Happy Santa Merry Birthday

So I have Santa sitting on my coffee table. He wears purple and gold, but of course, has a snow globe, and plays the ECU fight song on demand, while he peers in at the ECU football stadium. Why, yes, I am aware that it's the beginning of October. Why, no, I have not fallen prey to the same influences that seem to drive the retail world as they force Christmas on us before we can get our pumpkins carved. Santa is a birthday present. Or he was a birthday present - in July of 2008 - and it took Santa seven years to find my chimney. Actually he was home briefly, so maybe it should be classified as a detour.

In July of 2008 I was given Santa as a birthday present. But Daddy had dementia. So Daddy decided that I had stolen Santa. He couldn't stop complaining to Momma that I had "pulled a fast one" and taken his Santa. The solution - I returned Santa to Daddy with my apologies for being "confused". Santa sat on a table at my parents back door until last month when Momma looked at Santa, and said, "Why don't you take that damn Santa home? You know he's yours." So I loaded Santa back into my car for a return trip to his rightful home. But it's not Christmas yet so I stuck Santa into the closet with the other decorations.

However Santa wasn't happy apparently. See ECU was playing Virginia Tech and early on it looked like a blow out. So I decided that Santa should come on up and watch with me. Next thing I knew we had pulled out an unexpected victory AND I had spotted my goddaughter in the crowd. My solution - I told Rick that Santa stays out until further notice. His response - whatever makes me happy - proof he doesn't have dementia.

Last weekend our college freshman went to his first game as a college student. If you've got to pick a game to be your first one as part of the student body, then by all means pick the one where your school is nationally ranked playing another nationally ranked team on national TV in a pouring rain. Spend your morning tracking down a couple of ponchos and texting your football crazy momma who has lots of advice. Especially when NONE of that advice involves staying home. HAVE A GREAT TIME!! Layer, use trash bags if necessary, did I mention layers? Put your paper printout ticket in a Ziploc bag. Leave your phone in the dorm since it ain't water proof. Just a few examples of my wisdom.

My wisdom was well earned at a life time of going to games in all sorts of weather. One of my favorite memories of an ECU game came in September of 2000, well before Daddy became the man who thought I had stolen from him. It rained the entire time as just Daddy and I sat through the ECU/Syracuse game. We won, but I'm not sure if that makes the memory sweeter (silly, of course it does). I sat there with Daddy, getting soaked, cheering on our Pirates. I love, love, love that my first born went to his game, cheered on his team, and had a blast. Not as crazy over his statement that the clothes are "ruined 'cause I hit some mud on the way to the field, and I threw them over there in a corner." Apparently the laundry life lesson did not take as well as the support your team lesson did.  But, life should be about making memories. It goes by too fast to spend no time in the rain.

Santa reminds me that kindnesses aren't always done in expected ways. I never corrected Daddy. I never complained over Santa, though I did make a joke to Rick that I had the distinction of giving instead of receiving a birthday gift for my own birthday. My brothers were well aware of the story of Santa. They heard Daddy, and they knew he would be mine - eventually.

The day after I brought Santa home was the two year anniversary of my father-in-law's death. The past two years have brought much heartache, many transitions, a lot of shifting of material goods, and so very much growth in lessons learned. Three years ago, Santa would never have peeked out in September. I would have been a bit embarrassed over the story. Now, I leave him out. I didn't expect him to help win a game, and truly our rushing QB did that for us. I just wanted to look at him, and reflect. I like seeing him.  He'll get put back up eventually. I have too many Martha Stewart pretensions to leave him out year round. But for now - Happy Santa Merry Birthday to me. Oh, and GO PIRATES, GO TIGERS, (please, dear God, may Tennessee win).

This is for You, Daddy

"This is for you, Daddy." Stevie Nicks at the beginning of "Landslide" on "The Dance" Album

My husband and I are well suited to each other. Momma has often said that she couldn't have designed one better for me. We have a lot in common. This year we have one more thing in common. We've lost our fathers, and this has been the first Father's Day for each of us with no one to call or send a card to. My husband would admit - I was the one sending the cards. It became a point of humor for us. I would say, "You sent a card that said..." And he would grin, and say, "I'm so thoughtful." But cards or no cards, love exists.

