are so near to me and yet I can't see you?
I'm missing you today honey. I always do, but some days more than others. Memories run through my mind like a movie set on rewind. It's funny the regrets I have. It's all the little things. Things I said in the heat of argument or frustration. Times I didn't reach over and hold your hand. Times I took for granted your just being there with me. Times I chose to stay home and clean house instead of going fishing with you. I'm sorry honey for all the little things.
When I think of you honey, its the little things I think of most. It's your saying "Your eyes are sure green this morning" or "Hey pretty one". Yes honey I even miss "Would you get me a Pepsi." I miss the feel of your hand taking mine as we drive down the road. I miss laying my head on your shoulder and placing my hand on your chest above your heart I miss your calling me snuggler.
I had no idea honey. I wonder if others do. Do others know how important the little things in this life are. Do they have any idea how those little things add up to make a life. It's really not the big things. It's not the house you live in. It's all the little moments that make up life in that house. It's not the car you drive, but the memories made in the trips in that car. It doesn't matter if you are eating steak, or tuna sandwiches. It's the sharing the meal together that is what's remembered; that is important.
If only, I tell myself. If only I could relive our lives together. I would hold on to each little thing. I would hold each tight to my breast and not let it go; not let it be forgotten.
I recall our little glass coffee pot that sit over a candle to keep our coffee warm and how we would sit it on the coffee table and by the light of that little candle would have apple pie and coffee. I remember the smell of your aftershave and the dust on your hat after coming in from work. I remember the moles on your back and your hair hanging on your neck before you said you needed a hair cut and went to "have your ears lowered" I remember your elk skin gloves and your can of Copenhagen. How you kept your driver's license turned in your wallet so your picture didn't show. You hated that picture. How you would come in smelling of diesel fuel and gasoline from working on your equipment.
Millions of little things honey. Millions of things that bunched together and created our life together. Thank you honey. Thank you for the little memories that I have of you. They make me smile and they make me cry, but only because I love you so much.
Save a place for me honey. Wherever it is you are at is where I want to be.
Far Beyond the 12th of Never.
Susie
I was just wondering. At the times when I miss you the most, is it because you are so near to me and yet I can't see you?
I'm missing you today honey. I always do, but some days more than others. Memories run through my mind like a movie set on rewind. It's funny the regrets I have. It's all the little things. Things I said in the heat of argument or frustration. Times I didn't reach over and hold your hand. Times I took for granted your just being there with me. Times I chose to stay home and clean house instead of going fishing with you. I'm sorry honey for all the little things.
When I think of you honey, its the little things I think of most. It's your saying "Your eyes are sure green this morning" or "Hey pretty one". Yes honey I even miss "Would you get me a Pepsi." I miss the feel of your hand taking mine as we drive down the road. I miss laying my head on your shoulder and placing my hand on your chest above your heart I miss your calling me snuggler.
I had no idea honey. I wonder if others do. Do others know how important the little things in this life are. Do they have any idea how those little things add up to make a life. It's really not the big things. It's not the house you live in. It's all the little moments that make up life in that house. It's not the car you drive, but the memories made in the trips in that car. It doesn't matter if you are eating steak, or tuna sandwiches. It's the sharing the meal together that is what's remembered; that is important.
If only, I tell myself. If only I could relive our lives together. I would hold on to each little thing. I would hold each tight to my breast and not let it go; not let it be forgotten.
I recall our little glass coffee pot that sit over a candle to keep our coffee warm and how we would sit it on the coffee table and by the light of that little candle would have apple pie and coffee. I remember the smell of your aftershave and the dust on your hat after coming in from work. I remember the moles on your back and your hair hanging on your neck before you said you needed a hair cut and went to "have your ears lowered" I remember your elk skin gloves and your can of Copenhagen. How you kept your driver's license turned in your wallet so your picture didn't show. You hated that picture. How you would come in smelling of diesel fuel and gasoline from working on your equipment.
Millions of little things honey. Millions of things that bunched together and created our life together. Thank you honey. Thank you for the little memories that I have of you. They make me smile and they make me cry, but only because I love you so much.
Save a place for me honey. Wherever it is you are at is where I want to be.
Far Beyond the 12th of Never.
Susie
Thursday, March 12, 2015
Daren's Letter~ March 12, 2015
Good Morning Sweetheart:
(Do you have mornings where you are?) I've been thinking about you this morning and the thoughts have brought smiles to my face.
