For over forty years, I sang Christmas hymns standing next to my mom's strong, sure alto voice. She was harmony when my range called for melody. She would often sing melody if my harmony was solid. I followed her lead when the alto part was just a bit too hard for me to carry on my own. And I loved it best when we could both sing the alto part confidently together.
Tonight, we sang Joy to the World as the closing song of the Christmas program at Rehoboth. I know the alto part for this hymn. But I couldn't do it tonight. There was no harmony for my melody. And as confident as I was with the harmony, all I could hear was the overwhelming absence of her voice beside me. As everyone around me sang of joy, of heav'n and nature singing, and of the glories of God's righteousness, I stood there silently, with tears streaming down my face.
Is it January yet?
Friday, December 04, 2009
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Just Keep Breathing In...
One of the things I love most about living in Decatur is Eddie's Attic. Great venue, great music, and I often find "new" voices that I love as a result of their opening for an "older," more familiar voice that I have gone to hear and support. Such is the case with Stephen Kellogg. He opened for Dar Williams when Joel & I went to see her this summer as a part of my self-prescribed "concert series to combat grief." We went with Dell & Michael Schenck, and it was, as usual, a great night with good friends.
This song is one of my favorites by Stephen Kellogg and the Sixers. It's called "In Front of the World." I hope you will enjoy it as well. :-)
Well, it’s hard to live in front of the world.
There’s only so much that you can pretend.
Write down what it is you’re thinking.
Take each day as it comes.
You never know what’s hanging ‘round the bend.
And as far from the world as we get,
I can swear that the two of us will always be the same.
Figure out what it is you believe in.
And if you must choose, try not to trade your fortune in for fame.
And you’ll learn, learn, learn.
You’ll wait your turn, turn, turn.
And you’ll get sick on the way.
By the things that people say.
It’ll break your heart against the wind.
But you will just keep breathing in.
Well, if you’re scared to live in front of the world.
I’ve got news for you, you should be then.
When your confidence gets low and you’ve got nowhere to go.
Just remember how you felt about me and our friends.
And we’ll learn, learn, learn.
We’ll wait out turn, turn, turn.
And we’ll get sick on the way.
By the things that people say.
It’ll break out hearts against the wind.
But we will just keep breathing in.
Watch the way you fall in love.
‘Cause if you’re smart, you’ll take it slow.
And don’t ask me about it, cause I don’t know,
‘cause I don’t know, know, know.
But I’m gonna learn, learn, learn.
I’ll take my turn, turn, turn.
If I get sick on the way.
By the things that people say.
It’ll break my heart against the wind.
But I will just keep breathing in.
To all my blog-reading friends out there, you are the best. Thanks for the support, the love, the hugs, and the time. Keep breathing in!
Peace,
Jill
This song is one of my favorites by Stephen Kellogg and the Sixers. It's called "In Front of the World." I hope you will enjoy it as well. :-)
Well, it’s hard to live in front of the world.
There’s only so much that you can pretend.
Write down what it is you’re thinking.
Take each day as it comes.
You never know what’s hanging ‘round the bend.
And as far from the world as we get,
I can swear that the two of us will always be the same.
Figure out what it is you believe in.
And if you must choose, try not to trade your fortune in for fame.
And you’ll learn, learn, learn.
You’ll wait your turn, turn, turn.
And you’ll get sick on the way.
By the things that people say.
It’ll break your heart against the wind.
But you will just keep breathing in.
Well, if you’re scared to live in front of the world.
I’ve got news for you, you should be then.
When your confidence gets low and you’ve got nowhere to go.
Just remember how you felt about me and our friends.
And we’ll learn, learn, learn.
We’ll wait out turn, turn, turn.
And we’ll get sick on the way.
By the things that people say.
It’ll break out hearts against the wind.
But we will just keep breathing in.
Watch the way you fall in love.
‘Cause if you’re smart, you’ll take it slow.
And don’t ask me about it, cause I don’t know,
‘cause I don’t know, know, know.
But I’m gonna learn, learn, learn.
I’ll take my turn, turn, turn.
If I get sick on the way.
By the things that people say.
It’ll break my heart against the wind.
But I will just keep breathing in.
To all my blog-reading friends out there, you are the best. Thanks for the support, the love, the hugs, and the time. Keep breathing in!
