2019

Kathi looks back at the year 2019. Has to lie down.

WHEW!

I'll say one thing for last year, it was different.

In February I suddenly couldn't walk. That is a very scary thing, please don't try it.  I was in a wheel chair for more than four months. Thanks to aquatic physical therapy and major medications, I was able to start walking again without surgery.

But when I was slap dab in the middle of physical therapy I got sick. Sick like I ain't never been sick before. I had blood sepsis, the e-coli kind and like ta died. After being in the hospital for six days, I got to go home.

It was a month before I was able to restart physical therapy, and some of the pain has never left me. 

Daughter totaled her car in a horrific wreck that pretty much left her unscathed. She'd been out of debt for two weeks. Hello, car payments.

Our beloved Frost died. We are still grieving.

Christmas was different.  Other Brother and his son had the "real" flu, and his son's children had a stomach bug that was nasty, which they lovingly gave to their mother so she could puke all Christmas Eve night.

We visited one another (some of us) separately and from a distance. 

Now Daughter and Husband are sick - sore throats, congestion, lethargy. And I have become an elderberry syrup-aholic.

The good: During my physical disruption and illness and afterward, I was shown so much love. I shiver to think about it. Of course, Husband and Daughter were champs and took care of me like they thought I was irreplaceable. So many friends brought me good stuff, food for me and my family, presents I love, and their companionship, which was the best. I know I can't repay them, but I hope they know how much I love them.

Daughter wasn't hurt in that wreck, other than a slightly sore neck and fear of driving in that curve again. Her neck is healed, and she's driving that curve a little braver every day.

After our cat was given the death sentence but recovered, we were able to have another month with him before he succumbed to another illness. That month was filled with warmth and love.

Christmas Eve was met with Daughter and I cooking a big dinner for us and Boyfriend. The works: baked chicken and dressing, sweet potato casserole, green onions, cucumbers, radishes, yeast rolls, deviled eggs, mashed potatoes and green beans.

The can of green beans was the very last jar from the very last canning Mother and I did together. It will be our last canning, and we both know it. Made me feel very sad. She's had to give up most of what was her outside life - pound cakes that everyone begged for, the best fried chicken and hush puppies on the planet, making the dressing instead of Daughter and me making it, canning. Notice how all this revolves around food? She still wants you to eat if you come to the house, even if she can't cook it anymore.

What do I hope for this  new year?  No more wheel chair, ever. Better health, less pain. A connected, loving family. No tragedies. 

I guess the same thing everyone else wishes for.

Happy New Year to you all.

Saying Goodbye

Saying goodbye has been on my mind a lot lately.

I think it's because our dog, Molly, seems to rapidly be approaching those words. I don't want her to die, just like I haven't wanted Buster, Sam, Belle, or Samson to go.

I've never been very good at saying goodbye. I don't like it. I don't like people to move away, get too busy, change jobs, churches, or houses. I surely don't like it when they die.

But saying goodbye comes to all of us in many forms throughout our lives. I remember as a child never wanting to change teachers.

It's been a catastrophe with every grandparent who has passed on. My daddy left at age fifty-nine.

I've lost some really good friends, some slowly in illness some so suddenly it was hard to grasp they were actually gone.

Most of us have lost other things, too. Jobs, homes, rings, wallets, self-esteem, or trust.

But it pales when it comes to losing someone you love, be it two or four legged.

Maybe some of you have found a way to make it easier. If so, please tell me.

And do it quick.

I don't think I have much time left to learn before another goodbye arrives.

Private Grief in a Public Place

My father  had been quite ill and in the hospital for several days.

I  had a few hours of sleep and was getting ready to head back to the hospital. I was very tired, but my hair was a mess and I wanted to wash it before I went back.

Just as I got it washed, I heard someone pull up in front of our house. At that time, if someone was on our road, they were either lost, trying to find a private place to park for who knows what, or they were really coming to our house.

It was a cousin, who parked frantically and ran to our front door. He said I needed to get to the hospital right away, Daddy had taken a turn for the worse - much worse.

The cousin had tried to call, but they were working on the lower road and had accidentally cut the phone lines.

So with soaking wet hair, he took me to the hospital. Husband followed closely behind, as soon as he could lock up the house.

When we got there, I saw three people simultaneously.

The first was one of my mental health patients. She had bi-polar disorder with psychotic features, and I knew if she was hanging around the emergency room door, things weren't going well with her. She was staring at me as I got out of the car. I guess she'd never seen me in an old t-shirt and dripping wet hair.

The other two people I saw were my twin brothers. They had an identical look on their face, and they didn't have to say a word.