I was remembering when we moved into the house in Moose Creek. You had so graciously given up your bed to your dad and me. You had made a bed in the living room and was trying to get some sleep. Your dad on the other hand had decided to repair the latch on the bedroom door at the same time. At that point of time, he wasn't thinking quite clearly. There you lay, and the pounding began; hammer against door frame. You pulled your covers over your head and turned away from the noise. The pounding continued. You put the pillow over your ears. The pounding continued. Then, you pulled away the covers and the pillow and you had the most miserable look on your face. I was folding clothes...quietly, but when I looked at your face, I burst out laughing. You shook your head, smiled and then went in the bedroom to help your dad fix the latch. Thank you honey for your smile and for helping your dad.
Mark, Dawna, Trenton and I went for a ride up by Kamas last Sunday. As we were riding along, I remembered a hunting trip we went on when you were a young man. We had Mark, Robert, Donny, Darrin Welch and some others with us then. You were all riding in the back of your dad's truck, looking for deer. All of a sudden everyone spotted this buck out in a field. Your dad slowed down, but before the truck came to a stop all of you were out of the bed and tearing towards the deer. I remember looking in the rearview mirror and all I saw were a bunch of long legs marathoning it across a fence and through the field. You all looked so funny. That poor deer. It was gone in a flash, but I'm sure you scared the heck out of it.
You were always such a good sport, no matter how silly your sisters and I tried to make you look. The Easter at Haley's house when we made you put a pair of panty hose with a ball in the toes on your head and try to knock over a object without using your hands. You just had to swing your head and try and make the ball in the toe connect. Then when we had you and Perry (both far over 6' tall) jump through a hoola hoop while running a race. You both had to bend about in two to get that hoola hoop around your head and then under your feet. You were so much fun honey. You have made me smile so much in my life.
I have peace in my heart honey, knowing that you are happy where you are at now. I know that as much as your dad drove you crazy at times, there was a point sometime before you both came to earth that your dad said "I'll leave earth first, so I'll be there when 'Ole Dare gets there." I'm sure that was his plan honey. I'm quite certain the door latches don't need repaired there.
Well my darling boy. I will end this note to you. I just wanted you to know that you still make your mom smile. My memories of you make losing you bearable.
I love you honey. You are a light in my eye and warmth in my heart.
Forever and ever my baby you'll be.
Mom.
(Do you have mornings where you are?) I've been thinking about you this morning and the thoughts have brought smiles to my face.
I was remembering when we moved into the house in Moose Creek. You had so graciously given up your bed to your dad and me. You had made a bed in the living room and was trying to get some sleep. Your dad on the other hand had decided to repair the latch on the bedroom door at the same time. At that point of time, he wasn't thinking quite clearly. There you lay, and the pounding began; hammer against door frame. You pulled your covers over your head and turned away from the noise. The pounding continued. You put the pillow over your ears. The pounding continued. Then, you pulled away the covers and the pillow and you had the most miserable look on your face. I was folding clothes...quietly, but when I looked at your face, I burst out laughing. You shook your head, smiled and then went in the bedroom to help your dad fix the latch. Thank you honey for your smile and for helping your dad.
Mark, Dawna, Trenton and I went for a ride up by Kamas last Sunday. As we were riding along, I remembered a hunting trip we went on when you were a young man. We had Mark, Robert, Donny, Darrin Welch and some others with us then. You were all riding in the back of your dad's truck, looking for deer. All of a sudden everyone spotted this buck out in a field. Your dad slowed down, but before the truck came to a stop all of you were out of the bed and tearing towards the deer. I remember looking in the rearview mirror and all I saw were a bunch of long legs marathoning it across a fence and through the field. You all looked so funny. That poor deer. It was gone in a flash, but I'm sure you scared the heck out of it.
You were always such a good sport, no matter how silly your sisters and I tried to make you look. The Easter at Haley's house when we made you put a pair of panty hose with a ball in the toes on your head and try to knock over a object without using your hands. You just had to swing your head and try and make the ball in the toe connect. Then when we had you and Perry (both far over 6' tall) jump through a hoola hoop while running a race. You both had to bend about in two to get that hoola hoop around your head and then under your feet. You were so much fun honey. You have made me smile so much in my life.
