My son, Ian, broke his left arm last Thursday night on our swingset. It's the first broken anything either of my kids have had. Honestly, those of you who know my son- it's a miracle that he didn't break a bone before now. In his six years of life he has had many near misses so I knew that sooner or later he would break something.
I could tell by his scream that something was wrong. He usually doesn't cry for a long time and this scream sounded different. After we got him in the house and looked at the arm, we knew that the big lump that was near his wrist was not supposed to be there. I had some of my friends that had come over for a Girls Night Out and they all had suggestions for what we should do.
I knew what I had to do. My son was hurt and he needed help. I grabbed my keys and purse and Ian's blankie and his stuffed dog Bandit. Rich brought a few other things and carried Ian to the van. We drove 20 miles to the ER with Ian crying the whole way. I tried not to speed, but I think I might have gone a mile or two over the limit. My son was in pain and I wanted him to find relief.
Once we got to the ER, time seemed to stand still. Other than one or two people, no one was going back. We were all in the waiting room. I knew the doctors were behind the heavy double doors- but we had to wait.
Ian did his best to be brave. He asked "How much longer?" every few minutes and when the pain was bad he cried. The first hour was bearable. The next two were hell. Ian cried and cried and both Rich and I did what we could to help him, but we weren't doctors. We told him that he would feel better once he saw a doctor.
There was a moment when Ian looked at me with his big brown puppy-dog eyes and said, "It hurts Mommy! Please take it away."
That's a killer. In that moment I knew what it was to want to take your child's pain away. I would've changed places with him in a heartbeat if I could. But it was his arm that was broken, not mine.
Not that I didn't try to help. Both Rich and I talked to the RN at the desk and kept asking how much longer it would be. Three hours is a long time for an adult to wait- to a kid it would seem like days. Finally they called his name and in the next hour we found out his radius was broken and he would have to have a cast when the swelling went down.
Again- I wanted to take my son's place. I didn't want him to have to go through the pain and discomfort.
I wonder if that's how God feels when he sees us in pain and we have to wait?
He has us in a place where we can get healed- but it takes time.
I wonder what He sees in our faces when we go through "broken arm" moments. Those moments where we try not to cry, but wonder "How much longer?" Those trials that we think we can't hang on one more moment...
As we were heading for the van, Ian said, "I was really brave, wasn't I?" Rich and I told him he was VERY brave. Ian smiled and said, "I got through that hurting time cuz God and you guys helped me." and he gave me a thumbs up.
It was then that I realized that my son had learned a lesson that he wouldn't have learned otherwise.....
I have more musings on broken arms- but I will save that for tomorrow.
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
Man Soap
Ok- so most of the time my posts are informational or emotional or whatever. But today I must discuss a topic of utmost importance......man soap.
Yes- you read that correctly- man soap.
My son, Ian, is six and got a cast put on his broken arm today. He was very brave and did a great job of staying still while the doctor put the blue waterproof cast on his arm. On the way home, his sister wanted to stop at the mall so she could go to Bath and Bodyworks so she could get some shower gel and lip gloss.
Ian was NOT impressed. At all. He wandered around after me like a grouchy puppy, telling me how much he did not want to be in a girl store. Until he saw the man soap.
He ran over to the display and yelled, "I FOUND THE MAN SOAP!" I had no idea what he was screaming about until he pointed at the brown bottle that said "Twilight Woods- For Men". He jumped up and down, "Look Mommy! It's the vampire man soap that Daddy uses!"
I tried not to laugh as I explained that it was soap for men- Daddy did use the Twilight soap but it was not vampire soap. He said he wanted to smell some of the other man soaps so he did and he loved the Ocean scent. He proceeded to tell me that he had been so brave getting his cast on and could I please buy him some Man Soap because he had been strong like a man?
I looked into those big brown eyes- and I lost it! I began to laugh until my sides hurt. I honestly tried not to- but it was so funny to me! Ian laughed too, but asked again if he could have some man soap.
It just so happens that the man soap was $3 a bottle- so Ian got two Ocean man soaps.
He was so proud as he put his soap on the counter. "This is my MAN SOAP!" He told the clerk.
She asked him why he called it that. "Because my Daddy uses it so he can smell like a man!"
