happy father's day, daddy....

There's just something special about the relationship between a Daddy and his little girl.  Fathers feel especially protective of their daughters and that doesn't change no matter how old you get.  It took me a long time to really appreciate my Daddy for who he is.  In fact, it took about 40 years.  In my earlier years we didn't have much of a relationship.  I think in many ways religion kept us apart.  He wasn't big on church and well, church was my whole life.  I'm ashamed to say that set me up for a "holier-than-thou" attitude and so I spent years judging my own father just because he liked to have a beer every night. And yet, I never went without as a child.  Daddy saw to it that I had a "princess room" complete with a canopy bed.  If I wanted something and it was within his power to get it, then it was mine.  

Daddy grew up poor on the streets of Miami, FL.  He was raised, along with his younger brother and sister, by an alcoholic grandfather and a very strong, opinionated grandmother that he called "Nana".  By the time he graduated high school he knew if he wanted a life he would have to join the military.  So off to Parris Island he went to become a US Marine.  This further shaped him into the man he is.  Loud, opinionated, tells it like it is, and yet he would give you the shirt off his back if you needed it.  This was the Daddy who always made sure I had a dime in my pocket in case I needed to call him.

Daddy has always loved guns and has had quite the collection ever since I can remember.  He keeps them locked up in a gun-cabinet where they are safe from curious little hands.   Daddy spends a lot of time at the shooting range but he lives for hunting season.  Whether it's squirrels or deer, you will always find him in the woods on opening day.  And yes, he would always bring home his "kill" wherewith we would then get to partake of fried squirrel or venison stew.  I always found squirrel to be a bit chewy and I could totally live without venison.  Never could get used to that "wild" taste.

One day I got to see daddy's hunting skills up close and personal when a rabid dog got loose in our neighborhood.  Everyone was scared to death until the day that dog showed up in our driveway foaming at the mouth and growling.  Daddy promptly got one of his rifles and shot that dog on the spot.  You could hear the echo ring out for what seemed like miles.  I cried even though I understood it had to be done. Daddy was brave that day.  He saved the whole neighborhood.  And I couldn't have been more proud.

As for pets, Daddy always had a fish tank.  This was about as close to having a pet as I got tho we did have a couple of dogs when I was little.  I remember one named Lady who lived in our fenced-in backyard.  I'm not sure whatever happened to her.  Then I got a little puppy which I named Butterball but she got ran over and that was the end of us having dogs so fish it was.  It seems dad's favorite fish were guppies.  One time the fish tank cracked and we came home to find guppies all over the carpet.  In no time though, Daddy had another fish tank up and running.  And I couldn't help but notice this tank was even bigger than the one before.

One of my favorite times growing up was Halloween.  Daddy was really good at homemade costumes.  One year he fixed me up has a hobo.  He took charcoal from the grill and dirtied my face up then packed me up a  hobo bag and off I went trick-or-treating.  Another year he made me a witch.  It was fun having a green face.  I think if there had been a best-costume contest I would have surely won.  I suppose it was his artistic ability that made him so good at face art.  He could look at anything and draw it.  One of my favorite things about daddy was when he would write poems and draw Disney characters.  He's always had a creative streak that I loved.  

Donald William Pratt is now 75 yrs. old.  He's bald with piercing blue eyes and a hearty laugh who loves to tell jokes and give advice.  He is fiercely loyal to those he loves.  And I am proud to say he has been my father for 47 years.  Even though we live hundreds of miles apart I know he's always just a phone call away.  And If I really needed him he would be in his truck headed to NC in a heartbeat.  Daddys make their little girls feel protected, even when we're grown women.  I am thankful to still have my Dad around and I just wanted to take this day to honor him.  Happy Father's Day, Daddy.

I love you,
Poochie

remembering granny...

I grew up in the Deep South of Mississippi on the Gulf Coast, but every couple months or so Mama, Daddy, and I would take off to Ovett which was "up in the country" to visit Granny and all my Aunts, Uncles, and cousins.  It usually took about an hour and a half to get there so we would leave on a Friday evening after they got off work and stay until Sunday afternoon.  I remember in the Winter months Granny would always have a big pot of homemade soup made... vegetable beef with a big pone of cornbread to go with it.  It was nourishment both for the soul and the body.

Granny didn't have central heat and air so in the winter she kept a woodstove burning.  One Fall before Grandpa died in a head-on collision due to a drunk-driver, he chopped a bunch of extra wood and kept it in a woodpile out beside the house.  It was as if he knew his time was close.  Whenever Granny would open the door to that woodstove to throw in more wood, the heat would rush out to greet you.  The coals were a hot, burning red like the flames of hell.  I remember thinking I definitely didn't wanna go there.