I have peace in my heart honey, knowing that you are happy where you are at now. I know that as much as your dad drove you crazy at times, there was a point sometime before you both came to earth that your dad said "I'll leave earth first, so I'll be there when 'Ole Dare gets there." I'm sure that was his plan honey. I'm quite certain the door latches don't need repaired there.
Well my darling boy. I will end this note to you. I just wanted you to know that you still make your mom smile. My memories of you make losing you bearable.
I love you honey. You are a light in my eye and warmth in my heart.
Forever and ever my baby you'll be.
Mom.
Tuesday, March 10, 2015
A Letter to Danny - March 10, 2015
Hello Honey:
I'm sure you know how much I have been missing you lately. I don't think I will ever get over not having you here; not having your common sense around me.
I have been thinking a lot about life honey. Once upon a time when I was young, I thought I was smart. Then, everything seemed either black or white, wrong or right. I know I developed my way of thinking from several factors, two of them being society and the religion I was born into. It has taken me all these years to find out, that way of thinking is incorrect. Nothing is that simple.
Who deserves to be called wrong or right, good or bad? No one knows, so how can we place an erroneos label on another. For example:
Our son suffered with his addiction for most of his life. His addiction caused him to make perhaps choices that made life harder for him and for those who loved him. But was he a bad person? A lot of people would label him as so, based on what drugs brought out in him. But did they really know him. Do they know that because Daren went through the battles with his personal demons, his six other siblings didn't fall into the same trap that he had fallen into. Do they know that his twenty-three nieces and nephews also made the choices to not follow in Daren's footsteps as far as drugs were concerned?
I know honey, you are there with Daren now. I know that you and he now know the purposes of so many things; Daren's life included. And honey, I feel it with all my heart, that this boy, this man who walked this life as an addict perhpas wasn't "bad" as some might label him, but instead had made a very difficult decision to make a sacrifice in this life; a sacrifice to be an addict so he could be a teacher. I have said many times, the greatest teacher I had in my life was Daren. He didn't teach me from a classroom. He didn't teach me from a pulpit. But he taught me none the less. He taught me unconditional love. For I did love him unconditionally. He taught me patience. He taught me understanding. He taught me compassion. He taught me so many things that exemplify Jesus Christ. Is this the work of a "bad" person. I think not.
Honey, the same can apply to those in our family who suffer from mental health problems. Should they be labeled as "bad" because their illness might create problems that others do not suffer. Are they less than "good" because of the hand they were dealt? I have watched our daughter suffer so much. Yet, when someone needs her, she is there. She doesn't hesitate to share her talents, her money, her time. Is this the work of a "bad" person? Again, I think not. Yet there are those who would label her as not good enough.
I will be careful in labeling anyone honey, for my children have taught me that to place a label on someone when you do not know their purpose in this life, is unfair. None of us know the purpose of another's life. Are they the students of life, or are they the teachers?
In a court of law, an accused is either defined guilty or innocent because of all the evidence that is put before them. They cannot be judged guilty, unless there is proof to their guilt. Unless the unknown is made known. Until we as people can know the unknown, we shouldn't judge anyone else. We shouldn't label them as good or bad, because we really don't know the whole story.
So, when you see our son again, give him a hug for me. Tell him that I am so thankful that I was entitled to be his mom. Tell him I appreciate the lessons he taught me and because of his being so-called "bad" helped me to be better. My life was blessed because of him.
And my darling husband, my life was better because of you too. You too were my teaacher. I am better as a person by being your wife.
I love you honey. Far Beyond the 12th of Never.
Susie
I'm sure you know how much I have been missing you lately. I don't think I will ever get over not having you here; not having your common sense around me.
I have been thinking a lot about life honey. Once upon a time when I was young, I thought I was smart. Then, everything seemed either black or white, wrong or right. I know I developed my way of thinking from several factors, two of them being society and the religion I was born into. It has taken me all these years to find out, that way of thinking is incorrect. Nothing is that simple.
Who deserves to be called wrong or right, good or bad? No one knows, so how can we place an erroneos label on another. For example:
Our son suffered with his addiction for most of his life. His addiction caused him to make perhaps choices that made life harder for him and for those who loved him. But was he a bad person? A lot of people would label him as so, based on what drugs brought out in him. But did they really know him. Do they know that because Daren went through the battles with his personal demons, his six other siblings didn't fall into the same trap that he had fallen into. Do they know that his twenty-three nieces and nephews also made the choices to not follow in Daren's footsteps as far as drugs were concerned?