Of course he had to have his own bag for his man soap, which he carried out through the store and into the mall. He went on and on about his man soap and when I made a quick call to a friend on my cell phone he reminded me to tell her about his blue man soap.
He told everyone at Steak and Shake about his man soap. And his best friend Liam.
Now Liam wants man soap but because he has skin issues- he can't use it.
When Rich came home from work, Ian told him all about the man soap.
Rich laughed, but I think it's one of those things where you had to be there to really appreciate the hilarity of it all.
Guess who used his Ocean scented man soap in his bath tonight?
Come on...I'll bet you'll never guess......
Yes- you read that correctly- man soap.
My son, Ian, is six and got a cast put on his broken arm today. He was very brave and did a great job of staying still while the doctor put the blue waterproof cast on his arm. On the way home, his sister wanted to stop at the mall so she could go to Bath and Bodyworks so she could get some shower gel and lip gloss.
Ian was NOT impressed. At all. He wandered around after me like a grouchy puppy, telling me how much he did not want to be in a girl store. Until he saw the man soap.
He ran over to the display and yelled, "I FOUND THE MAN SOAP!" I had no idea what he was screaming about until he pointed at the brown bottle that said "Twilight Woods- For Men". He jumped up and down, "Look Mommy! It's the vampire man soap that Daddy uses!"
I tried not to laugh as I explained that it was soap for men- Daddy did use the Twilight soap but it was not vampire soap. He said he wanted to smell some of the other man soaps so he did and he loved the Ocean scent. He proceeded to tell me that he had been so brave getting his cast on and could I please buy him some Man Soap because he had been strong like a man?
I looked into those big brown eyes- and I lost it! I began to laugh until my sides hurt. I honestly tried not to- but it was so funny to me! Ian laughed too, but asked again if he could have some man soap.
It just so happens that the man soap was $3 a bottle- so Ian got two Ocean man soaps.
He was so proud as he put his soap on the counter. "This is my MAN SOAP!" He told the clerk.
She asked him why he called it that. "Because my Daddy uses it so he can smell like a man!"
Of course he had to have his own bag for his man soap, which he carried out through the store and into the mall. He went on and on about his man soap and when I made a quick call to a friend on my cell phone he reminded me to tell her about his blue man soap.
He told everyone at Steak and Shake about his man soap. And his best friend Liam.
Now Liam wants man soap but because he has skin issues- he can't use it.
When Rich came home from work, Ian told him all about the man soap.
Rich laughed, but I think it's one of those things where you had to be there to really appreciate the hilarity of it all.
Guess who used his Ocean scented man soap in his bath tonight?
Come on...I'll bet you'll never guess......
Thursday, June 21, 2012
Dangerous Questions
Monday I had gotten word that one of my students from last year lost his dad. At 32, he had a massive heart attack, wrecked the car he was in and it went up in flames. When I heard the news I thought it had to be a joke. It had to be.
But with just a few keystrokes I was looking at an obituary that confirmed what I had been told.
Later, I had many more phone calls telling me of the sad news. After trying to reach the student (I'll call him John- not his real name) I was able to find a phone number where he could be reached. "Mrs. P? I have to tell you something, my dad is dead." I told him I knew that and prayed that somehow I would have the words to comfort him. He told me that he wanted me to be at the funeral the next day and I said that I was already planning on it. We hung up and I went to bed with my head full of questions.
Why did John's dad have to die?
Why did this have to happen?
Why is John an orphan?
Yes- John is now an orphan. His mother died a few years ago and he lives with his grandmother, who is wonderful lady and is doing a great job of taking care of John. But at 13, John no longer has either of his parents.
God is not a stranger to my hard questions and He was barraged with them Monday night and Tuesday morning. Notice that all of my questions begin with the word 'why'. I am always wanting to know why something happens or why someone does something. Maybe it's the writer in me that wants to take a situation and resolve it. I want answers.
I didn't know exactly what I was going to say to John Tuesday morning, so I got up early and decided to write him a note. Those of you that know me will not be surprised in the least to learn that my note turned into a 3 page letter- front and back. The words came pouring out of me and I went with it. I'm a writer- it's what I do.