Every Saturday night it was a tradition to watch "Hee Haw".  I can still see that old coon dog on the front porch as Roy Clark and the gang sang, "Gloom, Despair, and Agony on me"....

This was in the days before cable TV so you were lucky to get 3 channels especially out in the country and even that was only if you had a pair of "rabbit ears".  Luckily Granny did so we never missed Hee Haw.

Being an only child I was always excited to see my cousins, Gary Jr., Laura Kay, and Chelsea (prounounced "Chel-se-uh").  They were my first best friends and the siblings I never had.  I was 8 months younger than Chelsea and 4 yrs. older than Gary Jr.  Laura Kay was 5 yrs. younger than me and the baby of the group.  That is until years later when cousin Amanda came along.  We would entertain ourselves running back and forth down the rows of corn or hiding in the barn, always stuff we shouldn't be doing.  One thing Granny didn't like was us running in and out.  She would holler, "You youngins' either come in or stay out, but quit that runnin' back and forth!"

One of my favorite things was when Granny would hand us kids some old tin buckets and tell us to go pick blackberries.  We always knew what this meant.  Homemade blackberry cobbler and believe you me, nobody could make a cobbler like Granny. In spite of the mosquitoes and the red bugs we would pick until our pails were full then run back to the house proud as a peacock to show Granny how much we'd gotten.  That night, sure enough, we would eat our supper then have blackberry cobbler for dessert.

One thing about Granny, she may have grown up poor but she was a hard-workin' woman.  She passed this trait down to her 5 children who were my Uncle Wyatt, Aunt Cybil, Mama, who was Sarah Jane, and Mama's twin brother, Jimmy, who died at age 14 when he climbed a light pole on a dare by his baby brother, my Uncle Gary, and was electrocuted.  They said Granny like to have never gotten over that.  I suppose second behind her would be mama, being that it was her twin and all.

Sometimes Granny would drive down to the coast by herself and come see us.  On one such occasion she and I were outside hanging up the clothes to dry.  Something had been weighing on my mind that I was dying to know.  See, Granny had gotten married when she was only 14 yrs. old to Grandpa who was 10 years older than her.  Basically he was a grown man and she was still just a girl.  Finally I worked up my nerve and asked her if it hurts "the first time" and she didn't bat an eye.  She exclaimed, "Yeah, it hurts when they pop the cherry!"  Just what I thought.

Granny drove a beautiful cherry red Mercury Zephyr with white leather interior.  When it came time for driving lessons she didn't hesitate to let me take her car out on the dirt road by her house.  She sat on the passengers side and instructed me what to do.  I drove the whole mile and a half to the end of the road and back, bare feet and all.  Granny always had what we call a "lead foot" and I think I learned that from her.  We both liked to drive fast which is why mama always told me, "Donna Jane, you drive like a bat out of hell."  Blame Granny.

One of my favorite times of year was October cause that meant the county fair was coming to town.  Mama didn't care much for the rides but Granny would ride anything!  I remember us getting on the "Rampage" which was a very popular ride in the 70's.  It was kinda like a double ferris-wheel.  Watch here:

I thought I had the coolest Granny ever because even though she was old, she wasn't scared of anything.  

It's been 9 years now since Granny passed in May of 2003.  She had a stroke and couldn't take care of herself anymore.  That meant Mama, Aunt Cybil and Aunt Nettie (Uncle Gary's wife) would rotate every 3 weeks taking turns one week at a time.  Luckily they all lived right there near each other on the old home place so it worked out good for everyone.  Eventually Granny got so feeble they couldn't handle her anymore so off to a nursing home she went.  Mama cried and cried over that.  

Now all I have are my precious memories and a few of Granny's old quilts that she made by hand.  I look forward to seeing her again one day in Heaven.  It's hard to believe so many of my loved ones have already gone on.  Grandpa, Uncle Wyatt, Pa Bill (my stepfather), Uncle Jimmy, and Granny.  Her real name was Ida Mae West.  I love you, Granny.  Thanks for all the great times.  

the day everything changed....

It was April 2nd, a Sunday morning, and the minute my eyes popped open I knew something was wrong.  My hands and ankles were hurting terribly, like that of an old woman.  My first thought was "Oh no... is this Rheumatoid Arthritis?" although I thought it was odd that it would strike with the suddenness of a rattle snake.  Aren't we supposed to age gradually?  I popped 3 Ibuprofen and went to work that evening anyway.