"Tell me, where does the spirit go when you die?" "Annabel" - The Duhks
"Tell me, did you sail across the sun?" "Drops of Jupiter" - Train

My Daddy is gone. Momma said yesterday that she kept thinking she would wake up, and he would be there. I told her I knew exactly what she meant. Because I do. I think that puts us in one of those stages. My stage involves Hostess Big Wheels (that's what they were called when Daddy bought them for me almost every day my sixth grade year, and that's what I'm calling them), some Jack and Coke, and digging what's left of my fingernails into my palm to prevent tears. A friend once told me that we write to learn about ourselves. I've learned a lot this past year, but not written a lot. Another friend reminded me that the shower is a great place to sob. I am so very clean - so is the shower stall.

"Up all night, I could not sleep. The whiskey that I drank was cheap." "South City Midnight Lady" - The Doobie Brothers

"And I confess that I'm only holding on by a thin, thin thread." "Sad" - Maroon 5

"Life goes on. It gets so heavy. The wheel breaks the butterfly." "Paradise" - Coldplay

I wonder if I've been kind enough to others when they've experienced grief. This has been such a constant presence in my life this last year. We've not only lost our fathers, but my mother-in-law passed away, a favorite uncle, and a favorite aunt, a loved cousin, even our beloved dog. Our older son can actually write in his upcoming college applications that he lost three grandparents during his junior year of high school. What a dubious distinction. I will say it provides a certain perspective on the other stuff like needing a new transmission in a 2014 vehicle, the broken sprinkler head that was pointing towards the golf course flooding the green, the broken outside water faucet that was dripping for who knows how long (can't wait to see the water bill), the kid who ignored my explanation of how a car battery can be drained resulting in his first lesson involving jumper cables, poison ivy, bronchitis, flu, and the infamous 'I stepped on a snake' incident resulting in a new door mat - one not black and not so easily blendable with a black snake. When you've spent so much time dressing in black, hugging people you love, hugging people you don't remember or never knew, the other stuff just becomes adventures to laugh at. Sometimes the hugs are adventures, too. May I suggest that some people should keep their hands in reasonable places...

"I miss the sounds of Tennessee. I blink and while my eyes are closed, they both have gone away."  "House on the Lake" - Rosanne Cash

Some people are so kind it's almost overwhelming. Others are so clueless that your choices are to be amused or offended. I opted for amused, with only an occasional sprinkle of indignation. So I have even more stories then just the snake one, like the ex-girlfriend who showed up to my father-in-law's visitation flirting with hubby or the ex-boyfriend who tracked down my number, and called me. Which made hubby and I even-steven on the exes front - thank goodness - no need to inflate the man's ego. But really, people, funerals are NOT Eharmony...or a high school reunion. Perhaps you could pick another time to decide we were catches after all.

There's the tendency to question God, and his existence in all of this. That's not my way. I long ago gave up even attempting to understand. I don't get quantum physics, I can't comprehend how to engineer a part, and I for dang sure ain't 'bout to try to rebuild an engine so why should I know all the answers to God's universe. I get that. I'm also good with counting blessings. I had my Daddy for years longer then many people I know had their loved ones, and we were able to be at a good place when he passed from this life to life eternal. That's a gift not all receive though it was wrapped in the sideways paper of dementia.

"Think about it. There must be a higher love. Down in the heart or hidden in the stars above." "Higher Love" - Steve Winwood

Now, I have to say, Daddy was not some perfection of a man. Like all of us, you got the good with the bad. The man had a temper, I mean he could really lay it on. And if he thought he was right, well, there ain't no way that YOU were right. He went almost a year with out speaking to me once because he thought I had made the wrong job choice. But I have that stubborn streak, too. Eventually he was proud when I made my way in a large company just as I wanted to do. I think he enjoyed my spirit, as long as I never forgot to say ma'am or sir along the way. Sometimes two people are too much alike...but there are lessons in all of that, too. Lessons I try to remember raising our teenagers - one is a little more like me, the other one a little more like Hubby. Makes life more interesting as long as we remember the love, and forgiveness. 

"Children get older. I'm getting older, too." "Landslide" - Fleetwood Mac
"Mirror in the sky, what is love? Can the child within my heart rise above? Can I sail through the changing ocean tides? Can I handle the seasons of my life? I don't know." "Landslide" - Fleetwood Mac

