Girl Should Not Live On Cookies Alone.

When I'm stressed out I do one of the following: run, bake, and write.
Saturday, I ran 8.5 miles and wrote some notes. Sunday, I baked 4 dozen cookies. Monday, I ran 3.5 miles. Today, I'm blogging. And I just offered to bake pumpkin bread for a pal to take to a breakfast tomorrow.
It's nice to know that my coping mechanisms are fully functional.

While I'm on the subject of stress, let's just go ahead and get a few things straight. Sure, I'm twirling my hair and wondering how in the world I'm ever going to get every single thing on my to-do list accomplished. [A good start would be to get off of the silly internet.] Yes, that's stressful. BUT, it's not "your dad has a 10% chance of living through the night" stressful. I've experienced both types, and I've learned that when one is in a really critical, stress-inducing situation, one does not have time to document miles ran and cookies baked on a blog. In other words, I'm not complaining. I believe the term for this they teach the youngsters in Health Psychology class is "eustress". I suspect that the term which best describes me right now is "frazzled" or "Liz Lemon". Because it's normal to unknowingly drop your keys when walking the dog in the morning only to return back to your locked door before realizing something is missing, right? And then you get to retrace your steps completely while on the hunt for said keys. In the rain. Or refer to a male coworker as "Ms." in a printed document for a little event that I'm responsible for planning at work. Hello, Monday. You really should come around more often.

My Monday continued when I returned my defective running shoes that I had previously ordered online to the local sporting goods store in my future town. If you are my FB friend, you've already seen the bang up job the postman did of hiding them upon delivery:

I still giggle when I think about his decision to put the doormat over a gigantic box as a cover. While at the store, I learned that they have been discontinued and it was that pair or nothing. I might have grieved the loss by swearing off running for good and drowning my sorrows in a Five Guys cheeseburger. I'm super stoked to start the hunt for a new favorite running shoe because I have about as much success in that area as I do in finding an intelligent and charming man who appreciates my sardonic wit and humor. Hmmm, maybe one works at the shoe store. Two birds, one stone. Oh how I love efficiency.

For dinner last night I had some of the cookies that I baked on Sunday. They really complemented that burger from lunch. That is one thing that I don't mind about being a little bit stressed because my metabolism responds by morphing into that of a 14 year-old boy's. I can eat and eat and eat and not gain an ounce. It's deee-light-ful. The other day I took the baby brother to lunch and ate more than he did. He's 19 and looks like this:

Tall and skinny [and incredibly adorably cute but I'm a big sister so of course I could be biased]. I am particularly fond of this picture because it was taken recently and he's wearing a shirt of mine from when I was in the 9th grade. In fact that's really the only reason why I'm including the picture. What? Didn't every girl from Georgia go through a future-lumberjack stage and wear flannels from American Eagle? It was only a phase, people. I'm a total girly girl. I've always admired Ethan for his ahem, sense of style. Down to the black crew socks with shorts and Sperry's. Lord bless the middle child. Anywho, back to my metabolism. I try not to take it or my good health for granted and abuse it so I must check myself before I wreck myself and abstain from eating cookies for dinner 3 nights in a row. Starting tomorrow. I'll probably run out of cookies between now and then anyway.

Soundtrack: You Can Do This & You Will Do This Edition.

Y'all. I don't really like for my posts to sound like they are written by Debbie Downer, but my heart is heavy and burdened for so many precious folks in my life. Bodies are failing, marriages are falling apart, strongholds are getting stronger. The thing about hurt and pain is that it's not easily defined and what may be a struggle for one isn't for another. So it's times like these that while I really, really, really just want to fix it and make it better for the people in my circle whom I love and care for dearly, I have learned that sometimes the best response is being like Job's friends. And for you Bible scholars out there who know much more about the book of Job than I do, I'm specifically referring to their initial response when Job initially lost seemingly everything:

"When Job's three friends, Eliphaz the Temanite, Bildad the Shuhite and Zophar the Naamathite, heard about all the troubles that had come upon him, they set out from their homes and met together by agreement to go and sympathize with him and comfort him. When they saw him from a distance, they could hardly recognize him; they began to weep aloud, and they tore their robes and sprinkled dust on their heads. Then they sat on the ground with him for seven days and seven nights. No one said a word to him, because they saw how great his suffering was." Job 2:11-13

I love how they responded because they went to him, they grieved for him and along with him, and then they remained with him even when they knew that they could not change circumstances.

Andy Stanley has a fantastic message on the topic of Pain in a series called Twisted titled "Facing Forward". [It's Part 3, for those of you who may be inspired to follow the link and listen...which I highly recommend!] In his message he uses one of my favorite C.S. Lewis quotes: "God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks to us in our conscience, but shouts in our pains: It is His megaphone to rouse a deaf world”. Please don't be mistaken and take this as God is shouting at us and He's using this pain as a message to try to 'get our attention' or 'make us pay'. I struggled with that way of thinking for a long, long time because I had [and sometimes still have] the tendency to believe that I was experiencing a painful event as punishment as a result of something that I had done. Of course, our decisions can lead us to experience painful situations, but once again, I was giving myself way too much credit for being able to control my life and my circumstances and figure out God's responses to my behavior. Besides, God is a God of grace, not in your face punishment. He loves us. [and because he loves us, he disciplines us, yes.] He grieves with us.

For those of you who love music as much as I do, I have certain "go to" songs depending upon whether I'm experiencing good, bad, mediocre, or somewhere in between. I also have weird hang-ups about only listening to Alison Krauss during the fall months but that's another post for another psychotherapist to decipher. So here are some of my current favorite songs for when things in life are a little chaotic or full of hurt and confusion:

I Will Not Be Moved. Natalie Grant.
Overcome. Jeremy Camp.
Stronger (What Doesn't Kill You). Kelly Clarkson. [Confession: I do the dance that's in the video on a regular basis in my living room. And I look super awesome when I do.]
The Hurt and The Healer. MercyMe
Walk. Foo Fighters. [Not going to lie: There really aren't very many situations in life in which FF can't improve matters at least a little.]
Times Like These. Foo Fighters.
Lift High. Steve Fee. "Nothing brings him greater fame / When broken people call his name."
God's Not Dead. Newsboys.

I would be remiss if I did not acknowledge in this post that today would have been my daddy's 57th birthday. We miss him greatly and there are still some days when I catch myself thinking "Really? My dad isn't here and I can't just pick up the phone and call him if I want to?" It's not that I'm in denial, it's just that even after almost three years, the death of a loved one is still a bit surreal. It catches you off guard at the most unexpected times. In the beginning those moments were absolutely excruciating and I dreaded them. It was still too new and the pain was far too great. Eventually though those moments became welcome because they serve as nice reminders of sweet memories. [Even if the nice man sitting next to you on the airplane cannot for the life of him figure out why this girl just suddenly teared up for no apparent reason at all in mid-conversation.]

So, if you're out there reading this and you happen to be going through a painful period in life, not only can you get through it, you will get through it.

A Fine Fall.