The next day was more of the same until finally by Wednesday of that week my ankles were so swollen they looked deformed.  I walked around like an 85 yr. old woman.  I ached all over so I put in a call to my doctor and luckily she was able to see me that afternoon.  My fever was 101.7.  It was then I realized I had been running a high fever that whole time.

My swollen ankle

My normal ankle

My doctor was immediately concerned about the swelling and the fever so she prescribed a 5-day round of prednisone.  10 mg. twice a day.  Within 24 hours I felt like Wonder Woman.  No pain.  Swelling almost gone.  I thought that would be the end of it.  I was wrong.  I finished my round of steroids and by the next day I felt the pain coming back.  The day after that came the swelling.  By the 3rd day the dry, hacking cough.  I continued to run a high fever and pop Ibuprofen like candy just so I could make it to work.  If it weren't for the fact that my job only involved sitting at a desk and doing data entry all day, there is no way I could have worked. Anything more physically-demanding would have done me in.

The cough grew worse.  It got to the point that I could not even hold a conversation without going into coughing spasms.  I had one of those incessant itches that no matter how hard I coughed, there was no relief.  At one point I even pulled a muscle in my side which made coughing excruciating.  I finally broke down and went back to the doctor in spite of the fact that I have no insurance and couldn't really afford it.  Luckily she had compassion and didn't charge me.  She prescribed a round of antibiotics thinking it was an upper respiratory infection.  I knew within 2 days she was wrong.  Still running a high fever and coughing.  God, when would this ever go away?

A week later I was back in her office.  This had now been going on for 3.5 weeks.  Joint pain, swelling, high fever, and that god-awful cough from hell.  What was wrong with me?  I wanted answers.  My doctor wanted answers.  She was more concerned about my fever than anything.  It just isn't normal to fun a high fever for that long.  I told her to go ahead and order the tests.  I knew I needed the tests but had no way to pay for them.   By this time I had gotten word that my job was ending May 4th so I asked about applying for charity at the hospital.  She thought it was a good idea.

I had a whole round of blood work done as well as a chest x-ray.  Little did I know the chest x-ray would be the key.  My doctor called the next day and told me it appeared that I had Sarcoidosis.  Of course I had never heard of that.  The x-ray showed the lymph nodes on both sides of my lungs were inflamed.  Turns out that sarcoidosis is an autoimmune disease that can attack any organ of the body causing inflammation.  It most commonly attacks the lungs which explains that awful cough I had.  Clearly it had decided to attack my joints as well.  Double-whammy.

She downplayed the diagnosis as if it wasn't that serious but hearing a word like that definitely had me worried.  The first thing I did was go on the internet to look it up.  I should have known better.  Any time you get a medical diagnosis you can find every horror story known to mankind on the internet.  The last thing I needed was to add fear to the already unknown.  Back on prednisone I went.  This time 20 mg.  Once again, the pain was gone within 24 hours.  It took about 3 days for the swelling to disappear.  The cough was a bit more stubborn... that took 2.5 weeks to go away.

After 3 weeks on 20 mg. she cut me back to 10 mg.  I will stay on that for two weeks then cut back to 5 mg for a week then to 2.5 mg.  The goal is to get me off this stuff altogether and believe me, it won't be soon enough.  I do have concerns about what will happen when I go off it for good.  Will my symptoms come back?  I shudder at the thought.  It would render me disabled and that is just not something I can accept.

I have made some huge dietary changes since all this started.  In a nutshell I stay away from all the "white stuff".... refined sugar, artificial sweeteners, flour, potatoes, rice, bread, and wheat.  That leaves fruits, vegetables, protein, and nuts.  Lucky for me the only silver-lining in all this is the loss of appetite.  Another side effect of sarcoidosis.  In spite of being on prednisone which is known to make you blow up, I have managed to lose 30 lbs. since April 2nd.  My doctor said I am the only patient she has ever seen to LOSE weight on prednisone.  Lucky me.

I didn't change my diet to lose weight though I definitely need to.  I changed my diet to get my health back.  Turns out that what I am doing is known as the http://thepaleodiet.com/ which has been known to reverse autoimmune diseases.  I always add lemon to my water (which is all I drink now) and I have an apple cider vinegar tonic twice a day using Bragg's Apple Cider Vinegar.  Believe me, this will cure what ails ya.  Just google the health benefits and it will blow your mind.  And once you get used to the tart taste it isn't half bad.