The night of Daddy's visitation one of my cousins told me a story I had never heard. Daddy came from a large family. Such a large family means a large range in ages of the cousins, and this cousin remembered Daddy as a young man back from the Korean War. He told me that our grandmother said Daddy would wake up with what they called "night terrors" for months after he returned. I am at an age now that I can look back at how it must have been for my Daddy, not too much older then my sons, and be so impressed by him. This was a man who answered his country, did his duty, came back home, worked full time at night on the railroad while he attended East Carolina College during the day, and spent countless hours helping charities. He never spoke of Korea until dementia came calling other then to tell us that "M.A.S.H." was NOT the way it was. Only then did we find out that he rode trains laying down gunfire to evacuate the dead, and wounded. He led a life, life did not lead him, and there's a lesson in that also. Too much is handed to so many of us. He expected nothing to be handed to him. He became a college graduate. He became Master of his Masonic lodge, president of his Shrine club chapter, and if you didn't know that he was an ECU Pirate then you obviously had never spoken to him for more then two minutes, and certainly never spoke to him during football season. Even as he lay on his deathbed, we played an ECU football game, and he knew it was his Pirates. I could even con him into leaving his nasal cannula in place by telling him that we would beat UNC if he left it alone.

Daddy passed away on May 28. For years, Momma said it would be terrible if someone died and there was an East Carolina University game because none of us would come. Daddy died when there were no active sports going on for ECU. I think he planned that. But still we flew our flags and magnets. His last surviving sister realized what we were doing, and insisted someone put them on her Cadillac, and one of my cousins flew to her car, got them out of her trunk and put them on. No one wanted to disobey her. The last one, the last one of nine siblings. How hard it is to survive.

"We're the Purple and Gold. We are the PIRATES OF ECU." EC Victory Fight Song

The night of Daddy's visitation we had one of those DVD's going. All the good funeral homes do them these days. You send pictures, they set them up to loop through, maybe add some music. Daddy loved music. We all love music. Somehow it felt right that we asked for three songs to be set to the pictures on the DVD. The three songs were, "Sugar Lips" by Al Hirt, "Whipped Cream" by Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass, and the ECU Fight Song. Nothing else would have felt as right. He loved life, and he saw it in so many ways - war, and peace. He deserved music that reflected his love of life.

Our sons have been a wonder through it all. They have watched their parents grieve, and shown compassion. I will never forget the touch of our sixteen year old's hand on my back as I started a strangled sob walking in the funeral home or the introverted seventeen year old walking up to me, and telling me that he would stay beside me until I told him he wasn't needed.

"No, this child will be gifted with love, with patience, and with faith." "Wonder" - Natalie Merchant

In the bottom of Daddy's jewelry box was an id bracelet. One that had my name on it and was made for me at the North Carolina State Fair when I was a little girl. Long after I stopped wearing it, and discarded it, he kept it. That's how love is - we keep it. We always keep it.

Somehow in grief, we each make our way. We find love. We find faith. We find compassion. Somehow we heal. Each scar makes a stronger place for faith, and love to take root.

"Take this love, and take it down." "Landslide" - Fleetwood Mac
"So I will look for you between the grooves of songs we sing." "The World Unseen" - Rosanne Cash
"Are ye healed?" "Did Ye Get Healed" by Van Morrison

Each time one of us shares love, and compassion, each time one of us turns to God, we are healed. - me

Better Safe Than Sorry

I find it sadly ironic that the queen (as I consider her) of love songs has died the weekend before Valentines Day. Growing up she was always blasting out of my walkman headphones (yes, I am that old) or my car stereo. Her beautiful, soulful voice would sing words of love that uncannily seemed to reflect my current feelings for my latest romantic endeavor. She was, it seemed, there for me at every twist and turn, and the world loved her. 

Her death, of course, is surrounded in mystery. The press, like hounds chasing a fox, is following the scent of prescription drug abuse and its unfortunate outcome. If you consider this situation, it is not unlike many others that have hit our newspapers over recent years. Too many stars have gone astray. Unfortunately, these sad losses are accredited to their drug addiction because of the stresses and strains of their artistic brilliance or their failure to create long lasting relationships in an ever-demanding world. However, when it boils down to the nitty gritty they all have one thing in common -- Prescription Drugs. 

It was not that long ago that heroin or cocaine were the drugs of the moment, creating huge headlines and selling the papers like hot cakes. The drug barons of South America must be feeling the push right now and for that, I am glad. However, as always, when one door closes another opens. Unfortunately, our healthcare providers are in fact unknowingly becoming our next generation drug barons. With the advancement of medicine has come the advancement of drug availability. The very drugs that are healing us are the very drugs that are providing the path to addiction. This problem is not just one that plagues the rich and famous, it can happen to anyone and it does. 