I know honey, you are there with Daren now. I know that you and he now know the purposes of so many things; Daren's life included. And honey, I feel it with all my heart, that this boy, this man who walked this life as an addict perhpas wasn't "bad" as some might label him, but instead had made a very difficult decision to make a sacrifice in this life; a sacrifice to be an addict so he could be a teacher. I have said many times, the greatest teacher I had in my life was Daren. He didn't teach me from a classroom. He didn't teach me from a pulpit. But he taught me none the less. He taught me unconditional love. For I did love him unconditionally. He taught me patience. He taught me understanding. He taught me compassion. He taught me so many things that exemplify Jesus Christ. Is this the work of a "bad" person. I think not.
Honey, the same can apply to those in our family who suffer from mental health problems. Should they be labeled as "bad" because their illness might create problems that others do not suffer. Are they less than "good" because of the hand they were dealt? I have watched our daughter suffer so much. Yet, when someone needs her, she is there. She doesn't hesitate to share her talents, her money, her time. Is this the work of a "bad" person? Again, I think not. Yet there are those who would label her as not good enough.
I will be careful in labeling anyone honey, for my children have taught me that to place a label on someone when you do not know their purpose in this life, is unfair. None of us know the purpose of another's life. Are they the students of life, or are they the teachers?
In a court of law, an accused is either defined guilty or innocent because of all the evidence that is put before them. They cannot be judged guilty, unless there is proof to their guilt. Unless the unknown is made known. Until we as people can know the unknown, we shouldn't judge anyone else. We shouldn't label them as good or bad, because we really don't know the whole story.
So, when you see our son again, give him a hug for me. Tell him that I am so thankful that I was entitled to be his mom. Tell him I appreciate the lessons he taught me and because of his being so-called "bad" helped me to be better. My life was blessed because of him.
And my darling husband, my life was better because of you too. You too were my teaacher. I am better as a person by being your wife.
I love you honey. Far Beyond the 12th of Never.
Susie
Monday, January 19, 2015
Daren's Letter ~ January 19, 2015
Hi Honey:
Has it really been two years? Your dad always said when you look ahead, the future seems so far away, but time goes by so quickly. Time has gone by quickly honey, but it seems like only yesterday that I lost you.
"You died without an enemy. You were the light in my eye, the darling of my heart." This is what Abigail Adams, John Adams' wife said about their son who died from alcohol. When I read it, it was so the way I feel about you.
I went to your house at Christmas time. Christian invited me over. He took good care of me honey; just the way you would have wanted him too. He made me dinner of crab legs, salmon, baked potatoes and Red Lobster biscuits. He attempted pie dough from a recipe I gave him, but I had to tell him when baking pies, you really do need measuring spoons and measuring cups. I will see he has them next year. He had the tree up I gave to him and Vince, all decorated in the mountain man ornaments. I walked into the bedroom and opened the closet and saw your shirts hanging there. Your well-worn orange Mark Whiting Construction shirt was the first to catch my eye. I held it close and tried to capture your scent on it, but I couldn't. Christian gave me all your old Levis. I cut the legs off them and will turn them into quilt blocks and then into a quilt for your boys. Tucked between the Levis were your old camo shorts you wore so often. I couldn't cut them honey. They had to remain whole and old and worn.
Vince stayed in Utah for Christmas. He is still here honey. Mark is teaching him the ropes of Utah construction the way you would have if you were here. Vince says dirt is in his blood too. Rainee made certain he was taken care of for Christmas.
The three of us, Vince, Christian and I make it through each day but I look at them and I can see the loss in their eyes. They miss your dearly my boy...they love you dearly. But then you are easy to love.
Christian and I talked about how much you hate lemon pie; when you said it made you mad for anyone to like it. But you loved my lemon jello even though when you tried to make it you said it was like lemon rubber bands.
I'm glad I didn't know the future honey. I'm glad I didn't know you would be leaving me. You always said you would, but I wouldn't let myself believe you knew what lay ahead. I'm glad I didn't. It's hard enough to look back and see myself without you, than it would have been to look ahead and imagine myself without you.