I had intended to write about my favorite month of the dozen that we have during it. Now I can barely remember October. Since November has shaped up rather nicely, I am finally getting around to paying tribute to the greatest season: Fall. I know all four seasons have purpose and they make the world go around and all of that jazz, but I think that here in the South the fall reigns supreme. Why yes, I can make such a broad and bold statement based solely on my opinion. Democracy in action, people.

What makes the fall so great? Let's start with the perfect weather that doesn't include suffocating humidity or 1/16" of ice on the roads that equally keep us holed up in our homes for days on end. While I'm on the subject of nature, let's not forget the changing of the leaves in which they transform from bright green to vivid shades of red, gold, and orange. The leaves in the fall is one of the reasons why I especially miss living in Dahlonega during this time of year. Speaking of Dahlonega, another reason why the fall is tops in my book revolves around a little annual festival each year called Gold Rush. It's not so much the painted gourds, lacy toilet seat covers, and seasonal hand-made clothing that makes me look forward to the third weekend in October, but the people you are likely to run into on the streets and the best baked potatoes you'll ever find this side of Heaven and fudge covered apples that are worth the calories and embarrassment of having chocolate all over your face that gets me there.

In fact, I had to put my apple down for a nanosecond this year just long enough to snap this photo. The Square is prime real estate for people watching on this particular weekend. Especially for two gals like us:Oh how I love this picture. It makes me giggle every single time I see it. We are quite comfortable with our dork status. And it doesn't really take a sign to state the obvious. I am so glad that Katie and I were able to spend the afternoon together catching up, lunching, snacking, and shopping. Let me just go ahead and clear up any rumors or speculation as to the contents in Katie's shopping bag. It does not contain a painted gourd, lacy toilet seat cover, or cardigan adorned with wooden shapes of Christmas trees and angels. There are some really good finds to be found there too. Especially the pottery selection! Other good finds include Shelley:
It did my little heart such good to catch up with her and her family while sitting on the sidewalk and eating our Holy Spuds. No, it's not a religious festival only Southern Baptists flock to each year. The Baptist kiddos just sell baked potatoes to raise money for missions. Her girls are so much fun and growing up so, so fast. They will be fantastic babysitters for my little Korean children that I'm going to adopt one day. There was time spent with other dear friends that weekend too, but once baby E christened my shirt there were no more photo ops. Baby E is just cute and sweet enough though, that I didn't mind the christening one little bit.

Speaking of cute and sweet babies, there is another one who will be joining us in January. Earlier this month, we were able to celebrate Katie and the pending arrival of baby #2. Kristen and I discovered that we had not seen each other since Katie's last baby shower a couple of years ago. Looks like Katie is going to have to keep having babies in order for Kristen and I to keep seeing each other!
Yes, as a matter of fact I was wearing my Easter dress in early November. Remember my previous statement about perfect weather? Fast forward just 4 short days and I found myself in C-O-L-D Chicago wishing that I had remembered to pack my ear warmers. It was a nice trip though despite the sub-arctic temps. Sure, there's a chance that I'm being a teensy bit dramatic when I refer to the temps as sub-arctic but what little time I have spent in the Midwest during the cold weather months gives me new understanding as to why so many of them gravitate to Florida after retirement. I enjoyed seeing the Macy's downtown all decorated for Christmas and I was able to get in a quick conversation with Santa to discuss a few items on my list for this year.

So now I'm all caught up to the present where I find myself still recovering from my Thanksgiving hangover. And by hangover, I mean the kind that comes from too many helpings of mashed potatoes and servings of pumpkin cake. Once again, I am overwhelmed at the thought of counting all of my blessings because I have so very much to be thankful for in my life. I hope that the truth does not get lost in the triteness of that statement. These three are at the top of my gratitude list. [Even though the feeling may not be mutual with Micah since I chose to post the better picture of me than of him. :)]

Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da...

If you know me at all then you know that my brain is absolutely full of useless and random knowledge. Who here needs to know what kind of car the Director of Career Services at North Georgia College & State University drove between the years of 1997-2001? Duh, a white Honda Accord...probably a 1995 model. What? You find this odd? If so, then you may also find it odd that while I can remember that kind of information, I cannot for the life of me remember exactly what date it was when my dad passed away. Sure, I vividly remember that I was wearing a turquoise sundress with smocking at the top and that I had watched the movie "Up" [cue Alanis Morrisette's Ironic here] earlier that day and what I had eaten for lunch and how the next afternoon Maggie and Katie drove me back to Athens to help me pack for the visitation and funeral, but as to exactly what day it was in June of 2009...that detail is a blur.

As it turns out, it was June 14 which means that as of yesterday, I have now made two trips around the sun without my dad here with me. There's not a day that goes by that I don't think of him even though when he was still here with us, many days would go by between our conversations. You know what they say about taking things and people for granted? Well, they were right. I do miss him terribly. I've learned that the thing about missing someone is that sadness isn't the only emotion associated with those feelings. Sometimes it's happiness. Other times it's anger. Sometimes it's relief. Relief? Yep, as in "I'm so glad that daddy isn't here to say 'I told you so.'" When I think back over the last two years, I can't even begin to list [nor are you interested in reading] the ways that I have changed and grown. But you know, I've decided that's what we're supposed to do. Even when some of the people that we love aren't here to see it happen. Life really does go on. I think moving forward is one of the greatest ways to honor the loved ones that we have lost. [That's eerily close to a line in the Phi Mu creed without me even intending for it to be.] Just this morning as I was driving from one campus to the other I heard Don Henley's song Dirty Laundry on the radio. Sure, maybe not every child associates this song with their childhood (which is probably a good thing) but I could not help but to smile to myself as I was "rockin' out" and think about the fact that this was a regular hit played during the Friday Night Dance parties in the Page household. Had I heard this song 2 years ago, it would have made me burst into tears because the grief was still too new and the territory of loss too unfamiliar. But the human heart has an amazing ability to heal without developing too much scar tissue around it to block the feeling of any emotion. Trust me on this one.

Perhaps one of the reasons why I can't really remember the date that dad died is because I would rather remember the good than the bad. However, I also believe that healing and moving forward requires us to remember the bad too. Remember how I wrote earlier that sometimes when I miss him that I am also angry? I've learned that anger is also a natural part of loss. I get angry that he chose cigarettes [PSA: PUT OUT YOUR CIGGIES. LIKE NOW. THANKS.] I get angry that he wasn't the kind of dad that doted constantly over his little girl. [But if he had been that dad, my sarcasm would have never lived up to its full potential now would it?] Or I get angry that I didn't work harder at my relationship with him during my adult years. In the first year or so, I felt guilty for getting angry. You know, it's like a rule to not speak ill of the dead or something, right? I find that ironic considering we rarely have a problem speaking ill of people when they are alive and kicking! I've learned that there's a difference though between getting angry and staying angry. Staying angry is what prevents us from moving forward in life.