Peace,
Jill
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Prizes and Rocky Rides
On June 8th, Joel & I celebrated my parents' 59th wedding anniversary with them. On that same day, in this blog, I wrote a prayer thanking God for them, and asking that same God to please open The Door for my mom--to greet her with with cooler air, lighter breathing, and open arms. I admitted I was ready for her to be released from the pain and suffering that the stupid, f***ing cancer had brought upon her.
The next day, on June 9th, at the end of a very long and difficult day, I received an email from a dear friend with the subject line "Your Good Fortune." At a time when "good fortune" seemed to be totally contradictory to everything in my life, our good friend Brad indeed offered it to me in the form of great seats for good music with good friends over good food.
On June 25th, sixteen days after that email, my sweet mama walked through death's door and into God's open arms. And tonight, about three months later, that "good fortune" was realized, and I enjoyed an earthly prize for my rocky ride. A 2nd row table with Joel, (aka the love of my life), some treasured family and some great friends at Chastain Park for an Indigo Girls show. Seriously--if you know me, then you know that in this lifetime, the prize cannot get much better. And just because the cake needed some icing, after seeing them countless times in concert, and after years of waiting not-so-patiently, just three songs into their set, they played my favorite song.
"There's no way construction of this tricky plan was built by other than a Greater Hand. With a love that passes all our understanding watching closely over the journey. But what it takes to cross the great divide seems more than all the trouble I can muster up inside. We get to have some answers when we reach the other side. The prize is always worth the rocky ride."
Now this is a beautiful song regardless of where you happen to be when you hear it, but never has a song touched me so at a concert. Tears welled up in my eyes as I sat there with people who had walked alongside me on some very hard life roads these past few months, listening to a song that has assured me for many years now that regardless of the tired wood that is sometimes my life, a Greater Hand is at work making all things new, watching closely over life's journey.
I don't think I realized just how much I needed both the night and the reminder of the presence of God's Greater Hand. Amidst the threat of rain, with friends new and old all around me, I thanked God for both the rocky ride and the promised prize. As Emily reminded us all that "no one gets to miss the storm of what will be...," I realized again for the millionth time that life is indeed a journey; that we are not promised an easy road, but we are assured of that Greater Hand watching closely over us each and every step of the way, showing and giving us what we need, when we need it, despite how hard life might be from time to time.
Despite the fact that the threat of rain loomed over the night, despite the fact that the day (indeed, the week) had not gone so well, despite the fact that I enjoyed a bit too much wine and am paying (and will pay) the price these next few hours, the night was good. The night was good because God was at work. God was at work weaving the threads of my life with deeper relationships and memories that will sustain me when the storm of what will be comes my way again, bringing with it heavy downpours, thunder, lightening, and even flooding. God was at work reminding us all, every one of us there, that if the weather holds, we'll miss the point. God was at work assuring us, assuring me, that no matter how tired our wood gets, She is watching closely over the journey that is life.
And all will be well. TB2G.
The next day, on June 9th, at the end of a very long and difficult day, I received an email from a dear friend with the subject line "Your Good Fortune." At a time when "good fortune" seemed to be totally contradictory to everything in my life, our good friend Brad indeed offered it to me in the form of great seats for good music with good friends over good food.
On June 25th, sixteen days after that email, my sweet mama walked through death's door and into God's open arms. And tonight, about three months later, that "good fortune" was realized, and I enjoyed an earthly prize for my rocky ride. A 2nd row table with Joel, (aka the love of my life), some treasured family and some great friends at Chastain Park for an Indigo Girls show. Seriously--if you know me, then you know that in this lifetime, the prize cannot get much better. And just because the cake needed some icing, after seeing them countless times in concert, and after years of waiting not-so-patiently, just three songs into their set, they played my favorite song.
"There's no way construction of this tricky plan was built by other than a Greater Hand. With a love that passes all our understanding watching closely over the journey. But what it takes to cross the great divide seems more than all the trouble I can muster up inside. We get to have some answers when we reach the other side. The prize is always worth the rocky ride."
Now this is a beautiful song regardless of where you happen to be when you hear it, but never has a song touched me so at a concert. Tears welled up in my eyes as I sat there with people who had walked alongside me on some very hard life roads these past few months, listening to a song that has assured me for many years now that regardless of the tired wood that is sometimes my life, a Greater Hand is at work making all things new, watching closely over life's journey.