Life goes on, and I can't imagine sometimes how. How can it go on when part of your heart is missing, when part of your world has collapsed. But second after second, minute after minute and soon a day is yesterday and I wonder how I have made it through another one without you and your dad.
It does comfort me to know you are together. Perhaps so very long ago before our family time began, it was pre-arranged for your dad to go and be there to meet you. I don't know for certain honey. I can only imagine, only what-if.
You have left no enemies honey. You are the light in my eye. You are the darling of my heart.
I'll love you forever. I'll love you for always. For ever and ever my baby you'll be.
Sweet Peace My Darling Boy.
Mom
Has it really been two years? Your dad always said when you look ahead, the future seems so far away, but time goes by so quickly. Time has gone by quickly honey, but it seems like only yesterday that I lost you.
"You died without an enemy. You were the light in my eye, the darling of my heart." This is what Abigail Adams, John Adams' wife said about their son who died from alcohol. When I read it, it was so the way I feel about you.
I went to your house at Christmas time. Christian invited me over. He took good care of me honey; just the way you would have wanted him too. He made me dinner of crab legs, salmon, baked potatoes and Red Lobster biscuits. He attempted pie dough from a recipe I gave him, but I had to tell him when baking pies, you really do need measuring spoons and measuring cups. I will see he has them next year. He had the tree up I gave to him and Vince, all decorated in the mountain man ornaments. I walked into the bedroom and opened the closet and saw your shirts hanging there. Your well-worn orange Mark Whiting Construction shirt was the first to catch my eye. I held it close and tried to capture your scent on it, but I couldn't. Christian gave me all your old Levis. I cut the legs off them and will turn them into quilt blocks and then into a quilt for your boys. Tucked between the Levis were your old camo shorts you wore so often. I couldn't cut them honey. They had to remain whole and old and worn.
Vince stayed in Utah for Christmas. He is still here honey. Mark is teaching him the ropes of Utah construction the way you would have if you were here. Vince says dirt is in his blood too. Rainee made certain he was taken care of for Christmas.
The three of us, Vince, Christian and I make it through each day but I look at them and I can see the loss in their eyes. They miss your dearly my boy...they love you dearly. But then you are easy to love.
Christian and I talked about how much you hate lemon pie; when you said it made you mad for anyone to like it. But you loved my lemon jello even though when you tried to make it you said it was like lemon rubber bands.
I'm glad I didn't know the future honey. I'm glad I didn't know you would be leaving me. You always said you would, but I wouldn't let myself believe you knew what lay ahead. I'm glad I didn't. It's hard enough to look back and see myself without you, than it would have been to look ahead and imagine myself without you.
Life goes on, and I can't imagine sometimes how. How can it go on when part of your heart is missing, when part of your world has collapsed. But second after second, minute after minute and soon a day is yesterday and I wonder how I have made it through another one without you and your dad.
It does comfort me to know you are together. Perhaps so very long ago before our family time began, it was pre-arranged for your dad to go and be there to meet you. I don't know for certain honey. I can only imagine, only what-if.
You have left no enemies honey. You are the light in my eye. You are the darling of my heart.
I'll love you forever. I'll love you for always. For ever and ever my baby you'll be.
Sweet Peace My Darling Boy.
Mom
Saturday, December 13, 2014
Christmas Nuts
~Christmas Nuts~
By
Susie Whiting
Copyright
~ December 2014
~Christmas Nuts~
The
snow was falling and the wind the weatherman had forecasted had made its way
down from the north. The sign above the
bank said twenty-two degrees Fahrenheit, but the shoppers bundled in coats,
boots and scarves said it was much colder.
She couldn’t feel it though. She
walked down the street in a sleeveless Armani dress, cropped to the knees. The only ice she felt was the diamonds that
hung around her neck and wrist.
Her coat was up
there on floor six; the ICU unit. The nurse had hung it in the closet not
taking care to sponge off the blood. Oh
well. A ten-thousand dollar full length
mink coat wasn’t a worry; nothing was anymore.
Nothing had been for a very long time.