Two years ago today I wrote what I had the privilege of reading at his funeral. Honestly, I haven't read it since. But I'm posting it here today in the event that I decide to do so in the future. I'm sure there are grammatical errors and typo's and I could have said it differently or better, but it was my heart. And even though he would have never said it out loud to me because for better or for worse that's not the kind of person he was, I know that Daddy was most proud of me when I put my heart into something.

I am much better at putting words on paper than actually speaking them, but today is a special day so I am going to give this my best shot. With any luck, you all will have the opportunity to help me out in these next few moments as I’m speaking by laughing and smiling instead of crying and looking forlorn. Even if nothing that I say is the least bit funny, laugh anyway because we all know that is what my Daddy would prefer. When mama, the boys, and I began to discuss how we wanted him to be remembered, we decided that we wanted it to be done in a manner so that the life that he lived on this earth is celebrated by all of his family and dear friends.

The truth is, it's a hard thing to watch someone you love with all of your heart pass from this world into the next. Especially when that person once stood 6'4" and was the strongest person you knew. Even though it's the natural progression of life for a parent to pass away before a child does, it's also natural for a child to expect that his or her parents are always going to be here. They are mama and daddy and when it seems that nothing else in life is constant, they are.

Selfishly, I'm thinking about all of the things that I still need my daddy for. Who's going to ask me if I have checked the oil in my car lately? Recently he fell down a little bit on this job because it just so happened that I randomly checked my oil and there was essentially none whatsoever in the reserve. And yes, the fact that there was a reminder sticker for my next oil change which was obviously long overdue in the top left hand corner of my windshield is absolutely a moot point. I had no idea that it was possible to receive so many phone calls from the same person in a one mile stretch of road between my apartment and the gas station, but in that moment I was not an irresponsible 30 year old, but simply his little girl and he wanted to make sure that I was going to make it safely without any problems.

Who is going to call me during the middle of my favorite TV show just to say hello? Was it a coincidence that these phone calls typically always took place during the same time each week? I hardly think so. He just liked to keep me grounded by reminding me that people are always more important than TV shows. Who am I kidding? He always did it to simply annoy me beyond measure.

Who is going to remind me of what a wise decision I made to raise and train a Chocolate Lab puppy in a one bedroom apartment? As if the chewed up shoes, furniture, pillows, and kitchen flooring is not reminder enough.

Who is going to give me away on my wedding day? Though I can only imagine the argument that would have ensued when I informed Daddy that wearing overalls to walk me down the aisle was absolutely against proper attire protocol, I find it quite unfortunate that I will never have the chance to have such a discussion.

While on the one hand I feel absolutely cheated and robbed of so many memories that I never got the opportunity to make with my daddy, on the other, I feel so fortunate to have had him for the years that I did. As I think back through the years, it seems as if a flood gate has been opened up and the memories come to mind in flashes one right after the other. If there was a way in which I could bottle them up forever so as not to forget a single one, I would.

Take for instance, the weekend "dance parties" that he, mama, and I had when I was a little girl. He was the DJ while Mama and I would dance up a storm to whatever record was spinning on the turntable. Because of him, I could identify John Fogerty’s voice quicker than the average 6 year-old.

My daddy never got the chance to see the Laser Show at Stone Mountain. It's not that we never went, it's that once we got there, I would freak out over the fact that there was going to be fireworks at the end so Daddy always carried me back out to the car because I was so scared. He finally issued an ultimatum and said that if I ever saw the Laser Show, I would have to drive myself there in order to do so. Now each time I go, I always tell him what a great show he is missing out on and how he really should get down there and see it sometime. Something makes me think that those lasers might look a little piddly compared to the sights he is currently taking in.

Daddy was my softball coach for years. It was the father/daughter activity that he and I did together. It was how we bonded. But the thing is, on the field he treated us all as equals and it wasn’t that I was just another player; it was that we were all his little girls.

I love that daddy was sometimes a bit spontaneous. Take for instance that time he went out and finally bought a VCR because I was at home sick with strep throat and needed something to watch on TV. Because everyone knows that back-to-back episodes of Little House on the Prairie were not adequate enough for a bed ridden elementary schooler. And let’s not even talk about the time he decided to buy me a Nintendo the week before the Christmas when I got a computer as my big gift. …and people wondered why I had such a difficult time relinquishing my only child status at the age of 14.

I’ve never been more thankful for these memories than I am right now.

Daddy was a man who was filled with love.

My daddy loved kids. He was never happier than to just sit and watch kids play or pick at them in his good-natured manner. I cannot tell you the number of little girls he has thoroughly confused by asking them what their name was before they got married. He would have been an incredible grandfather. I'm sorry that my children will never get the opportunity while here on this Earth to know their Grandpa Page.

My daddy loved making people laugh. He was witty, sharp, and absolutely hilarious. Of course I think this because my humor is very much like his…sophisticated. He taught me how to take a joke which is one of the most valuable life lessons I have ever learned. Even though many of those lessons were not always very fun at the time!

My daddy loved his family. How do I know that he loved us? Because one of the Waffle House waitresses that showed up during visitation told me how much he talked to her about his family, that’s how. Not to mention the fact that he told us and showed us that he loved us too.
And this I think is the hardest part about losing him. We all loved him back very much and when you really love someone, these are the people that you take for granted. You say things that maybe you shouldn't say. Or don't say things that you should. How I wish that I could have just one more conversation with him…even if it was during my favorite TV show. I remember the very last thing I said to him on the Sunday afternoon before he was put into the hospital on Tuesday as I was leaving to go back to Athens. Of course I needed him to do something for me, and it breaks my heart to know that this cannot happen now. My heart also breaks when I think about how losing a parent is a big thing for a 30 year old to grasp…I cannot imagine experiencing this at 16 or 11. It breaks my heart to watch my mama grieve the loss of her teammate...her soulmate...the love of her life.

My daddy loved naps. I can remember hours of endless frustration as a child when he would go lie down for just a quick nap…and wake up 2 hours later. But now that I’m older and wiser, I can see that when one works as hard as he did for so many years, a 2 hour nap every now and again is quite justifiable after being worn out from a hard day’s work.

In his last days, he was probably the most tired he had ever been. He fought hard. He defied the odds because his doctor told us twice in 12 days that he would not make it through the night. [Have I mentioned that my daddy was a bit stubborn and liked to do things on his own timeline?] Praise Jesus that my daddy is not tired anymore. He is at rest on this earth, but alive and well and enjoying quite a welcome home party in his new forever home. I don't know if overalls fit the dress code in Heaven, but I like to think that he had a brand new pair waiting for him once he got there.

I’m really going to miss my daddy. But I am so thankful for the time that I had him, and I take comfort in knowing that I will see him again one day. I am most thankful that we both have a Heavenly father who makes this pending reunion possible. So until then, I will rest in God’s promises and celebrate my earthly daddy as I strive to live in a manner that would make them both proud to be my father. And rejoice. I will definitely rejoice. I hope that you all will join me in doing so as well.

“Rejoice in the Lord always. Again I will say, rejoice! Let your gentleness be known to all men. The Lord is at hand. Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God; and the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Jesus Christ.” –Philippians 4:4-7

Pomp & Circumstance gets me every. single. time.

