**CROSS POST** A Sense of Wonder

Warning: this is one of my posts from my blog about faith. Non-believers may want to exit now. 

This is one of those Does Anyone Else? posts. So... Does anyone else sometimes just sit and wonder what Heaven is like?

This is a frequent pastime of mine. Reading certain passages of the Bible can set off one of these musings, or thinking about a loved one who has died. Thinking about my own mortality is another fuse that lights my wonderings.

My best friend is currently not just "not doing well" but at the "may not make it" stage of her being ill. One morning last week, when I got the news from the family of her recent trip to the emergency room, I was sad for the rest of the day. I couldn't do anything but think of my own potential loss. I've already lost my only biological sister and now I was losing the person I call my "sister of the heart". 

I will miss her so much when she is gone. I will have no one like her to call and tell things that I could only tell her or my later sister. I will not get the phone calls and messages and support of this amazing woman who has been my friend for almost 30 years. I will be so much sadder and lonelier in this world for the loss of her.

Yeah. I spent almost an entire day in the I-zone of misery.

Then, because my Bible reading plan has me in parts of the books of Corinthians, I remembered the verses we inserted into my mother's obituary:

For we know that if our earthly tent which is our house is torn down, we have a building from God, a house not made by hands, eternal in the heavens. For indeed, in this tent we groan, longing to be clothed with our dwelling from heaven, since in fact after putting it on, we will not be found naked. For indeed, we who are in this tent groan, being burdened, because we do not want to be unclothed but to be clothed, so that what is mortal will be swallowed up by life. Now He who prepared us for this very purpose is God, who gave us the Spirit as a pledge. (2 Corinthians 5:1-5 NASB)

Yes. That part, as the kids now say.

Once I re-read the passage, I stopped the tears. I began to think of how happy my sister-friend is going to be when she steps out of the pain of her earthly tent and into the joy and peace of her heavenly existence.  And then, I went on to muse about her being there in Heaven.

Will she meet my mother and sister again? Will they recognize each other? And will it matter to them in Heaven who they once were on this earth?

I like to try to imagine an existence without the sins and temptations of mortal life. What must it be like to have no social, mental, emotional, or physical ailments to deal with?

If this is what we mortals can imagine, 
just think what God has prepared.

The other side of thinking about Heaven and what it will be like, always makes me appreciate salvation. I think that the greatest joy of Heaven will be being with the Father, meeting Jesus face to face. And the worst of Hell is being forever not in the presence of our Lord.

So, I can never lose this wonder I have about Heaven. I know that my human mind cannot come close to imagining what it is going to be like but it's a comfort to me when I think of my sister leaving here for there.

Peace

--Free

Resting In Peace?

 Here is a post I just did on one of my other blogs. I hope that you will all go over and take a look.

Peace

--Free

**Griot** Bone and Mud

I recently went through a painful life situation. Some people disappointed me with their behavior and morals. Other people disappointed me with their apathy. So I spent a few days lying around in the dark, crying and asking God all kinds of questions that I probably don't really want answers for. Then I remembered a time several years ago when I was in the same kind of situation and feeling the same feelings. My mother was there for me then and she comforted me with some motherly love and wisdom.

My mother was not an educated woman but she was very wise. I came out of my recent hurt-feelings funk by remembering some of the things she told me about dealing with disappointment in others.

One of the things Mama told me was that a lot of the time it's not other people who disappoint us. It's really ourselves we are upset with. We are upset that we care too much about a situation or that we expect so much from others. I was always a very sensitive person. "Feelings like tissue paper" is what my mother would say about me. Mom would remind we all see the world differently. Some of us are tougher than others. Not everyone has your heart, she would remind me. And I know that my mother sometimes wished I could be tougher-shelled, but she was never sorry that I wasn't.

What had me so upset recently was that someone passed away. The other people in his life closed ranks to keep me cut off from even the basic information about the death. These are "Christian" people, some of them daring to stand in pulpits on a regular basis and they behaved like the coldest and hard-hearted people I've ever known. I'm not shocked by their behavior and I guess I kind of expected it. However, it still caused me a great deal of pain.

The only way I was able to pull myself out of my hurt and sorrow was to remember my mother. I could hear a memory of her encouraging me to pray and forgive and move on. When I went through something similar all those years ago - mourning someone I loved while the ugliness of family politics raged around me - my mother told me to stay out of the fray. She reminded me that my only concern should be honoring the dead and dealing with my grief.

I think I have said here before that Mama always said that death and funerals bring out the best and worst in people.

This time around, I got through the initial pain and grief by remembering my mother's advice. It went something like this:

Don't be upset with the way people are behaving. Maybe this is the only way they know how to deal with their pain. All you can do is to behave the way I have taught you. Remember the deceased, honor them, grieve and miss them. All this ugliness going on around the situation doesn't mean anything to the dead. The person you are grieving isn't concerned with the ways and things of this world anymore. All that's left of their mortal being is bone and mud. They no longer care about who is mad at who or who is being petty. Their time for worrying about the living is done with. You just behave in a way that honors their spirit and memory. The Bible tells us that "Those who walk uprightly enter into peace; they find rest as they lie in death." (Isaiah 57:2 per NIV)

That's what my mother would say. I know this because, like I said, this is how she comforted me in the past. Just thinking about my mother calms me. I think that I will be able to sleep well tonight and not wake up crying.