I don't think I realized just how much I needed both the night and the reminder of the presence of God's Greater Hand. Amidst the threat of rain, with friends new and old all around me, I thanked God for both the rocky ride and the promised prize. As Emily reminded us all that "no one gets to miss the storm of what will be...," I realized again for the millionth time that life is indeed a journey; that we are not promised an easy road, but we are assured of that Greater Hand watching closely over us each and every step of the way, showing and giving us what we need, when we need it, despite how hard life might be from time to time.
Despite the fact that the threat of rain loomed over the night, despite the fact that the day (indeed, the week) had not gone so well, despite the fact that I enjoyed a bit too much wine and am paying (and will pay) the price these next few hours, the night was good. The night was good because God was at work. God was at work weaving the threads of my life with deeper relationships and memories that will sustain me when the storm of what will be comes my way again, bringing with it heavy downpours, thunder, lightening, and even flooding. God was at work reminding us all, every one of us there, that if the weather holds, we'll miss the point. God was at work assuring us, assuring me, that no matter how tired our wood gets, She is watching closely over the journey that is life.
And all will be well. TB2G.
Saturday, September 05, 2009
A Letter
Dear Mom,
Sorry it's taken me so long to write, but I just haven't been in the right frame of mind until now. And even now, I'm not sure if I am, but I have the time, a quiet morning, and a cup of coffee, and that combination often beckons me to write. And I know my soul needs it.
I hope you are able to see that while we all miss you terribly, we are doing okay. Dad is managing quite well on his own, and reaping the benefits of the many connections you made and kept through the years with weekly lunch invitations from a variety of folks. Truthfully, I think you'd be real proud of Dad--he has learned to do so much for himself, and although he's not doing things as you would do them, necessarily, he is finding his own way. Just yesterday I commented on how nicely his bed was made up, and he replied, "Well, it's not like Alice does it, but it's okay!" We both miss you in the little things at 2871--your glasses are still on the dresser in the bedroom, your books are still lying around here & there, and the refrigerator magnets are all still right where you left them. It is very much still your house. He's quite comfortable there, mind you, but it's your house.
I miss you in the little things in my day-to-day life. For instance, I need some help / advice on how to turn a shower curtain into a valence for the bathroom. I could probably figure it out, but projects like that were always more fun when we worked on them together. Do you think maybe you can find me somehow and whisper in my ear what to do? I'd really like that.
And Michael's birthday is this week, and we need to go shopping for a present for y'all to give him. You'd be so proud of him these days--his manners, his sense of humor, his swimming. He has matured so much these past few months. I remember how you always lamented that he never had time to "be little," but he's doing just fine. He really is. Pop in some time and watch him for a while if you can, okay?
Daniel misses seeing you each day after school. Dad has been good about making sure he has snacks for him, his favorites, even, but there's no visiting time. Daniel heads straight for the computer, and Dad shares space with him watching TV. I realize it's still time together, but I know he misses telling you about his day. I miss him telling you about his day. Secretly, I know you probably miss him the most, so I'd love it if you could find your own way to hug each other--you know, from here to there. Maybe he and I need to have a talk about how that might work.
Adam is doing well in school, and is a pleasant teenager to have around! His driving is improving, and he is working harder in school this year, out of necessity I suppose. AP World History and Analysis are both kicking his butt. (Sorry--I know you don't like that word, but it's the best way to describe it.) He's a really good kid. You'd be most proud of how sweet it is to Dad. He takes such good care of him, and helps him whenever he's around. I'm looking forward to all of the guys enjoying some football together this fall. If you can, I'd love for you to join me in the kitchen this afternoon as I serve up my first pot of chili today, the first day of college football. Maybe you can slice the pickles?
Oh, and speaking of football--we have new furniture, which I really wish you could see! It makes the "grown up room" in our house look so much more inviting and cozy. It's the perfect space to enjoy some quiet reading, spend time with each other, or watch a movie. There is finally "official" sitting space for at least six people, and the rug and curtains tie it all together. You would love it! Can you see it? I hope you can. I really do.
Maybe while they guys watch the game/s, you could help me a bit, too. I have some letters that need stamping and sealing and addressing. If we could do it together, we'd enjoy the time "visiting," as you would call it. And speaking of letters, I must confess. I know you'll be disappointed, but we have not yet sent all of the thank-you notes for the many things that were done for us in the last few weeks of your life here on earth, and in the weeks following your death. Since you're not here to gently nag me about it, though, it's always "next on the list, after thus-and-so." I need you to be here, Mom, to be with me. I need you to keep holding me accountable to the things you spent 43 years teaching me. Can you do that? I'm just not quite up to the challenge yet.
