Halloween

Hebrews 4:12
The word of God is living and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart.

It's that time of year again. Halloween. A day and night that brings out the best and worst of people and in people - especially Christians. I have seen more division in the body of Christ on this one day and this topic than on many others. Some believe that we, as Christians, should have nothing to do with this day at all and hole up in a room together - to not let it "touch" us. Then there is the other camp that agrees there is a dark side to it but that there is also a fun side and choose to celebrate the fun side. I'm sure there are some that get all into the dark side but for the sake of argument, I'm going to leave them out of it this time. I am of the second camp - that there is a fun, light side and I choose to participate in that. A lot of my friends disagree and they are always allowed their opinions. In this "note" I would like to explain my heart in this matter.

First and foremost, God knows my heart. He knows that I will bow before no other God but Him. He knows that I will not be mixing any special potions in a cauldron or worshipping a skull. He knows my heart is for children of all shapes, sizes, creeds, religions, race, etc. to come to know Him in a personal manner. My personal feeling is that the enemy has enough days of the year to influence and touch our children and I am not willing to stand back, hide, and let him have that day all to himself. I will be out there, fighting for the spirits of the children and doing my part to plant seeds and fill voids. After all, it was because someone reached out to me that I am even a member of God's precious Kingdom. Here's my Halloween story:

A long, long time ago, when I was a mere 7 years old, I was invited to a costume party at a local church in the town I grew up in. Back then it didn't seem like Christians were looking for demons under every rock and shying away from Halloween like they do now. My friend Barb attended this church and invited me to go to AWANA (a church program) with her and to come dressed up. My mom was a single mom at the time with no monetary resources to get me a costume. She was already worried about what to scavenge up together for my younger brother and I to go trick-or-treating. Not wanting to let me down, she came up with a game plan. She was working at a steel company at the time in the office and she asked her co-workers for some help. The guys really got into it and together they "designed" my costume. They took the big brown wrapping paper and cut out a dress from it. They used the bright yellow wrapping tape to hold it together along the seams and to fashion a design on the front. They used the same material to make me a headband and fashioned a feather out of paper from the copier machine. They even went so far as to make moccassin-looking covers for my gym shoes. My mother expertly painted my face with the makeup she had on hand - some of which was a darker foundation - and off I went. I had a blast. For the first time in my whole life, I felt like I fit in. I was one of the girls and they all loved my costume. So much so that I even won the contest. I got a gift certificate to a local food store and a coveted ribbon to display in my room. I was on top of the world. I felt loved and accepted at a time when my personal world had been blown to smithereens.

My father had left us two years earlier, a year after my grandmother had died. She had lived with us so it was especially hard on us. Now our home was void of two very important people. Life at home was depressing at best, and downright sad most of the time. My mother was left with three children to take care of and no support coming from my father. My older brother did what he could to help out but he was still in high school too. Times were hard and there wasn't much to smile about except that we were all together. Little did I know at the time, but those would turn out to be some of the happiest days of my childhood. My family history consisted of grandparents and great grandparents who were involved in occult activities. While my parents were never active participants, they never really said any of that was wrong so I didn't have any inkling that not every family believed that. We didn't have any of the practices in our home but I did listen to the stories being told of things that had happened. It was just a part of life as we knew it.

During those days, I know I was left out of a lot of things, both at school and in the neighborhood. Most parents were afraid to let their kids play with me - just in case divorce was contagious - so I didn't have many playmates. At school they didn't have the knowledge or experience to deal with the unique aspects of children coming from broken homes. It was hard on my mom to see us suffer because of it but she was facing her own persecutions from the same people. No longer invited to join in anything for those same fears, she became reclusive unless she was at work.

While winning felt good and made my day, what happened after that was really even better. When I came home and told my mom "we" won, she was ecstatic. Then when I handed her the certificate, she was in tears - of happiness. You see, her paycheck wasn't due for a couple of more days and we literally had nothing left to eat. With that certificate she was able to get groceries and feed us all for the rest of the week. Nobody knew we needed that except God. My mother was a proud woman and would never reach out for charity. She did the best she could on her own. My brother was the same and Ken and I were too young to understand much except to obey when we were told not to talk about it to anyone. My mother's way of escape was to bury herself in alcohol until she passed out, with Dick joining her when he was home or more often than not, his choice was working. I can't say it was an unhappy home but it never felt right. It was just all we knew. Getting drunk and passing out was the "norm" in our home.

Of course since I was so well accepted at that church, where adults were wide awake and involved, I went back again and again and it wasn't long before a missionary got through to my heart and led me to Christ. As I look back at all I've been through all these years, I can't imagine having come through it without my faith in God. It has been tested time and time again up until this day and I will not waiver. People wonder why I "celebrate" Halloween and get so involved for the kids. Well to answer their questions - it's because someone did that for me. If my friend had not invited me or if the church had not sponsored the costume contest or if my mom had not gotten involved or if I had refused to wear a paper costume in the midst of all those store bought costumes, if, if, if... I would not be here today with the faith I have in our one true God. Barb gave the invitation but it was a whole bunch of people that not only touched my life but also renewed my mother's faith in a God that she had all but forgotten. She didn't stop drinking right away, but her faith grew and for the first time in a long, long time, she had hope. Because through the pomp and circumstance of a Halloween costume party, a prayer that she mentioned to no one but God Himself, was answered. And a whole bunch of prayers more that she made to what she thought was just the wind, for her children. So on Sunday night I will be at the Trunk or Treat at our church, with my car and myself decked out in a Tom Sawyer theme. I will laugh with and ((hug)) the children, I will pass out candy and I will show them God's love. After all Jesus Himself chose to mingle amongst the thieves and prostitutes - He got out INTO the world. He didn't hole up with His Disciples and say "oh well, it's a bad world so we'll just keep to ourselves." Nope I dare to say that Jesus will be right there with me - showing His love to a lost world, not condemning it. How can I do anything less?

Jeremiah 29:11

"I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." Jeremiah 29:11

I've know this verse and have quoted it nearly all my life. It was one of the very first verses I memorized as a Chum in the Awana program at my church. I've clutched it near and dear to my heart when things haven't been going right and certainly during our many moves through the years, but never have those words come more alive to me than recently. As most of you know, we just moved to Florida. The reasons we moved are many - to be closer to my son, grandson and daughter-in-law, we were losing our home in Tennessee because Oliver lost his job over 2 years ago and hasn't been able to find anything, our savings is depleted, the doctors at Vanderbilt have told me there is nothing more they can do for me and are saying this is probably my last year at life, etc. We prayed hard before we made the move and we are absolutely sure that this was what God wanted us to do - yet we weren't sure how we were going to pull it off. We had to have several garage sales and finally sold our storage building to be able to pay for the move. Our credit cards are maxed out because, basically, we've had to live off of them for over 2 years. My health insurance has run out and I've been denied social security disability - the first time because I didn't have the diagnosis I do now and this time because they say I haven't worked enough quarters recently enough to qualify. We are literally having to live off of Oliver's social security check, and that certainly does not go far.

We're used to being frugal, we have been all our lives, so that has been the easiest part in all this. The hardest part was letting go of the friendships we made in Tennessee and the people who hold such a special place in our hearts. We knew the move was inevitable but I honestly thought that when the time came, it was going to be because God was sending me down here to die. It all made "sense" to me. My family would be together to help each other grieve. If others wanted to come down, there is an airport close by (which we didn't have in TN). I always dreamed of living in Florida - ever since my first visit here back in 1975 when I went to Ft. Lauderdale and then up to Orlando. I thought God was just granting me my last wish to be near my family before I die.

As bleak as things were looking, I figured the time had come. My body was not cooperating and I rarely left my broken recliner, let alone home. I'd manage to drag myself to church on Sunday and occasionally a trip to Walmart - just to get out. I'd gotten pretty good at not letting the stress of the situation(s) we were facing get the best of me, because it would only make my breathing harder. Before we left Tennessee, I have to admit, I felt defeated. I felt like I gave it one helluva shot, but lost in the end. I didn't have the energy or desire to even fight anymore. In many ways, I had just given up - not necessarily on life itself, but certainly on any quality of life.

Moving day came and we had quite the turnout to help us. Dan drove up from Florida to take a trailer full back with his Explorer and we had a bunch of men from church and Teen Challenge to help load the truck. Well, we thought it would only be one truck but then we had to get a second small truck because of the amount of items we couldn't stack. Mercifully God came through for us on that too... We needed another driver. Dan had already left with the trailer because he needed to get back home. My friend Cathy was going to be riding in the car with me so that I didn't have to make the trip alone. We had thought about me driving the other truck and Cathy taking my car but she didn't feel comfortable driving alone, especially since she had no idea where she was going, and me driving the truck was being way to optimistic on my part. So we prayed and then our friend Dan volunteered to give up his Labor Day weekend and drive the truck down on Saturday with his wife, Jessica, and the kids following behind in their car. We left late on Thursday and stopped for the night outside Montgomery, AL. I was glad we had talked Oliver into stopping as well. He had a flat tire on the way down and that was after an already long day loading the trucks, cleaning the house before we left (as best as we could - our good friend Bama went in a week later and spit-polished everything for us, bless her heart) and then meeting traffic along the way. We finished the drive on Friday and just unloaded the beds, etc. so that we could sleep here Friday night. On Saturday morning, Dan had set up for some men to help us unload. Of course it was while a tropical depression was moving through and they had to unload in the rain but it wasn't too bad. They were able to line the truck up with the back patio, which is covered, and it was a direct shot into the house. The only had a little dripping between the truck and the roof to deal with. I had to helplessly stand by and watch - with the hardest part of my day being to stay out of the way with my oxygen tubing so that I didn't trip anyone.

Everything with the move itself went fine. For some reason I just knew when I first walked into this house that this was where we were supposed to live. It was dirty, a bit run-down, and everybody had thought I had lost my mind when I said that I loved it. They attributed it to my constant lack of good oxygenated blood getting to my brain but everyone wanted "Momma to be happy". I was not only happy, but actually excited. I welcomed the challenge and I could just see such potential in this old house and thought all it needed was some vision and some TLC - something I still had plenty of.

On moving day, I really thought I would be emotional leaving my "dream house" behind and all the hopes and dreams that I had there. I was leaving behind good friends and a place that I loved. I actually went through the house and prayed blessings over the next people that live there. I truly hope they, whoever they are, will be happy there for many, many years. It's a beautiful house in a wonderful area. I thought I'd be in tears, but I wasn't. I even stopped at the end of the street before making the turn where I would never see the house again and mentioned to Cathy that I was surprised that I wasn't upset. At first we both thought it was because I was just too exhausted but it wasn't that. I had a peace about it. In my mind I thought I was leaving and heading to Florida to live out what little I had left of my life but there was something in my spirit that gave me such peace. We had sold our second car so that we could buy new recliners down here, knowing that we both spend a lot of time in them. We got a great deal at La-Z-Boy's two for one sale and they are extremely comfortable. Funny thing is that we haven't spent much time in them at all.