I'm calling this a Griot post because my mother would want her grandchildren and their children to know how to deal with this kind of situation. She would want this advice passed down and shared.

Peace
--Free

Where the Loved Ones Go

Does anyone else get in a mood where they just sit and think about the people they've lost touch with or just lost? I don't mean in a sad way - like when you start grieving all over again like you never got a chance to in the first place. I mean, like when you just thought about one of the people you've loved, then think of another and another until you go ahead and give in to all the memories? That's the mood I was in earlier today.

It dawned on me long ago that I do my best thinking when I'm not trying to think. This is why I have notebooks and pens scattered all around my apartment. It's also why I have notes scribbled on pieces of scrap paper. If someone ever cleaned out my purse and tossed out all the gum wrappers and receipts, I'd break down and cry. Every now and then, I do have to go through my purses and backpack just to collect the bits of my "thinkings". I'll either transfer them to one of my journals or put them into a folder to be dealt with later. What's crazy about this is that, when I move, I have to make a box just for all that paper and the journals. Too many memories and story ideas are buried in them. I sometimes fantasize that when I die and someone is handling my belongings they will read those scribblings and think, "She wasn't crazy, she was trying to remain sane."

A lot of the notes I have are about the people I love. If I remember a story my mother or father told me, I'll hurry and write it down. My memory is bi-polar reliant so I've learned to take mental snapshots and then print them out of my brain onto a note asap. Anyway.

This morning when I was cleaning and gathering up laundry, I thought of my Auntie "Lenore". I had a scarf turbaned around my hair so I wouldn't mess up my twists. My aunt never wore a scarf like that but something about it reminded me of her. I used to call and talk with her at least a couple of times a year, then it was once a year and then it was once every other year. I hardly ever call anymore. That's because we have the exact same conversation that lasts about 3 minutes. We run through this checklist of how I and my siblings are doing, then she tells me she's doing fine, and then she wants to get off the phone because she thinks it's costing me too much money. I don't think she gets the whole AT&T gouges me really good once a month so I can make all the calls I want. The gouging does not get any more gentle if I never even touch my phone. And don't think I am heartless for not calling Auntie any more often. I have younger aunts who use social media and keep me up to date.

Once I thought about Auntie "Lenore", I thought about another of my aunties. I'm going to run out of fake names here, but let's call my other auntie "Rosa". She was killed about 15 years ago when a drunk driver ran her down. She was one of my favorite younger aunts. She was sweet as southern tea and so shy that she practically whispered when she spoke. She had a beautifully innocent smile that I will never forget. I remember how she had a habit of ducking her head if anyone paid attention to her. She was that shy. I already have some notes tucked away that I scribbled about her.

Of course, I also think a lot about the mother of one of my SIL's. I remember feeling so broken when I was leaving Alaska once because it was right when she was suffering from dementia. (By the way,  but I didn't mind sharing Marie's real name because her daughter and I decided that she would have wanted me to.) People use the term loosely but Marie really was so "full of life". I'm happy to say that if I concentrate, I can clearly hear her voice right now. I have not forgotten her sense of humor or the way she and my mother got along just enough to drive the rest of us crazy.

Anyway, there's something I started wondering about while I was in this mood. Do you suppose that when we are dying we are already glimpsing whatever is on the other side? And what do you think it feels like in your heart or soul as you realize that "this is it?"

I have very distinct memories of watching at least 2 people die. One was my mother and the other was my sister. Neither was awake for a while before the machines flatlined but they had been so still and peaceful for so long that I always wonder if their souls hadn't already gone on. With my sister, I know that at least for a while she was somehow aware of me sitting next to her. When I held her hand and talked to her, she squeezed my fingers once. But that was early in her last hours. Just before I dozed off on the night she died, I had combed her hair and talked to her. When I held her hand then, she didn't squeeze back. Like we had done with my mother, I told her she could let go because I would be okay without her. I'm such a liar

Are you afraid of dying? Why? I don't mean do you want to die. I don't think that anyone does on most days. I want to know if you are afraid of what it will mean to be dead? I have always joked that I'm more afraid of getting dead than being dead. That's true. I really would rather not see it coming. I don't want to have to stress about things left unsaid, undone,  or finished. If I had a say, I'd want to just be here one minute and gone the next. Let's make that the next second. No need stretching things out even a little bit.

On the other hand, there are times I think I'd like to get a chance to take care of a few things. Say that last "I love you" or "I'm so glad you were in my life."

Never mind. I take it back. I'd rather not have time to plan or think about it.

I also wonder what it must be like "on the other side" (and I hate that term!). I've read the Bible and some other books about the afterlife. I've never been very clear on the whole subject. Once I asked someone if they thought we were going to be instantly "aware" after death. They made a point that maybe only Christians will find interesting. They reminded me that the Bible teaches that the thief hanging next to Jesus was promised that he would be in paradise with the Lord "this day" - meaning no sleeping in his buried body or anything like that.

No matter what you choose to believe, I want to have all this stuff sorted out in my head and in my heart before I die.

When I think about sudden death, I remember one friend and former co-worker who died of a brain stem stroke. She was in her forties and had just fallen in love for probably the first time ever. "Sue" was damn near family because a cousin of hers was dating a brother of mine. She had this maniacal laugh that was freaking contagious. It sounded like Dudley Moore playing "Arthur" - only more feminine. She'd had some difficult times in her personal and work life and just when everything was coming together in a positive way, she was taken. There wasn't any time for her to ponder the situation. She woke up for work not feeling especially well but just assumed she was coming down with a cold or virus. She made it to work but developed such a bad headache that she returned home to sleep it off. And she died.