One of the things that I told him was that God was bigger than all of our questions. That He can handle the whys, and the anger and the hurt. That rather than seeking out other things, seek Him.
How do I know that? Beacuse I have asked the dangerous questions. The ones that might seem irreverent. The ones that some people wouldn't ask God becasue they think He might not like to hear them. I have screamed at God and demanded to know why. I have cried out to Him when there were no words I could say.
RED has a song called "Let it Burn" that asks some of the same dangerous questions that I have asked.
"Where were you when our hearts were bleeding?"
"How long will you hide your face?"
"Is your world just a broken promise?"
"Is your love just a drop of rain?"
"Are you still there?"
"Will you just let it all burn down?"
I believe that God loves it when we come to Him with the whys and the hows and the screams. He can take the dangerous questions.
Psalm 46:1-2 (Message) "God is a safe place to hide, ready to help when we need him. We stand fearless at the cliff-edge of doom, courageous in seastorm and earthquake. Before the rush and roar of oceans, the tremors that shift mountains."
My take on this is that if we are going to God with questions- we are still going to God. He is our safe place. I figure the God of the universe can handle my questions. Then no matter what happens, He gives us His strength to stand on the cliff of doom and be courageous in an earthquake.
I give God my questions and He gives me His Peace.
Gotta love that trade-off!
I had His Peace as I walked into that funeral home where John was sitting and waiting for the funeral to start. He gave me Peace as I was able to pray with John and hug him and give him a small gift. He was there through the service and afterwards. I know He was there when John watched the casket being lowered into the ground and I know He is going to give His Peace to John in the days and weeks to come.
And when John asks the dangerous questions- God will be there. Patient. Loving. Understanding.
I told John in my letter that God is the Father to the Fatherless, because I lost my own father. Becasue I have asked the hard questions. Because I know the truth in that. And John knows that because he heard me talk about it a thousand times last year in class. He knows.
My prayer for John and for anyone else who has a thousand "whys" is that you bring them to God. Even if they are screamed, or cried or whispered. Know that the God that created everything will hear your desperate whys. And in exchange for your questions, He will give you His Peace.
"Call me and I'll answer, be at your side in bad times." Psalm 91:15 (Message)
Here is a video of RED's "Let It Burn". May it inspire you to ask the dangerous questions....
But with just a few keystrokes I was looking at an obituary that confirmed what I had been told.
Later, I had many more phone calls telling me of the sad news. After trying to reach the student (I'll call him John- not his real name) I was able to find a phone number where he could be reached. "Mrs. P? I have to tell you something, my dad is dead." I told him I knew that and prayed that somehow I would have the words to comfort him. He told me that he wanted me to be at the funeral the next day and I said that I was already planning on it. We hung up and I went to bed with my head full of questions.
Why did John's dad have to die?
Why did this have to happen?
Why is John an orphan?
Yes- John is now an orphan. His mother died a few years ago and he lives with his grandmother, who is wonderful lady and is doing a great job of taking care of John. But at 13, John no longer has either of his parents.
God is not a stranger to my hard questions and He was barraged with them Monday night and Tuesday morning. Notice that all of my questions begin with the word 'why'. I am always wanting to know why something happens or why someone does something. Maybe it's the writer in me that wants to take a situation and resolve it. I want answers.
I didn't know exactly what I was going to say to John Tuesday morning, so I got up early and decided to write him a note. Those of you that know me will not be surprised in the least to learn that my note turned into a 3 page letter- front and back. The words came pouring out of me and I went with it. I'm a writer- it's what I do.
One of the things that I told him was that God was bigger than all of our questions. That He can handle the whys, and the anger and the hurt. That rather than seeking out other things, seek Him.
How do I know that? Beacuse I have asked the dangerous questions. The ones that might seem irreverent. The ones that some people wouldn't ask God becasue they think He might not like to hear them. I have screamed at God and demanded to know why. I have cried out to Him when there were no words I could say.
RED has a song called "Let it Burn" that asks some of the same dangerous questions that I have asked.
"Where were you when our hearts were bleeding?"
"How long will you hide your face?"
"Is your world just a broken promise?"
"Is your love just a drop of rain?"
"Are you still there?"
"Will you just let it all burn down?"