We've worked hard on this house to make it "ours". We only have one room, the office, left to paint and then the whole house is done. We've puttered in the yard and planted a few items but we know we'll be planting more. Oliver has been working so very hard, between painting and cleaning up the yard. The landlords came by to give us the receipt for our rent and literally had tears in their eyes. They said it was the best this house has looked in years. This was her parent's house, so she has an emotional attachment to it and he has invested so much into it, that he is happy to see his investment being taken care of. It's been a win-win situation.

Each day I seem to push myself a little harder and do a little bit more than the day before. We've taken plenty of "breaks" and headed out exploring our new area. We've been to the beach a couple of times and we've only missed one of Eli's soccer games - because Oliver was busy and lost track of time and I fell sound asleep in the above-mentioned recliner. While I'm still on oxygen 24/7, it seems I have been able to walk a little farther and do a little more each day. Instead of becoming weaker like the doctors predicted, I have become stronger. Instead of feeling all alone in a new area, we have met some wonderful people in our new church and we just know they will be friends for life. Speaking of our new church, we LOVE it. It's a "happening" church and so very involved in the community and we're fiiting right in. God knew what He was doing.

None of the facts have changed - we're still broke with far too many bills than income, they will be auctioning off the house in TN the end of the month (and hopefully someone will be blessed with it) and we don't know how that will all end up, I still have Pulmonary Fibrosis which has slowed me down but not knocked me out as predicted, etc. but life has taken a surprisingly upward turn. We're having fun. We're laughing and smiling and LIVING. It's been a joy, not a chore, to work on this house and the surrounding property. It's been wonderful seeing the vision of what it could be come together and to feel so at home here, it's like we've been here for years. It was tempting not to make the move though. The last week we were there, we got the call that we did qualify for the "Save my TN Home" program and they would have paid our mortgage for the next year. It was tempting, but we knew that even in a year from now, we'd be in no better shape to afford that house. The bank wouldn't work with us now and we'd be further in the hole a year from now. Plus if we accepted the payout, we'd be locked in there for at least 5 years or have to repay all of it. That wouldn't have been fair to Oliver. Besides, we really felt strongly that God wanted us down here.

As the days and weeks go by, we're finding out just how much God wanted us down here. It wasn't like what we thought it was going to be. It's been beyond our wildest dreams. We've hooked up to a wonderful church and, dare I say, we're excited about plugging in and getting involved there. It's like this church was handmade for us. Their beliefs in reaching out to the community and just the people are so in-tuned to how we are, it's way beyond coincidence. We love the community. There is so much to do here at little or no cost. We can ride down by the beach and look at the beautiful water whenever we want. Charlie is having a blast here. He has a huge yard to run around in and a playmate when Eli comes over. We haven't seen Eli as much as we'd like because they're so busy with school, work, sports and church - but that's ok. We're forging lives for ourselves and it's been wonderful. I look forward to getting up in the morning and seeing what God has planned for me each day. We have a peace that somehow things will work out even though we have no idea how. We're not stressing or worrying about it. Each night I lay my head down on my pillow and I thank God that today I have a roof over my head, the electric is paid so that I can watch tv and play on my computer, the water is paid so that I can take a shower, we have food in the house so that we won't go hungry, and we're both still alive and breathing. Today is a good day. But more than all that, I know that tomorrow will be too. His word tells me that I have a "hope and a future" and more than anytime in my life - I believe it. Life is good, but actually living life is even better - and I thank God that He has promised me just that. Have a great day y'all and be sure to thank God for it. ((hugs))

Eglin Air Force Base

We've been down here in Florida for only a week and a half and we have learned so much. Living in a military town sure puts things into a different perspective. Eglin Air Force Base greatly impacts this area, not only in it's physical size but in the presence of so many military personnel. Men, women and to us, kids. It is incredible.

Today at church it was unbelievably overwhelming to see a video tribute to those who were personally affected by 9-11-01 and how in the midst of all that rubble, four crosses were found in a cavity that looked eerily like a Cathedral - even being nicknamed "God's House" in the days after the towers came down. After wiping the tears away from our eyes, our pastor asked for those in the congregation who are currently serving in the military or whose spouses are deployed to stand up, many of them who were children themselves when those fateful occurences on 9-11-01 came about. You could actually feel a rush of air as half the congregation stood. We were face to face, shoulder to shoulder, arm to arm with so many who are sacrificing on a daily basis. Some just back from active duty overseas, some getting ready to go, some whose spouses are currently deployed and the families that have to do without their loved ones for months and months at a time. It was pretty intense. There was a light moment during the prayer thanking them for their daily sacirifices, when my cell phone went off. Now you might think that it going off was NOT funny but actually in a way, it was perfect - and funny. You see, my cell phone "ring" is Darryl Worley's "Sounds Like Life To Me." So as the pastor was thanking them for their everyday sacrifices, my phone was playing "Sounds Like Life To Me." I muffled it with my oxygen backpack as soon as I realized it had gone off but not before those around us started chuckling at the perfect timing. And in a way, it is everyday life for them. It's their duty - it's their life. I seem to have a knack for making noise at the most inopportune moments in church. At least this time it wasn't my oxygen tank sounding like a bomb going off in the sanctuary (somehow I think some of these people would have hit the deck at that sound). I rarely even carry my phone with me and even rarer are the times that I turn it on, let alone have someone call me. sigh... Yet it was perfect.

There have been other moments that have brought tears to my eyes as well. We were in Target and we saw a young dad with his 8 month old son shopping and playing around. We smiled at his uncertainty on handling him and his determination to be the "best" father that he can be to him. We started chatting with him and learned that his wife had just been deployed to Afghanistan and he is left at home with this tiny little human being to take care of. His family is out west and he's learning to do this all by himself (and doing a great job I might add.) When we think of families and their sacrifices, we think of the dad's going off to war and mom keeping the homefires burning. That's not always the case. We're seeing it more and more that the moms are just as likely to be going overseas as the dads. Each time we go to the grocery store, or any store for that matter, there is a uniformed soldier in their fatigues, tired from their days' duties getting the things they need for home. Everyday people and yet some of the most elite our military arsenal has at their disposal. They're young and not so young, they're male and female alike. They are all very respectful to us ol' people and on the times that Oliver wears his Marine t-shirts, they are thanking him for HIS service. My tears are constantly welling up as I think of all they are giving up so that you and I can go about our everyday lives. I've always been grateful but it has always been to just a few "known" faces and countless others unknown. We've lived in military surroundings before. We lived in San Diego for years but somehow the climate even in the military towns has changed in the past 10 years. There is a heightened sense of being ready to be called at any moment to go "active" and yet still trying to maintain some everyday normalcy. There are moms in fatigues "correcting" their children right next to the mom in flip flops wearing shorts doing the same. There are dads who you just know are leaving soon by the way they're acting with their kids and the way the kids cling to their legs. You just have to wonder if this will be one of the last memories those children will have. We have lost far too many of these men and women - men and women who have and are giving their very lives to ensure that their kids will have all the rights and liberties afforded them by this great country we call the United States. They are no longer unknown faces but are our neighbors and just as quickly becoming our friends. We've always prayed for them and for their safety but now we have actual faces to attach to those prayers.

I have always been proud to be an American and I have always respected and been grateful for those who have served our country so unselfishly but I can honestly say that my heart has been touched beyond it's capacity since we've been down here and today was almost too much to bear. Oliver's active duty days were over long before we met, but I've always beem proud of his service. I've always known that it must be very difficult to keep the homefires burning as these men and women are serving, but for some reason, it's hitting home more these days. Probably because I see the results of it everywhere I turn.

As you go about your business not only today, but everyday, please take time out to pray for those who are sacrificing so very much so that we can just go about our business. We hear in the news all the times things go "wrong" but rarely, if ever, do we hear of the things that go right. We are not privvy to all the ins and outs because of security reasons and that's too bad. These people are working extra hard to provide us with safety and to keep our world as we know it as safe as it can be for us. We are the unknown faces that they are serving for as well as their own families. For that very reason, I pray for them. I thank them and I stand willing to help out those that they leave behind so that they can fight those battles without the extra added burden of worrying about their loved ones having support at home. That's the very least we can do and if you want to put faces to those prayers, well, c'mon on down and I'll introduce you to some of our new friends and their families. I can guarantee you, your perspective will change and you'll feel things you never knew were buried deep within you. As you lay your head down upon your pillow tonight, remember that there are loved ones doing the same, some with tears streaming down their faces, and still others who will not find sleep tonight because they are busy being on duty. Pray for them and thank them - because of them, you will be able to have a restful sleep. Sweet dreams, my friends. ((hugs))

Finding a Home

We thought this would be the easy part - finding a rental that we could call home. We're really not picky people and I can pretty much take any ol' place and make it seem like home. This assignment proved to be harder than either of us imagined. Every time we've been down here visiting before, we'd literally see hundreds of "for rent" signs as we went about our business in town. What we weren't counting on was the 7th Special Ops Forces moving so many troops to Eglin Air Force Base and Duke Field at the same time we were going to be looking in earnest.

Do any of you remember back in the 80's when there was such a run on cabbage patch dolls? How so many of us parents pulled out every trick up our sleeve to try and score one of those? What started out as a mission to get a certain brown haired-blue eyed beauty, soon became a hunt to find a doll that looked like anybody as long as it had the cabbage patch logo - the OFFICIAL logo - no trying to pull the wool over any 6 year old eyes. That is pretty much how this hunt has become. We find listing, we call, we make appt. to go see it, we see it, we find out someone has beat us to the punch... ugh. So we tossed the listings aside (after at least doing a drive-by at every single one) and just started combing the streets to find signs. We found oodles and oodles for sale and sometimes we got out to stretch our legs and peek in windows to keep the blood circulating and ourselves from strangling each other - think back to the tense times of cabbage patch missions. Then we were also in competition with said military people. Talk about not fighting fairly. How can we stand a chance looking to rent someplace against a man in full fatigues, with dust from the mideast still on his brow and 4 kids in tow? Sigh...

But today it seems we may have gotten a chance. We passed an older home just off the highway that the kids live off of. We actually saw the sign when we came into town and I made a mental note of it in my mind, where the winds of life quickly blew it away. Yesterday we were on our way for an appt. to see a much older home - complete with paneling and "fresh" old people's smell preserved through the ages, when my daughter-in-law saw a house on SR 85. She told us about it as I was trying to brush the creeps off my arms looking at the old one we had the appt. for and waiting for Lurch from the Addams family to appear at any time. On the way back to Kim's house, Oliver and I decided to stop and check it out. It's an older farmhouse on the highway and only 3 miles from the kids. It definitely needs some TLC but no major overhauls of anything. Some cleaning fluids, elbow grease and a little bit of time and it can easily be restored to quite a little place. It's not very big, about 1250 sq ft. (as best as we can tell) but it has a hominess about it that the newer homes just don't have. It was love at first sight for me - um, not quite so quickly for Oliver. I think he had a newer place in mind, kinda like the one we're having to give up in TN. I admit that the house needs a little sprucing up but I can see the dollhouse that it was meant to be and am excited about bringing it back to that very thing.