Dear Ethan,
Today you graduated from high school.
That makes you kind of a big deal. But the truth is that in my world, you've always been kind of a big deal. You see, for years I had cried and begged and pleaded with mom and dad to have another kid so I would have someone to play with. [Apparently between the ages of 4-6, I thought they could just go to Kmart or Richway and pick one up on a Saturday afternoon.] By middle school I had accepted and embraced my only child world. Then suddenly during the fall of my 8th grade year, it was rocked when I learned that I was going to have to learn how to share. When you burst onto the scene on June 1, 1993, I got a new title and a new role to play in life: Sister.

Pause. I know what you're thinking: "If you got the title of sister, then why do you always act like my mom?!?" Of course the short answer to that question is "because I'm your older sister and everyone knows that the first born children are always the bossiest [and wisest!], that's why." But the other part of my answer to that question is that when little boys are born, they immediately take up permanent residence in part of the hearts of the women that are the closest to them. I remember telling mom when you were just days old that it was like you had always been here. You just belonged in our family right from the start and you began filling your own unique role the very moment that you took your first breath.

Speaking of your own unique role...you truly are one of a kind. I've always admired [and been a little envious] of your ability to take control of a room and move with ease and confidence in just about any social situation.
It was charming and endearing when you were just learning how to talk because if you said it once, you said "fatch this, Heather, fatch!" a thousand times.
If my friends were over and we ignored your continuous commands to "fatch" your latest and greatest trick, things got a little embarrassing when you would just run as fast as your two-year old little legs would carry you into my room without a stitch of clothing on your naked baby bottom. Needless to say, you got our attention. A bit of sisterly advice: don't reintroduce this party trick during your college years because naked butts are only cute pre-potty training. Today I was honored to "fatch" you walk across the stage and accept your diploma as you reached your latest and greatest milestone. While I'm on the subject of unique, I've always been quite impressed with your unique style. Do you realize that for a couple of years when people would ask you what your name was, you would answer with "Walker, Texas Ranger"? Naturally, you were wearing some combination of boots, a cowboy hat, and holster when you identified yourself as Walker. Some days you were Batman. Other days you were Cowboy Woody.
And don't forget the Power Ranger days either. This day was likely an identity crisis for you, but you sure looked cute in the midst of it. As you've grown, your style has as well. In fact there have been some days that I've wondered if it's grown so much that you're taking fashion advice from the octogenarians at the local retirement home when you walk out wearing your tall black socks and mesh baseball cap from the early 80's. But when the occasion warrants, you can dress up quite nicely too.
Even though you're now a much wiser than you were yesterday high school graduate, there are still plenty of days ahead when as your big sister [who allegedly acts like your mom at times], I will absolutely bug the beejeesus out of you. And you'll roll your eyes at my advice and likely get mad when I continue to carry out my role that you gave me [big sister, in case you've already forgotten]. As lame as it may sound, I do hope that you always know how very proud to be your sister I have always been. It's easy to be proud of you because you are genuinely a good kid. Perfect? Nope. But perfection results in nothing but unnecessary pressure so who needs perfection anyway? As your big sister, I want only the very best things for you. But more than the very best things, I want you to always know and believe that you are capable of achieving and worthy of experiencing the very best things this world has to offer. Here's another bit of free sisterly advice: When I say things, I'm not talking about tangible things that are only going to lose value as they age. I'm talking about continuing to surround yourself with good people and letting the people who love you more than anything continue to love you and living a full and fulfilled life. Doing life with good people brings about moments and experiences that only become more valuable as the memories made in those moments become the stories that you laugh about and share for years on end. While I was bursting with happiness as we celebrated you and your achievements today, I was also sad and sorry that Daddy wasn't here with us. It sucks. It's not fair that your cheering section was missing very key people who I know are very special to you. But while Daddy wasn't there today, I know without a doubt that he was proud of you every single day that he was here in this world playing the role of your dad. You are his first son. The son that he hoped for and wished for and waited for. Just as I had hoped and wished and waited for a little brother or sister for years, he and mom had hoped and wished and waited for a son during those same years. And neither you nor I will ever fully understand just what that means until we have kiddos of our own one day. By the by, I get to have kids first. It doesn't matter if I'm 53 and still unmarried and you're 39 and have been married for 4 years...you can't have kids until after I do. [Kids? Why am I talking about kids? You've got a whole lot of living to do before it's time to start thinking about kids.]

Trust me when I say that the best is yet to come. I don't want you to nor would I ever expect you to live your life in a way that is patterned after mine. I want you to continue to be the same unique and loving and funny and smart and witty boy that you have always been. Because that boy is becoming a man with each passing day. It's not a transition that happens overnight. It's not a transition that can be forced. And even years from now when you are an old man with a full moustache (ha!) and even hair growing out of your ears, nose, and out from around the back of your shirt collar (ewww), I will continue to be your big sister who will always be standing in your corner fighting your battles alongside you [not for you] and celebrating your victories with you.

I love you forever and ever with that whole part of my heart that is devoted just to you,

Heather

PS - Make good choices.

Mothers: The original Leatherman tool.

Sure, the title of today's post isn't syrupy sweet and sappy as one might expect for a Mother's Day tribute, but is motherhood a continuous flow of syrupy sweet and sappy moments? I can't speak from personal experience but after years of observation and knowing first hand that I am not a child who was a provider of non-stop syrupy sweet and sappy moments for my own mother, I think it's safe to say that it is not. When you think about it though, moms really are very much like Leatherman tools. I mean...they can do practically everything, they are used and abused, and they can withstand insane amounts of pressure. Am I wrong? Have you ever heard anyone who owns a Leatherman tool say "man, this was the worst investment I've ever made, it's completely useless." I am quite thankful and consider myself oh-so-fortunate that not once have I ever thought of my sweet mama as completely useless.
The older I get, the more I appreciate her. [I've heard this is pretty typical.] She is my constant cheerleader. She is a voice of reason. She is a true example of strength and grace in the midst of turmoil. I wonder why I did not inherit her trait of being laid back and go with the flow, but I sure am glad that she has it since I do not. She pours out so much love into the lives of her kiddos without the expectation that she is going to get something in return. More often than not, she doesn't even get a thank you. She has gone without so that we could have the latest and greatest big thing that happened to be at the top of our wish lists countless times.
It's no secret that I have always been a mama's girl and as a result, we have a close relationship. Yet very seldom do I take the time to stop and tell her thank you for being such a good mom to me throughout the years. It's something that I have always taken for granted and as with most things, we never miss the things that we've always had until they are no longer there or until we see that not everyone else is afforded the same blessings. Perhaps the best compliment that I can one day give her will be to look to her example when I am fortunate enough to be a mom myself. I hope that the laid back and go with the flow trait kicks in by then!

"All that I am or ever hope to be, I owe to my mother." - Abraham Lincoln

Cousins.

