10/07/2025

"Back to Blogging!"  

Well looky there.  I don't have to start from scratch.  I had forgotten that I started this blog years ago.  I'm glad I did.  I recorded some thoughts and some feelings that I don't want to forget.  Even though they are sometimes painful...they were a part of my life...a part of my experience...a part of who God is molding me to be... through all the good and bad times, happy and sad times of my life..  

What a life it's been.

I'm in Pennsylvania now.  Staying at my sisters house, caring for my poppa.  He's ninety one years old.  Mom died 2 years ago, the day before his birthday.  Why then, I wonder?  I don't think Dad ever expected to outlive my mother.... He'd had numerous health issues, especially with his heart.  Mom had always been pretty darn healthy.  No major health issues.  Ok.  She did have hepatitis pretty bad while she was in Africa when I was a brand new baby (1961).  And she had several bouts of malaria.  I think Dad did too...  par for the course for living in Africa where we did.  There was medicine to take, and they recovered.  But they could never give blood again, because their blood was tainted.  

I was able to go down to Florida and help care for mom the last couple of years of her life.  She had dementia, and was needing more care than they could give at Media.  I thoroughly enjoyed it.  Loving her, caring for her, sitting with her, singing with her, listening to her, watching Lawrence Welk with her (and dad, and Uncle Tom and Aunt Chris, and whoever else wanted to join us.). Boy did she love music of all kinds. It was in her bones.  She could harmonize with anyone anywhere.  How did she do that?  She never learned to read music...  but she had the most beautiful voice, and it was a gift God gave to her, and she gave it right back to him, and He used it to encourage and lift up many people, and especially lift up His name.  It gave him glory, and I'm sure it brought Him joy.  

Anyway.  Dad did outlive mom.  I'm glad.... because I feel its a way for us to all learn to love him for him.  He used to always hide behind mom.  Mom was the outgoing one, the social one, the relational one, the listener, the counselor, the pray-er.   Dad was there in the background.  He didn't often speak... but when he did, he usually had some very profound things to say.  Once when I was crying about wishing I could go back to the way things "used to be", either my carefree childhood, or my life when my husband was still alive... He said, "You never step in the same river twice..."  Ouch.  I remembered that.  I've mused on it many times since then.  

Today after breakfast as he was transitioning to his red chair where he will sit for a couple of hours till its time for his morning nap, I asked him what I was like as a little child.  He said, "you were always cute.  Never naughty..."  I don't know about that...  It seems like I did get more spankings than the other 3 kids put together.  Anyway.  I'm glad he remembers me as that.  I know I was a little "nixy" as my grandma would say....  Maybe that's why I got so many spankings...  I know that in spite of those spankings, I knew I was loved.  I felt secure in my parents love.  That is a wonderful gift.

Rachael has been caring for dad in her home since mom died.  He is probably in better health than he ever has been, because she cares for him so well.  Yes, he is getting older and weaker.  He's 91 for heavens sake.  But he is on a good schedule of rest, eating nutritious food, taking his meds, sitting upright for a couple of hours at a time, and then repeating the process.  His mind is still pretty sharp considering.  He's quieter than he used to be.  He doesn't have as much confidence in his speech as he used to have.  He doesn't like being left alone with people he doesn't know well.  He feels more secure when others are there to carry the conversation.  But he is not a recluse, and for that I am grateful.  He and Rachael go to a sweet little church close to their home, and the people love him there.  It's perfect.  They are so kind and helpful, and they do love Jesus.  What a gift, to have that kind of fellowship with the body of Christ.  There is nothing like it.  

Well, I shall sign off for now.  Going to go sit with Dad now.  Maybe watch an episode of "Call the Midwife" before he heads off for his nap!

Back to Blogging! The last time I wrote anything was October, 2009.  It is now January, 2014.  How time has gone by.  What has happened in the meantime?  Much.  and not so much.

Oh yes.  Too much.  Heartache, pain, hurt.  Joy, tears.  Life.  An uphill climb.  A son on drugs, a stint in Military school, a suicide attempt and drug rehab.  Then more drugs, Juvie, Drug Court. Drug tests, lack of trust,  Anger.    His towards me.  Mine towards him.

The good news is, that after all of that, my dear son is alive.  He graduated from High School with honors, got a very good scholarship to UAB.

The sad news is, I lost my son.  I lost a close relationship with him. He will still say he loves me, but I don't feel loved by him.  All I feel is his anger towards me.  I love him so much it hurts, and it hurts so badly that I don't have that sweet, close relationship I crave.  I lost it when he was young, as he was only in 4th grade when his dad was diagnosed with cancer.  Multiple Myeloma, along with TTP, short for Thrombotic Thrombosytopenic Purpura.  A life threatening blood disorder. From that time on, my time was split between being with my husband while in the hospital with tubes hanging out of his carotid artery, to be used for exchanging his unhealthy plasma with donor plasma.  Each exchange took hours, and he had to have sometimes 2/day.

Between that and going to Arkansas for treatment for sometimes weeks or more at a time for Charlie's treatment for the Multiple Myeloma, which included 2 bone marrow transplants, using his own stem cells.   I missed much of the dear, sweet time of raising John.  Raising my son.   Being there for him when he came home from school, did homework, played.  My daughter Abby took over that role as best as she could.