At this point I don't know what my future holds, but I am determined to do my part to manage this disease.  A big part of that is my diet.  Another big part is a positive attitude.  The good news is that up to 50% of sarcoidosis cases go into remission within 3 years.  I am believing I will be one of them.  The way I see it is I may have a disease but I refuse to let a disease have me.  I take one day at a time and with God's help I will have a life.

letting go....

February is always a special month.  Two of my kids celebrate birthdays... Evan on the 13th.  (He will be 14).  And Averi on the 14th.  (She will be 12).

We were driving home from school the other day and I asked what the plans were for their birthday.  I was told their dad planned on taking them to Fuddruckers for burgers on Saturday.  This outing would also include their older brother, their grandmother, and her friend, David.  Only one person would be missing.  Me.  I wasn't invited. 

It really didn't come as a surprise to me that I wasn't invited.  This has been the case ever since my husband and I split over 2 years ago.  He says we should live "separate lives" and he does his best to insure that this happens.  

I won't lie.  It hurts.  Every Thanksgiving.  Every Christmas.  And every child's birthday I am left out.  I don't like it.  I don't agree with it.  And yes, I get angry.  The most difficult part of being divorced and living by myself is knowing I'm no longer a part of the family unit.  The kids live with their father and even though I see them 5-6 days a week I'm still the odd woman out when it comes to special occasions.  

I guess I could understand it if I or my ex had a significant other.  We don't.  And it's not that we don't get along.  We do.  I really don't know why my ex insists that I do my own thing with the kids.  If the shoe were on the other foot and they lived with me I would more than gladly invite their father to be a part of all the festivities.  In my mind, it's about the kids... not us... but I digress.  Apparently he doesn't see it that way.  Sometimes I wonder if he's afraid I will try to worm my way back in so this is just his way of keeping that door shut. 

Regardless, being left out doesn't feel very good.  It's been over 2 years and I still grieve over the loss of my family.  I feel sad every time I pull out of the driveway of my old house knowing my kids are with their dad as a cohesive family unit and then there's me; alone with my 2 cats in an apartment.  And though I am happy I am no longer in a miserable marriage, I can't help but miss all the special family occasions we once shared together.   

Once again I asked my kids to ask their dad if I could go with them and not surprisingly, the answer was no.  That it would be better for me to do something with them separately.  Well, I went off.  Normally I refrain from ever expressing any kind of anger or negativity towards their father but I was pissed.  "I am still your mother!  How can your dad just leave me out like that?"  I was totally exasperated!  I am not the enemy after all and I don't like being treated like I am.  But what can be done?  I have tried talking to him before to no avail.  Stubbornness has always been one of his more frustrating traits.

The morning after this outburst of mine I was at work pondering the whole situation when it hit me like a ton of bricks.  "Just because you would do things a certain way doesn't mean he has to."  Lightbulb moment-"Expectations are just premeditated resentments".  I realized I had been projecting my expectations onto my ex all this time and it was only causing me grief because nothing was going to change on his end.  I had to let go.  So just like that.... I did.  

It was amazing the sense of peace that flooded me when I was able to just stop those expectations and let go.  The fact is we are divorced.  He wants to live his own life with the kids apart from me and I have to respect that and ultimately accept it.  I am learning that acceptance really is the key to serenity and peace of mind by accepting the things I cannot change.  We so often get worked into a tizzy over the unfulfilled expectations we have of others and yet, is it really fair to do that to someone?  No, it's not.  

I am determined going forward that I will release all expectations towards my ex.  He is free to live his life the way he sees fit and I am free to live mine.  I wish him well and only want the best for him.  If that doesn't include me then so be it.  I have truly let go.  It only took me 2.5 years to get here, but as they say "better late than never".  

what i know for sure....

The past few years have been quite the spiritual epiphany for me.  Some of these are thoughts I've picked up from others.  Some are my own thoughts.  Overall this is what I know for sure.... 

Expectations are really just future resentments.

Life isn’t fair… but God is still good.

I am not in control.

Regardless of how things seem, they are subject to change.

The bible is only as infallible as my interpretation of it.

My understanding of truth evolves as I do. 

I don’t know it all.

Life must be lived forward but can only be understood backwards.

Dwelling on the past is a waste of time… you can’t change it anyway.  Learn from it and move on.

Dwelling on the future only brings anxiety, fear and frustration.   Surrender it to God and enjoy the present for tomorrow is not promised anyway.

Bad things happen to good people.

Life is a school…. We are its students.  We are here to learn.