Sue and I had discussed more than once how sometimes life just didn't seem worth living. We were both dealing with heartache and disappointment. You go through enough of that as you are getting a little older and you start to feel like all your chances for happiness have passed you by. Sue struggled to live during the times she felt like dying would be better and then she died just when her life was getting good. This will make you examine your beliefs.

I always imagine that "Sue" probably laid down with that headache thinking of all the things she'd do once she felt better. Maybe she worried about the work that would have piled up on her desk in her absence. Maybe there was even one particular client she knew would be impatient about the holdup in their paperwork.  I wonder if she had gotten to kiss her boyfriend or lay down with him in love one last time. I wonder if she got to tell him she loved him before he left for work that last morning. These are not things that are easy to ask the ones who remain behind. These are things that we can only wonder about and hope the best for.

When my father died, he was almost 5000 miles away from me. On the morning he died - a couple of hours before my aunts called to tell me - I had mentioned to my mother that I thought I heard him calling my name. Of course, we knew he was sick and I had just come back from visiting him. My mother told me that it was probably just because I had him so much on my mind. I'm not sad about my father today (like I can sometimes be). Today I am thinking of his smile (much like his sister/my auntie) and how he pronounced "either" and "neither" as "eezer" and "neezer" because he never lost his Arkansas countrified accent. I inherited his flat fingernails and these nappy assed curls that have to be tamed with all kinds of products. But I also got his long-for-our-height legs and decent metabolism. And If I really get to missing my daddy, I can always go look in the mirror or visit my little brother who looks "the spitting image" of him.

So, yeah, I get in these moods where I can't help thinking about the people I've loved. I think about them and I wonder if they know how much I love and miss them even when they can't hear me saying it.

And not because I am sad today, but because I love this song and forgot to add it to my list. It's by Dani and Lizzy. Please go support them for sharing something beautiful with those of us who grieve the loss of loved ones.

Peace
--Free

The Beautiful Mattie Powell

When I am heartbroken, my instinct is to write. Today my heart is in pieces.

My mother's best friend (and the woman I claimed as my Godmother) passed away on this past Friday.

Mrs. Mattie Powell ("Miss Mattie" to me) was one of the sweetest and most beautiful women I ever knew. I'm talking beautiful inside and out. My siblings and I always called her "pretty Miss Mattie". You read in fiction about women who only getting more beautiful as they age, but Miss Mattie was the real thing.

Miss Mattie and my mother went through a lot together. I'm not privy to a lot of what they talked about, but I know that my mother (who was a very private woman and who didn't easily use the term "friend") trusted Miss Mattie more than anyone else I knew.

Miss Mattie's husband passed years ago. He had taken such good and loving care of her that, although she worked outside the home, she had never had to drive a car. She didn't like to drive, but she finally had to learn at a later age, it was my brother Chubby who taught her how. She never did like driving but she had the cutest little black and silver PT Cruiser that was perfect for her. The colors matched her hair and I always thought she should have personalized her plates to read "Silver Fox"!

My sister, Mike, adored Miss Mattie, as did we all. After Mama died, Miss Mattie was the one friend of Mama's that Mike held close to. Miss Mattie never called my sister by her nickname "Mike". She had her own nickname for her of "Mikey".

When Mike passed away, Miss Mattie was fighting her own health battles but she came to the service and she spoke. I was in such a daze of grief then, whether people could see it or not, that I barely heard much of what Miss Mattie said. I do remember that she shared how whenever she came to our house to visit, my mother tried to make her eat. If Miss Mattie wasn't hungry right then, Mama would still insist that my sister send her home with something for later. Miss Powell remembered this as my mother always instructing, "Mikey, make Mattie a plate."

Now that my mother, Chubby, "Mikey", and Miss Mattie are gone I can rejoice that they are all in Heaven together. At rest and with no more pain or tears or suffering. That is the only joy I can get out of losing the people I love. Like I said, right now, my heart is in pieces but those broken pieces are in Heaven.

I am praying for her family and know that they will be okay because they had a queen for a mother, as her daughter said, and their mother is with the King of kings now.


Peace
--Free

Grief Prolonged

Today was one of those days. It was a decent day, but so many little things bothered me that I just felt worn out by noon.

And I'm missing Perry so much still.

I've been listening to a song that reminds me of him and our friendship. I'm surprised that I didn't know how much he meant to me until he was gone. He meant everything.

It was Perry who kept me on the safe side of sane when I was going through the worst of my sickness and life turmoil. He could make me laugh if that's what either of us needed but, more than that, he could let me cry if that's just what I needed. I hope I was there for him like that too.

I know that people can die of heartbreak because I can literally feel my own heart aching every time I want to see an email or get a phone call from my buddy. He's not here anymore and that just hurts and hurts and hurts.

Thinking of you, my friend.

I wish you were.

I know what you'd probably say if you were here. You'd tell me to go ahead and feel all the bad stuff - just for a little while though. Then you'd tell me to find at least one blessing to count. So I'm going to sit here and feel sad for a little while, then I'm going to continue a challenge I've been given to name 3 blessings a day. I'm on Day 4, but it's harder to count through the tears I'm swallowing.