Yes, we are doing okay. Not great, but okay. I still cry when I look at recent pictures of you, just as I am crying now. I'm still pretty mad at that fucking cancer and all that it took from us. I'm still feeling a bit slighted at being only 43 and not having my mom around. But we're doing okay. I'm doing okay.
The hardest part, though, is on those days that get really hard--when life is coming at me in all directions and I just can't seem to get through it all--I want to call you. I know if I could, you would fret over me, tend to me, and worry a bit too much about me. It kinda bothered me when you were here with us, but now I realizy how much I miss it. Because on those days, what I really need most is just some unconditional love and support. And I know that I'd get that from you. I always did. I think that's probably what I miss the most.
So I'd love to hear from you, Mom, somehow, in some way. I know you probably have a lot going one--you're adjusting to your new surroundings, you are organizing and making friends and making connections with all the people there, and you are probably just now beginning to feel comfortable in the new-ness. But I really need you to come for a visit. Just a short one. I need a hug. I need to know that my mom is still with me, and that she still thinks I'm pretty awesome, and that she still loves and supports me unconditionally.
I just need that.
Love,
Jill
PS - Tell Hunter I said hello, and give him a big hug, okay?
Sorry it's taken me so long to write, but I just haven't been in the right frame of mind until now. And even now, I'm not sure if I am, but I have the time, a quiet morning, and a cup of coffee, and that combination often beckons me to write. And I know my soul needs it.
I hope you are able to see that while we all miss you terribly, we are doing okay. Dad is managing quite well on his own, and reaping the benefits of the many connections you made and kept through the years with weekly lunch invitations from a variety of folks. Truthfully, I think you'd be real proud of Dad--he has learned to do so much for himself, and although he's not doing things as you would do them, necessarily, he is finding his own way. Just yesterday I commented on how nicely his bed was made up, and he replied, "Well, it's not like Alice does it, but it's okay!" We both miss you in the little things at 2871--your glasses are still on the dresser in the bedroom, your books are still lying around here & there, and the refrigerator magnets are all still right where you left them. It is very much still your house. He's quite comfortable there, mind you, but it's your house.
I miss you in the little things in my day-to-day life. For instance, I need some help / advice on how to turn a shower curtain into a valence for the bathroom. I could probably figure it out, but projects like that were always more fun when we worked on them together. Do you think maybe you can find me somehow and whisper in my ear what to do? I'd really like that.
And Michael's birthday is this week, and we need to go shopping for a present for y'all to give him. You'd be so proud of him these days--his manners, his sense of humor, his swimming. He has matured so much these past few months. I remember how you always lamented that he never had time to "be little," but he's doing just fine. He really is. Pop in some time and watch him for a while if you can, okay?
Daniel misses seeing you each day after school. Dad has been good about making sure he has snacks for him, his favorites, even, but there's no visiting time. Daniel heads straight for the computer, and Dad shares space with him watching TV. I realize it's still time together, but I know he misses telling you about his day. I miss him telling you about his day. Secretly, I know you probably miss him the most, so I'd love it if you could find your own way to hug each other--you know, from here to there. Maybe he and I need to have a talk about how that might work.
Adam is doing well in school, and is a pleasant teenager to have around! His driving is improving, and he is working harder in school this year, out of necessity I suppose. AP World History and Analysis are both kicking his butt. (Sorry--I know you don't like that word, but it's the best way to describe it.) He's a really good kid. You'd be most proud of how sweet it is to Dad. He takes such good care of him, and helps him whenever he's around. I'm looking forward to all of the guys enjoying some football together this fall. If you can, I'd love for you to join me in the kitchen this afternoon as I serve up my first pot of chili today, the first day of college football. Maybe you can slice the pickles?
Oh, and speaking of football--we have new furniture, which I really wish you could see! It makes the "grown up room" in our house look so much more inviting and cozy. It's the perfect space to enjoy some quiet reading, spend time with each other, or watch a movie. There is finally "official" sitting space for at least six people, and the rug and curtains tie it all together. You would love it! Can you see it? I hope you can. I really do.