The only thing worse than unanswered questions are unquestioned answers.

Everything happens for a reason.

We have two basic needs in life:  To know and be known.  To love and be loved.

Regardless of what comes, God is enough.

It’s not my job to fix people.

I am responsible for my actions and the consequences thereof.

Relationships cannot be forced.  Whether platonic or romantic, they should flow naturally.

It’s okay to ask questions.  God can handle it.

Just because Bro. So-and-So said it doesn’t mean it’s true.

Religion makes people do mean things.

The only way “out” is “through”.

We are each on a spiritual journey and no two paths will look exactly the same.

We are not called to be “cookie-cutter” Christians.

Bloom where you’re planted.  You’re there for a reason.

Life is 90% maintenance.  

Unless you’ve walked in another person’s shoes you can’t possibly know what it’s like to be them.  Mercy before judgment.

It’s not what we do that counts so much as what motivates us to do what we do.  In the end, that is what God will judge.

If you have to hide something you’re doing, you shouldn’t be doing it.

Living authentically sets you free to be who you truly are.

Acceptance from God doesn't have to be earned.  You're already accepted.

Sometimes there’s only one thing to say, “It is what it is.”

Lessons usually come in the form of pain and loss.

Complaining doesn’t change anything… so stop.  It’s a waste of energy.

Today is a gift.  That’s why it’s called “the present”.

It's only when the pain of staying like you are becomes too great will you be motivated to change.

Change is a process, not a one-time occurrence.

It is only when you escape the lie of what's expected and live “your truth” that you can be truly free.

Expectation is the root of all disappointment.

Living a lie is the path of least resistance.  You have to be willing to swim upstream to find your authentic place.

If you want respect then do what’s respectable.  

Life is lived outwardly but it must be cultivated inwardly.

I don't have to find Love.  Love will find me.

In the end, love wins.      

the adoption journey....

I wrote this at the request of my Birthmother for an adoption event she spoke at last year.  This is our story, but it is also the story of countless others whose lives have been affected by adoption.

The Adoption Journey

By Donna J. Ridge

There is a journey called life,

Full of twisting and turning.

No one can predict it,

Still our hearts are yearning.

To know and be known.

To love and be loved.

While making a difference

With gifts from above.

Mothers and Daughters,

Fathers and Sons.

A family tapestry

That makes us all one.

But not every story

starts so great.

Some are interrupted

By a thing called fate.

Birthmothers give birth

To sons and daughters

Then surrender them up

Like lambs to the slaughter.

Always loving

But never knowing

If their little lambs

Are thriving and growing.

Their hearts cry out

“Take care of my baby.”

They have to trust

This other lady.

This woman called “mother”

Not by birth, but by choice.

Who opens her heart

With cause to rejoice.

One Mom is complete

The other’s pain goes deep.

One rocks her baby.

The other cries herself to sleep.  

Years pass by

She always wonders.

Until one day

A call comes yonder.

Fate steps in

The child comes back.

The circle is complete

Now there’s no more lack.

Now their eyes see

There’s enough love for all

Birthmother, Mom, and child

Standing tall.

i see you....

I have learned in life there is a big difference between "looking" and "seeing". We look with our eyes. We see with our hearts. ~me~

In the movie, Avatar, the characters would express their love by saying "I SEE you".  The first time I heard this it had a profound impact on me because I realized how often we go through life with blinders on.  Rather than "see" people, we label them.  I am just as guilty of this as anyone and let's face it.  We would all be lying if we said we don't do this from time-to-time.  In fact, I think labeling is so ingrained in us we do it unconsciously.

Growing up in the Deep South of 1970's Mississippi in a culture where racism thrived it was hard to see black people as people.  Instead I saw them as a skin color.  Although segregation was the order of the day it was clear neither side was yet comfortable with it.  Unfortunately this prevailing attitude created an "us vs. them" atmosphere where whites feared blacks and blacks feared whites.  I heard the N word thrown around as commonly as you would throw a baseball, and often used it myself when referring to them as.... "stupid niggers!"  It pains me to admit this now because I realize how awful it is to judge someone based on skin color.  In fact, it's downright ignorant but in order to be authentic I must go there.