I believe that God loves it when we come to Him with the whys and the hows and the screams. He can take the dangerous questions.
Psalm 46:1-2 (Message) "God is a safe place to hide, ready to help when we need him. We stand fearless at the cliff-edge of doom, courageous in seastorm and earthquake. Before the rush and roar of oceans, the tremors that shift mountains."
My take on this is that if we are going to God with questions- we are still going to God. He is our safe place. I figure the God of the universe can handle my questions. Then no matter what happens, He gives us His strength to stand on the cliff of doom and be courageous in an earthquake.
I give God my questions and He gives me His Peace.
Gotta love that trade-off!
I had His Peace as I walked into that funeral home where John was sitting and waiting for the funeral to start. He gave me Peace as I was able to pray with John and hug him and give him a small gift. He was there through the service and afterwards. I know He was there when John watched the casket being lowered into the ground and I know He is going to give His Peace to John in the days and weeks to come.
And when John asks the dangerous questions- God will be there. Patient. Loving. Understanding.
I told John in my letter that God is the Father to the Fatherless, because I lost my own father. Becasue I have asked the hard questions. Because I know the truth in that. And John knows that because he heard me talk about it a thousand times last year in class. He knows.
My prayer for John and for anyone else who has a thousand "whys" is that you bring them to God. Even if they are screamed, or cried or whispered. Know that the God that created everything will hear your desperate whys. And in exchange for your questions, He will give you His Peace.
"Call me and I'll answer, be at your side in bad times." Psalm 91:15 (Message)
Here is a video of RED's "Let It Burn". May it inspire you to ask the dangerous questions....
Thursday, June 14, 2012
Warrior Spirit
This blog has been silent for almost nine months. No- I did not fall off the face of the earth, but on some days it felt like it. I am not going to use my blog to bash anyone or go into great detail about those nine months, but let's just say it was not a fun situation.
I have to say that I completed what I had to and am now free of this situation. I'm still in the recovery process but am feeling more like "me" every day. So how did I get through this tough time?
It's nothing earth shattering really. I prayed a lot. I had friends that listened to me "vent". I had a very supportive husband. I looked for quotes and Bible verses that encouraged me and I had my music. I don't know if I would have gotten through without all of those things.
There were days that I didn't know if I was going to get through things and I would find some song or verse or poem and take strength from that. Lots of songs by Thousand Foot Krutch, RED, Fireflight, and Nine Lashes spoke to what I was feeling and gave me the courage I needed.
Then there is the book. I hadn't typed one word on the actual manuscript since last year. The miraculous thing is that I DID do a lot of what I call "spinning"- taking notes on parts of the story that come after the first book. Ideas would come to me in the middle of some of my hardest days. These little bits of encouragement have blossomed into almost 100 pages of notes on my series. I have the ending pretty much plotted out and know where my heroine is going. For that I am thankful.
I am trying not to be bitter about what I just came out of. I want to be thankful that I made it through and that I ended well and on my terms. And now I just want to write.
A few days ago I found myself looking at my manuscript and while I read through the pages I kept thinking that this was the beginning of the journey and Afton and I were on. I know she is going to come up against some things that look impossible to get through. I always knew she would get through them- but I don't think I felt as if I could. Turns out.....I can.
I have talked to Rich about how I have the warrior spirit- the one that doesn't give up. The one that fights for their family, the one that believes in others. I have known it was there, but it seemed dormant. It's not anymore!!
This Warrior Writer is stepping out into the unknown and my goal is to finish this first book by Oct. 1st. Hopefully I will have some people look at it before then, but I have set my goal.
Now the fun part is the every day work to pull it off.
I will finish the book!!
I have to say that I completed what I had to and am now free of this situation. I'm still in the recovery process but am feeling more like "me" every day. So how did I get through this tough time?
It's nothing earth shattering really. I prayed a lot. I had friends that listened to me "vent". I had a very supportive husband. I looked for quotes and Bible verses that encouraged me and I had my music. I don't know if I would have gotten through without all of those things.
There were days that I didn't know if I was going to get through things and I would find some song or verse or poem and take strength from that. Lots of songs by Thousand Foot Krutch, RED, Fireflight, and Nine Lashes spoke to what I was feeling and gave me the courage I needed.