I love my family. I really do. And one of the things that I love about it the most is my cousins. Until my only child world was rocked at the age of 14, my cousins were the closest things to siblings that I had. I thought that Kyle, Wendi, and Kasey absolutely hung the moon. They were older and cooler and oh, so much fun. I mean, does it get any more fun than getting body slammed by two boys that are 9 and 6 years one's senior in a game of "run really fast and see if you can break through our arms"? Or, dressing up in matching green corduroy overalls and cream colored turtleneck shirts for studio portraits with your one and only girl cousin? I highly doubt it even though a thirteen year-old Wendi would probably beg to differ. And then the fun only continued once Justin was born and I got to be the big cousin. Well, once I got over the fact that I was no longer the baby in the family, I decided that he was pretty fun because he was my very own real live baby doll that didn't wake me up in the middle of the night crying because he did that at his own house. And with any luck there was the fact that maybe he would think that I was as cool as I thought the older cousins were. Except I was way cooler because I didn't body slam him. And now all of these years later, we're all grown up and do our own things on a daily basis. We may not necessarily talk to each other all of the time and know exactly what's going on in each others lives at any given moment, but it's a given that we are there for each other. We celebrate each other's victories or just stand alongside each other silently during the not-so-victorious times. And unless the moon is in the seventh house and Jupiter aligns with Mars, there's the certainty that we'll see each other on holidays. In my family, that makes holidays something to look forward to instead of dread. Really. I don't tell them enough how much I love them and respect them and look up to them, but I sure am glad that I have them. Each and every one of them. And even though we are all quite fluent in sarcasm, I'm being serious when I write this. Really. Because we are such a good looking [and humble] group and because I have zero patience with uploading pictures to Blogger, there are more pictures from Sunday's impromptu photo shoot here.

Milestones

I think that it is within our human nature to count days. As children, we count the days until summer vacation or until Christmas morning. Expectant parents count the days until the arrival of their child. And then 18 short years later, they count the days until they drop that same little baby off at college. Middle aged working folks count the days until retirement. Those of us who still have many working years ahead just count the days until the next weekend.

These are all milestones in a person's life. Many warrant celebration...others resignation. Some are bittersweet or sad while some are filled with pride and joy. They are mile markers in this little journey known as life and we often reference them when we are telling stories or just reflecting on certain stages of life. Some of these milestones hold more significance than others and the great thing about them is that they are so totally subjective depending on the person. Example: I remember that I got to shave my legs for the very first time on the-day-before-the-first-day-of-5th-grade. Insignificant? Definitely so in the grand scheme of things, but not to me as it marked a rite of passage into "grown-up world". Or so I thought. Silly me, now I know that it just opened the door to a never ending chore. But I'm not here to talk about the fact that I believe that electrolysis would solve a significant amount of my problems.

This weekend I am reaching another milestone: the first year without my daddy. They [whoever "they" are] say that it usually takes a full year to grieve a death. I'm certainly no expert because this is the first time I have ever had anyone very close to me pass away, but maybe there's some truth in that. I don't really know that the grieving ever really ends, it just changes. I'll let you know my opinion on that in the future. It's incredible for me to think that a whole year has passed and he hasn't been here with us. Especially when there have been significant milestones with each one of us throughout this very same year. There are some days when it still kind of dawns on me that he's really gone. It's not the days that you brace yourself for: Christmas, his birthday, even the one year mark. It's the ones that just sneak up on you when you least expect it: a random Tuesday night driving home from class and you hear one of his favorite songs on the radio, my birthday, when you're out and about running errands and happen to run into a man wearing overalls.

I can remember details from the day that he passed away so vividly. Little did I know at the time that remembering those details today would bring on a whole new type of grief that I never anticipated. Through the pain though, I am thankful that I can remember the details. One day I will be thankful for the details because as time continues to march on, it will be another way in which I can still feel close to him as we were with him during his last moments.

Today, I do not grieve for my daddy. The reason why I don't because he is much better off in Heaven than we are down here dealing with oil spills, wars, 82% relative humidity with temps in the 90's, and the fact that Kate Gosselin has been given yet another gig on television. I grieve for purely selfish reasons. I miss him. So do mom and the boys. I wanted him to be present at all of the other milestones that are still to be reached. He never missed a single event of mine during childhood, and it was never in the plan that he would miss the ones still to come. It is comforting to know that he never wanted to miss anything either. And really, he still will not even though he is no longer here with us physically. The people we love the most will never leave our hearts so he'll just be in mine as I continue on my way.

Fools For Each Other.

Hello, blogosphere. I'm back. I can't guarantee for how long since obviously I've been on a bit of a hiatus, but I did feel the need to blog today. You see, 33 years ago today, my mama and daddy said "I do" and began their happily ever after.

Before I talk about their anniversary and marriage though, I feel it important to share the story of how they met. Primarily because it's so out of a storybook unrealistic that if I hadn't heard it myself a thousand million times, I would never believe it. Daddy and Mama met as mere children. And by children I mean, daddy was 17 and mama was 15. Or maybe it was 18 and 16. [Needless to say, they were young. Especially if you're comparing them to me, the girl who had never been in a serious relationship until she was 30, that is.] It was the month of July. Mama and her friend, Lisa, went to FHA camp. Daddy and his friend, Hal, went to FFA camp. It just so happened that the future homemakers and future farmers were camping at the same place. Coincidence? I think not. The first time mama saw daddy he was playing volleyball with the guys. She thought he was so dreamy out there with his shirt off and the huge scar down his back. [hey, I'm just reporting the facts because I could never make up the "back scar = dreaminess" component] So before she even talked to him, she told Lisa that she was going to marry him one day. Really?!? Is that how it works? You're 16 and you see this tall cute guy at summer camp playing volleyball and know immediately that you're going to marry him?!? Pff. Granted, it wasn't that perfect from the beginning. They dated for a few months. Then he just one day stopped calling. [Typical teenage boy] She dated people from his school to try to see him out and about in Snellville. [Typical teenage girl] Eventually he [wizened up!] and called one day and then they started dating for real until they got married when she was 20 and he was 22. See? I told you it was pretty much a storybook tale. Oh, I forgot this chapter. Lisa and Hal (their friends) also married each other. And until I was 14, we lived just across a little pond from them and their family. The end.

I digress...

As a child, I never really thought much about their wedding anniversary. Except for the fact that each year whenever it came around daddy would tease me and say that their whole marriage was a joke and that they weren't really married. (April Fool!) Of course I would always get a little bit concerned about this information, but each year mama would reassure me that they were really married. I was content until the next year when he pulled the same stunt. Finally I just learned to roll my eyes and respond with a "whatever" in my teen years whenever he would say it. In retrospect, I feel that I should have acknowledged their anniversary more because after all, if there had been no wedding and no anniversary to remember that day, there would have been no me. And what would this world be without me? Bor-ing. That's what. Kidding. Kind of.