Two years ago, I broke my back after an unfortunate accident. At the same time my young daughter was going through a breakdown, my marriage was hanging by a thread, and my father was critically ill. So naturally, I was on my last nerve. To combat my feelings of despair my doctor convinced me that an antidepressant would help. After much deliberating, I decided to take the advice and started on a round of prescriptions. Of course, the effects of the drugs did make me calmer, and they helped with my mood, but that is all they did. They masked the stresses of my life, but they did not mend it. I became afraid to stop taking them, knowing that nothing on the other side had changed. As time went on, I started to suffer side effects of the drugs. Insomnia, loss of appetite, and inability to concentrate were becoming a real problem. It was looking like I would need to take further meds to combat the effects of my so called assistance. A spiral was beginning, just like that. 

Luckily, I figured out that this FIX was just that, a band-aid on my life and the wound underneath was still there. It would never heal unless I tackled and addressed the real issues. I was not a depressive; but medically I was treated as one. I could have become one of those statistics, one of those unfortunate people who take more and more pills to cover life, a person, probably like Whitney. I got out of the cycle before it began. I am one of the lucky ones. 

Since my experience, I have spoken with people, mostly women, and discovered that this situation is an all too common one. Women going through motherhood or menopause are given a pick me up to help them, students who are finding it hard to cope away from home are given a medical crutch to lean on, and long term illness sufferers are given a smorgasbord of pills to combat their illness and it's emotional effects. Every one of these people is in danger of becoming an addict, not because they chose to take drugs for recreational use, but because they have received medical treatment.  

I am not saying that doctors are to blame for the world's addiction levels. I know that there are those out there who abuse the system knowingly, but each seed is sown from a so-called medical need. I do believe as medicine advances, quick fixes are becoming the norm, but when medicine leads to the need for more medicine then surely this is not conducive to healing. 

Those stars, like Whitney, who have taken this route have paid the price. It is not the price of fame, but the price of being human, just like you and me. I know that after my lucky escape, I will be more careful about quick fixes in the future and advise anyone to think carefully before considering the option of a pick-me-up solution to your problems.  

Stay safe and healthy!

Travelling, Gaby Style.

Two years ago I invited three of my best friends to come with me and celebrate my 50^th birthday. While they were (and yeah, still are) very dear to me, they had never met each other. I was a little worried as to whether or not they would get along, but with mature (of the mind) ladies, I should have left my concerns at the curb. Who would have thought that two years later the four of us would be celebrating our one year anniversary of 4gaby.com?  The journey from that day forward has been nothing short of wondrous.

We weathered each other through death, illness, insecurities, child-rearing guilt, and gut-wrenching worry. We’ve reached goals we never would have dreamed, held each other’s hands and lifted each other up, all without expecting anything in return. Friendship, golden and solid was the gift we gave each other, unexpected. On a moment’s notice we can pick up the phone and call each other with anything from questions on graphics to begging for sanity. We’ve Skyped and griped, discovering that at our tender age technology can be our friend, even when we’ve (okay, mostly me) been dragged, kicking and virtually screaming into Twitter, Facebook, and now Google +.  There is no age limit on learning or supporting one another. As we head down the road on the double-decker bus for our second year, I can’t help but wonder what will be next. We’re growing, learning, and understanding what a sisterhood can be, all the while bringing to the table our own uniqueness.   

Thank you all for letting us share with you, for allowing us into your homes and offices, and for helping us to grow. Your support is our success. What more could four women ask for? Well, you know me, I can always think of something!

The Fairytale, The Terrorist, and The Reality.

By Dawn Tolson and Mary Alford-Carman

 

As a group of four unique individuals, two Grits, a Brit and a Yank, we've shared a maelstrom of events within the past seven days. We've seen the highs of jubilation, the depths of evil, and the reality of loss.

During the Royal Wedding we watched in awe as a fairytale unfolded. A prince took a commoner for a wife and made her his princess in a manner unsurpassed by the United Kingdom. The beginning of a life together celebrated by a nation and shared by the world; it was stunning. In the span of 48 hours the media blitz began again with the death of a terrorist. Celebrations of a sort ensued, albeit at the other end of the spectrum. The worlds most wanted man was finally eliminated, bringing to an end an almost ten year search for justice.

But what does that mean to us? The reality is that most of us will never walk within the walls of Buckingham Palace (unless we've purchased a ticket), and while we may never experience personally the tragedy of terrorism, we are all aware that we could be one airplane flight away from the horror. The great leveler for all of us is loss.

No matter who you are or where you are, you will grieve the loss of a loved one. Within these past seven days, one of our own lost her Mom to Alzheimer's. For some of us, this has been a reminder of what has already been lost and for others, a mirror into what is yet to come.

The events of the world go on around us, and they always will, but for the moment, we pause in the reality of loss.