I knew my daddy was gone as soon as I saw them. The one standing nearest me (I can't remember which one)  opened his arms and I flew into them, sobbing. My other brother stood, patting me on the back, as we three cried for our daddy.

There was a separate part of me very aware that I had an unstable patient watching me fall completely apart. And somewhere in my brain I felt concern for her, hoping this would not make her go off the deep end.

Grieving like this, hearing something like this, in a very  public place is a terrible thing. There is nothing you can do to control what you do because you can't control what you hear and know.

The next day (or maybe that evening) I talked with someone from work and told them what the patient had witnessed, telling them to check on her.

But you know what? She had already called my office and warned them about me and the terrible state I was in.  She told them they needed to check on me and pray for me because my daddy had died.

Well, what do you know. She had been listening. She had learned how to behave appropriately in a sad situation. She had learned to set her own woes aside for the moment and think of someone else.

What she saw was a growing experience for her. It actually helped her.

What I came away with from that story is people are a lot stronger than we give them credit for. Our children are stronger, our elderly parents are stronger. Heck, even our mentally ill folks are stronger.

There's hope in this world, isn't there?

Because we know how to pull together when we need to the most.

So let folks know what is going on. Don't keep them in the dark to "protect" them from bad or sad news.

Give them the chance to grow.

Give them a chance to show you they can be strong too.

You Know You're Getting Old When...

You know you're getting old when  your dreams have as many dead people in them as living. I especially dream about my maternal grandmother for some reason.

My in-laws and my daddy, as well as my other grandparents, show up on occasion, too.

In my dreams they are as alive and well as ever, although people's ages are often mixed up. I may still be a young adult, whereas my great-nephew is a toddler, like he is now. Sometimes I'm still very young and my daughter is the age she is now. I must say it's pretty convenient. I like it when everyone is in their prime in my dreams, no one sickly or old. My own physical handicaps are gone, and I am free to walk and run without pain like I was most my life.

I've also noted that as I've gotten older I relate the person I'm talking about to connect them. "I saw old John Doe the other day. You know, his daddy was Ralph Doe who owned the hardware store till Jane Nobody bought it in the 90's. Yeah."  Pause. Listen to best friend. "Really? I didn't know that! When did Jane's boy marry that sorry trash? And twins to boot! Bless her heart."

You get the picture. I don't see my mother when I look in the mirror. But boy I sure do hear her when I open my mouth.

Best Friend and I are eager to discuss our ailments with one another, too. We relish going into great detail, and both of us have plenty to talk about. We have physical troubles you wouldn't believe, even if I told you.  

But I'll be happy to tell you anyway.

We gripe about fashion trends and how they aren't fit for humans to even wear. How ugly new hairdos are. How gross music is. How hard technology is to  understand. The usual fair of a geezer's conversation, I guess.

Due to a stroke during surgery a few years ago, I wear hearing aids. And I've glasses since I was thirteen. Nevertheless, this makes me appear much older if I talk about them.

At least I don't have false teeth.

Yet.

When I'm around the younger set, I try to be current and not talk about "when I was  your age", although occasionally I do say that, because darn it, when I was their age things were so interesting and important.

And, as  you know, if you are over forty, young people aren't as smart as they used to be. We need to tell them stuff. Right? 

And the day I've  dreaded all my life has arrived. I've always enjoyed staying up late and sleeping late. My staying up late was squashed when I got hurt and so was sleeping late, to an extent.

But I am now finding myself awakening early, not because of pain or discomfort but because of the only other reason I can think of. My age.

Husband is starting to look old. Of course I don't. (ha)

Every month or two I see a sag that wasn't there. And although I weigh the same, it ain't where it  used to be.

Ah, well. They say old age ain't for sissies. So I better buck up and forge ahead.

Have I ever told you about how I got that terrible scar on my right elbow?

Hello? Hello? Anybody out there....

Saying Good-bye

I am tore up, as we say in the South.

My best friend's daddy is dying. He's had an unspeakable time since Friday and told his wife he wanted to go home this morning.

She has  had it with the hospital, too, so she told him if that's what he wanted, that's what they'd do.

He looked at  her through tear filled eyes and said, "I don't mean that home. I mean my real home."

He's been a stubborn, independent man all his life.

And now he's a helpless, pain riddled old man. He's tired. He wants out.

Maybe, what he really wants is in.

I watched my own daddy suffer. It is a terrible thing to behold. When he died it was also terrible, this time for us - his children, his wife.

He was fifty-nine years old, same age I am now.

There are times, twenty-five years later, I still miss him.

Of course, being me, I have written about death. Sometimes about people I knew, sometimes characters in my head. But even if I'm making up someones death, there's still a little pang inside.