Sure I had "black friends" in high school but looking back now did I ever invite them to my house for a meal or go to their house for one?  Did I ever socialize with them outside of school?  Did I truly ever take the time to get to KNOW them?  No, I didn't.  On the surface I appeared tolerant but deep down I still feared... therefore I labeled.  And because I labeled I did not SEE them as human beings with the same wants, needs, fears, and emotions that I had.  I have since been able to reconnect with many of my "black friends" from HS on Facebook.  I realize how much I missed out on by not engaging you all those years ago the way I would today.  So what I would say to you now is I SEE you... and because I SEE you I want to KNOW you.  You are a valuable part of my story and therefore a valuable part of my life.  

It has taken me years... well, pretty much most of my life to reach this point.  And not only with black people but with gay people as well.  The truth is if people didn't fit into my little Christian worldview then they weren't worthy of my time, so rather than "see" gay people as the human beings they were, I judged them.  Sure I may have been friendly but deep down I saw them as "perverts"... "deviants"... "hellbound sinners".  I was repulsed and I was SURE God was too.  Again, it pains me to admit this because I have since met some wonderful people who just "happen" to be gay and I realize how wrong I was to judge them.  To you I want to say I'm sorry.  Please forgive me.  I SEE you... and because I SEE you I want to KNOW you.  You are a valuable part of my story and therefore a valuable part of my life.

Take any people-group that's different from you and ask yourself, "How do I relate to them?"  I contend that until we stop viewing everyone who is different from us as "them" we will never "see" them.  Currently my children are growing up in a school culture that is primarily Hispanic.  I see the "us vs. them" attitude sometimes and have even heard the phrase "stupid Mexicans" thrown around.  If there's one thing I desire for my children it's that they will have a diverse group of friends... white, black, hispanic, asian, indian... no matter their religion or sexual orientation.  I am making it my mission to teach my children to "see" beyond the labels.

Have you ever tried to engage in a conversation with someone who spent the whole time looking around... not really looking at you... as if they were hoping someone more interesting would walk through the door?  How did that make you feel?  It's happened to me and aside from wanting to slap the person upside the head for their rudeness, it made me feel like I didn't matter... like I wasn't really seen.  And guess what?  I wasn't.  Now think about the times you may have treated someone this way.  Let me go ahead and raise my hand... guilty as charged.  Yeap... I've done it.

Most of the time I don't think we are even aware of our behavior.  It takes intention to "see" others.  Oh, we look at people all the time, but if we can't get past the label we may miss out on an opportunity to know someone great.  We've all heard the quote, "Don't judge a book by its cover".  If we do we may miss out on a great story and rest assured, everybody has a story.  This is what connects us as human beings.  You cannot get to know someone you fear or judge.

At our core we ALL want to be acknowledged.  To be loved.  To be accepted.  To know we matter to someone.  Because I have been challenging myself lately in this area, I also challenge you to become aware of your tendency to label then purposely catch yourself doing it.  When you do, push past that and SEE the person you would have otherwise written off.  Talk to them.  Get to know them.  Engage them.  And in so doing you will find the beauty that lies in connecting with someone different from yourself.  After all, we are really more alike than we are different.  Be intentional.  Be an active participant in your own life.  Don't just look at people.  Be present.  Really SEE them. 

Namaste.  The divine in me honors the divine in you. 

i found the grace....

I FOUND THE GRACE
 

…to give without calculating;

… to fellowship without scheduling;

… to experience the unspoken wonders of life;

… to be unique, valued and imperfect;

…to have compassion to reach out without being on an outreach;

… to be humbled by truth;

… to sing without a song;

… to say no to unhealthy things;

… to respect the paths of others;

… to love without expectations;

…to pray or not to pray;

… to find the language of peace;

… to hear in the silence;

… to live without laws, restrictions or unspoken rules;

… to care to please only One;

… to be totally loved, No Matter What

I found the gospel of Grace.
 

by my beautiful friend, Lori Boyd Lochard

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"mama, please don't leave me"

Lately all I can think about is my sweet Mama.  Sadly she lives 600 miles away from me in my home-state of Mississippi so I don't get to see her that often.  Jane is her name.  Well, "Sarah Jane" to be exact.  (Now you know where my middle name came from.)  Mama was born and raised in a little place called Ovett, Mississippi and is Southern to the bone.  She is your classic caregiver personality.  You know that "stand-by-your-man" type always serving up sweet iced tea with a smile.

Just to give you a little background, Mama was born a twin.  Her beloved brother, Jimmy, died suddenly when they were only 13.  Their baby brother, Gary, who was 6 at the time, dared Jimmy to climb an electric pole.  Killed him instantly when he touched a live wire.  Poor little Gary watched in horror as his big brother fell to the ground dead.  He ran as fast as his little legs would carry him to get Mama.  They were the only ones home at the time, their closest neighbor a mile up the red dirt road.  