Peace,

Free

Sad (In Real Life)

I feel so sad at this moment, that I am almost physically ill, but I have to write this post. All I have at a time like this are my words. I don't even know if I can get through this post without making myself feel worse, but I'm going to try. This is my memorial to my friend.

I've lost the best friend that I never met in person, but who has been such a big part of my life since just before I got sick. If I had never gotten to know Perry,  I don't think I would ever have gotten as well or have ever been as (mostly) happy as I learned to be. And all I got was a mass email notification of his passing. I keep asking myself if I would feel better right now if he had just disappeared from my life? Then, at least, I could imagine him still here on earth and okay and just on one of his crazy bike trips. Or somewhere doing all the other brave and amazing things he liked to do - things I would never do: snorkeling, skiing, camping in some weird and strange place...

Perry, what will I do without your phone calls and emails and little encouragements? What will I do without knowing that you are somewhere out there in the world, rooting for me and just being there?

Because I never met you "in real life," I don't know what to do with this pain I feel at losing you. You were here and now you're just gone away. I feel cheated.

I have, vaguely, wondered before what happens when people who connect online lose touch. At least I am lucky enough that someone thought to contact me. I don't know. I might have preferred just not knowing.

All day today, when I felt like I was so lost and alone in this world, I kept reaching for my phone to check for a message. From Perry. Every time I thought of something funny, or amazing, or scary - I wanted to tell Perry about it.

A couple of weeks ago, I felt so brave, coming here to a strange place. I felt like I was on an adventure because that's how Perry encouraged me to look at it all. This morning, I felt a big whole tear right into the bottom of my world. I'm not feeling so brave now. I'm not feeling like I can hear Perry's voice telling me that I can do this.

There is no more Perry on the other end of a phone call or email. There won't be anymore little bits of crazy humor from him to make me laugh. You aren't here to remind me that I am smart (when I feel dumb), or pretty (when I feel horrible), or tell me to get off my pity pot and just be thankful. You aren't here anymore to just help me keep trying to be a better person.

How can you just be so gone away from me?

I now have one friend left that I don't know "in real life" and I'm going to tell her right now and right here how much she means to me. For +Sandy Sandmeyer:

"I love you, Sandy girl! No matter where in this world you are,  and no matter what might happen to either one of us. you must know that."

Because Perry always ended our calls by saying something about taking care of myself or being good to myself, I didn't miss the chance to let him know how much he meant to me. He also liked to end conversations with, "In my heart, Tru." I hope he can still know that, wherever in Heaven he is, he is always in my heart too.

There are a lot of little memories that are going to one day make me smile when I think of Perry but, right now, I can't think of anything except that he's not here. One day, I will write about you but, for now, just rest in peace.

And, for any of you who knew Perry - or who have lost a friend - I'm going to encourage you with what is encouraging me. From 1 Thessalonians 4:13,

But I would not have you to be ignorant, brethren, concerning them which are asleep, that ye sorrow not, even as others which have no hope.

And, because this is my blog and my memorial, I'm going to go ahead and include one of Perry's secretly favorite songs.

Peace
--Free

Unanswered Prayers

Lately, I've been wandering over quite a bit to sit on my pity pot. I resist that impulse because that's not where I want to spend my time. If my mother were still here, she'd remind me that I need Jesus! It's been a few years since I've attended church on a regular basis, however I still give thanks to God every day.

Since today is Sunday, I've been trying to focus on the good things in my life, of which there are many. Here's the thing: sometimes, all the good stuff gets hidden behind the big old pile of bad things. When I do take the time to look, I realize that I have a lot of blessings and most of them have come from unanswered prayers.

There have been times when I've wondered why I've been disappointed by people, relationships, or even my own failures. A lot of the time when something "bad" happens, I will feel like God isn't paying attention to my prayers. That's why I like to think about this story someone emailed to me years ago. It's called "Two Traveling Angels":

Two traveling angels stopped to spend the night in the home of a wealthy family. The family was rude and refused to let the angels stay in the mansion's guest room. Instead the angels were given a small space in the cold basement. As they made their bed on the hard floor, the older angel saw a hole in the wall and repaired it.  

When the younger angel asked why, the older angel replied, "Things aren't always what they seem."  

The next night the pair came to rest at the house of a very poor, but very hospitable farmer and his wife. After sharing what little food they had the couple let the angels sleep in their bed where they could have a good night's rest. 

When the sun came up the next morning the angels found the farmer and his wife in tears. Their only cow, whose milk had been their sole income, lay dead in the field.
The younger angel was infuriated and asked the older angel, "How could you have let this happen? The first man had everything, yet you helped him. The second family had little but was willing to share everything, and you let the cow die."  

"Things aren't always what they seem," the older angel replied. "When we stayed in the basement of the mansion, I noticed there was gold stored in that hole in the wall. Since the owner was so obsessed with greed and unwilling to share his good fortune, I sealed the wall so he wouldn't find it." 

"Then last night as we slept in the farmers bed, the angel of death came for his wife. I gave him the cow instead. Things aren't always what they seem." 

It's easy to wonder why we don't get a specific job we wanted or a relationship with a certain person. When we have these disappointments, we ask why without having the capacity to even understand the answer. (Think of the people who were late for work at the Twin Towers on 9/11.)