Her Victorian Tudor house had been a place to sleep, sometimes eat, or
work in its office. If she were honest with
herself, she would say it wasn’t home. A
home in her eyes represented a place of love and peace and joy. She had never had any of those things. She had been tossed around in the
system. She had been told she was loved
but when the minute came for her foster parents to be relieved of her, their
love had never been enough to beg for her to stay. She didn’t need them. She didn’t need anyone. She had what she needed; a good brain and a
lot of drive. The minute she was
seventeen, she hit the streets. The
library was her home. She studied
incessantly and on occasion would find a hollow between the books where she
could stay the night. She got a part
time job in a coffee shop earning enough to provide for her needs. She didn’t need much.
She had ambition,
smarts and wits and she used them all to get her GED and get into college with
a full scholarship which included housing.
Housing wasn’t much. She shared a
small room with a girl; one of those that you had to like because she was so
sweet and kept all of her stuff tidy; never infringing on your private
space.
A
large truck sped by splashing snow and mud onto the sidewalk; onto the
pedestrians. Others cursed and stomped
their feet and brushed at their clothes.
She felt nothing at all and just kept walking.
Christmas
lights adorned the stores. Rockefeller Center was bright with its large
decorated tree. The ice skaters twirled
and spun, and giggled and fell, to get up and do it again. The laughter she heard in the air almost hurt
her ears. Laughter was something she
wasn’t well aware of; nothing she had become accustomed to. She walked away.
Her
steps took her to a graveyard in Arthurs Kill.
She had never been there before.
After all, she would not want her $1,000 boots sinking into the marshy
path; but now her boots were also on the sixth floor of the hospital so what
did it matter. If she passed through a
centuries old roadside graveyard which consisted of horribly eroded grave
markers along a garbage strewn path, her feet would begin to sink into the mud
at the Arthur Kill Boat Graveyard. She
didn’t know what was drawing her toward the old wheelhouse she saw in the
distance…nor did she care. It had been
so long since she had cared about anything in this God forsaken thing called
life. She had learned at a young age, if
she didn’t want to get hurt, she just couldn’t set herself up for it.
He
had said he loved her. He was going off
to California and wanted her to go with him.
They would build a life together.
He would help her through school.
She could help him. It wouldn’t
be easy but they could make it. He loved
her he said. He would always love
her. But she couldn’t risk it. She couldn’t put her heart in harm’s
way. Better to be alone than to be broken. Better not to love than to be crushed by
it. It would be better to dream of love,
than to have love turn into a nightmare.
So she watched Dan walk out of her life. Had she been honest with herself, she would
have run after him. She would have let
her heart rule and not her brain. She
had always let her brain rule. Emotions
had no part in her life. That is why,
behind her back at the hospital, she was known as “The Stone.” They didn’t know she knew what was said
behind her back, nor did she care.
If
she let the wall she had built around herself crumble, she would hurt for the
young girl in pediatrics with a disease not covered by her medical
insurance. She would feel for the mother
who sat beside the girl’s bedside and cried into the night; hopeless and
helpless.
She
couldn’t feel the waves as they splashed over her feet as she was drawn toward
a wheel house that was settled at a slant in the mud. She heard a voice coming from inside. It wasn’t laughter because it didn’t hurt her
ears. She stepped so very lightly up
onto the first step and then the second and then the third until she could see
over the side. No. It wasn’t laughter she had heard. It was a young boy lying beside a younger
girl. He pulled a plastic tarp over her
to try and break the breeze. She still
shivered.
“Can
you drink a little warm tea,” he asked as he raised a Dunkin Donuts cup to her
lips. Someone left it on her table. It is still warm though.” He raised the small
girl’s head up and pressed the cup to her lips.
Her lips were parched and cracked and her face was flushed with fever.
“You
can’t leave me, Mattie.” The boy cried softly.
“We’re all we’ve got.”
The
lady stepped over the side of the shack.
She knew they didn’t see her. She
leaned down to place her hand on the girl’s brow, but her hand could not make
contact; of course not. Her real hand
was connected to her body that laid on a gurney on the 6th floor of
ICU.
Her
Lexus had skid on black ice at the same time a big rig jack-knifed. All she remembered when she knew the crash
was coming was “Oh Well. This life has
been hell anyway.” Her death wasn’t as
quick as she thought it would be. Her
shell of a body was lying in a hospital with tubes and respirators keeping her
brain alive. Keeping her from passing on
to a place she hoped was far better than the one she had been living in.
Now,
she needed that body. She needed to be
able to feel. She needed to be able to
talk. She needed to be able to send help
to this little boy and girl. For as
miserable as she was as a person, she was still a fine doctor.