I don't think Mama ever got over the loss of her twin, who was the shy one of the two.  One thing is for certain though... her faith has always pulled her through a tough spot, being the good ol' Southern Baptist that she is. Mama has sung in the choir and taught Sunday School all her life.  That is until now.  She has a lot on her plate these days taking care of her 91 yr. old husband, Milton, whom she married on New Year's Day of 2005.

See... Mama, though strong & independent, doesn't like to be alone for long.  She lives to serve, and after the loss of her 2nd husband (whom I affectionately called "Pa Bill"), she was just lost.  Pa Bill had alzheimers and not surprisingly, Mama was his sole caregiver until the day he died.  They call alzheimers "the long goodbye" and I can see why.  This insidious disease, which finally took my stepfather, drug out for 8 years.  He passed peacefully at home on a cold, January day in 2003, but not before "coming to" and talking to his deceased brother, Gene, and sister, Holly, who had died years before.  No doubt they were there to greet him as he crossed over to the other side.

I started seeing little things with Mama a couple of years before Bill died.  She was only 64 at the time, and I just chalked it up to all the stress she was under taking care of him.  I just wouldn't allow myself to believe that the same disease that had wrapped its ugly tentacles around Bill's mind was invading Mama's too.  It just couldn't be so.  Not mama.  Not the woman who adopted and raised me from birth.  I need you, Mama.  I think she sensed it because one day she said to me, "Donna Jane, I hope you never have to watch me go through this."  I wonder if on some deep level she knew?

Ironically, the man she married after Bill lost a wife to alzheimers so he was no stranger to this disease as he was also his wife's sole caregiver.  I think God works in mysterious ways sometimes.  Although he was quite a bit older, I felt relieved that his mind seemed firmly in-tact so I gave my blessing on their marriage.  At least mama wouldn't be alone.  And since I lived out-of-state it was a blessing that someone came along who would love and care for her in my stead.

As time has marched on I have noticed the decline in Mama's mental faculties with each visit.  At first she was just forgetful and would misplace stuff a lot.  But we all do that at times, right?  Then I began to notice moments where she didn't comprehend what was being said.  She would play like she did, but I knew by that blank look in her eyes.  "You can't fool me, mama."  But I played along, too.  No matter how many times I wanted to bring it up, the words always got stuck in my throat.  Denial can be your best friend.

How can this be happening?  Then I began to find myself angry with her, as if she could help it.  The Long Goodbye indeed.  It has drug out for 9 years now and it's to the point that denying it does no good.  It's here.  For the first time in my life, mama forgot my birthday which was just last month.  She didn't call me on Christmas.  And I had to call her on Thanksgiving or I doubt I would have heard from her then either.  It breaks my heart to know she's slipping away.

Just the other night I gave her a call and she seemed really happy to hear from me.   Mama has always had an infectious laugh.  I got to hear it the other night.  There are other times she seems totally blank.  Those conversations only last about 5 minutes.  This time though she wanted to know if I had finished remodeling my house.  In my mind I was saying, "Uh, I don't live in a house; I live alone in an apartment", but in her mind I was remodeling my house.  Instead of correcting her I just said, "No mama, I wasn't able to finish that."  "Oh, that's too bad" she said.

I learned during our ordeal with Pa Bill that with alzheimers it is necessary to "enter their world".  Arguing or correcting them only leads to agitation so I learned to play along.  It will be no different with mama.  Sometimes it can get downright funny the things they say.  These days I find myself dreading the day when Milton passes because I know some difficult decisions will have to be made.  For one, who will take care of mama?

She can't live by herself.  I'm afraid she would burn the house down.  That almost happened once before when she left a pan of grease on the burner.  She had gone outside and talk to the home-health nurse who was there to check on Bill during the final days of his life.  He just sat inside the house with smoke billowing all around him.  Once he realized it was a fire he kicked back into firefighter mode and gave the poor nurse a black eye for trying to stop him.  Thankfully they all got out alive and it wasn't a total loss.  Only the kitchen.

If my children were grown there would be no doubt that I would be expected to move home and take care of her, but that isn't the case.  My kids (ages 12, 14, and 19) need me.  Thankfully, mama understands this.  I just hope my Aunt and Uncle do when it comes time to take care of their sister, Jane.  They all live right there together on their old home-place... separate houses, of course.  The last thing I want is to see is for my mama to end up in a nursing home.  That would break my heart.