Right now, one of my worries is about my sister. She has been diagnosed with triple negative breast cancer. She is very strong in her faith and her diagnosis seems only to be making her stronger. I, on the other hand, have been selfishly struggling with the news. After I had a little meltdown the other day, I was prompted to remember something a friend once told me: We are all dying, but what counts is how we live in the meantime. (This same friend, also a cancer patient, is the one who told me that everyone wants to meet Jesus, but nobody wants to die.)

For anyone else who may be sick, sad, worried, or disappointed by things happening in their life, I want to share one of my favorite passages from the Bible:

The Lord is near to those who have a broken heart, and saves such as have a contrite spirit. Psalm 34:18

 Peace
--Free

Death and Guilt

One of my aunts passed away last night. She died in her sleep after a peaceful day of smiles and conversation with one of her daughters. Because of a difference in our beliefs, I don't know how peacefully her eternal life will be, but I know that, like in my brother's case, there are some people left behind who won't be peaceful.

 There is a saying my mother had about deaths in a family bringing out either the best or worst in the survivors. From my brother's death (and now my aunt) I am seeing both.

My family knows that, after I die, I wish to have no funeral, no floral arrangements and no formal memorials. I want to be cremated and have my ashes scattered into the wind - it doesn't matter where, just someplace pretty and peaceful. I don't even really care too much if that is done. I am a believer in showing love to the living.

I have noticed that the more mournful someone is at a funeral, the more they seem to be mourning themselves and their actions than they are the loss of the loved one. It's always the person who was most disrespectful and disregarding who sobs the loudest, drops the biggest tears. It's the woman who caused the deepest pain who plays the best widow; the children who weren't there day to day who fight for the most control. The grief we see is so often not from loss but from guilt.

It's only the living who need our love and compassion and care.

The best way to memorialize someone is to love them while they live. Once they are gone, your tears mean nothing. You can't apologize to the dead, you can't do the right thing to them, for them, with them. If you don't love someone right in their lifetime, your grief at their death is only a show of selfishness. Everything you do at a funeral is only for the witnesses who know your motives because, to the dead, your actions are like something that never existed.

And now I am done talking about death and dying, at least for a while.

Peace

--Free

A good name is better than precious ointment; and the day of death than the day of one's birth. Ecclesiastes 7:1

Monday, Monday

You know how, sometimes, when something important happens in your life - like you meet someone special or something awful and life-changing happens - and later on, you can't forget how you were made to feel, but you can't remember the day of the week that it happened on? I've had that a lot in my life.

I can remember meeting my first serious lover and I can remember being asked for my hand in marriage, but I can never remember the day of the week it happened on. Of course, that's what calendars and diaries and old cards are for.

I won't ever forget, though, that it was on a Monday that my big brother died.

Saturday is my day to do laundry and change my bedding. It was on last Saturday that I was putting in my second load of clothes when my phone rang. I had a strange feeling. My stomach fluttered and hot saliva filled my mouth.

My sister was calling to tell me that I needed to get to the hospital. My brother, Chubby, was doing way worse than he had been the night before.

For some reason, I took the few minutes to finish setting up the washer for the second load of clothes - my whites - and putting the first set into the dryer. When my jeans were tumbling and my whites were suds-ing, I ran around to get my purse and keys. I drove like a crazy woman to the hospital.

I don't remember much about that Saturday or Sunday except that I was irritated by everything.

Monday, when we all had to realize that Chubby wasn't going to get better and that he was in a lot of pain, I left his room and took a walk around the parking lot. I got into my car and went home. Two hours later, someone called to see where the hell I was at. I was home, finishing my laundry.

It seems like a crazy thing to do, to go and change clothes from the dryer to hangars and drawers, from the washer to dryer, from hamper to washer. It seems crazy, but it was soothing and normal and like everyday living.

When I did get back to the hospital, I only stayed long enough to go and tell Chubby, once again, that I loved him. This time, he didn't squeeze my hand or look at me like he knew what I was saying. This time, he just slept or dreamed or was already breathing his way home to After.

I left and went over to my niece's house and held my great-nephew.

DJ didn't know that something was happening that was hurting so many hearts. He was tired and wanted to cuddle while refusing to actually go to sleep. He just lay in my lap with the back of his head against my chest, reaching back to put on of  his warm toddler-hands to my face while he sucked a bottle of milk. He didn't see the tears I was trying to hold back.

Some friends came by to bring cold drinks and paper plates and stuff for sandwiches and salads. They stayed long enough to let me know they cared.

My sister called and told me that Chubby was gone. She said that he had been given enough medicine so that he wasn't in pain when he left. She didn't cry - not then - because my sister is very, very strong and knew that I couldn't have taken her crying just then.

That was on Monday. I won't ever forget that my brother died on a Monday.

Peace
--Free

“You will lose someone you can’t live without,and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved. But this is also the good news. They live forever in your broken heart that doesn’t seal back up. And you come through. It’s like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly—that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with the limp.” 
― Anne Lamott


“It's so much darker when a light goes out than it would have been if it had never shone.” 
― John Steinbeck, The Winter of Our Discontent

Where Love Goes

This is my oldest brother. Of course, this is when he was younger.