We went back this morning and got to look at the inside legally (yesterday the door just happened to be unlocked and Oliver just happened to go inside - and we looked). I showed him how I could make the furniture placement work, etc. Also explained all the pros that I see in it - 3 miles from Eli, able to hold yard sales off the main highway with plenty of space for parking, a gorgeous yard to putter in, a storage building, a perfect place for the blue blob, plenty of room for Charlie, Eli and grandpa to play baseball out back, two porches - one on the front for our rockers and one on the side for our patio set, an old oak tree stump that has been converted into the "perfect" fire pit, a circular sand driveway around a tree at the back of the house, a 2 car carport (which can double for additional dining space outside if the weather is iffy), the laundry room is accessible from the outside which will keep the heat from what it generates out of the main house, quirky old kitchen and bathrooms - with the master having a step down shower. There's even a door in the master bedroom heading out into the backyard right where we'd put the blue blob, which means no traipsing through the house with wet bathing suits. The rooms are not gigantic but they are nice sizes, especially for an older home.

And then.... one of my favorite parts - there is a giant Magnolia Tree in the front yard. One of my dreams since I was a very little girl was to have a magnolia tree in my front yard. When I saw it, I literally had tears well up in my eyes. (read my note from a couple of times ago on Magnolias). It just seemed like confirmation. We met with the older lady that owns the property because her hubby wasn't feeling well today and we hit it off splendidly. I did tell her that I loved the house but that in all fairness, I had to keep my end and look at the one Oliver picked out that we can't see until Monday. After more driving around today, etc., I think Oliver has come around. So tomorrow we fill out the paperwork and try to negotiate the rent down a bit since there is so much TLC work that needs to be done to it - hoping to get a break.

And in the meantime, we'll both be daydreaming about the dream house we "found" Thursday that we absolutely both fell in love with. We were just tired of driving around looking in windows so we decided to stop and look at a model home and get some of the a/c in our lungs. Turns out the model was closed and we had to peek in windows anyway. Just as we were about to leave, Oliver tried one of the back, outside doors to the bedroom and it was open. He walked right in... I hesitated and wondered what the headline would read after we were arrested for breaking and entering. After a few seconds of that, my curiousity got the best of me and I, too, went exploring through the house - the very beautiful, elegant house that we both fell completely in love with - layout, workmanship, colors, etc. It is GORGEOUS. Oh if only it was another day and another time in our lives... sigh. In our travels the last couple of days looking, we were amazed at the amount of doors left unlocked. We even found one brand new model today that had the key in the door. Very weird, but also very good in our case. Four realtors, FOUR, we left messages for to try to get them to show us some stuff and none of them could be bothered. Ugh. Very frustrating. It didn't really stop us - although there were some houses we'd have liked to see the inside of but then again, there were some that smelled so bad on the outside from stench generated inside that it was probably a pretty good thing.

I'm really, reallly hoping we get approved for the old house. There is just something about it that oozes "home" to me. Oh the walls may not line up perfectly and the tiles in the bathrooms may need a good scrubbing and the kitchen could have about a 100 sq feet added to it, but life is all about compromise and I didn't see one part about this house that I didn't feel that not only would the compromise be beneficial but that it would be well worth it.

So that's where we stand. Exhausted from hunting house to house in the excessive heat and learning neighborhood after neighborhood. We truly learned a LOT about Crestview in this small time frame. Oh and the funny thing is that the house we like has a Laurel Hill mailing address... A whole 'nother town... If we get this house, I will truly feel like I've come full circle. We'll be leaving the brand new house that we've been stewards of for the past almost 3 years and moving into a house that was built circa the same time the house I grew up in was (only with the blue tile in the bathroom instead of the gray that my dad picked out in the house he built - which I hated.)

Now if Publisher's Clearing House were to show up with a sizeable check, we're no fools - we'd be getting the new model home that we both went gaga over but since we don't anticipate that happening anytime real soon, we're pinning our hopes on this little 3 br, 2 ba ranch with a 2 car carport and a lot that will be fun to play, plant, putter and just generally enjoy being in. If it comes through, the offers still stand for visitors to be welcome... if you're looking for the Ritz Carlton - I can hook you up with those accomodations, but if you're looking for a kick back, stick your feet up on the furniture, relax and have good eats type of atmosphere before heading down to the beach, then we have just the ticket for you. Hope to see you soon. ((hugs)) We'll leave a light on for ya! And thanks for the prayers that got us here and the ones that are going to make sure we have the right place and the ones wishing us the perfect transition down. May God bless y'all and we look foward to sharing our nice, big, beautiful, white sand beaches with you soon.

Closing In

Ok, I have to admit that the stress is becoming a bit much. Not so much because of all we have to do, but it's the unknown aspect of it all that is wearing me down. Here we are one week out from the date set for the house to be auctioned off and still no word from our mortgage company - Suntrust Mortgage. We have spent months jumping through every hoop they have wanted us to and still they won't "talk" to us. We have left message after message. Even the "Save Our Tennessee Home" directors (and lawyers) have not seen anything like this. Which is all well and good, but only adds to our stress. We agree it's not fair. We agree that they are being (fill in what ever expletive you want here) but they hold all the cards. All we're trying to do at this point is get a 30 day extension for the gov't. program paperwork to go through. Nope, nobody can bite the bullet and give us an answer. The other answer we can't seem to get is "when do we have to vacate the premises?" Oh we know they have to give us 30 days notice - but was the notice of the house going up for auction it? Nobody knows. So we really have no choice but to walk away and move on. We can't stay if they aren't willing to work with us at all. It would be more of a financial suicide to stay than to walk away... in the long term. I remember reading in papers and watching on tv how people have ruined houses they've lost through foreclosure and I remember shaking my head and wondering how anyone could do that. After our experience with Suntrust - I can honestly say that I truly understand the emotion and pain behind those who resort to such actions. We are not like that - inherently - but I sadly admit that the thought of torching the house did cross our minds - and no, not REALLY seriously - I don't think. But we won't do anything to damage this beautiful home. We pray blessings over the next owners and hope that everything works out well for them and that they make many happy memories here. We will walk out and make sure the doors are locked and everything is clean.

It's hard to pack when you don't know where you're going. Looks like, for now, we'll be having to put all our stuff in storage and stay with my son and his family in their tiny house. My daughter-in-law, Kim, bless her heart, has been trying to find us a place to rent but the pickings have been slim. Houses are renting within hours of being listed. Lots of military moving in that want to get settled before school starts next month. Ideally it would be great if we had 30 more days here to be able to go down there and find someplace, then come back here and move our stuff once. Unless a last minute appeal is granted, that's not going to happen. So to keep from being crushed from all the stress, I have to keep my eye on the prize - quality time with my grandson Eli. He is what makes doing this even remotely possible. I have to admit that in the past few weeks, I've found myself closing myself in and retreating to that quiet place in my mind so that I can attack the daunting task ahead of me. I have guarded my heart so carefully because I honestly cannot handle one more heartache and loss. I am working super hard not to let the stress rear it's ugly head. It's only been a month since I was in the hospital and stress definitely exacerbates IPF. I've also pulled away from dear friends - who under normal circumstances, I'd want to spend time with before I go... but I just can't. I don't have time to cry. I'm not strong enough to cry. I don't want to think about all that I'm losing and leaving behind. I've not hidden the fact of how much I love Adamsville and the people who have become my family in my heart. It's hard. So I've been ignoring them as best as possible - holed up here at the house for the time I have left. I've been sorting and packing. This weekend we're having a moving sale and hope to get rid of some stuff and add to the funds to get us moved.

As word is starting to spread, most people are shocked. I think they honestly believed that somehow this would all work out and we'd be able to stay and life would go on as normal. Normal. What is normal? Certainly I have not known normal for a very long time. We didn't mean to shock anyone. Nobody thought we'd be able to work this out more than we did. And we really, really tried. But I guess God had other plans. We're not moving completely blind. We're moving closer to family, to an area that we know quite well and already love. We have a lot of good friends down there that we've met over the years - many I am looking forward to spending time with. Those are the things I HAVE to focus on now that the wheels have begun turning. One week. We'll git 'er done. I know with a few phone calls, I could have a bunch of people helping, but I hesitate to do that. It might help with the work but add to the emotional stress - and that's the part that is tricky for me. It's not that I'm being prideful or don't want anyone's help, it's just that I don't want to say "good-bye" - plain and simple. Good-byes hurt me and when I'm hurt, I cry and when I cry, I have trouble breathing and then I get NOTHING done. One week. I don't have time for tears.

So if you think I'm ignoring you - you're probably right... but don't take it personally. It's a defensive mechanism that I have to activate to help me get through this. One week - no home to go to - not sure what will happen with this one - still haven't reserved the truck until we know for sure we have to be out next week - LOTS of packing to do and throwing a moving sale in to boot. Yep, one week, one very stressful week. One more church service here in Adamsville and then we'll be gone. My nerves are frayed and yet somewhere in the midst of all this, I have a peace. I am NOT running around like a chicken with my head cut off and for a super organizer, that's a first for me. It's even scaring Oliver because I'm being so calm - for now. I'm sure the tears will come when we drive the moving truck and the car out for the last time down our dirt road. I know I'll cry when I share ((hugs)) for the last time with people who have become very dear to me since we've been here. The pulmonary fibrosis doesn't help with that part either, because we'll all be cognizant that it will probably be for the last time. Travel is very hard on these old lungs. That's why we don't go down to see the kids more often - well, and the lack funds, of course.

We honestly thought when we bought this house that this would be where we would live out our lives. Never in a million years did we believe we'd be in the position we are in now. While it is a surprise to us, we know it isn't a surprise to God. He has already gone ahead of us and worked out all the details. I'm nervous about living with my son - only because he and I don't always see eye to eye and with all this stress being added to the IPF, um, my nerves will be fried and it's gonna be sticky in that little place. I have to give that to God too and I pray my son will give me a little slack and try to understand. My dreams are shattered, no doubt about that, but I have seen in the past what amazing things God can do with our shattered mosaics of life. It may not be turning out to be the picture that I imagined and dreamed of as a young girl, but it is turning into the magnificent work of art that God has had in His mind all along. So look out Florida, you have no idea how much trouble adding a couple of Hassetts to your ranks can cause... but we're all in for quite a ride. And I, for one, am looking forward to taking one day soon and spending it with my grandson, playing in the white sugar sands at the beach and spending more and more time with that lovely young man. He and I have a lot of catching up to do.

So please, if you're inclined to cry - try and stay strong - for me. It's taking all the power and focus I have to try and keep it together right now as we venture into this uncharted territory. Please pray for us. Those prayers mean more than words can convey. Thank-you for the places you hold in our hearts... I have to say that my little mosaic is coming along quite nicely and I see that there are still parts left to be filled in before I take the finished product home to the King to be judged. (In case you're wondering, yes, I do have plenty of tissues and a whole bunch of oxygen to get me through this next week.) Thanks again and God Bless...

MAGNOLIAS..........By Edna Ellison

I spent the week before my daughter's June wedding running last-minute
trips to the caterer, florist, tuxedo shop, and the church about forty miles
away. As happy as I was that Patsy was marrying a good Christian young man, I
felt laden with responsibilities as I watched my budget dwindle . .