Honestly, I'm not really sure how to handle this "first" in the year of firsts since daddy passed away in June. Especially considering that I had honestly never acknowledged it other than to say "Happy Anniversary" to each of them. And the reason why it never really seemed like that big of a day to me was because more often than not, they spent their anniversary at the softball field with me and later at the baseball field with the boys. Now that I am older, I understand that's just something that parents do. Or mine did anyway. Once they had us, they were continuously making sacrifices on our behalf.

I have said it countless times before, but I am absolutely blessed to have been raised in a home with both parents residing under the same roof. I never had to know the struggle of dividing time between parents for holidays or sharing weekends or the shuffling back and forth between two homes. I am so grateful for the example and picture of marriage that I have been given by my own parents. That is not to say that everything was always perfect and they lived in constant peace and harmony. However, through their example I was able to see that it's ok to disagree with the person that you love more than anyone else. It's even ok to be frustrated and aggravated with them beyond measure. But just because you are, it doesn't mean that you are always going to be. Eventually you kiss and make up and move past what was more often than not a minor issue as opposed to a major one in the grand scheme of things. It's just what you do when you're married and you love each other.

Naturally, throughout life, we are faced with major issues too. My family was not exempt. With the grace of God and their love for each other though, mama and daddy did not let these challenges destroy their marriage. When we were seemingly losing a lot in terms of material things, we never lost each other. They showed me and taught me that while life isn't always going to be easy, it is manageable. Especially when your number one cheerleader remains in that role instead of becoming your biggest rival. That is one of the greatest lessons and gifts that they ever gave me. Sure, this "gift" came at a pretty high price, but I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that at the end of the day, it's not the stuff that matters most, it's the people that you share your life with that are of most value.

Another thing that I observed in mama and daddy's relationship is that marriages do change over the course of time. I believe that there are some days when it's easier than others. When daddy got sick, my mama was a saint to put up with his moods. Talk about honoring a commitment. I don't say that out of disrespect, I say that because that is a perfect example of a situation that will either make or break a marriage. I learned that there are times in a marriage when one of the people is doing much more giving while the other is doing much more taking. People say that raising children is a selfless act. I think that being a spouse ranks right up there in terms of selfless acts as well. Granted, I can't report any of what I'm saying as fact since I haven't experienced marriage myself, so all of you married people all there who are just shaking your heads and thinking to yourself "poor girl has no clue", please just respect my naivete today, and then send me a padded reality check tomorrow. Thanks.

Even though it was mortifying during the pre-teen and teen years, I'm so glad that my mama and daddy were affectionate towards each other. Goodbye kisses and saying "I Love You" was commonplace in my house. However having more children when I was in 8th grade and during my freshman year of college was a bit much. Kidding, kidding. Because they had fun together, we all had fun together as a family. The good times far outweigh the bad times.

One of my biggest regrets is that I am realizing much of this in hindsight. Fortunately, I will be able to tell mama how much I have learned from them and what a good example she and daddy have been for me, but I do regret not being able to tell daddy as well. He always told me that one day I was going to realize what a smart man he was. He was a smart man...for marrying my mama! I pray that one day I will be a similar example to my own children.

Drinking Coffee: A Bittersweet Tale of Conversion.

My daddy was the biggest coffee drinker that I have ever known. As a child I always hated going out to dinner on Friday nights because we would inevitably sit at the restaurant for an eternity while he drank a cup (or two or three...depending upon whether or not we were with friends) of coffee after our meal. And when you're 9 years old and life revolves around things like Full House and The Babysitter's Club books these additional moments spent at a restaurant are sheer agony. In fact I find it surprising that Child Protection Services never stepped in to serve as my advocate. On the rare occasion we dined at a place that daddy wasn't a very big fan of the coffee then we would always drive to another place whether it be Waffle House, Dunkin Donuts, a designated convenient store (not just any one would do)...somewhere so he could get his after-dinner-coffee fix on the go. Obviously I much preferred this plan unless we ate in Roswell and he decided he wanted coffee from a place in Canton. And no, I'm not kidding. Heaven forbid he actually use the coffee maker sitting in the kitchen at home to actually make coffee himself.

Now, mama does not like coffee. Not. One. Little. Bit. She always says "I love the smell, but I just can't get past that bitter taste." So anyone who knew me prior to college knows that if my mama didn't drink coffee, then never would I ever consider drinking the stuff because I took most of my cues from her on what is good or bad or right or wrong. I'm not saying that this is a terribly wrong way for 12 year old to make decisions, but we did differ on matters such as lima beans and black-eyed peas even then. She's a fan of the former, I the latter. Naturally, because of her aversion to java, I didn't try to drink it once I was old enough to do so. [Is there really a minimum drinking age for coffee? I'm not sure, but it just seems a little unnatural for a 7 year old to be drinking it during snack time.] Besides, who needs coffee when there is hot chocolate? No one, as far as I was concerned.

So I spent the majority of my college years scoffing at coffee (except during that "experimental stage" when I tried it on a couple of occasions but I could never get the mixture of creamer and sugar correct and drinking it straight black was just too bitter so I stopped trying) Instead I chose caffeine substitutes like Diet Mountain Dew until that time right before Rush of my senior year when I was literally all jacked up on Mountain Dew and had to cut out caffeine cold turkey. Basically I have been content to spend the cold winter months keeping warm by drinking hot chocolate or caramel apple cider (otherwise known as "Heaven in a paper cup").

Over the years daddy's drinking habit (ha!) subsided a little and he even cut back significantly at one point, but he did always enjoy a good cup of coffee. So imagine the irony when in spring of 2009, this guy enters the picture, and I quickly learn that he is a big fan of after-dinner-coffee. Initially I stuck to my guns and continued to turn my nose up at the idea of coffee. Ok, let's be honest, I politely declined - I was still trying to make a good impression. However, Ryan introduced a new player in the after-dinner-coffee equation: dessert. Um, hello...now you have my attention. He explained that the bitterness of the coffee perfectly compliments the sweetness of the dessert to create a state of euphoria known primarily by those who are big Jerry Garcia fans. Alright, I made up that part about Jerry Garcia just to see if anybody is still paying attention. And let me tell you something...he's right. [And no, I'm not just saying that because I'm trying to make a good impression.] Together, the sweetness of the dessert does absolutely reduce the bitterness of the coffee.

Now I was learning all about and testing the whole "coffee + dessert = awesomeness" theory around the time that daddy got sick and passed away. [Sidenote: Wouldn't it be great if we were allowed maybe one edit to the story of our lives? If we were, then I think that I would choose for daddy and Ryan to enjoy a nice cup of after-dinner-coffee together.] But today I'm not going to dwell on the things that cannot be changed. Instead I am going to focus on the fact that I myself have developed a taste for coffee. In fact, I even drink it on random Wednesday mornings sans dessert because I really enjoy the taste of it. I understand that some will argue that my fondness of it is all because I fell under the spell of a charming blonde with blue eyes. While those blue eyes certainly helped, I'm also always reminded of daddy each time I drink coffee. They are little moments that I have every once in awhile to remember him. Granted, if he were here today to see me drinking coffee, I can only imagine that teasing that would ensue. I'm sure he would also take the opportunity to remind me of how I lived in a town for 10 years that I refused to move to when I was a little girl because it was "too podunk". Relentless teasing. It's what he did. But only because he loved me.

