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

Masking the Grief

When Evelyn and I get together, as we did this past weekend to celebrate her birthday, we can hit fifty different subjects within an hour. I’m talking female domination (does that exist anywhere?), to world peace, Presidential hopefuls, taxes, college tuition and of course, our children and families. We know each other as well as sisters, having known each other since preschool age. Although our histories are separate, they have been shared for four decades. No one knows us better with the exception of our Mothers. Being with her soothes my grey cells. I can let my hair down and let loose with my opinions, and I can feel what I feel and let it show. I don’t have to wear a mask.


July is an up and down month for me, I celebrate the gift of my best friend within that month, but I also mark the anniversary of my Mama’s death. She died July 5, 1998 in my living room from complications of Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease, or COPD for short. I had brought her to my home that morning from my sister’s home. The plan was to give my sister a break from care-giving and I welcomed the opportunity to do so, not just to help my sister, but because I love my Mama and she gave me so much. But just like Mama, she had other plans, and other places to go.


At nine o’clock that evening, just as “Touched by an Angel” (a popular TV show in the 90’s) was going off the air with its signature dove flying off into a sapphire blue sky, Mama flew away home. My husband called 911 while I administered CPR. The rest is a blur. Emergency Medical Techs surrounded me and took over while my not quite one-year-old daughter slept unaware upstairs. I had phone calls to make to my two sisters and my brother. My husband’s parents came over to lend their support, pitch in with our daughter if needed, and above all, to surround us with the grace that only love can give. So I don’t care much to be in my living room on any given July Fifth, and when I wake up on that morning it’s like some hateful mechanism goes off in my being, squeezing my heart and reminding me of what I’ve lost.


A few weeks after the funeral I was told I shouldn’t grieve, a year later I was asked why I dwelled on it so, and the years have rolled by with comments, meant to bring comfort, but judging. “You need to get on with your life.” Life has gone on. My daughter will be fourteen this year, my shadow and junior lady, and I have a beautiful blue-eyed son who wasn’t even a glimmer when my Mama died. I do what I need to do, I laugh, I work, I help with homework, drive endless miles for the children’s activities, I do not dwell on my Mother’s passing, but I cannot forget it or act as if the loss means nothing. Such a tremendous part of my strength comes from my Mama. My love of music, my gut instincts (which Mama had in spades) my fierce watchfulness over my children and my appreciation for friends are just a tip of what Mama gave to me by example. She was my truest friend, my most righteous defender, and my biggest critic. She breathed for me and for every one of her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. I do not dwell on her loss, but I miss her like a phantom limb, once a part of me, now apart.


While I was with “Girlfriend” (Evelyn’s term of endearment for both of us) we talked about Evelyn’s Momma, who lost her own mother three years ago. Evelyn’s Momma had her own Momma for seventy-seven, and she misses her every day. She still wants to call her to brag, or just talk, after seventy-seven years. I figure that if Evelyn’s Momma feels that way, I’m justified as well. Evelyn knows what I’m talking about; her essay "Miss NonCongeniality" in our July 4gaby issue pretty much hit home. I can’t pretend not to feel what I feel AND make “chitty chat.” If you see me a little red-eyed, or catch me listening to Sarah McLachlan’s “I Will Remember You” in the month of July, don’t worry. I’m getting on with my life, I’m too busy not to, but I won’t wear a mask to make others comfortable. My Mama always told me to be myself.






(And just because I'm being myself, don't forget to check out my other blog, Losing Mary at http://losingmarycarman.blogspot.com/ Thank you.)

The Springtime of my Discontent

I won a golden head award at work for best headline of the week last year. It was a sports columnist’s column about the Carolina Panthers that made it to the front page: “The losing season of our discontent.” It speaks for itself.

I’m feeling the springtime of my discontent lately, and of course it’s related to Mom’s declining health. She’s in the very last stages of Alzheimer’s. She’s now a complete invalid in a semi-awake and unable to talk state, confined to her hospital bed at home. When I asked for a week off work to help Dad care for her, a friend at work caught me after deadline that night and got me crying. It’s easy to do at 11:30 p.m. She said, “You must be so angry.” Huh. Of all the things I’d been feeling, I hadn’t thought about anger yet. The luxury of anger I can’t afford to feel. Grief must contain the whole gamut of human emotion, but anger is one I didn’t want to entertain for very long. Once she said it, I was there.