So many details, so many bills, and so little time. My son Jack was away
at college, but he said he would be there to walk his younger sister down
the aisle, taking the place of his dad who had died a few years before. He
teased Patsy, saying he'd wanted to give her away since she was about three
years old!

To save money, I gathered blossoms from several friends who had large
magnolia trees. Their luscious, creamy-white blooms and slick green leaves
would make beautiful arrangements against the rich dark wood inside the
church.

After the rehearsal dinner the night before the wedding, we banked the
podium area and choir loft with magnolias. As we left just before midnight,
I felt tired but satisfied this would be the best wedding any bride had ever
had! The music, the ceremony, the reception - and especially the flowers -
would be remembered for years.

The big day arrived - the busiest day of my life - and while her
bridesmaids helped Patsy to dress, her fiance, Tim walked with me to the
sanctuary to do a final check.

When we opened the door and felt a rush of hot air, I almost fainted; and
then I saw them - all the beautiful white flowers were black. Funeral black. An
electrical storm during the night had knocked out the air conditioning
system, and on that hot summer day, the flowers had wilted and died.

I panicked, knowing I didn't have time to drive back to our hometown,
gather more flowers, and return in time for the wedding. Tim turned to me.
'Edna, can you get more flowers? I'll throw away these dead ones and put fresh
flowers in these arrangements.' I mumbled, 'Sure,' as he be-bopped down the
hall to put on his cuff links.

Alone in the large sanctuary, I looked up at the dark wooden beams in the
arched ceiling. 'Lord,' I prayed, 'please help me. I don't know anyone in this town. Help
me find someone willing to give me flowers - in a hurry!' I scurried out
praying for four things: the blessing of white magnolias, courage to find
them in an unfamiliar yard, safety from any dog that may bite my leg, and a
nice person who would not get out a shotgun when I asked to cut his tree to
shreds.

As I left the church, I saw magnolia trees in the distance. I approached a
house...No dog in sight... I knocked on the door and an older man answered.
So far so good. No shotgun. When I stated my plea the man beamed, 'I'd be
happy to!'

He climbed a stepladder and cut large boughs and handed them down to me.
Minutes later, as I lifted the last armload into my car trunk, I said, 'Sir,
you've made the mother of a bride happy today.'

No, Ma'am,' he said. 'You don't understand what's happening here.'

'What?' I asked.

'You see, my wife of sixty-seven years died on Monday. On Tuesday I
received friends at the funeral home, and on Wednesday . . . He paused. I
saw tears welling up in his eyes. 'On Wednesday I buried her.' He looked
away. 'On Thursday most of my out-of-town relatives went back home, and
on Friday - yesterday - my children left.'

I nodded.

'This morning,' he continued, 'I was sitting in my den crying out loud. I
miss her so much. For the last sixteen years, as her health got worse, she
needed me. But now nobody needs me. This morning I cried, 'Who needs an
eighty-six-year old worn-out
man? Nobody!' I began to cry louder. Nobody needs me!' About that time,
you knocked, and said, 'Sir, I need you.'

I stood with my mouth open.

He asked, 'Are you an angel? The way the light shone around your head into
my dark living room...'

I assured him I was no angel.

He smiled. 'Do you know what I was thinking when I handed you those
magnolias?'

'No.'

'I decided I'm needed. My flowers are needed. Why, I might have a flower
ministry! I could give them to everyone! Some caskets at the funeral home
have no flowers. People need flowers at times like that and I have lots of
them. They're all over the
backyard! I can give them to hospitals, churches - all sorts of places.

You know what I'm going to do?

I'm going to serve the Lord until the day He calls me home!'

I drove back to the church, filled with wonder. On Patsy's wedding day, if
anyone had asked me to encourage someone who was hurting, I would have said,
'Forget it! It's my only daughter's wedding, for goodness' sake! There is no
way I can minister to anyone today.'

But God found a way. Through dead flowers.

'Life is not the way it's supposed to be. It's the way it is. The way you
cope with it is what makes the difference.'

If you have missed knowing me, you have missed nothing.

If you have missed some of my emails, you may have missed a laugh.

But, if you have missed knowing my LORD and SAVIOR, JESUS CHRIST you have
missed everything in the world!

May God's blessings be upon you.

THIS IS SO TRUE, BEING NEEDED IS SO UPLIFTING TO EACH OF US.


This story is too beautiful not to send...

Big Decisions

As most of you know, our house is scheduled to be auctioned off August 4th. Now some of you may think that we "deserve it" for not paying our mortgage. But let me explain how we got "here". It all started way back in September of 2009 when Oliver came home and said he lost his job. We were both devastated but we figured we'd been in this situation before and gotten through and we'd do it again - with God's help. So we tightened our already frugal belts and lived on the $250 unemployment a week, subsidized by our savings and credit cards to try and buy some time until Oliver could find another job. Despite his attempts, as you know, he has not found anything. We've tried selling Pampered Chef and even tried starting our own catering business - with great acclaim but no income from it. Most times we didn't even break even, hoping we could use it to build business but those costs went on our credit cards. So as the credit card balances went up, so did our monthly payments. Not the best thing to do but we really didn't have a choice. For over a year, we managed to stay "afloat" that way. Finally we knew we were running out of options. Savings was gone, credit cards were perilously close to maxing out and Oliver wouldn't be eligible for social security for a couple more months. So in Nov. 2010 we contacted the bank to see if they would be willing to work with us and "move" two payments, preferably three, to the end of our mortgage and then we knew we'd be fine. They said there was nothing they could do because we weren't behind - yet. So we didn't make the Nov. payment, which was due the first but we had until the 15th with no finance charge. On the 16th of Nov. - ONE DAY after it was officially late, the collection calls began. We explained that we just had to wait until the social security checks came through before we made a payment. We still needed to pay my COBRA insurance and utilities out of the $250 a week and even in TN, November and December get cold.

The collection calls were 5 and 6 times a DAY and they were extremely threatening and mean. We told them that we'd make a payment the very day the social security check was deposited in our account. Needless to say they stressed me considerably. Finally after a couple of months of this - even after we did make a payment as promised the very day the social security check was deposited (on 1/6 we paid the Nov. payt.) - someone told us that we could send in a "cease and desist" letter to stop the harassing phone calls. This same person, who turned off the recording to give us this "advice", told us to stop making payments and that after we were about 6 months behind, government programs would kick in to help us out. We checked on this and the info they gave us was true. So after we made the Dec. payment on Feb. 1st, we stopped making payments altogether but still left numerous messages for someone to call us back. In the meantime, we looked into selling the house but we found out the house across the street from us sold for $50K less than we'd have to clear to break even. That on top of the declining property values made that option impossible. Even if we could sell it for the price we needed to, odds were that it would not appraise out for that figure.

On July 5th we received the notice that the house was scheduled to be auctioned off Aug. 4th. The FIRST communication we've gotten from Suntrust - they never have returned any of our dozens of calls. We found out info on that notice letter from their lawyers about the government programs that we might qualify for. So we chose to apply for the Save My Tennessee Home one. We spent a couple of days getting all the info we needed and filling out their lengthy forms. Yesterday we sat through a 5 hour class to learn more. Everything is still in process but we found that it will take them at least 30 days to get it into the program and then another couple of weeks for approval. Um, Aug. 4th will be here much sooner than that. They told us to call our bank and ask for a 30 day extension - which we have - but the bank said they'd have to get back to us, so we wait. The financial counselors leading the class also said that sometimes when your house value has dropped significantly enough to not be able to increase within 5 years back up to what you owe - sometimes it's in your best interest to walk away. To go with the program, we'd have to live in this house for at least 5 years or pay back everything they help us out with, which locks us in here, because the house value will not increase enough to pay them off and the mortgage. Will I even be alive for that long? Is it fair to lock Oliver into it all by himself for that amount of time?

While we did get valuable information at this class, it was really depressing too. There were people there who were just "playing the system" to get their mortgages paid by the government. It was sad really. One couple in particular admitted that they aren't making payments on their car (Chrysler 300 - nice car) and aren't paying the insurance. They decided to file separate tax returns and put the house in only one name to hide assets, etc. and the counselor did not even bat an eyelash but instead showed them how to adjust their budget so that they'd qualify for the program. Even told them not to include any income they make "on the side" so that it looks better on paper. Oh and the big kicker was that they didn't have all their paperwork filled out because they had been on a cruise... um, yeah, good thing my Buford Pusser bat was safely at home. The other counselor was telling another couple to just lay back for the next year and take the free payments - not to be in too much of a hurry to make things right. "Why turn away free money?" We just shook our heads. All we got was a "contact your bank" and a smile. Um, yeah, we've been TRYING to for months.

The biggest problem is this - we have a VA loan. It makes my blood boil when I think that Oliver got shot for this country to receive those benefits - which basically let us buy a house with no money down. Because of that, we are having problems getting government help. We qualify under every bit of criteria - we had a drastic drop in income (over 30%, um yeah, let's try 80%), we had to be ontime with payments up until that event (yep, always), we have to be in arrears (we are now), etc... every single one of them we passed. And frankly, according to all the financial advice we had ever heard, we had done everything "right". At the time of Oliver's job loss, we were one payment from paying off the credit cards (including our move), we had 6 months of living expenses in the bank (just in case), we are frugal people and good stewards of our money, etc. and yet none of that has made any difference. We don't WANT to have the government's help. I hated having to apply for disability almost as much as I hated being denied. We hate having to apply for assistance to have a home to live in but hate even more that the bank won't even talk to us. On paper, it makes sense for them to let it go into foreclosure... they get immediately 40% of the note from the VA and they auction the house off and get the rest. They get 100% of their money back - no incentive to work with us. If we'd have been able to talk to a person at the bank, maybe they would. We haven't even been able to let them know that I've been diagnosed with a fatal lung disease. It's not that we're not willing to pay on the house, we are, we just need a little help here to lower our payments to be able to bring it within our budget. We didn't buy a house way out of our reach when we bought this. Actually our monthly payments decreased by over $500 a month over what we paid in Chicagoland. We both drive old, paid for cars and are extremely grateful to have them. Oliver's is on its last leg but so far, still hanging on, with spit and bubble gum.

So here we are. Do we start packing because we have to be out on the 4th? Can't even get an answer on that. Do we sit tight and hope that this program comes through and the bank accepts? They'll help us for the next year and then we can reapply for a mortgage break with the bank - but of course, we'll be right back where we are now because they won't work with us to lower our payments and let's face it, Oliver is not getting younger. Do we cut our losses now and just walk away and move down by Elii to spend time with him while I'm still alive? That is IF we can get someone to rent to us now that our credit is shot. My heart wants to be near Eli, no doubt. Ideally we'd love to be able to buy a house down there, but that won't happen. If we walk away, they said we'd be able to clean up our credit in a couple of years - time that I just don't have. I did find a house for sale online down there that I absolutely LOVE and that we would be able to afford - with a pool, but we can't get a loan - duh. All that does is add to the frustration. Rentals have become slim pickings for two reasons... one, Eglin Air Force Base is moving in a couple of hundred troops a month for their 7th Special Ops forces and two, there was a lightening storm that came through last weekend that burned down a dozen homes and all those people have to be put up for 3-6 months while their houses are being repaired. Plus we won't have time to get down there and look ourselves if we have to be out of here by the 4th. We have way too much packing to do, despite our best efforts to have pared down over the last 2 years of garage sales.