Then there is the book. I hadn't typed one word on the actual manuscript since last year. The miraculous thing is that I DID do a lot of what I call "spinning"- taking notes on parts of the story that come after the first book. Ideas would come to me in the middle of some of my hardest days. These little bits of encouragement have blossomed into almost 100 pages of notes on my series. I have the ending pretty much plotted out and know where my heroine is going. For that I am thankful.
I am trying not to be bitter about what I just came out of. I want to be thankful that I made it through and that I ended well and on my terms. And now I just want to write.
A few days ago I found myself looking at my manuscript and while I read through the pages I kept thinking that this was the beginning of the journey and Afton and I were on. I know she is going to come up against some things that look impossible to get through. I always knew she would get through them- but I don't think I felt as if I could. Turns out.....I can.
I have talked to Rich about how I have the warrior spirit- the one that doesn't give up. The one that fights for their family, the one that believes in others. I have known it was there, but it seemed dormant. It's not anymore!!
This Warrior Writer is stepping out into the unknown and my goal is to finish this first book by Oct. 1st. Hopefully I will have some people look at it before then, but I have set my goal.
Now the fun part is the every day work to pull it off.
I will finish the book!!
Friday, September 30, 2011
Doing the WORK....
I have gotten comments that my blog has been silent lately. Yes it has. I thought about apologizing for that- but I can't. You see, I have been doing the work. I have been writing and rewriting.
After two years immersed in my story, I have a clear goal.
I want to finish my first book in the next three months.
I have 75,000 words and a few hundred pages which is a great start, but at the Ragged Edge something was bothering me about my story. All of it was written in first person (I, me) and it really needed to be in third (she, her,Afton) so the manuscript needed to be changed...
All of it.
There is nothing creative, or awesome or mind blowing about re writing and inserting "she" and "her" where I had had "I" and "me". It's just plain work. Hours of pouring over the story and changing the voice of the story without losing Afton's voice.
What began to happen was that I saw how other people's Point of View (POV) are going to be easier to insert into the story. In chapter 1 I was able to tell the events from Maggie's perspective which will add more depth to the story.
I already have a huge start on this first book and I am confident that before Christmas I will be finished. Then I will go back and edit it and maybe have a couple of people read it. And then I will submit it to the Creative Trust- the place that we learned at the Ragged Edge that we could submit our manuscripts to and see what this group of people thought of it.
And that scares me to death!
But that is my goal. Finish the first book. Edit. Submit.
So you see why my blogs and even Facebook posts have been few and far between. I am working.
Stephen King says it like this:
After two years immersed in my story, I have a clear goal.
I want to finish my first book in the next three months.
I have 75,000 words and a few hundred pages which is a great start, but at the Ragged Edge something was bothering me about my story. All of it was written in first person (I, me) and it really needed to be in third (she, her,Afton) so the manuscript needed to be changed...
All of it.
There is nothing creative, or awesome or mind blowing about re writing and inserting "she" and "her" where I had had "I" and "me". It's just plain work. Hours of pouring over the story and changing the voice of the story without losing Afton's voice.
What began to happen was that I saw how other people's Point of View (POV) are going to be easier to insert into the story. In chapter 1 I was able to tell the events from Maggie's perspective which will add more depth to the story.
I already have a huge start on this first book and I am confident that before Christmas I will be finished. Then I will go back and edit it and maybe have a couple of people read it. And then I will submit it to the Creative Trust- the place that we learned at the Ragged Edge that we could submit our manuscripts to and see what this group of people thought of it.
And that scares me to death!
But that is my goal. Finish the first book. Edit. Submit.
So you see why my blogs and even Facebook posts have been few and far between. I am working.
Stephen King says it like this:
“Talent is cheaper than table salt. What separates the talented individual from the successful one is a lot of hard work.”
Yep.
Hard Work.
I'm signing off to get back to it.....
See you on the other side!
Sunday, September 4, 2011
The Ripple Effect of Gloria
I've had many people visit my blog this last week to read my story of Gloria. I have been deeply touched and humbled by their blog comments and Face Book posts. What I hadn't counted on was the emotional chord I seemed to have touched.