No wonder I’m so easily ticked off by my son’s baseball coach who won’t move him up in the lineup, the AIG teacher who said he didn’t make the cut for next year, lousy drivers. I’m on a short fuse and need to throw the dynamite far from me lest we all blow up. I’m mad at friends who mention lunch with their Moms, or Moms who babysit, or old but healthy people who complain, or people who say they’re too busy. I’m mad at the “sandwich generation” columnist at my paper who has a 17 year old and a Mom in a “memory care facility” she occasionally visits. “But you don’t care for your mother. She’s in a home. And your daughter is a teenager. You have no issues,” is what I wrote on the proof. Ugh. Of course I threw that one in the trash. Mad at a 20something who says she’s paid her dues (by working 1 year), so how dare they lay her off last year, when those with 30 years were, and continue to be, laid off too, and I’m working contract hours at half pay. I’m just mad.

It always leads to self-pity, poor me, my pain is worse, with me. I get dismissive and self-righteous. It’s ugly in here. Changing your mother’s soiled diapers is ugly. Holding her hand as she stares right through you, sitting by her side as she’s dying is unbearable.… I don’t have the words for it.

I listen to Mumford & Sons CD in the car and cry along to “You are not alone in this. As brothers we will stand and hold your hand. You are not alone in this.” Mom is not alone. But I feel like I am. Grief is very self-centered. It wants all of me.

Anger, self-pity, selfish dismissiveness of others’ pain and problems—not what I want to learn from adversity. Grace, mercy, love and especially compassion for what every human being must suffer—this I need to embrace. The good stuff, the stuff that makes me a better human being, not a selfish bitch.

The baseball coach volunteers her time. The AIG teacher has a difficult job, and is facing layoffs. The young girl at work has or will suffer her own losses. They all have pain--this we are guaranteed to share as members of the same human family. You can’t measure pain on a scale, or say mine is worse than yours or yours is worse than mine. Pain pales in comparisons. It’s very humbling, and the ultimate leveler.

A happy coincidence came in that I heard a speaker talk about gratitude the other night, which initially made me mad. It’s so easy to count what’s wrong, but to count what’s right—it’s a sure cure for my anger. There is so much to be grateful for. I remain a humble servant, and humbled more by the day. There is so little we can do, but we can hold each other’s hand. We are not alone in this.

For the Love

I had planned that my blog would be all about the happiness and love of pets to go along with my essay, "Elvis Lives, and He Faithfully Uses His Litter Box", but then life intruded as it so often does. If you read Sheilah’s latest essay, “Conversations With Mom”, then between the tears, you’ve glimpsed the sadness of watching someone you love so very much slip away, and it probably stirred memories of your own losses. Sheilah and I are at different stages of a shared loss. My daddy is still early while her mom is in the late stages. Last weekend, I was blessed to have my parents actually make it all the way here from their home. Momma really wanted to see where we live, and she had never been able to come. She knew leaving him for any stretch of time wouldn’t work either so my older brother was patient enough to bring them, stopping for Daddy as needed. And just as in Sheilah’s essay, he also wondered why they were here, and kept repeating that it was “time to be going”. Time starts to lose all relevance when you remember so little of it.

As in Mary’s essay, “Virtual Reality”, I’ve reconnected with so many dear friends and part of that reconnection has been grieving their losses along with them, and those friends have helped me in celebrations and in grief. Some of our losses have been recent, some less recent, but no less painful, and I am always reminded of the resilience of humanity and the importance of love, and kindness. There is a reason that Dawn wrote, “Grown-up High School Wannabes”. It’s hard to be interested in pettiness and gossip when life consists too much of true reality.  