Suddenly,
it seemed as though she was caught on the wind; blowing. In an instant, she was at the window of the
sixth floor and in even less time she was through it. She looked down at the body on the bed;
laying silently, laying still. The hum
of equipment made her chest rise and fall.
The beeping of equipment signified her heart was still beating. She was in a coma the ER Physician had
said. Not certain she would ever regain
consciousness. But she had to regain
consciousness.
Her
body hurt as she tried to force her spirit back into it. Her spirit hurt too. She had been free of pain outside this shell
of a coat called a body. But she had to
hurt. She had to heal. She had to help the children in the
wheelhouse. She was a doctor. There was the oath she had taken.
Her
body moaned as she forced her spirit back into it. The heart started beating rapidly. The blood pressure raised and then lowered
erratically. The body moaned again
causing nurses and doctors to rush by her side.
The doctor opened her eyelid and the light about blinded her. She felt so confined in such a small space
but she moved around and settled in. She
had settled back into life.
She
willed where her energy would go. She
didn’t care if her legs worked for now.
She didn’t care that she couldn’t lift her arms. She didn’t care if her eyes couldn’t focus as
well as they should. She could work on
that later. Right now, her energy needed
to go to her mouth.
“Policemen,”
She whispered to the nurse. “Get
policemen.”
The
nurse recognized the urgency of her voice and did as she asked, but warned them
to not stay too long. Not to weaken her
further.
Every
word she spoke was hard. How she had
taken the ability to speak for granted.
But then she thought, she had taken everything for granted. Her own bitterness had prevented her from
appreciating the ability to walk along the beach and feeling the sand beneath
her toes. To listen to a symphony and
let the music she heard swell within her breast. To watch the sun fall into the west and leave
its brilliant colors in its wake. To
appreciate the scent drifting from Carmine’s promising the patrons rich
spaghetti and meatballs and hot garlic bread.
With her Lexus, and her apartment in Manhattan and a rich bank account,
she had still been very poor. God bless those who are so poor, all they
have is money. She didn’t know where
that thought had come from, but she knew it applied to her.
With
all the strength she had, she was able to tell the policeman about the two
children and they had promised they would go find them.
CHIRSTMAS
EVE~
She had paid for
the largest tree to be delivered and set up in the foyer. She had paid for the house to be decorated
with pines and poinsettias and candles.
She had a giant Santa’s sleigh delivered and set up in the family room
and in it were gifts; gifts for a young
boy and girl. She had wanted to do the
decorating and shopping herself.
‘Herself’ she laughed. Before,
‘herself’ had wanted nothing to do with Christmas. Her wheelchair was restrictive and she wasn’t
able to get out has she wanted, so she called upon her finances to make happen
what she wanted.
The investigator she had hired
found the children’s parents had both died from heroin overdoses. The boy and girl had run away when they found
their parents dead. There were extended
family members somewhere in Mexico, but the children had never known them. They had been born in the United States and
as being so were citizens. Carlos and
Maggie were their names and Carlos and Maggie were being released from the
hospital this afternoon.
She hooked her Ipod to its base
station and Christmas music filled the room; happy Christmas music.
She watched as the van from the
hospital pulled up in front. She could
have called for the maid to open the door, but she wanted to welcome them
herself. She wheeled herself over and
opened the door wide as two scared, apprehensive children walked toward the
door.
Hello Carlos. Hello Mattie.
My name is Kathryn. Please come
in and let’s have a talk together.
Bertie, the maid, brought in a
plate of sugar cookies and mugs of hot chocolate and sit them on the coffee
table. The children looked at them with
wide eyes but yet apprehensively.
“It’s okay,” she told them. “You can have some.”
She smiled as Carlos handed a
cookie and then hot chocolate to his sister.
He was still taking care of her.
She told them her name was Kathryn
and she explained to them how although she was rich, she had still been very
poor because she had lived with a broken heart.
“We know about broken hearts,”
Carlos said through a bite of cookie.
“Our hearts got broken too. Mamma
and Daddy broke our hearts.”
“I know,” Kathryn responded. “I had someone find out why you were living
in the shack. I hope you don’t
mind. It wasn’t because I was being
snoopy. It was because I cared about
you.”
“That’s okay,” Carlos replied
again. “It’s good to have someone care
about you. Momma and Daddy cared but
they cared about drugs more. But they
loved us anyway.”
