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

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.

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

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

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 6^th 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.

Daren's Letter - November 12, 2014

Hello Honey:

We found that little cedar house that was available to lease in Salcha, Alaska.  It had been a cute little house, but the people who had lived there before had thrashed it.  It was so dirty.  They had raised dogs in one of the bedrooms and the smell was awful.  The price was right, and if we could get the owner to let us clean it for the first month's rent, it would work for us.

You and I painted and your dad cleaned forever on the bathrooms and the garage. The boys helped pull up carpets and we replaced them.  Stoves were cleaned, cupboards scrubbed, windows were washed and before long, we had a home.  I was prepared to make do with whatever we could find for furniture, but the people were so kind.  Soon, we had enough.  We had a cute little home that sit back in the pines with moose coming into the backyard.

On "Survivor Night" we would all load in your truck and head to Haley's for our Survivor Party.  One night it was dark and cold.  The roads were iced and snow blew across the road limiting sight.  You knew riding in cars was a thing that had scared me all my life.  I think it was handed down genetically to me through my dad who was in such a bad automobile accident, he never drove afterward.  You were driving and your dad was riding shotgun.  I was sitting in the back seat.  After a few minutes, you turned and asked "Are you praying, Mom?"  I was.  You knew me so well.

Your unselfishness always amazed me honey.  Even in that little house, when Jen moved up to stay a while with us, you instantly without a word, gave up your bedroom.  Jen moved into town, and Shannon and the girls moved in with us, and you passed your room on to them.  I never heard you complain about any sacrifices you made.  I guess that is one of the things that made you so loved by so many people.

I didn't know then my darling son, what I know now.  I didn't know the time would come when I would move heaven and earth if I could be back in that little cedar house with you, your boys and your dad.  I didn't know how much I would miss your making a peanut butter sandwich or the way you would cross your legs, or the way you would clean your ears with a q-tip.  I didn't know how much I wish I could see you drying your hair with a towel and then flipping your head to put it in place.  I didn't know how much I would miss watching Grumpy Old Men with you.  How many times did we watch that show?  How many times did we laugh at the same spots.

I miss washing your clothes and cooking you meals and talking about all the things we used to talk about.  I miss the smell of Marlboro Reds.  I miss your hands; the way they looked like my dad's.

I miss laughing until my sides hurt at some of the things you use to say.  I miss seeing you put your arm around your sons and telling them you love them.  I miss your asking me if I had an extra cup of coffee.

I didn't know honey.  I didn't know that someday I would be missing all the things that made you you and I would be missing them so much I'd think my heart could break in two.  So my sweet boy, most of the time I need to put all the memories on a shelf in my mind.  Looking at them is so painful.  Not remembering is a means of saving myself.

But then the time comes when I can't help but remember.  I can't help but miss you.

I'm glad you're my son sweetheart.  I'm glad I got to be your mom.

Leave me a feather.  Let me know you're around me.

For ever and ever my baby you'll be.

Mom

Cancer ~ Count My Blessings

I stopped in at Kohls after my radiation treatment.  My granddaughter is getting married on the 4th of October and I needed a blouse to wear.  I walked up and down a few isles hoping something would jump out at me without my needing to put much effort into shopping; I really didn't feel well.  Radiation treatments kills not only the cancerous cells, but also the good ones, requiring the body to work extra hard to rebuild what is dying.  I felt the fatigue all that work caused.  My feet and legs ached along with my hands.  Chemo has caused neuropathy.  At first they feel numb and then the numbness turns into pain. I left the store without a blouse, sat in my car and had a pity party.

"I can't handle this." I said silently to myself.  "I've reached the point where I don't even have the energy to shop for myself.  I can't have my daughter constantly be responsible for taking care of me, but I feel like crap."  My mind continued down the path of feeling sorry for myself until I remembered once again something my father had said so many years ago.

My father died when I was nine years old.  During those nine years of my life, Dad was in the hospital about six of them.  When he died, Mom said he had thirteen major illnesses racking his body. He had a disease where his body built too much blood.  It would get to a point where if he bumped his arm, blood would seep through the pores. Another was the partial lung he had to breath with.  Dad had been in a coal mining accident that had crushed his chest leaving that piece of lung to supply his oxygen needs, and even it had black lung disease.

Mom related the story of once when the doctor walked into the hospital room to visit Dad.

"How are doing today, Mac?" the doctor asked.

"Just fine," Dad replied.

"You can't fool me," the doctor said.  "Remember, I'm your doctor.  I know what you suffer with and I know how that makes you feel.  You're not feeling fine."

"No," Dad responded.  "But you don't have to look far to find someone worse off than you."

I thought of his words while sitting there in the car and felt ashamed for the pity I was allowing myself.

I have a beautiful granddaughter getting married, and I have the opportunity of sharing in her happy day.  I had enough money in reserve to buy myself clothes, when there are some that do not have enough money to buy themselves food.  I live in a country where my illness was treated by knowledgeable and trained physicians, surgeons, oncologists and radiologists.  After my treatment, I went home to a comfortable bed, surrounded by people who love me.  I did not lay alone on a dirt floor in a hut in Africa or in the slums of some cities in America.  Yes, I had cancer, but I was in remission while there are others who suffer the same disease for years; some of whom are children.

After an adequate self talking to, I wiped the tears from my face, touched up my lipstick and went back into the store and found the blouse I needed.

I won't guarantee myself that I won't have other days when the sun leaves my sky and clouds darken my days.  But I do guarantee myself that when that happens, I will try to remember the words of my dad, take a look around me and be thankful for the problems I have instead of having those of others. You truly don't have to look far to be thankful.