So far we have applied for social security disability for me - denied: food stamps - denied (Oliver's social security is $50 a year too much to qualify: programs to help with the house - still pending but we're running out of time: TennCare (health insurance for me) - denied but am reapplying: can't qualify for any other government help for me because I was denied social security disablity and was told I can't reapply for again until I'm 65 - I won't be alive for another 10 years, unless of course, I've been totally misdiagnosed and/or God decides to give me new lungs (which I am believing for).

So here are the pros and cons of each "move"....

Moving to FL pros:
Eli, Dan and Kim
my cousin Nancy (she lives in Pensacola)
Kim's family (we love them too and consider them family to us as well)
family holidays (which we haven't had in years)
the beach
warmer winters
Renting (less responsibility and most definitely smaller yards)
the yardwork on over an acre here in TN is overwhelming and I can no longer help - inside or outside the house
we have a couple of churches to choose from to go to and people we already know
restaurant choices - like REAL food... lol. (hey, you live in the boonies for a few years and you'll see what I mean)
Shopping besides Walmart - especially for groceries (ok that's a BIG pro... lol)
I can get my Mango Apricot Yogurt there (hey, I like it)
We'll still be able to see some of our friends from TN when they come down to visit (they go there already for vacations)
More craft shows to sell my jewelry
More possible part time job opportunities for Oliver (and family around to keep an eye on me if needed)
Local airport (no more driving 3 hours to pick up someone who comes to visit)
cutting our losses and moving on? probably - either way, we've lost on this house
Oliver will have family support if by some chance I don't get my healing and this ol' body gives out

Moving to FL cons:
expensive and finding a rental that accepts pets (can't give up Charlie - no way - he's family)
having to actually pack and move
losing all the money we have invested in this house and probably more
utilities and gas will cost more
the cost to actually move down there
hurricanes (not a big deal but a consideration - mostly due to power outages and my oxygen needs)
we signed a commitment to buy this house - we'd be walking away from that commitment and that's not us
we'd miss our church family and the exciting things happening at FPC
we'd miss our trees and greenery and openness
we'd miss our one stoplight town that we love so much and the people we have come to know and love
we'd miss this house, which is our home, and all the hopes and dreams we had hoped to experience in it
having to find new doctors although I can probably still travel to Vandy every 4 months if NEEDED
Traffic and a lot more people
much noisier with the planes and traffic
having to change over licensing of vehicles, etc.
the cost of car insurance is higher
the time factor - it's just too fast and I still don't feel well enough to handle it all RIGHT NOW

And these are just some of what I came up with off the top of my head. It's a tough decision, for sure. My heart wants to be by Eli but my head isn't so sure. I don't want to hurt him by coming into his life just to leave it again. I hate that we'd be trying to get out of a legal commitment. While we haven't done anything wrong up until this point - none of this was by erroneous choices we've made - that will change if we walk away without fighting. It may be already too late and out of our hands. On August 4th the sheriff may show up knocking on the door to move our stuff out on the dirt road. Stressful? You bet. Impossible? Probably not - but it will take a village of help to pull it off.

So now you can see why your prayers are so important. I honestly can say that I feel like the paralyzed man in the Bible that had to rely on his friends to bring him to Jesus' feet. I don't even know what to pray for. We've played by the rules all our lives. Good grief, I've only had 2 speeding tickets in all that time and not one parking ticket. Those same rules are doing us in. And then there are the prayers - half are praying for us to stay in TN and half are praying for us to move to FL. I feel like we're living on the 50 yard line of a Nebraska/Ohio football game and it can go either way... Which prayers are God listening to? We're tired. We should be entering a life of retirement and enjoying the fruits of our years and years of labor but instead we are struggling to just make it day to day. We can't travel, we can't afford to. All those vacations we didn't take because we didn't have the time and we needed to work, figuring we'd be able to make up for in retirement are just vacations lost. All those companies we gave our time, blood, sweat and tears to are nothing but distant memories. Are we down? Oh yeah. Are we out of the race? Not on your life. We are so grateful that God is still in control and we know that He already has the answers. Our biggest concern is that we hear His still small voice and act accordingly. Thanks again for "listening" to my rants and for praying for us. I don't like sharing my business and deepest feelings and emotions out in the open like this. For whatever reason, that is exactly what God is asking me to do right now and the last thing I want to do is be disobedient to Him.

We all have stereotypical beliefs on those who seek out government assistance. We call them lazy and figure they're there because of their own bad choices. I'm here to tell you that while that may be true in some instances, there are a whole bunch of us out here who are not in this position by choice. We are too old to believe that things will turn around for us or that we can make up the difference of funds lost. We were always told to work hard, be loyal to the company you work for, put in your time, pay your fair share, don't live above your means, and save for a rainy day. All things we did and yet here we are. We cringe when the email jokes come through and we cry at the unfairness of the system that we worked hard and paid into all those years. We wonder what kind of world Eli will grow up into. We would still encourage you to play by the "rules" that we have all our lives. It's strong financial advice. But please, don't look down on us for falling on hard times. "There but for the grace of God...." Be blessed, we are, even in the midst of this storm.

Life Hurts

You would think by now, in my 55 years of life, that I would have found some peace in the fact that I will ALWAYS be the outsider. I was born never quite fitting in. I do remember at a very young age, my grandmother (Baba) lived wtih us and she truly was the only security I ever felt as a child. Unfortunately she died when I was only 4 years old. I remember hiding in her bed with her when my mother would come looking for me - usually over something stupid like playing with the knobs on the stereo. We'd giggle and she'd defend me and I felt safe there. The rest of the house didn't feel near as safe. I didn't know the details, but I did know that my mom and dad were not getting along. They were both alcoholics and not very nice ones at that. I spent a lot of time hiding behind Baba until the day she died. A year after my Baba died, my dad decided to leave and filed for a divorce. My mother was caught off guard. She always attributed his moodiness to his stint in the war and figured he'd get better. His idea of getting better was finding somenone else - someone close to the family.

For about a year before he left, my mom and dad used to be in a bowling league with Jim and Jane at Sims Bowl in Des Plaines. They'd laugh, drink, have fun, do all the things parents did back in those days. My mom and dad had my older brother, Dick, me and my younger brother, Kent. Jim and Jane had the twins - Jim and John - who were 2 years older than I. We would see them once in a while but most times it was just the three of us at home, sometimes with a sitter, sometimes not. Dick was a teen so he was old enough to watch Kent and I. Somewhere during that year, Jane caught my dad's eye and well, the rest is history. She became pregnant before the divorce was final and my mom was gonna make sure the divorce wasn't final in time. It was a rough period. Divorce or not, Janie came along. A big bubbly smile attached to chubby cheeks and the most gorgeous dark hair. I liked her. I was excited to be getting a sister (especially being the middle child between two boys) even if she wasn't going to be living in the same house. Unfortunately, it didn't turn out like I planned. I was allowed to look at her but could not touch her or get near her. They were afraid I'd hurt her - even came out and said it - which hurt me terribly. I was not a "hurt people" child. I had nothing to do with the messy divorce, I was just a child. So I had to obey and just make up dreams of the times I wished I could have spent with her.

At home, things weren't much better. I was treated like an outsider because I still loved my dad. I didn't understand the hardships it put on my mother - despite Dick's best attempts to advise me on them. I just knew I felt like I felt. I was his princess - just not in the same castle. At first I was still treated as such when we would go for visits but it didn't take long for Janie to usurp that role and become the apple in my dad's eyes. I felt like I was torn between two worlds and not quite fitting into either. Then came school. Being a child of divorced parents carried wtih it quite the stigma back in those days. Parents would hustle their children away from you if you were caught talking to their cherubs, like something was going to jump off of you and contaminate their families. Mother/Daughter days and Father/Daughter days were not to be attended by those of us with separated parents. Mom was too busy working and Dad was, well, Dad. Parent/Teacher Conferences became another battle ground. A half-hearted B in the class would start world war three with the blame going from one parent to another when the truth was, I didn't care. School didn't mean much to me because my focus was on trying to creat a feeling of security in a hostile environment. School was for those with parents at home who would help with homework and not be drinking themselves into oblivion and leaving you to find something to eat on your own. To this day I will not have a pot pie. Nope, not me. Too many bad memories.

I'm a competetive person, always have been. I felt that by doing the absolute best that I could at whatever I was attempting, that I would ensure that I wouldn't be picked last for any team line-ups. For the most part it worked, although I did have my days of being picked dead last and all the pain and hurt that goes with that. I was teased a lot by the neighborhood kids. I never was invited to their play dates and spent many an afternoon gazing at them having a good time over the fence that was built around my yard, all the while buidling a fence of my own around my heart. I had my Barbies and I'd get lost in my own little world under the tree in the front, hoping and praying that someday I'd have someone to play dolls with. Occassionally my younger brother would grab a Ken doll and join in. It would make me smile but was never the same.

I couldn't sing and I couldn't dance but somehow I fell in with the Drama crowd in high school. I could swing a mean make-up brush and once in a while was allowed to be on stage. I loved these people and all their quirkiness. Then on the other hand, I was very involved with the youth programs at a church in town and had some friends there. They were always gracious and let me tag along. It was awkward as we got older and they were pairing up and I was the odd one out. I didn't go to any of my proms - I was never asked. So I'd sit home with my mom pasting S&H green stamps into books and trying not to cry. It was hard. On my sixteenth birthday my mom was in the hospital and had asked a lady from church if she would get a cake for me. We had youth night that night and bless Mary Lou's heart, she had the most beautiful 16th birthday cake I had ever seen there for me to share with all the rest of the youth. For the first time since my grandmother had died, I felt special... that is until some of the other parents started complaining that I was getting preferential treatment and that if they were going to have a cake for me, then they should for everyone else. After that, the fun was gone, the smile turned to tears and I hid in the bathroom. Mary Lou "handled" the other parents - no doubt about that - but I felt bad that she had to. Like I had done something wrong. I hadn't. I was just trying to be a kid who wanted to feel special on their birthday and fit in - and for a few moments, thanks to Mary Lou, I did.

Once I started working, because of my attention to detail and my work ethics, I was quickly promoted to management positions and y'all know how well that can work out. I had a few close friends during high school but always felt like I was held at arms length. After my mom died, I truly had nobody to talk to. I never had anyone that I could sit down and hash things out with or get direction or mentoring or advice or anything. The day I graduated from high school, I was an island onto myself. My friends were looking forward to their proms and fun times and I was looking to court dates and probates and estate settlements. My own "family" was treating me like an enemy. Somehow all the anger and frustrations they had felt against each other for all those years got transferred on to me. Somewhere along the line, they forgot that I had been the child in all this - not an adult - and yet they were looking to me for answers I couldn't give. It hurt. I was seventeen and all on my own. Totally. My mom had taught be basics like laundry, some cooking, but I certainly knew nothing about handling money or budgeting or anything like that. I didn't know about college grants and financial aid because I was too busy being a caregiver to my mom to "worry" about the normal high school things and where to go from there. I still believed in the Knight in shining armor swooping in to save the day.