When tragedy strikes, as we’ve all watched occur in Japan, there is often the image or story of some beloved family pet being rescued or sadly the tales of how many have perished, and that can sometimes get more media coverage than the tales of people. Pets are a reminder of how constant love can be, and they somehow know how to sit with us in silence while we grieve. Pets are an innocence that life sometimes seems to no longer possess for us. When my hubby reminds me that after our current crop of two pass away, he doesn’t want another one (usually only mentioned when we want to get away for a weekend, and first I need to make arrangements – note the “I” - he’s not making the arrangements, nor is it hard to find someone), I just nod my head and walk away. Because I also know that he adores both of them. So we’ll have another pet, because the world always needs more love…even in grief.

Getting Through by Mary Alford-Carman

I got a call from an acquaintance who read “Inside An Empty Womb,” the essay I wrote for our 4gaby.com online magazine and I was touched beyond belief. We had worked together during the summer for the U.S. Census and had briefly connected, sharing our thoughts on motherhood, working and juggling schedules. She didn’t know that I had gone through the infertility process, and she was going through it for the second time around. Her first attempts were similar to mine, but she did have a child who is now a five-year-old son. They want to have another baby, and the process, while still daunting, has them excited for the future.

What caught her attention in my essay was the mention of mood swings and of the loss of a baby so dreamed about and wanted. She told me that reading the words left her feeling validated. She still mourned a loss that no one ever saw, but felt that given the opportunity she wouldn’t have changed a thing. In the day-to-day of parenting, the loss of a baby before term had made her more grateful for the child she hugs today. She, too, had those who made comments that were less than compassionate after her loss. I asked her how she handled it and she told me most of the time she just walked away. There were times when she really had to bite her tongue, because she just couldn’t deal with their lack of kindness along with her loss.

We all go through horrific hard times in life, and many times we find the support we need around us. When we don’t, it shocks and causes hurt. Have you ever been in a situation where the support you hoped for wasn’t there, or worse still, was insensitive? How did you handle it? Who helped you through it?  Sometimes, when the chips are really down, who can you rely on to “get it” and help you get through?

Remembering our Loved Ones While They’re Still Among Us

My essay this month was depressing as hell ("We Finally Saw Our Father"). It’s difficult to write about my Mom’s Alzheimer’s, and about Dad’s life with her. I find little comfort or pat answers in how to deal with such long-suffering grief. I believe God’s in his heaven and all is right with the world, but I wish we didn’t have to deal with the fact of human suffering that seems to have no end. I have to daily accept it and just do what’s in front of me to do. Writing helps—it always offers epiphanies that I get to hold onto, some sense of mercy, makes me see what’s there, like my Dad and his wonderful personality of caregiving surfacing.

How do you deal with failing parents? Do you avoid it or embrace it?

Do you feel sorry for yourself?

Do you take issue with siblings who don’t help?

It took me some time to realize that siblings who don't live nearby may not realize how sick a parent really is, and even if they do, that their relationship with their parent is none of my business. Do you talk about such with your siblings?

What kind of “help” can we really offer?

And where do you find the grace in such a hopeless circumstance?

Don't Let the Grief Elves Steal the Holidays

Possibly the most touching card I will ever receive, with the exception of the handmade ones from our children, had my own signature on it. Now, I'm not the kind to send myself a card, and this was not an exception. Actually a friend had scanned in a card we had sent her fiancee a few years back and sent it to us with a note. We lost this dear man this year and she wanted us to know that he had treasured that card. The holidays can be so hard. Too many expectations, plus too little time or money equals disappointment (what - no diamonds, again? Really, dear!). But for anyone dealing with grief - fresh or not - the holidays can become a constant reminder of loss. Maybe it's that decoration given to you or the tradition that someone always participated in, or maybe it's just the absence of the presence of that person you love. I've lost several people the last few years though I'm blessed to still have my husband, my children, my parents, and more people I love than I can possibly name here. But the losses have brought with them a deeper empathy for others and their losses. It can be difficult to find joy, but in the memories there can also be a comfort, and in the sharing comes a peace and remembrance. So share with others how you feel and you may be surprised at the love you receive back. At the holidays, try not to let the grief elves steal the holidays from you...certainly not while the carb elves are busy stealing my waistline. And for Jim - GO VOLS!