I had one reader tell me that she had not read anything for a long time that made her cry; that Gloria's story touched her. This last week I have had people I know come and share with me their own Gloria stories. Maybe it was a brother or sister that died, or a friend- the point is that the fact that I took a risk and shared something very personal to me opened up a dialogue for others to share.
One person told me that they had not thought about a little girl that had died when she was young, in a very long time. Another shared very emotional details that dealt with her completely shutting down after a loved one died.
I know that for me, Gloria's story is very personal and I put my heart and emotions on the page knowing that some people might be able to connect to it. What I didn't realize was how the words on the page would open the past up for others.
I am honored to have been able to "bleed on the page" and share Gloria's story.
I encourage you to share your "Gloria Story" with others. One person said, "I can't write like you," I simply answered that they could talk- and that is a good place to start. Also just jotting down feelings and thoughts in a journal or writing something down that is just for you.
Again- I have been so moved by the responses to my blog and I treasure that dialogue.
Thank you for sharing with me!
I had one reader tell me that she had not read anything for a long time that made her cry; that Gloria's story touched her. This last week I have had people I know come and share with me their own Gloria stories. Maybe it was a brother or sister that died, or a friend- the point is that the fact that I took a risk and shared something very personal to me opened up a dialogue for others to share.
One person told me that they had not thought about a little girl that had died when she was young, in a very long time. Another shared very emotional details that dealt with her completely shutting down after a loved one died.
I know that for me, Gloria's story is very personal and I put my heart and emotions on the page knowing that some people might be able to connect to it. What I didn't realize was how the words on the page would open the past up for others.
I am honored to have been able to "bleed on the page" and share Gloria's story.
I encourage you to share your "Gloria Story" with others. One person said, "I can't write like you," I simply answered that they could talk- and that is a good place to start. Also just jotting down feelings and thoughts in a journal or writing something down that is just for you.
Again- I have been so moved by the responses to my blog and I treasure that dialogue.
Thank you for sharing with me!
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Gloria
I haven't thought about Gloria for a very long time. That memory is locked away in the heart of a woman who used to be a twelve-year- old girl. I found myself talking about her to my 6th & 7th graders the other day, and she will not leave my thoughts. One of the things that the Ragged Edge authors talked about was to "bleed on the page." To put our emotions in word form. To scream through our words.
I was eleven and Gloria was my first babysitting assignment. Her family had moved in to a house near ours and I had befriended her older brother Donald. He was a fun kid to hang out with- for a three year old! When I met his mother, she was almost embarrassed to introduce me to her infant daughter. Gloria was very mentally and physically handicapped. Her head seemed too big for her tiny twisted body. When she cried, it sounded like the mew of a kitten. Her eyes could not focus on anything and she was very floppy.
Gloria's mother, Pat, taught me how to change her diaper, how to hold her and how to feed her. After awhile I didn't see the handicaps she had, I just saw her. Pat started by leaving me with Gloria for a few minutes while she went to the store. I remember being so proud that I had been the one in charge of watching out for this precious life. I felt I was well on my way to becoming a very responsible babysitter.
Eventually Pat was able to leave for an hour or take Donald to the doctor while I stayed with Gloria. I recall dressing her in a tiny pink dress and carrying her out to the trees near our house and while I held her in my arms, I sang to her. She was about nine months old that day and for the first time, her eyes focused on mine as I sang song after song to her.
As the months went by Gloria was able to turn her head slightly when she heard my voice. When she was a year old, she weighed eleven pounds and was working so hard to hold her head up! I knew that she was not progressing like other babies, but she had come so far and I was so proud of her!
I turned twelve that November and it was at that time that the doctor discovered that I had scoliosis, a curvature of the spine- and it was severe. (over 30 degrees curvature) I would have to wear a back brace 23 out of 24 hours a day. It looked more like a torture device that a tool to realign my back and I remember crying all night long the day after Christmas when I wore it to bed for the first time. I felt out of place and knew I looked like a freak. Sixth grade is not where you want to appear different, and this contraption with a metal neck ring, one metal rod down the front, and two down the back, made me look very different.
I knew one other person might understand being different. After my first day back at school in January, I found myself at Pat's house, crying into Gloria's neck. She softly cooed at me and I remember laughing at her. I felt that I could do this brace thing as long as I had Gloria to talk to.