After more devastating events in my life during those times, I holed up alone in my apartment. I'd go to work and then come home and read. In books I could escape and be anyone I wanted to be. I tried the nightlife but having come from an alcoholic background, it just wasn't my thing. I became known as the "7-up and cherry juice" drinker. I always figured someone had to be responsible enough to drive home. Always me - the responsible one. Truly because I didn't know how to NOT be responsible. At work it was always hard to get close to co-workers because of the positions I held. Funny that I ended up marrying one of my bosses. Talk about ironic. While my inlaws were great about accepting me into the family, I never felt like I quite fit. Some of Oliver's siblings would tease that I was just a passing distraction for him, etc. When chips were down, I was always reminded that I was an inlaw and not family. It stung - still does, but doesn't happen near as much - mostly because we're out of touch since his mom and dad died.

Moving around in company transfers hasn't helped much either. Seems like as soon as we were settling in, a transfer would come along and we'd be heading to a different area of the country. I do have friends all across these great United States over the span of decades, but not that few close ones that I can be "me" with. I did have one in the last place we lived - but she died. Makes it kind of hard to have those one on one talks into the night. I can still hold up my end but it's not the same without the feedback. It's been a long time since I have been able to sit and cry and talk and laugh in the same sentence - sometimes without a word having had been said. Girls understand this - guys just roll their eyes.

I thought I had found a real home with real friends when we moved down here to Tennessee. For the first 6 months I was welcomed and included and felt like this was IT. Then Oliver lost his job and things changed. I was no longer invited out to go shopping or for lunch or to even help out at the church. My health started to take a turn for the worse about the same time. I guess it is embarassing to be around someone who has to wear tubing in their nose to help them breathe. I can understand that but it still doesn't stop the sting of being left out. At first everyone would keep in touch on facebook and make me feel like they cared but even that has dwindled off. Now the posts I get are from new friends with Pulmonary Fibrosis or old friends from back in the day that I've hooked up wtih again. Family occassionally will pipe in but those times are rare. And I have to say - it hurts. Abandonment and rejection are the two biggest issues I've had to face in my life... the issues that just won't go away. They are probably unimportant to the majority of people in this world. People who have families and security and are surrounded by love. And yet here I am at 55 with the same insecurities and hurts and no closer now to remedy them than I was at 5 or 15 or 40.

Tomorrow I'll be ok. I'll pick myself up, dust myself off, smile and move on. It's what I've always done. It's hard to fight the urge to put the walls back up and retreat into my own little world where I can't feel and therefore can't get hurt. Very hard. But I won't. It's hard not to become angry and bitter and lash out. But I won't. I cry out of hurt and frustration but then I brush the tears away and move on. It's in my genes - the way I'm wired. And it makes me far more aware when I see the hurt in others. I cannot change the world, but I can make a change in someone's life by accepting them and listening to them and holding their hand. I never was one of the pretty ones, or the popular ones, or the leadership ones, I was me. I still am me. And it's taken a lifetime to see that I'm the me I'm meant to be - God has worked it out that way. He's been with me every step. He sees the tears, he hears the cries of my heart, He knows and He'll be sure to put people in my path where He can use what I've been through to touch.

So while I may not like the hurt as it's happening, face it, most times I hate it, I will survive through it and I will come out stronger ready to do the work God has set aside for me to do. I realize that once more I am in a place I don't belong. I tried to fit in - even tried to learn the language and love the food - but it's not me and the me I am is not what they are looking for. So we're figuring that God is getting ready to move us on. Not sure where or how - we're in a hell of a pickle financially, but He has that all worked out too. It'll be hard to leave because I had so many hopes and dreams for this place and I will cry a sea of tears I'm sure, but I will move forward - always looking for that place where I will finally belong and have some peace. The sicker I get, the more I realize that it may not be on this side of glory, but the hope is still there that I will find it. That the day will come when I will be able to say - Today, life doesn't hurt. What an awesome day that will be - for me.

Father's Day

Wow, Sunday is Father's Day. I've been reading post after post of the wonderful fathers my friends have. I've wept when I've read the heartfelt tributes to those fathers who have passed on and are so dearly missed by their families. I've read some incredibly touching stories and I've felt the love expressed between little kids, adult children and their fathers - the way it all should be.



Then I think of mine and somehow, despite my best attempts, I cannot come up with any warm and fuzzy feelings. I have had two dads in my life - my biological dad, Richard and my step-dad, Robert. I'll start with Robert because his time in my life was short lived. He blew into it in January of 1967 when I was only 10 years old. By February, he and my mother were married. By that time I had been without a father for over 5 years. At first it was fun having a dad around the house. I had always wanted a normal "family" and this was my new chance at just that. The week after they were married, my older brother, Dick, left for the Army. I had the distinct impression that the two of them didn't get along too well, but nothing was ever really said. Robert was a lazy man. He couldn't hold a job and he would do nothing around the house, except act as a drill sergeant to make my younger brother, Ken, and I clean up the house, including washing the floors with toothbrushes. He ruled the roost with an iron fist, mostly because he was the one there - mom was too busy working to try and make ends meet.



He didn't like having children in the house without his name, so it was decided that he would adopt us (at my mother's expense, of course). Since my biological father had not paid child support in years, it was an easy negotiation. The back child support payments would be waived if he'd sign the dotted line. For him it was an easy trade off and a month later, Ken and I went back to school with a different last name. It took some adjustment but for the most part, our friends were cool with it. Once we became "his" in name, he became a slave master and treated us awful. He'd send us to bed at 5 pm so that he could watch tv and drink scotch and water. We couldn't watch tv, read or do anything. Ken and I both had transistor radios that we'd gotten from our aunt and uncle the year before. We found that we could hide them under our pillows and listen to the Cubs games and not get caught. For the most part, we had a media blackout for a few years. It's funny now when people will post something from that 1967 to 1971 period and I honestly have no idea what they are talking about. We had no contact with any media outside those Cubs games and a few radio talk shows. And we had no contact with people. We were not allowed to go to friend's homes and they were not allowed to come over. We were isolated.



By January of 1971, my mother had finally had enough of him just freeloading off of her. She was working her tail off and he wouldn't even go look for a job. He had one when they first got married but quit it 2 days after the honeymoon. Apparently one day while we were in school, they got into quite a tiff on the phone when my mom called home at lunchtime and woke him up. He hadn't even gotten up to get us off to school - Ken and I managed on our own and walked. When I got home from school, she called and asked if he was home. I checked all the rooms and saw no signs of him. She asked if his clothes were in the closet - they were. She said ok and that she'd be home soon. We'd had a significant amount of snow that week and it was quite built up on the driveway. It was too heavy for me to handle and my mom had wanted Robert to do it - um yeah, that went over well. Needless to say it wasn't done. There were ruts in the snow from the street to the garage and from the garage to the street. Both cars were similar in size, so the difference in tracks was negligible. You really couldn't tell who came and went and when. Just before mom was due to come home, Ken went out to open the garage door so mom could pull in. Next thing I know, he was running back towards the house and fell twice in the snow. Silly boy. As he came flying in, he brushed right past me and went to his room. That was odd behavior even for a little brother. I looked out the window again to see my mom running towards the house herself. Now both times, I had seen Robert's car in the garage and just figured he'd gotten home from whatever bar he had been gracing that day. All the scotch bottles in the house were empty - including the special stash ones. I had checked those earlier - after my mom's call.



My mom brushed past me and went directly to the phone and dialed the police. This was before 911 and in those days, the police were our friends and neighbors. It didn't take long for them to get there and pronounce Robert dead by his own hands - carbon monoxide poisoning. He had started the car and sat in the closed garage with the car windows open. He had enough scotch in him to pass out and not know what happened. There was an inquest but that was the final ruling as well. He had committed suicide, knowing that the odds were one of the children - myself or my brother - would find him. He left a note for my mom and truth be told, I never knew what all it said. It was a shocking time. It wasn't our first brush with death - we'd had grandparents die and close family friends, but this was the first time suicide had crossed our paths. We spent a long time feeling guilty and thinkng we should have done something. I wasn't really sad he was gone. I had come to really dislike him immensely over the years he was in our lives. I did feel bad that he was tortured enough in his own mind to believe that suicide was the answer, but even at the young age of 14, I knew his demons were far deeper than any of us knew. We were not the cause, but that still didn't make sleeping at night any easier.



Now let's talk about dear old dad. He left my mother, older brother, Dick, myself and younger brother, Ken, when I was 5 years old. He had fallen for a lady across town who owned a house where he had done work putting in her driveway. He was a hard worker, I will give him that. He owned and operated a very successful (for Des Plaines standards) Blacktop and Paving Company - Buchanan Blacktop and Paving. I remember the younger years when he would let me crawl up on his lap and help "drive" one of the dump trucks or a tractor or a steam roller. I felt like the Queen of the world. I remember playing hide and seek and hiding in the big tire wells or behind the mud flaps. We had fun. Then one day the fun just stopped. I was sitting on my usual perch - the milkbox on the front porch - waiting for my dad to come home so that I could take up my place as princess, but he didn't come home. This went on for days until it got dark out and finally my mother or Dick would tell me it was bedtime. Occasionally I would come in for dinner but most days I waited for my dad - I'd eat with the king. Finally one day I was sitting there and I could hear my mom crying on the phone. I guess she was telling my dad that I had been sitting there waiting for him. Dick came out of the house and proceeded to yell at me for making mom cry. I had no idea what he was talking about. I didn't know he had "left" - I just thought he was working hard. I knew nobody who had divorced parents - not in Des Plaines in 1961.




It was a long time before I saw his face again. By then the divorce was final. As a matter of fact, I was in the hospital having my tonsils out and I was 6. I remember being upset because I was missing my first grade field trip to Hawthorn Melody Farms. I was really bummed. My mom was there trying to ease the pain from the surgery and ease the pain of missing the trip when in walked my dad with a brand new bike. It was a Schwinn with little streamers coming out of the handle bars. I was ecstatic... my mom, not so much. Next thing I knew they were out in the hall talking - loudly - and after only a few moments of being excited about a brand new bike, I was back to having to make do with the green hand me down from my older brother. My dad had not paid any child support and my mother told him to take it back and give her the money so that she could actually feed us.



As I look back at the times we did get to spend with him, it wasn't really because he wanted the time with Ken and I (Dick refused to go and since he was a teen, he could do that), but it was because he wanted to hurt my mom. He'd come and take us on holidays, leaving her many times alone because Dick had to work to help with expenses. He always took us for Mother's Day and Father's Day. Christmas Day - his house. Thanksgiving - it depended. Easter - his house. It was easy to go there... there were built in playmates. We had two step brothers - Jim and John (the twins) who were two years older than I and then along came Janie - the new princess in my dad's story. At first I was thrilled - I had always wanted a sister. I loved my brothers but they didn't like painting nails and playing with Barbies. I liked the Tonka trucks alright but I wanted a companion who would play dress up with me and talk about boys with me. The excitement didn't last. My dad and his wife, Jane, wouldn't let me play with Janie. If I tried to sneak in some time, I was met with a slap to the back of the head (much like Gibbs does to DiNozzo on NCIS). I could play with the boys though. Problem with that was they were hellions on wheels. If there was any kind of trouble they could get into within a three mile radius, they'd find it. My mother had taught me better and my conscience was not one to live with if I'd have gone along. So most times I just sat and spent the holidays reading and trying to stay out of everyone's way until it was time to go home. Many times we were due home at 6 and it would be 10 pm before my dad decided to roll into our driveway with us.