Maybe while they guys watch the game/s, you could help me a bit, too. I have some letters that need stamping and sealing and addressing. If we could do it together, we'd enjoy the time "visiting," as you would call it. And speaking of letters, I must confess. I know you'll be disappointed, but we have not yet sent all of the thank-you notes for the many things that were done for us in the last few weeks of your life here on earth, and in the weeks following your death. Since you're not here to gently nag me about it, though, it's always "next on the list, after thus-and-so." I need you to be here, Mom, to be with me. I need you to keep holding me accountable to the things you spent 43 years teaching me. Can you do that? I'm just not quite up to the challenge yet.
Yes, we are doing okay. Not great, but okay. I still cry when I look at recent pictures of you, just as I am crying now. I'm still pretty mad at that fucking cancer and all that it took from us. I'm still feeling a bit slighted at being only 43 and not having my mom around. But we're doing okay. I'm doing okay.
The hardest part, though, is on those days that get really hard--when life is coming at me in all directions and I just can't seem to get through it all--I want to call you. I know if I could, you would fret over me, tend to me, and worry a bit too much about me. It kinda bothered me when you were here with us, but now I realizy how much I miss it. Because on those days, what I really need most is just some unconditional love and support. And I know that I'd get that from you. I always did. I think that's probably what I miss the most.
So I'd love to hear from you, Mom, somehow, in some way. I know you probably have a lot going one--you're adjusting to your new surroundings, you are organizing and making friends and making connections with all the people there, and you are probably just now beginning to feel comfortable in the new-ness. But I really need you to come for a visit. Just a short one. I need a hug. I need to know that my mom is still with me, and that she still thinks I'm pretty awesome, and that she still loves and supports me unconditionally.
I just need that.
Love,
Jill
PS - Tell Hunter I said hello, and give him a big hug, okay?
Monday, July 20, 2009
And a PostScript
Not to intentionally begin any deep theological conversations via this blog, but in light of the post I just wrote, I also wanted to share this as well. The words in the previous post, although they were found among Mom's things and were, I believe, words for us from her, were taken out of their original context. They were, in fact, penned by Henry Scott Holland, but it is important to read them in their original context, because what they say about death OUT of context is very different from what his original intent was. Being trained and schooled on the importance of context during my time in seminary, I feel that I should follow up with those of you who are interested in deeper musings on death. But first, if these words do provide comfort for you in this life that is full of uncertainties and mysteries, I encourage you to consider thinking about them and talking about them. Death is something about which we dance around all too often, afraid to stop and stare it down lest it strike US down. Death is not to be feared, for we believe that the ultimate victor is not death, but a God who loves and creates and ultimately redeems that good creation.
If you'd like to read the words IN context, feel free to do so here:
I found an alternative that is equally comforting, and yet more "theologically sound," if you will. They were written by another theologian, a hymnist by the name of Christopher Idle. Pastorally, Idle doesn't like to use Holland's words at a funeral, because, in his opinion, they "speak things that are not true that need to be unsaid fairly quickly afterwards." And yet pastorally, he doesn't want to refuse to use the words either, because people like them for the comfort they offer, and Idle doesn't want to refuse needed comfort at a difficult time. So in response to Scott Holland's problematic words, Idle has written his own alternative that I now offer to you as well.
Death is sometimes our enemy, sometimes our friend.
As an enemy, it may shatter our lives, cut short our time, diminish our families and circle of friends.
We do not often invite it to come, nor choose the time of its arrival. I
n this world we do have enemies, the Scriptures says death is the last.
Yet for the Christian, even death has lost its sting; Christ has made it a friend in spite of itself. I
ts victory is empty; its triumph will soon pass; it cannot have the last word.
But it may still become our helper; not only a milestone but a signpost. I
t may lead us back to God if we have wandered away, or towards him if we have often been distant.
Death is a time for listening. Listening to friends, reading their words, listening to memories, hearing their music, listening to God in the quiet of my heart.
Death is a time for speaking. Telling the joys, memories past, telling of hopes, partly fulfilled; telling of growing and travelling, learning and finding, laughter and tears, a time for talk and a time for stories.
Death is a time for silence. When the words fail, sitting alone or quiet with my friends, watching or waiting, thinking and looking, the silence of prayer.