“Of course they loved you. I’m certain they loved you very much. Their addiction to drugs was an illness they
couldn’t heal. It wasn’t because they
didn’t want to. It wasn’t because they
didn’t love you.”
“But anyway, Carlos and Mattie, I
have had an illness too. Like I said,
I’ve had a broken heart that I haven’t been able to fix. Because my heart was broken, I didn’t look at
life the way I should have. I need
someone to help me laugh again. I have
this very big house that is pretty empty.
It could use a boy and girl to help fill up the rooms. They would be safe and warm and able to go to
school. They would never be hungry
again. I would do everything I can to make
them happy. If you would like to be that
boy and girl, I would love to have you live here with me.
“Do you have a puppy?” Mattie
asked for the first time. “My daddy said
that if someone loved a puppy then we could trust them.”
I’ve never had a puppy before,”
Kathryn said. “I always felt I was too
busy to take care of one. But to be
honest with you, I always felt one would break my heart if anything happened to
it. But you know what? I am tired of being afraid of being
hurt. I am tired of a broken heart.”
Kathryn rang a
silver bell that was sitting nearby and Bertie came through the door. “Bertie, would you bring in Cleo and Hank
please.” A few minutes later Bertie
entered with two small dogs on a leash.
Hank was a Golden Retriever pup who quickly ran to Carlos and licked his
face forcing giggles from the little boy.
Cleo was a Pomeranian who laid beside Mattie and stared up at her with
big black eyes. Smiles radiated from the
children’s faces as they petted their new Christmas friends.
“So do you think
you want to give it a try and live here with me?” Kathryn asked.
“What if we’re
not able to make you happy?” Mattie asked sadly.
“I don’t expect
you to make me happy, Sweetheart,” Kathryn said. “It’s my job to make myself happy. And I
really think for me to do that, I need to stop being so selfish. I need to stop being wrapped up in
myself. By being all wrapped up in
myself, I’ve made a very small package.
I want to be wrapped up in you and Carlos and Hank and Cleo.”
“We will be kind
of a strange family, don’t you think?” Carlos said thoughtfully. “ A doctor,
two Mexican kids, a Golden Retriever and a Pomeranian.”
“Look at that
bowl of nuts on the table,” Ellen said.
“There are walnuts, and cashews, and almonds, and peanuts and
pistachios.” They are all different, but they are the same.
“So we will be a
family of nuts, huh?” Carlos replied forcing laughter from Kathryn.
“Yes,” she
laughed. “I hope we will always be a
family of nuts.”
Christmas
Day~
Miracles do happen. But it does take opening oneself up to be
able to accept the miracles that surround us.
I looked at the clutter in the
house. Wrapping paper was spread across
the family room carpet while two tired dogs lay on a rug before the
fireplace. Carlos was playing an Xbox
game and I was manicuring Mattie’s nails with the bright orange polish she had
received from Santa. Bertie had a turkey
in the oven for Christmas dinner. I had
never had a cooked Christmas dinner in my house before. I had always gone out to five star
restaurants and tried to convince myself that the less work the better.
It was strange how I felt
inside. I was lighter. By lighter I mean I didn’t feel as heavy
inside and by lighter I mean I didn’t feel the darkness that had hid inside me
all my life. It was as though my mind
had opened wide and all negativity had flown out and my heart had opened up
telling the universe to send on in the miracles. And then the doorbell rang.
He stood on the front porch with a
silly Santa hat on. His eyes were still
the brightest blue; his hair touched slightly with gray at the temples. His smile was not changed at all. It spread easily and honestly across his
face. I had heard through the grapevine he had never married, but I glanced at
his left hand anyway. He wore no
ring. Dan was back.
“I heard about your accident,” he
said. “I thought since you might be tied
up in the house for a while you might need a little something to keep you
company. He reached in a box and pulled
out a tabby cat. The dogs barked, the
children screamed and the cat hissed and jumped from Dan’s arms as it tried to
climb the curtains. And I laughed. Dan’s smile widened as he watched me laugh
until I lost my breath; until my sides ached.
At the time he didn’t understand that another nut had been added to our
family tree in the form of a tabby cat and as I stared back at the silly man in
the Santa hat, I hope this man I loved would be the next to fall into the nut
bowl.
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