My brother passed away yesterday, but not before he made so many friends that we are still getting random calls. He had a career in two branches of the military: Army then Air Force. He was a fisherman, a shade-tree mechanic, a jokester, a master of the backyard barbecue and everyone's friend. If you were hungry, he was going to feed you. If you didn't have a place to stay, he made sure to find you one. He wasn't clean-mouthed, but he was pure in his heart. He didn't quote the Bible, but he treated others the way he wanted to be treated. He wasn't a diplomat, but he was honest.

He was my big brother and I loved him - even when I didn't like him. And he loved me.

When I thought of him last night, all I could do was laugh because (even though I know that Heaven isn't what I decide), I imagined my brother and my mother up there together, planning a fishing trip. This morning I woke up happy to think that at least they are up there together. When I go to sleep in a little while, it will be the first time in a long time that I don't have to worry about him being sick or in pain.

Gwen Jackson "Chubby" Conway
1949-2013

I will see you again, Chubby.

For we know that if our earthly house of this tabernacle were dissolved, we have a building of God, an house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. -2 Corinthians 5:1

Death, Stephen King and Other Musings

I was surprised (at least a little) by this article on Stephen King and his belief in intelligent design. What surprised me is not that he believes in a Creator, but how interesting his view is. He admits that his beliefs are inconsistent. Not many people will cop to that. Most of us will swear that we have never had a doubt in our minds or hearts about what we believe.

Some Christians (me, me, me!) are pretty hardcore about what we will admit when it comes to our faith. I think that's because we want others to see our choice as sweet and easy. "Wade on over here to the Ark, folks! Don't worry, the water's fine!" We try to sell the Christian life as a luxury cruise and not a journey in the hold of a slave ship. The truth: it's kind of both. Depends on which moment of which day you are in the trip.

(Let me borrow some of Stephen King's honesty here and say this: I believe in God, but I sometimes doubt my faith.)

My niece and I were having a conversation about life and death and God and faith. We got caught up in the old wages-for-a-day vs wages-for-a-few-hours dilemma. I don't care how strong my faith is, there are times when I just have to pray hard about that. (By the way, I'm talking about how we all get the same salvation, no matter how early or late we ask Jesus for it.) My niece and I were also questioning the whole issue of whether or not suicides go to Heaven.

For years, I was so staunch and expert (hah!) on all things MY FAITH. I had my very set ideas about how God handles things. All things. I've read the Bible, therefore... I can tell you everything about how God will judge others, but I know He will make exceptions when it comes to me. So there.

Seriously, though, as I told my niece, I know what God says is right and wrong in most general situations, but we are all going to judged individually - not in groups, pairs or on a friends and family plan. I truly believe that, when it comes to how we live our lives - as sisters and brothers, mothers and fathers, friends and lovers - when we die, we are all going to have our own conversation with the Lord.

Just because I might know how a person lived, who am I to say what was in their heart when they died? Who am I to understand God's conversation with you about your sin when I am still trying to have my own discussions about my own problems?

Peace
--Free

Still Here

It does so break my heart every time I hear this song.

I mean, I've heard that she had a lot of heartache and troubles, but she was still here to sing about it. Now she is gone and she will always be one of the many reminders to me that life is life and death is death. I don't want to be punked into giving up  - not by disappointment or shame or hurt or loss or fear. I want to go out fighting a little bit harder than that.

People say that suicide is a coward's way out. I don't think so anymore; I think that suicide is a brave act -stupid but brave. After all, you are rolling dice on eternity.  By giving up in a moment of overwhelming pain, you are forfeiting a chance at any more joy. It's stupid because you don't know how much of your love you are robbing other people of. You are giving up ever finding what could have been your saving hope - a person or pursuit. There could be someone you don't even know who will need you, and you won't be there. 

I bring up all this because there are many ways to commit suicide (and I'm not talking about intentional styles or methods). What I mean is that there are people all around us who are committing suicide by lifestyle and mindset.

A close friend of mine is dying a little every day by sitting and letting life pass her by. She is letting depression kill her without a weapon in sight. (And I am not downplaying the very real problems of depression.) 

Like I said, there are people dying of suicide all around us. When you are depressed and won't let anyone help you, that's suicide by default. When you are in a dangerous relationship and won't get help, that's suicide by shame. If you feel overwhelmed by life and can't lay down your fear or pride or shame to reach out in any way, that is suicide. It's slow suicide. 

Just like we should do for anyone with suicidal tendencies, we have to keep trying to reach people who are lost in their pain. Maybe because I am a Christian (imperfect as I am), I truly do believe that I am my brother's keeper.

I've been the one who needed "keeping." Thank God I had friends who were there for me. I was the one committing suicide by shame and pride and misguided wishing. I didn't want anyone to know I was in a dangerously abusive relationship. Shame and pride. I didn't want to give up on someone I once loved and wanted to love again - no matter how many times he put me in fear of my life. Misguided wishing. 

Anyway, believe it or not, a lot of my thoughts for this post came together out of a simple conversation about the weather. Yeah, I am both complex and simple! (Or just simple.)

It's been an unusual summer here so far. Anchorage is home to some great summertime weather. (Fairbanks has better summer weather, but they also have winters that will freeze your ovaries.) The weather here at this point sucks. It's so gloomy today that I had to have three hits of caffeine just to fall out of the right side of my bed. This is the way things have been since we expected summer starting in late April.

Am I complaining like a champion whiner? Yes, you bet. But I have a new philosophy about everything:

As long as I am here to complain, I'm doing better than I could be. I am still here. Some people left us way too early. I wonder if they can know that we miss them and think about them; crave their presence and need them?