Grief is not pleasant. And most of  us have felt it's sharp pangs at least once in our lives. I don't think it's ever welcomed, but it is sometimes embraced.

I've lost co-workers, a great boss, friends, and family to death.

I've even come close to dying a few times myself. Once it was peaceful, once it was not.

Makes me wonder how I'll go when I really go.

But the main thing is, I know where I'll be going.

Do you?

Of Life and Death

The man who played piano at our church passed away last night after a brief illness.

I remarked on facebook that saying he could play the piano was like saying a Siberian Tiger was a kitty. He had the kind of talent folks are born with - he sort of became one with the piano.

I sing, and if I was having trouble with a note or a key or timing or whatever, he'd say, "Well, don't worry about it. We'll work it out and I'll cover for you if you need me to."

And he always did. It was as though he knew what you were doing before you did it.

He was always complimentary, telling me what a good job I had done after it was over.

His passing leaves a  big hole in our church. The piano has stood silent as a testament to his absence. It makes me very sad.

How will his wife of fifty-two years go on? She will have to learn a completely new way of living. And that scares me to think about having to do that myself, as we never know what the future holds.

The flip side, and I think there always is one, is our Pastor became a grandfather, also last night. I've seen the pictures of the new baby; she looks healthy and fiesty.

It gives me joy to know how happy and excited they are.

So, I've had sorrow and joy side by side today.

A life gone Home, a new life arriving.

Who knows? Maybe she'll play the piano. 

A Time To Die

I just found out a friend's daughter died last night.

I don't know how she will bear it. My mind balks at the very thought of losing a child to death. I don't care how old the 'child' is. This particular one was middle aged. But who cares, if you are the mother?

God knows, I'd give anything to keep from losing my child. It seems the worst nightmare a person could endure. Not to say I'd keep her here if she was suffering and no hope of recovery. No, then I'd be willing to let her go.

But I know in my heart, I would cry, 'What about me, Lord? What will I do now?'

Some of you reading this have probably lost a child. And I am truly, truly sorry that you have.

This brings to mind my faith and trust in God. Don't I? Well,  yes. I believe He is good. I believe He knows what He is doing. I believe, if my daughter died, she would be in Heaven, a far better place than this. And I believe Heaven is a far better place this this. That's why my cry would be about me, not her.

Grief is, after all, a very self-centered thing. I don't mean that in a selfish way, I mean it is all about what we are feeling, what we are going through, and how we will continue to go on.

Frankly, I don't want to. It frightens me to even think about it.

I'm afraid that's why people avoid those who have lost children in death. They may tell you, "I don't know what to say." or "I just can't stand to see them so upset." But the truth is, I think, they are afraid if they get too close it could happen to them to. Realilty is scary thing to face.

Control? We have none.

So, I'm right back to the top of the page. I'm sorrowful, I'm frightened, and I don't know what to say, or do.

But I do know I am praying. For that Mother. For my own child.

And for me.

It's Christmas Eve!

ANGELS, created by His Hand:

They have been with Him always,

Long before mankind existed,

They attended His birth,

They comforted the Man,

They raged at His death,

They rejoiced at His homecoming.

He has always been,

And will always be.

NOT just a babe, nor just a man.

But God Almighty.

May You worship Him

This Christmas!

k.h.h. 2011

Winging Toward Destiny

In our house there is a window, wherein a large, leaded glass pane rests on the window sill. Today, I noticed a tiny winged creature had died, its dark body lying on its side, stark against the white of the window sill, its tear shaped wings spread graciously, as though it had died in flight. The feathery etched glass lent an ethereal outline to the small corpse and I felt a thrill as I looked on where the line of life and death had met.

I surmised, “Its time had come”, for it looked as though nothing actually caused its death, no swat or poison or err in judgment. Was it flying around and suddenly fell ill, or did it stop to rest a moment and instead rested eternally?

Now, usually, I don’t pay much mind to bugs dying. I sweep ‘em up and throw ‘em out, and admittedly, I am the cause of death many times.

So, why did this particular little fella bring so much attention upon himself, making me take note and even touching my emotions?

Was it the beauty of the scene? For it was beautiful. The light coming in through the leaded glass, the contrast of dark and light, the perfectly shaped wings in full spread, the body in quiet repose.

I don’t know.

But it made me wonder: when I come to that line where my life meets death, where I begin my second chapter and truly begin to live: will my remains give others pause? Will they wonder if I took wing on the other side as they gaze at my countenance?

I hope when that time comes, my life will have spoken for itself, and there will be no doubts that I am indeed flying, trying out my new wings, basking in The Light, never fearing death ever again.

And I will be beautiful. Because all winged creatures are beautiful, even on this earth. Even in death. Even the tiniest and most insignificant.

Even me.