Death is a time for loving. Love never fails, love to the end; love all who love me and those who do not; love to heal wounds, love to accept, love to build bridges, love to forgive and know I’m forgiven. Love that is from God; God who is love; God who has first loved me.
Regardless of which words resonate with you, which words comfort you, which words are "closer" to "T/truth," all is still well.
And all is well.
If you'd like to read the words IN context, feel free to do so here:
I found an alternative that is equally comforting, and yet more "theologically sound," if you will. They were written by another theologian, a hymnist by the name of Christopher Idle. Pastorally, Idle doesn't like to use Holland's words at a funeral, because, in his opinion, they "speak things that are not true that need to be unsaid fairly quickly afterwards." And yet pastorally, he doesn't want to refuse to use the words either, because people like them for the comfort they offer, and Idle doesn't want to refuse needed comfort at a difficult time. So in response to Scott Holland's problematic words, Idle has written his own alternative that I now offer to you as well.
Death is sometimes our enemy, sometimes our friend.
As an enemy, it may shatter our lives, cut short our time, diminish our families and circle of friends.
We do not often invite it to come, nor choose the time of its arrival. I
n this world we do have enemies, the Scriptures says death is the last.
Yet for the Christian, even death has lost its sting; Christ has made it a friend in spite of itself. I
ts victory is empty; its triumph will soon pass; it cannot have the last word.
But it may still become our helper; not only a milestone but a signpost. I
t may lead us back to God if we have wandered away, or towards him if we have often been distant.
Death is a time for listening. Listening to friends, reading their words, listening to memories, hearing their music, listening to God in the quiet of my heart.
Death is a time for speaking. Telling the joys, memories past, telling of hopes, partly fulfilled; telling of growing and travelling, learning and finding, laughter and tears, a time for talk and a time for stories.
Death is a time for silence. When the words fail, sitting alone or quiet with my friends, watching or waiting, thinking and looking, the silence of prayer.
Death is a time for loving. Love never fails, love to the end; love all who love me and those who do not; love to heal wounds, love to accept, love to build bridges, love to forgive and know I’m forgiven. Love that is from God; God who is love; God who has first loved me.
Regardless of which words resonate with you, which words comfort you, which words are "closer" to "T/truth," all is still well.
And all is well.
A Word from Mom
It's been almost four weeks since Mom moved from this life to the next, and life is resuming some sense of normalcy for us all. Dad is doing well, and the three of us (Tom, Calli, & me) are doing our best to attend to him as needed, and even pamper him a bit. He continues to enjoy the cards and phone calls--they give him breaks in the long days and a bit of time to enjoy the relationships that have carried him through these difficult weeks and months. So keep them coming!
I wanted to share the following with each of you. We found these words by Henry Scott Holland paper-clipped to Mom's will as we were cleaning and sorting through "important papers." Clearly she wanted these to be her last earthly words to us. I shared it with folks at the Dublin service, and wanted to share it with each of you now.
Death is Nothing At All
I have only slipped away into the next room.
I am I, and you are you.
Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.
Call me by the old familiar name.
Speak of me in the easy way which you always used.
Put no difference into your tone.
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.
Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word that it always was.
Let it be spoken without an effort,
Withouth the ghost of a shadow on it.
Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same as it ever was.
There is absolute and unbroken continuity.
What is this death but a negligible accident?
Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?
I am but waiting for you, for an interval,
Somewhere very near, just around the corner.
All is well!
Indeed, my friends. All is well.
I wanted to share the following with each of you. We found these words by Henry Scott Holland paper-clipped to Mom's will as we were cleaning and sorting through "important papers." Clearly she wanted these to be her last earthly words to us. I shared it with folks at the Dublin service, and wanted to share it with each of you now.
Death is Nothing At All
I have only slipped away into the next room.
I am I, and you are you.
Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.
Call me by the old familiar name.
Speak of me in the easy way which you always used.
Put no difference into your tone.
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.
Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word that it always was.
Let it be spoken without an effort,
Withouth the ghost of a shadow on it.
Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same as it ever was.
There is absolute and unbroken continuity.
What is this death but a negligible accident?
Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?
I am but waiting for you, for an interval,
Somewhere very near, just around the corner.
All is well!
Indeed, my friends. All is well.
Saturday, July 04, 2009
The Other Side
(The picture to the right is of Mom and my brother Hunter, who died on July 11, 1996 due to complications from AIDS. We all take comfort in knowing that they can, once again, share a special embrace.)