Peace

--Free

Living Before Dying

I just watched this documentary about Glenn Gould. I'd never heard of him, but he really was a genius. You know that someone is the best at what they do when they can make an impression on a laymen.

Hulu also has a Whitney Houston documentary. I watched Houston's story last night and Gould's tonight. Both stories left me sad and restless. It's not because they were famous and died young. It makes me sad that anyone dies young, when they still have so much to give. Houston and Gould just happen to be known to a lot of us. Gould's talent came through his playing and Houston had that voice. And they are gone. Like the least known or important person ever, they are back to not being with us.



I don't think we pay enough attention to death. If were are happy in our lives, we get complacent. If we are sad, we dwell on the negatives. Maybe we all need to take a moment every morning or evening to realize that we are still here. As long as we are here, we have a chance for things to be good. We can still be good (or better) to each other. We don't have to be famous to be grateful for life.

Some people get all caught up in their personal victories: they're rich or handsome or famous or better than the Jones's. In the end, though, we are all the same when we die. We are going to be a corpse - no matter how famous or rich or beautiful in life - and we are going back to dust. We won't be anything but a spirit when people visit our graves or pay tribute. The fancy car we drove isn't going to remember us or care, but the people we loved and needed will.

I'm not sure where I wanted to go with this post. Maybe I just needed to articulate a reminder to myself that every sorrow or victory is temporary and only matters as much as we let it.  I want to remind myself to savor every good thing and live through any bad thing.

Peace
--Free

Leaving Something

I have talked here before about a friend of mine who is fighting cancer. The fight doesn't look fair anymore. I guess that, without realizing it, this is what's had me in this mood lately.

When I went over to see my girlfriend the other day, she looked as if she was making her peace with things. I hate that. I don't want her to "make peace." I want her to keep fighting. She isn't. She is getting ready for something. I asked her if this was so and she said that we should all be making our peace. This is the same friend who told me a truth about dying when she said that we all want to see Jesus, but none of us wants to die. It scares me now that she seems more ready to meet Jesus than she ever did.

So, what happens when it's over? The body will be empty and cold. What's left? My friend had thought of this. She told me that what she wants more than anything is that, after she is gone, for the people who loved her not to be sad. She wants to believe that we will remember not that she "left" us, but what she left us.

We didn't talk for hours the way we used to. Her daughter is taking care of her and she told me when I got there that her mother sometimes just fades out. How selfish am I that I didn't want to be there when she started "fading?" I was scared that it would be the last time. I don't want to be there for that.

What I want to remember about my friend is how she laughed loud all the time, but it never seemed like an unladylike thing for her to do. When she laughed, everyone around her wanted to laugh, and we all wanted her to keep laughing. She has a great laugh: silly and high-pitched. (And why do I slip back and forth talking about her in the past and present tense?)

I want to remember the fun we had. Like the time that when we were younger and I borrowed my father's car for us to go out in one night. We went by the Cattle Company (when it used to be a real hot-spot here in town) and cruised the parking lot, flirting with guys and seeing what the competition looked like. We passed by one group and I almost ran over a guy's foot. My friend, of course, did that screaming laugh of hers.

When I tried to reconcile with my first husband and things weren't going well, my friend was going through her own divorce. One night, after a fight with David, she and I went down to Jamico's (another "spot" back in the day), ordered nachos and sat in the parking lot, drinking Jack and Coke out of the soft-drink cans. I got so fucked up that we had to sit out in the cold lot for a couple hours before I'd left my friend move the car.

There are a lot of things I don't have clear memories of. I had to ask my sister about some of the things that went on "back in the day." My sister's best memory was of a dance contest. There was a hangout downtown in the lounge of the Holiday Inn. My sister and I both liked to go there. I'd be there with my friends and she and her friends would kind of absorb us into their group. One night, there was a dance contest. You'd couple up with anybody and take turns dancing down the middle of the line of other people. My friend and I had ten years on my sister and her friends. We kicked ass, but my friend slid down on something and almost brought down forty people with her. Hilarious.

If my friend leaves me, she is leaving me with so much. I can't even out into words the times she made me laugh or smile when I just didn't want to laugh or smile ever again. She is the only female friend I have who had a habit of kissing me on the mouth when we said "Hi" and "Bye." She is the friend who helped get me through my mother's funeral. She is the friend I called one night from Texas from a bus station in the middle of a thunderstorm, in the middle of one of my fights with Tim. She is the friend who has always known when I was hurt or embarrassed or in trouble.

My friend is one those people who can say, "I love you," and it sounds so real and special. Not like the "Love ya" thing I tend to do with people I really do love, but I am just saying words.  Every single time that she has said, "Love you," it's been the real deal. It's saying not just that she loves me, but that she's really down for me. She is the friend that would, if I needed, come get me out of a bad situation. She is the friend who really, actually prays for me. And tells me about it.

This all seems so all about me, but I'm just trying to tell you about my friend.

When I was going through a really horrible time at work and I told her I just wanted to quit my job and run away to Budapest or somewhere, my friend priced tickets to Portland and was going to give me a weekend vacation for my birthday. I told her Budapest or nowhere. We ended up throwing a house party to end all house parties. She met a very Significan Other at that party and I know that she is leaving him pieces of her heart too.