Once he even tried to run my mother down with his truck. He had me on his lap "letting me" drive when he saw her at the mailbox. Instead of slowing down, he hit the gas and aimed right towards her. I tried to turn the wheel, thinking I had lost control of it, but he overpowered me. My mom threw herself into the ditch and the truck barreled over her. She was shaken up but not seriously injured. Needless to say, I didn't go on anymore trips with my dad for quite awhile. In hindsight, through the eyes of an adult, I can see how he just used Ken and I as pawns in his game against my mother and how mean he truly was. They had a bitter divorce. As a child you like to think that they still love you but that isn't always the case. For years I put my dad on a pedestal - especially when Robert came into the picture. "MY DAD" wouldn't do this and "MY DAD" wouldn't do that - you know the scenarios. I honestly don't know of one time after I was five that I felt secure and loved by my father. My mother did the best that she could and she and I were very close. There is just something about a father's love that a little girl needs. My brothers didn't seem to care one way or another. It's like there was some kind of genetic coding that had been passed down to them not to care. Family never meant anything to them - still doesn't for all I know.



When Robert committed suicide, my biological father, Richard, decided it would be "fun" to come to the wake and funeral and rile things up. He would sit there and introduce himself to the people who were coming to pay respects to us for the death of my "legal" father (Robert had adopted us and Richard had signed us away). I spent most of those days trying to explain to people our family dynamics instead of being able to mourn the death. I was 14, scared, insecure, trying to be strong for my mom, trying to keep Dick from choking Richard (he'd come home on leave from the Army), and trying to be the big sis to Ken. It was stressful and here was my real father trying to just add to the stress under the auspices of having some fun. Yeah, funny guy. But still for some reason I thought it was "JUST" against my mother - didn't really realize that he was alienating me as well.



It wasn't until my mom started getting real sick that I sought him out. I don't know what I was thinking but I thought that maybe he'd have some ideas of what I could do to get some help. His wife was in nursing school part time and he was gainfully employed as a mechanic. After school one day, I took the bus into town instead of the bus that went to our neighborhood. I went into the dealership where he worked. I inquired about my dad and when he came out - he denied knowing me. He stood there looking straight into my face, saying he'd never seen me before and I must have been a nut case. Oh I was a nut case alright - for ever believing that he cared. I turned and left in a ball of tears and walked the 10 miles or so home. By the time I got home, mom was sitting on the couch crying - one because she knew I'd be hurting and two because she was so angry at the bastard. In all the years up until then, she never bad-mouthed him. She always played up his good points and never the negative. She felt bad that I had to learn the hard way. Anyway it turns out he had called her and yelled at her for me embarassing him at work. We were in his past and he didn't want anything to do with that. So that's how we left it. In January of 1974, my graduation day, my mother, my best friend, my only parent, passed away. I was 17 years old and had spent the last 2-3 years caring for her every medical, emotional, spiritual, financial and physical need. Somewhere in those years our roles had changed. I became the adult and she becamse the needy child. She died on the couch in our living room as I was at graduation practice. I called the fire department and they sent and ambulance to transport her to the hospital morgue. I had to follow to fill out some paperwork. After I came home from the hospital, I called the phone company and asked them to call my dad and have him call me - it was an emergency. He had an unlisted number and I had no other way to get a hold of him. They did just that and shortly later the phone rang. I told him that she had died and he immediately proceeded to yell at me on the phone for bothering him yet again. By now I was 17 and had built up quite the teenage backbone and mouth to go with it. I firmly told him that "you were married to her for 18 years, she had three of your children, I felt it was the right thing to let you know - I didn't think you wanted to read about it in the Chicago Tribune" and I hung up on him.



I had a graduation to get to and had to drop Ken off at a good friend's house so that I could go. There was nothing more to do that night anyway. After coming home from graduation and getting Ken settled down enough to fall asleep in the chair with me, the phone rang. It was our dad. He wanted to talk to Ken and proceeded to say God knows what... all I know is that it took me another 2 hours to calm Ken down again. Finally at 4 am I was able to sleep for 2 hours. By 7 am I was back at the school I had just graduated from and in a counselor's office asking for help. I had to drive Ken there anyway for school - there was nothing for us to do at home - and I didn't know where to turn. My mother had wanted to be cremated, etc. and we had discussed what she wanted at length. My dad, in his phone call the night before, had said HE wanted to bury her on a hill, under a tree, etc. etc. etc. I didn't know what legal rights I had and wanted to find out before meeting with the funeral director at 10 am.



My counselor knew a lawyer in town and called him. He came right over to the school and accompanied me to the funeral home. My dad, his wife, Jane, along with my aunt and uncle, were all there when I came walking in with a lawyer. They didn't expect that. For once not one of them said a word. They let me do all the planning that I had been so well rehearsed in by my mother. They never even stood by my side as I went to pick out a casket. They left me to do it all alone - which was hard but better than fighting. Afterwards we all went to lunch and he tried to be nice. He invited Ken and I to come stay at his house out on the lake. I welcomed the chance to get away from the phone calls and quite frankly from my hysterical aunt. I loved her, but she was a handful. So the next day we moved out by him. It was awkward but it seemed like we were falling into a routine. I had just gotten a promotion at work so I was working long, crazy hours. After a week or so of being out there, Jane decided she could get back at my mom by causing trouble with her kids. I would call her and say not to hold dinner because I had to work late and she would tell my dad I never called and would hold dinner until it was cold for everyone. Then I'd come in and get reamed. If I tried to defend myself, well then I was calling his wife a liar. It was a no-win situation. Finally on Easter Sunday, just a few weeks after turning 18 and two months of being there, my dad kicked me out because I looked and acted like my mom and it bothered his wife. Fine. I packed the clothes I had there in my car and was getting ready to leave when one of my step brothers, John, came home. He had seen what was going on and he proceeded to put my dad in his place. He even yelled at him for charging his own daughter dealer rates to do a tune-up on my car in his driveway. Needless to say, John was packing his car right behind me. We met at a restaurant down the street to decide what to do. I had the keys to the old house in Des Plaines that I had grown up in, so we went there.



I trusted John and quite frankly he was the only person in my life that seemed to be acting like an adult. He was great - at first. After awhile, we decided we just couldn't stay in that house. Too many ghosts for me. My mother had just died in that house, my step father had committed suicide in the garage and my grandmother had died in my bedroom just a few years before. So we moved into an apartment up closer to where John worked. We settled in nicely and I signed up for classes at the local college and was going to make something of my life. I worked all day and attended classes a couple nights a week. Then the phone calls started. My dad would get drunk and call to start in on me. He'd call me a whore and said I should put a red light out my door, etc. etc. etc. He was downright mean. One time he irritated me so much that I actually pulled the panel phone out of the wall, kicked the bathroom door so hard the hinges broke and it ended up in the bathtub and stormed out of the house. My friday night pizza friends went looking for me, but I had climbed a tree, too scared to drive because I had never been so angry. At that time, I had only been on one date in my life and was still a virgin - which was my plan until I was married.



I had been around alcoholics all my life. My mom was one, my older brother was one, my stepdad was one, my aunt and uncle were and obviously my father. It wasn't anything new but this was the first time I had been the object of such drunken meaness and anger. It wasn't long before John started drinking too and turned into a carbon copy of my dad. He was mean and beligerant and scared me to death. I did all I could do to avoid him when he was drinking but it was hard when you share an apartment - in a town where I had few friends. One night we had been at a party at a friend's house in town and I had left early when the party was getting out of hand. I was not a drinker - didn't want any part of it - so I walked the few blocks home. I was sound asleep when I was awakened by John on top of me tearing at my nightclothes. When I protested and tried to stop him, he pulled a pair of scissors and held them at my throat. I'm sure I don't need to go into the details of what happened next. After he passed out, I dressed and left. He had hidden my car keys so I had to leave on foot. I started to go back to the house where the party had been but it was dark and everybody was gone. I knew of another, older couple, that lived across town so I figured I'd head towards there. Every time I saw headlights coming up behind me, I'd duck behind a house or into some bushes so as not to be seen. I was scared, I was hurt, I was bleeding, I was in shock. About halfway to Tom and Betty's I heard the emergency sirens go off. The town we lived in had a volunteer fire department so that is how they were alerted that they were needed. It was a Saturday night, so hearing those sirens go off was not that unusual. There were many bars in town and many accidents each weekend. Plus it was a slightly rainy night. The kind of rain that just made the roads slippery.



I finally made it to Betty and Tom's and they let me crash on their couch, no questions asked... at least not at 3 am. Tom went to the gas station where he worked with John at 6 am. By 6:30 am he was waking me up and telling me that John had been in a terrible accident and wrapped his car around a tree. Because of the scratches I had on me, etc. they at first thought that I had been in the car but didn't know how I could have made it out alive. I said that I hadn't been in the car but offered no more info. He was hospitalized in critical condition and everyone wanted to drive me over there. That was the last place I wanted to go. The police got a hold of my dad and told him so he and Jane went running up to the hospital. My dad called Tom and demanded he bring me up there. Nobody ever argued or stood up to my dad so I was brought up there. John had regained consciousness enough to tell them that we had had a fight and that I left. He said he went out lookng for me and lost control of his car and wrapped it around that huge tree because the streets were wet. He either left out the part where he raped me first or didn't remember it and the part where he was drunker than a skunk. He was a great liar and actor so to this day I really am not sure if he remembers or not. Anyway, my dad stood there in the hospital yelling at me for almost killing John. Not once did he ask "why" I left. Leaving in the middle of the night, in the rain, to literally run across town to get away from an extremely dangerous situation didn't raise any flags in that man's head. Tom saw I was just about ready to have a nervous breakdown and took me back to his house.



It was two more days before I finally told Tom and Betty the real reason I had left. My dad didn't want to hear it, I was the bad seed of the family in his eyes anyway. Tom and Betty helped me get a new place until I could decide what to do. One of the girls at the bank I worked with was looking to move so we got an apartment together and I had nothing to do with John or my dad after that. I ran into him once at a restaurant in Libertyville and said "hi". He just grunted and went back to reading the paper, like he didn't know me at all. Everyone in that restaurant knew he was my dad. I poured a glass of water on his head and walked out. My friends laughed, my dad did nothing. He wouldn't even come to my wedding - despite being invited (Oliver's idea, not mine). I was grateful he declined. It wasn't until the week of the wedding that he finally decided it would be ok if Ken came. So my little brother walked me down the aisle in his 1970's leisure suit. Looked great with all the tuxedoed guys in the pics... lol. Oh well. After Danny, my son, was born, I was very sick. I was in the hospital for over a month and almost didn't make it. Turns out that Jane worked in the hospital and my name kept coming up in their meetings because I was in such bad shape. Apparently she had a change of heart somewhere along the line and she'd come visit me during the night shift on her break. Most of the time I was comatose, but occasionally I would wake up to the smell her perfume. Finally I managed to stay awake one night and caught her. After that we had long talks and rebuilt bridges that had been blown to smithereens.