Where I'm From

Has anyone out there heard that country song Where I'm From? I heard it one day when I was scanning the stations on my way home from work and at first I wasn't too impressed. Then I heard the chorus and suddenly, I was all nostalgic and started thinking about home.

I love the fact that I grew up in what was once a small little community by the name of Hickory Flat in what was once a rural little county. I remember when the main intersection was a four-way stop with a blinking red light. Seriously, it's true for you "transplants" out there reading this who thought that there was always a Publix shopping center and restaurants that served beer. If we needed groceries or had an insatiable urge for something to eat at a restaurant other than fried chicken and greasy vegetables then it was a 20-25 minute drive. My mom and I went to the same elementary school, and no we weren't students there at the same time. It's not that rural. Not only did we attend the same elementary school, Mr. Browning was the principal when we were both there. It's true, and no she wasn't a teen mother. I loved the afternoons when daddy would pick me up from school and take me by Hickory Flat Store so I could get a fountain drink and an after school snack. I don't know why but for some reason those fountain drinks were the best. I grew up surrounded by aunts, uncles, cousins, and my grandparents. My kindergarten friends were my high school friends. Their families were like an extension of my own family. My "home church" is where I learned that I needed a Savior and it was there that I found him. Throughout my entire childhood I was deemed as the one who would never leave home. I even thought that until my sophomore year of college which I mentioned here briefly a few months ago. Perhaps it's a bit ironic that the one who everyone swore would never leave is probably never going to go back for more than a visit.

Time has certainly changed many things. I think that is only inevitable in this living life thing that we do every single day. A couple of weekends ago whenever I was at home, mom and I were talking about home and kind of what it means to me. I told her again [she's been know to forget things] that I have known since college that I would not end up living in Cherokee County. This doesn't mean I know where I'll finally land, but I do honestly believe that God was preparing my heart for my future when I was still in college. Perhaps He had to start so early because I was such a homebody throughout my entire childhood. Sure, I did stuff with my friends, but I absolutely loved being at home with my family. I was always the little girl who went home from slumber parties in the middle of the night because I missed my mama and daddy. In our conversation, it became evident that one of mama's main concerns was that I didn't plan to come back home because of some sort of negative association that I might have with my childhood or something. Well that certainly couldn't be farther from the truth.

In fact, I love that I had the childhood experiences in the kind of environment that I did because those things have shaped who I am at my core. There is such comfort and a sense of security that comes from be a part of a community. My family certainly benefited from this when daddy died. When I go back to Hickory Flat now, just by appearance it is a much different place than the home I grew up knowing. In a way it makes me a little bit sad, but then I stop in at Bruster's for an ice cream and decide that maybe growth isn't so bad after all. And I'm not referring to the kind of growth that results from too many trips to Bruster's. Besides, it isn't the stores or lack thereof that I think of first when I consider where I'm from. It's the people. It's the experiences. It's the memories.

Lessons Learned

It's amazing to think about how time either flies or crawls... or presents itself in some weird combination of both. I feel like I have lived a couple of lifetimes since Daddy was taken to the hospital on June 2, but then it seems like just yesterday when I first got Mama's voice message on my cell phone saying that he was being taken to the hospital. But I'm not going to write about time, I'm going to write about what I have learned during this time. Of course I won't be able to include every single thing because I am still learning and suspect that I will be for some time, but it's at least a start.


I have learned...

...that the hospital is more happening in terms of social activity than the local bar. Well, for the 65+ demographic, that is.

...that my dog has [update: had, we've had a bit of a lapse as of late] a bladder of titanium. One day/night he spent 15 hours straight in his crate [I know, it's terrible...I have guilt] and I came home to let him out afraid of what I would find. I found a dry crate!! He's the greatest dog in the world.

...that visits from friends in hospital waiting rooms at all hours of the day or night provide a level of comfort that cannot be quantified.

...that a hot topic is AARP Magazine is how to handle a Facebook addiction. I wish that I was making this up, but not even I am that creative. How do I know the contents of AARP magazine? Please refer to the first lesson learned.

...that the human heart has the ability to break with sorrow and burst with joy simultaneously.

...that it's ok for a heart to burst with joy even in times of sadness.

...that if we cannot laugh in the midst of a storm, then we cannot do much of anything.

...that there is a genuine goodness in people that comes out in unexpected ways when they see others are suffering.

...that I need to be more giving of my time, resources, and love to others who are experiencing grief and adversity.

...that God is good. Always. [Ok, maybe I already knew this, but I still believe it even after losing a parent.]

...that when a loved one dies, those of us left behind have to adapt to a new normal.

...that I thought I knew what it was like to really miss someone. Now I'm gaining a whole new perspective on this matter.

...that we have two options when in the midst of a storm: stand still and drown or keep walking through it. I choose to walk.

...that I am not really walking at all. I am being carried. [Please refer to the Footprints poem that potentially hung in a prominent place in your home during the 80's if you don't understand what I'm talking about....or maybe that was just my home that had a framed copy hanging beside my baby pictures]

...that I am still learning as I go.

Rest

I'm really going to miss my Daddy. He fought very hard for 12 long days and nights, but he was tired, so tired. I'm happy to report that he isn't tired anymore. But sadly for all of us, this means that he is gone from this world. Very early this morning, he passed away peacefully surrounded by the people he loved and was loved by as we told our favorite "Mike Stories".

It's a hard thing...watching someone you love with all of your heart die. Especially when that person once stood 6'4" and was the strongest person in your world. Even though it's the natural progression of life for a parent to pass away before a child does, it's also natural for a child to expect that his or her parents are always going to be there because they are mama and daddy and when nothing else in the world is constant, your parents are.

Selfishly, I'm thinking about all of the things that I still need my daddy for. Who's going to ask me if I have checked the oil in my car lately?...Or call me in the middle of a TV program just because he knows that I'm really into the show and he likes teasing me?...Who's going to ask me about my "little 65 pound lap dog" that is just perfect for a one bedroom apartment?...Or show me his latest YouTube discovery?...Who's going to give me away on my wedding day?

My daddy loved little people. [Not vertically challenged people, but kids.] He was never happier than to just sit and watch kids play or pick at them in his good-natured manner. I cannot tell you the number of little girls he has thoroughly confused by asking them what their name was before they got married. He would have been an incredible grandfather. I'm just sorry that my children will never get to know their Grandpa Page.

While on the one hand I feel absolutly cheated and robbed of so many memories that I never got the opportunity to make with my daddy, on the other, I feel so fortunate to have had him for the years that I did. The Friday night "dance parties" that he, mom, and I had when I was a teeny little girl. He played DJ while Mama and I would dance up a storm. My daddy never got the chance to see the Laser Show at Stone Mountain. It's not that we never went, it's that once we got there, I would freak out over the fact that there was going to be fireworks at the end so Daddy always carried me back out to the car because I was so scared. He was my softball coach for years and he treated all of the players as if they were his own girls. Softball was what we did. It's how we bonded. I never been more thankful for those times than I am right now. As I sit here and think back through the years, it's like a flood gate of memories has been opened and now they are all spilling out at a rate so quickly that I am afraid I will forget them.