Why does life have to be so unfair?  I know I will have to cross this bridge very soon regarding mama's care.  For now though I have finally accepted that this is happening and like anything else, I will get through it.  I am not ready to give her up.  Money is beyond tight, but I am hoping to make a trip home to Mississippi this summer to see her.  The day could come when she won't know me anymore.  I don't want that to be any time soon.  Mama, please don't leave me yet.  I want to sit on the front porch with you a few more times and drink coffee.  And watch the birds.  And look at all the pretty flowers you planted.  I'm coming, Mama.  Please wait til I get there.

 

"cause he black"...

Have you ever been in a situation, not of your own making, where you found yourself thinking, "Well, that was awkward"?  I found myself in one of those just today, in fact.  I had picked the kids up from school this afternoon and had to run by the post office to mail a card and buy some stamps.  Apparently everyone else in town chose the exact same time to go to the post office. 

When I walked inside I saw that the line was a mile long.  Okay... well, not quite a mile... but it did make me wonder what was going on.  I even found myself going down the list of holidays in my mind that would possibly cause a sudden rush to the United States Post Office on January 31st.  I came up with nothing.  So rather than get in a huff, I stood in line with everyone else and waited my turn.

In front of me stood a woman who was clearly Muslim.  I could tell by her clothes and the beautiful head-scarf she was wearing.  I just had to figure out a way to start a conversation with her.  It helped that she had a warm smile.  I complimented her scarf.  From there I found out she was originally from Pakistan and has lived in America for 11 years.  She likes it here. 

There was a time in my life I would have looked at a woman like her and chalked her up as "the enemy" especially in the wake of 9/11.  I would have certainly never struck up a conversation with her, let alone thought she was someone I could be friends with.  Just goes to show what can happen when you refuse to label or stereotype people even when the temptation presents itself.

Then right about the time I was feeling all proud of myself for not labeling, I heard this woman standing just a few feet away talking on her cellphone.  I'm positive the entire post office heard her talking on her cellphone. Yes, she was that. loud.  The conversation went something like this...

"Somebody called the PO-lice on RJ today."

"Cause he black."

"I already told you... cause he black."

At this point I could feel my butt-cheeks clenching and my entire body tightening up.  I more or less froze on the spot and looked off in the opposite direction pretending not to hear the conversation.   I am sure my face was flushed with embarrassment.  Only one word would suffice in that moment... awk.ward.

The white woman in front of me rolled her eyes.  I couldn't even look at the 2 women behind me who happened to be black.  I did wonder what they were thinking though as the conversation continued... if they felt as uncomfortable as I did?  The woman on the phone rattled on...

"It was a brand-new bike and since he the only black boy in the neighborhood some white person called the PO-lice." 

"You know... selling drugs... up to no good...he black so he must have stole the bike.  All those stereotypes."

 "He even had to show the PO-lice his receipt to prove it was his bike."

"I done told you.. cause he black."

If she said it once, she said it at least 5 times.  LOUDLY.  So all could hear. 

I finally worked up my nerve and took a peek at the lady behind me.  She had such a sweet smile; her eyes apologetic.  I understood her embarrassment since her race wasn't being represented very well in that moment.  There was no point in that woman having an entire conversation on her phone about racism in the post office for all 20 people (most of whom were white) in the line to hear.  I realize that IS a conversation that nobody enjoys but is sometimes necessary.  However, there is a time and a place for everything.  And the United States Post Office ain't it.

I've had several hours to reflect on why "I" felt embarrassed.  I wasn't the one who called the PO-lice on an innocent black boy riding his bike.  Yet, her words rang true and I knew it deep inside.  I could definitely see a white person calling the law if they saw a black boy riding a brand new bike in their all-white neighborhood.  They would immediately assume it was stolen.  And why?  "cause he black" or "he selling drugs" or "he up to no good".  All of which are common stereotypes. 

The woman was right in her assessment.  I will give her that much.  Make no mistake about it though.  I disagreed with her spouting all that out in such a public setting while on a private phone conversation.  It was awkward... uncomfortable... and highly inappropriate; an indictment against the entire white race.  I just wanted her to hush up.  I guess sometimes the truth hurts.

The positive side of this is it has further strengthened my resolve not to use labels and stereotypes.  As I have evolved as a person, I have chosen to live my life differently than my Southern upbringing would have me do.   And though I love my Southern roots, there are some things I've had to let go.  Rather than see race, religion, or color... I now choose to see the person.  I want to appreciate the beauty in all of us.  After all, we are the human race... and we are one.  It's high time we act like it.