She adored Danny and worked on trying to patch things up. She brought Janie one night to see me and the little girl with pig tails had grown into a beautiful, but shy, teen. She was sweet and she loved Danny. The biggest hurdle was getting my dad and I in the same room. She was working on my dad and Oliver was working on me. Oliver came from a loud, passionate family that fought all the time and then got over it. He coudn't understand me being so "stubborn" about it. Finally I gave in to the pressure and I figured that Danny had a right to know his grandfather. The same grandfather who sued me for custody of my brother and wouldn't let me see him again for four years. Yep, that grandfather. Anyway, we set up the meeting at their house. Oliver, Danny and I got there and Jane greeted us at the door. As I walked in, I saw an old man sitting in the chair by the window and it took me a few minutes to realize that it was my dad. He had aged tremendously and no longer was the big, threatening man that I had known. And he was as sweet as pie - as if nothing had ever happened - like it was all in my head. I was cordial but I just couldn't let my guard down. We found out that night that Jane had been diagnosed with breast cancer and would be starting chemo treatments the next week. I felt bad for her. In our midnight talks, we had become friends. That night went without any incidents but I just didn't trust that my dad's niceness would last. Every flag in my head was flapping to beat the band. I had to "hear it" from Oliver all the way home of how nice he was and that maybe everything I had told him was all in my head. Um, yeah.



Jane lived for two years and I helped as best as I could until Oliver's job took us to Memphis. Danny was a great distraction for her and she loved him dearly - that was real. During our times together as she was battling the cancer, she made me promise that I would be there for my dad. I really tried to not agree to do that. I had every reason in the world NOT to be there for him but she played on my compassion one too many times and I reluctantly agreed. So while she was dying, I was there for him. She was in hospice and held on for weeks. We were living in Memphis at the time and had to go back up to Chicago to be there for them. Oliver, Danny and I stayed with my in-laws until Oliver had to get back to work in Memphis. My dad agreed to buy my plane ticket home and I wisely made him do that before Oliver left so that I had it in hand... still I couldn't trust him. He was leaning on me very hard and I was not healthy myself. I had just gotten out of the hospital - against my doctor's advice - after having some testing done on my lungs. I had now had a third blood clot in my lungs and was on heavy medications and blood thinners with my doctors in Memphis and me in Waukegan, IL. The hospice nurses kept as close of an eye on me as they did on Jane. They made sure I took my meds and ate, etc. They were wonderful and a Godsend. Jane died peacefully in the night and we got the call in the morning. I went and picked up my dad and we went to the hospital. In those days, hospice was still done in a wing of the hospital, not at home. I held his hand as he made all the arrangements. He dragged me into that same room to pick out a casket and I had to relive that horror all over again - with him telling me how hard it was to do - the same man that let his 17 year old daughter pick out her mother's casket. But I did it. Danny stayed with my in-laws and I split my time between their apartment and my dad's house. I spent the days with my dad, through dinner, and then went to their place to play with Danny a bit and get him to bed. The stress was wearing me down.



Finally after a phone call with Oliver, he decided I needed a break so he called his oldest sister, Pat, to come and meet me at the Denny's across from my in-laws for coffee so that I could have someone to talk to. We sat there for a couple of hours and she let me vent. She had seen my dad lose it one time and she truly understood and believed that I was not making this all up. I loved her for being there for me. She went back home and I walked back across the street to my in-laws. As I walked in, I noticed my mother-in-law was in tears. It was the only time in my life I ever saw her cry. She was not a crying person. When I asked her what was wrong, she said that my dad had called looking for me and had proceeded to call me every name in the book, etc. She said he and Oliver had talked on the phone while I was gone and they had gotten into a real bad fight. I called Oliver first and got his side then called my dad - you mess with me, fine, I'm used to it, but you do NOT mess with my mother-in-law. Turns out that my dad got it in his drunken head that I was out messing around with some guy and leaving my son with Oliver's mother, etc. He went on and on. Oliver told him he knew exactly where I was and with whom. Dad called Oliver a liar and an idiot for believing that story. Except Oliver was the one who set it all up. Anyway, Oliver had enough and when my dad threw out the "I buried my wife today" card - Oliver said that he was sorry that he had to go through that but it did NOT give him the right to bury his wife right along with her. More threats passed between them before the phones were slammed down. My flight to go home was the following evening and I couldn't wait.



In the morning I got up and took the car back to my dad's. He had been letting me use Jane's car to get back and forth. When I got there, I picked the Sunday newspaper up off the porch and went in the house. I handed him the paper, the keys and the sweater I had borrowed from Ken (who was now going to be living with him). Oh and as a side note, the day of the funeral, I was not allowed to ride in the family car - Ken decided I wasn't family and dad went along with it. Even though I had been the one that had been there throughout the whole ordeal. I wasn't blood related to Jane. Um, neither was Ken, but that was different. Anyway, when I gave my dad the stuff, he started in with "that's some husband you have. When I told him I buried my wife, he said he didn't give a shit." Ok, gloves off.... that is not what he said. What he said was that I didn't deserve that shit from my own father, etc. Years and years of built up anger, frustration, hurt, you name it, came spewing out. No more. I was done playing his games. As far as I was concerned, he was just as dead to me as my mother and his wife were. I walked out the door and started to walk the 30 plus miles home. Ken followed me out and on a nice peaceful Sunday morning a battle royal erupted in the street. I was just as mad at Ken and didn't even know him anymore. I told him he was turning out just like that old man and as far as I was concerned, they could both rot in hell. I turned on my heels and just kept walking.



In my anger and yelling and talking to myself the whole way back to my in-laws, I had ripped open all the areas in my throat and bronchial tubes that had been so carefully stitched up just a few weeks earlier. My shirt was covered in blood and I lost Lord knows how much blood. When I walked into my in-laws, my mother-in-law shrieked (another act not part of her nature) and had my father-in-law take Danny into a back room so that he didn't see it. She thought I had been shot. After cleaning me up and getting me changed and making sure there were no holes in my body, she finally believed that I, in fact, had not been shot. Later that day, Danny and I flew home. Oliver immediately called my doctor and he had me on bed rest until he could get me admitted to the hospital the next morning. As I was laying there waiting for the phone call to come into the hospital, the phone rang. We didn't have caller id back then, so I just picked it up. It was my father. In a completely innocent voice, he asked "were you upset when you left yesterday?" I looked at the phone, trying to figure out if I was awake or dreaming, then looked at the receiver, looked at the phone again, and just hung up. Finally, after all those years, I just hung up. It felt good. The next call was Oliver telling me he was coming to bring me into the hospital where they proceeded to restitch all the damage. My doctor was not happy but he was glad I was back and that it was over. The next day my brother called. The switchboard had been instructed not to put through calls from my dad, but nothing had been said about my brother. Anyway, turns out his girlfriend, who he had just proposed to the night I had gone home, was in a terrible car accident and was killed. I loved Kim and took it very hard. I was so upset that once again, I broke open all the stitches.



A nurse had heard me wail and came running in. My doctor was paged, Oliver was called, and Ken was left dangling on the other end of the phone. Wisely he hung up before Oliver got there. All I could get out was that Ken had called but couldn't say what had happened. Oliver was ready to buy a gun and head to Chicago and take care of my family once and for all. Finally my doctor gave me a shot and got everyone else quieted down and I was able to explain. Oliver was still mad at Ken for telling me and my doctor was trying to tell Oliver that it was good timing because if this had happened while I was at home, my blood loss had been so significant that I may not have made it through.



Kim's funeral was in Texas, her home state, and Ken was the only one to go. The night of the accident, she had been riding home from a concert with Ken's best friend, Pete. Ken was supposed to take her but he had missed so much time at work with Jane's funeral and all that he couldn't get off. Pete had volunteered to take her because she really wanted to go. Somehow he lost control of the car and hit a tree. Kim was killed instantly and Pete was paralyzed. Ken was devastated. He'd lost a step mom, his fiancee and his best friend was paralyzed all in one week. When he came home from the funeral, he walked in the door of my dad's house and as he put his suitcase down, dad started in. "What were they doing that he lost control of the car? What kind of a girl was she anyway, screwing around with your best friend? Some best friend Pete turned out to be... etc." Ken picked up his suitcase without saying a word and walked out that door. He never talked to the man again.



Sometimes I admire him for doing that. I wish I had. Nope, not me. I had to go back for more - all the time. After awhile when my dad's emphysema started getting real bad he reached out for help. This time is was Janie, me and her husband who were there for him. He was not an easy patient. Parts of me wanted to throttle him but part of me wanted to nurture him. It was a constant struggle. Somewhere in those hours, we managed to talk and resolve most of the bad stuff... not all of it, but in his way, he apologized and blamed it on the alcohol. Two days before he died, we had a long talk. It was my birthday. By this time he had decided he wanted to be in a nursing home and I was there visiting. He told me that he was amazed that I was there for him after all he had done to me and how mean he had been. I told him that it was God's grace that had me there and had it not been for that, I wouldn't have been. The Bible tells us to honor our mothers and fathers and since I knew the day would come when I would have to answer to that higher authority, I knew I had to do the best that I could. He cried and for the first time I saw him as a wounded child that had been lashing out. I forgave him for all he had done and he thanked me. Two days later Janie and I were there holding his hands as he took his last breath. I felt nothing. I was glad his struggling was over and I was glad that he could no longer hurt me, but I certainly couldn't cry. Those tears didn't come until years later. Until many counseling sessions to help me understand. I loved him, I hated him. Nobody has drawn more negative emotions out of me before or since.



So as Father's Day rolls around, it's hard. I read all those testaments to great fathers and the stories of those who have gone on to heaven. I can't relate to either because I just don't know where he is. I don't know what decisions he made regarding Jesus in his life. Same with my step father. Don't know about him either. What I do know is that Father's Day does not draw up in me any warm fuzzy feelings. I've seen great examples of fathers in my life and I've had wonderful mentors. Oliver was an awesome father to Danny. For them I will smile on that day. I will smile because I have a heavenly Father that loves me without a doubt, unconditionally. I will smile because I will have just a small tinge of jealousy for those girls who are princesses in their father's eyes and who have a father that has and will do anything for them. I'm happy for them - truly - but I just wish I knew what that felt like.



So for all of you who have had wonderful fathers and Sunday will be day of celebration - whether he still walks this earth or not - I tip my hat and I smile. And for those of you who have fathers who more resemble mine - I smile for you too, knowingly, as a sisterhood that none of us wanted to be in. ((Hugs)) Have a great weekend and to all you fathers out there - Happy Fathers Day. Be good to your children. Believe it or not, the things you say or do will either leave love prints in their hearts or bruises on their psyche. Make the right choice.