In these 30 years, I learned so much from him. He always said when I was growing up that one day I was going to realize just how smart my dear ol' dad was. You know what? He's right. He was a smart man. Even though I never came right out and told him that, I hope he knew that I thought so.

My daddy was a funny man. My humor is what it is today because of him. Mama always said that Daddy only teased me because he loves me. So often he showed his love through humor.

My daddy was a family man. He loved us. How he loved us. And this I think is the hardest part...because when you really love someone, these are the people that you take for granted. You say things that maybe you shouldn't say. Or don't say things that you should say. How I wish that I could have just one more conversation with him. I remember the very last thing I said to him on the Sunday afternoon as I was leaving to go back to Athens before he was put into the hospital on Tuesday. And it breaks my heart to know that what I told him I needed for him to do can never happen here on this earth. My heart also breaks to look at my baby brothers tell their daddy goodbye and say to him again that they love him. It's is terrible to watch my mama grieve the loss of her teammate...her soulmate...the love of her life.

My daddy was a tired man. He has been sick for a very long time and a physically weak body can only last for so long. I know it pained him beyond measure to not be able to do the things that used to do. I know that he has not really felt like himself for a number of years now. I know that he probably had so much regret because he got sick really as a result of a decision that he made when he was a teenager. [Public Service Announcement: If you smoke, please stop. Now. For the sake of your family. And your lungs.] Yes, my daddy was a very tired man in the end. He had been fighting hard for days and he was always such a hard worker in general when he was still physically able. But my daddy is not tired anymore. He is at rest on this earth, but alive and well and enjoying quite a welcome home party in his new forever home. I don't know if overalls fit the dresscode in Heaven, but I like to think that he had a brand new pair waiting for him once he got there.

A Trifecta of Tragedy

You know, I've had some time to think about it and I've come to the conclusion that words are so subjective depending upon the circumstances. For example...tragedy.

Let's see how our friend, Webster, defines it. Tragedy: (noun) a lamentable, dreadful, or fatal event or affair; calamity; disaster

On Monday morning, I suffered a tragedy: My toenail fell off. Look, I understand that this is absolutely gross information that everyone would be perfectly fine not knowing, but it's my blog...I'll discuss my physical ailments if I want to. I immediately thought about [and discussed with my co-workers...sorry y'all] how in the world I would ever make it through summer sandal season with a nail-less toe. [Vanity - quite the stronghold, indeed.] I won't bore you all with the gory details of why I was considering the possibility of having a Lee Press-On nail glued to my second toe, but let's just say that I knew what I was talking about when I said that Music City and Zumba don't jive. Tragedy.

Early Tuesday morning, tragedy struck yet again: My dog ate a ball of aluminum foil that PeeWee Herman would be envious of. [Time-out: If you were a child born in the very late 70's or early 80's and do not remember the foil ball from PeeWee's Playhouse, I regret to inform you that you led a sheltered life. Or your parents just had the sense enough to not allow you to watch that ridiculous show.] Back to the tragedy. I was going through my usual morning routine and I thought that Cash was still piled up like the lazy dog that he is in my bed. Wrong. He had somehow gotten into the trash bag [that lives in the laudry room off the kitchen] and dug through until he found a bright and shiny object. I'm sure the fact that said aluminum foil was the wrapping for my baked sweet potato from dinner the night before only made this find more valuable. By the time I figured out that he was not in my bed, but was instead laying in the dining area with shards of foil around him while licking his chops, I knew that the damage had already been done. So I called Mom to get her perspective regarding how much damage some tin foil could do to a dog's insides. Because moms know everything, right? Tragedy.

Then after I got to work on Tuesday morning, tragedy struck yet again. I got a voice message from mom on my work line that went something to the effect of this: "I just wanted to let you know that Daddy is breathing, but we are on our way to the Emergency Room." Because that's what every daughter loves to hear from their moms who know everything, right? As I type this at 3:15 AM from the waiting room of the hospital in my hometown while my youngest baby brother is sleeping in two chairs that have been pushed together and my oldest baby brother is laying in the floor curled up like a little boy next to my mom, my dad is undergoing dialysis and is in a fight for his life. He was admitted into the hospital because he is suffering from a very severe case of pneumonia. Oh and while it's not some random strain of Swine Pneumonia or anything, he has COPD which makes it much more difficult for his body to fight it off than it would be for those of us with healthy lungs. His pulmonologist Dr. Graves [seriously, that's her name, it's unfortunate], who we know and love very much from his last little bout with pneumonia and respiratory failure a couple of years ago, came and spoke to my family tonight. All the time I was thinking "wait, I'm not supposed to be one of those family members that the doctors and nurses look at you with a forlorn expression as they say the words that you never want to hear." We are taking this hour by hour and to be honest, his doctor has not given us much hope. She said that it will be amazing if he makes it through the night. Tragedy.

Suddenly my toenail doesn't look so bad after all. When I went to my parents' house to let Cash out about 2 hours ago, he was wagging his tail and jumping up and down because he was so happy to see me. Apparently aluminum foil is easily digestible. It's amazing how one's perspective can change in a moment. When I woke up this morning [ok, technically now it's Wednesday morning but I'm still referring to Tuesday morning because I haven't been to bed yet], I did not have "possibly losing my father" on my to-do list. Instead I was going to get my oil changed and have my breaks checked, vacuum out my car, and clean my apartment. Those are much more appropriate for a to-do list if you ask me. It turns out that those things are going to have to wait because I'm in a bit of a tragedy right now. But do you know what? Somewhere in this crazy world someone else is experiencing an even bigger tragedy.

And this is what I'm learning about tragedy. It is accompanied by victory. Like for example, I'm not going to have to have a Lee Press-On nail put on my toe because the new nail had already begun to grow in before the old one even fell all the way off. Victory. There was nothing shiny, metallic, and slimy all over [again, gross, I know, but it's the reality of owning a dog] in Cash's crate when I went home to let him out earlier. Victory. It's 3:44 AM and my daddy is still hanging in there. His heart rate is stable. His blood-oxygen level is high. His blood pressure remained stable when he underwent dialysis. Other things started to improve even before the dialysis. Victory. Small, Hour-by-hour victories, but victories nonetheless.

Another thing that I'm learning about tragedy is that when it strikes, people respond. I am once again humbled beyond belief at the outpouring of love, support, and prayers that has been bestowed upon my family. There are people praying near and far. I'm amazed and comforted because I feel absolutely surrounded by care and support. And I know that I am. It's a good feeling. There is nothing that I can do physically to make daddy better. Micah is willing him to live with more determination than I've ever seen come out of his little 11 year-old body. Mom's faith is absolutely amazing. God is in control of this seemingly out-of-control situation. Victory.