It's not that the emotions or the need to pound them out have disappeared now that we are on the "other side" of our journey with Mom. For sure, the need to write, the intensity of the feelings, and the depth of gratitude are all still there in full force. I'm still pondering why I've not felt inclinced to write, honestly. I miss my mom, but I am enjoying my own breath again. I have treasured these past four or so months, indeed the past two years of our daily hugs and visits since they moved to Decatur. But once her health began the rapid decline--in early to mid-May, it was so hard to see Mom unable to enjoy the people and the relationships that have always given her the life, breath, and meaning she loved so much in this life.
We had a beautiful service for Mom in Decatur, with a packed sanctuary--close to 250 people, I'd say. That's amazing to me, given that she & Dad have only been here for less than two years. Granted, there were many folks who were here for Joel & me, as well as for Calli & Tom, but I was still quite shocked at those who came out to celebrate her life and to support us in worship. The Rev. Dr. Todd Speed, a longtime friend of Joel's & mine, conducted a beautiful service, and the women at Rehoboth hosted an amazing reception for us all afterward. The next day, we traveled to Dublin to bury a portion of Mom's ashes, as requested, in Northview Cemetery. There were only immediate family present for the burial, after which we went to Henry Memorial Presbyterian Church for the second memorial service. Again, a packed sanctuary, with an amazing homily by our longtime family friend, Rev. Frank Beall. Proctor Chambless also did a wonderful job with his selection and reading of scripture, as well as his overall pastoral presence. I cannot imagine how hard it must have been for those two pastors--who loved Mom as much as the rest of us--to lead the worship service in gratitude for her life, but they did a fantastic job.
We returned home to Decatur after the service, and were treated to a catered dinner by some neighborhood friends, then began to settle, once again, into a new reality.
Dad is doing well, all things considered. The irony of how healthy he now is, given the reason behind their move to Decatur was so that Mom could have some help and support as she cared for HIM, never escapes me. I am grateful for his continued health, and realize in hindsight that he is as healthy as he is due in large part to Mom's wonderful care of him over these 59+ years. In true Tommy fashion, he is busy "taking care of business" in these dark days--changing accounts, checking on insurance, re-titling the car, that kind of thing. It is good for him to have something on which to focus. My brother Tom has been here since Saturday, so that helps with the potential loneliness as well as with the nagging household tasks that still seem so overwhelming to him--watering plants, preparing meals, doing laundry, sweeping floors, etc. Tom leaves on Sunday or Monday, and Calli returns for a few days.
The darkness of the anniversary of Hunter's death on July 11th will be slightly different this year, given that we will be resting in the knowledge that he has our sweet Attee "with him" this year. We will all be here on Sunday the 12th to celebrate Dad's 81st birthday in grand fashion, then I suspect at that point we will begin to live into a "new normal."
It will not be easy, but I daresay that it will be easier knowing that Mom is no longer struggling to breathe, to sleep, to rest, or to love. She is still with us, and will continue to be a part of our lives. Always.
TB2G!
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Arrangements
Definite: Sunday, 2PM at Rehoboth Presbyterian Church, Decatur, GA, reception / visitation following in the church fellowship hall.
Tentative, pending church / staff confirmation: Monday, 11PM at Henry Memorial Presbyterian Church, Dublin, GA, reception / vistation following in the church fellowship hall.
In lieu of flowers, the family requests, at Mom's direction, contributions to either of the above churches, or the charity of your choice.
Tentative, pending church / staff confirmation: Monday, 11PM at Henry Memorial Presbyterian Church, Dublin, GA, reception / vistation following in the church fellowship hall.
In lieu of flowers, the family requests, at Mom's direction, contributions to either of the above churches, or the charity of your choice.
A Life Well Lived
And that's an understatement.
Alice "Attee" Adams Hunter Patterson, beloved wife, mother, and friend.
Born: October 7, 1928
Died: June 25,2009
Thank you all for your prayers and support. Keep them coming on behalf of our family and especially on behalf of my sweet daddy, mourning the earthly loss of the love of his life.
Alice "Attee" Adams Hunter Patterson, beloved wife, mother, and friend.
Born: October 7, 1928
Died: June 25,2009
Thank you all for your prayers and support. Keep them coming on behalf of our family and especially on behalf of my sweet daddy, mourning the earthly loss of the love of his life.
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