My friend is leaving me with her smile, her laugh, her eyes that seemed to understand deep inside people. She is leaving beautiful memories. She is leaving me some of her strength and faith.

Maybe I am selfish for only thinking right now about how I won't be able to feel her or see her once she's gone. I won't be able to hear her voice. Why does all that mean so much to us? I'm just really trying to understand. I miss her so much already.

Something To Think About Before Death

I am a Christian. (Yeah, believe it or not.) You have to understand that I am a Christian - saved by Jesus - not because I talk a certain way or do certain things. I am saved because I believe on the blood of Christ. There are things I do not do because I am a Christian and I feel that those things are wrong. (Other Christians won't do think I will do because of their own relationship with Jesus & their own personal convictions.)

Now, I said all that to say this: I don't often use this blog to talk about Christ. I do that in my personal life and face to face as I am moved. But - I do want to point you guys to a series of videos I am watching. I have not finished & have no final opinion, but would love to know what any of you think about it. I was made aware of the vids by a G+ pal.

It must be a Google Plus thing that people will so openly discuss and debate almost anything with such an attitude of civility. A couple weeks ago, another G+ buddy sent me a Kindle edition of a book called "Imaginary Jesus." He has asked me to read it & let him know what I think. (He disclosed to me that it's the book that almost made a Christian of him. He knows I'm praying to get rid of the "almost.")

Anyway, this is just something I wanted to share with you. I believe that everyone has the right to believe what they want to believe and to live and die with the decision. I always hope, though, that everyone will believe what I do (how human of me!). When I think of those who came to Christ kicking & fighting, I think of myself, C.S. Lewis, and a friend of mine who accepted Christ just before dying.

So, this is not to beat anyone over the head. It's just something I wanted to share. Be sure to hit me up on email or G+ to let me know what you think. (I have Part II on Pause as I type this!)

Ian McCormack Testimony

Peace
--Free

The Cover of Love

April, May, June and July are tough for our family. Two of my older brothers celebrate birthdays this week. Born a year and a day apart. Chuck and Joe.

My mother passed away in the month of April on Joe's birthday.

My father was born in the month of May and died in the month of July shortly after my June birthday.

Mother's Day this year is on the 13th of May.

It took me until just now to figure out why I have these blues. Happens like this almost every single year.

I really miss my Mom. Being lucky to have super-amazing people in my life, I think about the different ways we (all people, men and women) can be a Mother/Father comfort to one another. Or a "covering." I will explain that later.

Think about it, mothers and fathers just love. That's really the main job. Everything else comes out of that love. They care for, teach, lead, discipline, comfort, protect, push, challenge, inspire, encourage, advise, listen & hear, and just love. As children, we get different measures and degrees of all those things from our parents as we go the the stages of life, but it is never not needed.

Once, when I was around 30 or so, I went through some minor life crisis (can't remember what exactly) and my mother was sitting and holding my head in her lap one day. I was just laying there, watching the news with her, feeling miserable about whatever I was going through. One of our good friends happened to drop by for a visit at the time. She saw me being miserable and my mother being comforting and instantly just "got it." She didn't think was weird in any way that I had gone to my mother right after work to just curl up on the couch and be tended to. (My brothers would have joked about my being a big ole grown baby, but they would just be joking.)

As my mother always told me, I never stopped being "her baby." All of us, even my big 6 foot 1 brothers (okay, and the short one, too!) never stopped being hers. (Understand this, my mother stood about 5 foot 7. My brothers would not only stand still but stoop so that Mom could smack on across the back of their head. I think the last time she probably did it on a regular basis was when they were around 16 or 17. I know because they all laugh and tell those stories now.)

My father was just as bad. He didn't "baby" the boys, but they were still his "kids." My sister & I? Now, we were still "his girls." (Up until 2 months before my father died, he sang to me. "My Girl," "You Are The Sunshine of My Life," and "Sugar Pie, Punkin Pie"... My dad sang his love for me.) I have a picture of Dad and my older sister. She is all married & grown, but you can see that, to him, she is still one of "his girls." (And I will tell you something that means nothing at all to me as far as our family love: my dad was my sister's step-dad. People who knew us for, literally, 40 yrs or more and did not know about that until my silly-assed stepmother mentioned it after my father's death. Witch.)

When both my parents were gone, my sister & I became "mothering" to each other. My brothers became "fathering."

In marriage, my parents believed that your spouse was supposed to be what some Christians call your "covering." In other words, the husband becomes the wife's comfort or her cover: covering her worries, fears, needs and dreams. The wife becomes the same for the husband, but under his submission. (I don't care what your ideas about feminism or power are. This is the way I was raised and I have no problem submitting in love to love. Love, not abuse. Been there, done that.)

Because I am now not "covered" (wasn't ever really covered in the first place by the soon-to-be-ex), I am covered by the men in my family (blood & chosen). I go to them for advice and strength, I go to them the way I would my father. Until I am loved and covered by a man I choose, I have that comfort of the family.

With my mother gone, I not only have my sister, but I have my mother's friends and my own best friends you hear me talk so much about. For some of my friends, I am sometimes "Mom." Me - Ooe of the most childish adults around!

Uh oh. Somehow I forgot where I was going with this post, if I was going anywhere at all. I think I just needed to be writing after I realized where my recent mood was coming from. Now I know.

Peace
--Free