That weekend, Pat and the rest of the family were sick and they had Gloria put in a respite care home so that she would be taken care of. I couldn't wait to see her the following week.
I did see her the next week, but it was in a very small coffin in a funeral home.
For reasons unknown to the family, Gloria had died in her sleep Sunday at the respite care home.
I never got to tell her goodbye.
I never got to tell her what she meant to me.
I don't remember the days between that Sunday and the day of her funeral. I do know that my Mom took me out of school so that I could go to the funeral. I have sharp images of that sweet baby in a frilly pink dress lying in the white coffin surrounded by pink flowers and a ribbon that said,"Our Darling Daughter".
My twelve year old brain could not process what was going on. I heard some of the adults talking about the fact that Pat and Donny (her husband) were first cousins and that's why Gloria was the way she was. I heard many say that it was for the best that she was in heaven with Jesus.
I didn't want her with Jesus! I needed her here with me! What kind of God takes a tiny baby away just because she was different? What kind of God does that?
Unfortunately, no one attempted to explain it to me. No one asked me if I was okay.
As I stood in the cemetery that January day, with the snow under my feet and the sun shining, the day wasn't the only thing that was cold.
My heart had frozen. My twelve year old heart was breaking and I didn't know how to handle it.
I could not tell her goodbye.
So I turned my back as they lowered the casket in the ground and vowed that I would never again love someone like I had Gloria. Never again would I allow my heart to feel anything like that.
When Pat and her family moved back to Arkansas in the spring, I didn't cry. Not once.
When I endured the teasing from being different in school, I didn't cry too much.
I was hardening my heart and it served me well. It got me through Jr. High. And when I entered High School without wearing a back brace- it served me then. I was more popular and had boyfriends. I had friends but I did not value them too much. I didn't want to let anyone know the pain I had inside. The grief that I refused to deal with. The baby I had allowed myself to love, but never told goodbye.
I won't go into detail of how messed up I became during those years, but suffice it to say that I was a mess. In college I did meet a boy who I did tell about Gloria. He said he was a Christian and believed in God. I was very skeptical of him.
One day in January, he told me we were going on a road trip. When we ended up in the cemetery in Mitchell, I knew why we were there. I told him I did not remember where she was buried, so we scattered the snow off dozens of headstones with our gloved hands.
I was the one who found Gloria's stone. It had her name on it and her birth and death. I knelt down in the snow beside it and left my gloved hand on her name. In that moment, I cried.
I cried for all the years I hadn't been able to.
I cried for the loneliness I had felt.
I cried for the emptiness I had felt.
I cried for the memory of how much I had loved her.
As the tears froze on my face that day, a miracle was happening in my hard heart.
It was softening.
It did not happen right away, but it was a long process for me. It was a long road back to God. But Gloria was the tiny child that paved the way for me.
Even all these years later, I am so thankful for Gloria.
As tears run down my face now- I give thanks for God for giving us Gloria for even a little over a year.
It was time to tell her story......
I love you Gloria Kay Heath. You will live in my heart forever.
I was eleven and Gloria was my first babysitting assignment. Her family had moved in to a house near ours and I had befriended her older brother Donald. He was a fun kid to hang out with- for a three year old! When I met his mother, she was almost embarrassed to introduce me to her infant daughter. Gloria was very mentally and physically handicapped. Her head seemed too big for her tiny twisted body. When she cried, it sounded like the mew of a kitten. Her eyes could not focus on anything and she was very floppy.
Gloria's mother, Pat, taught me how to change her diaper, how to hold her and how to feed her. After awhile I didn't see the handicaps she had, I just saw her. Pat started by leaving me with Gloria for a few minutes while she went to the store. I remember being so proud that I had been the one in charge of watching out for this precious life. I felt I was well on my way to becoming a very responsible babysitter.
Eventually Pat was able to leave for an hour or take Donald to the doctor while I stayed with Gloria. I recall dressing her in a tiny pink dress and carrying her out to the trees near our house and while I held her in my arms, I sang to her. She was about nine months old that day and for the first time, her eyes focused on mine as I sang song after song to her.
As the months went by Gloria was able to turn her head slightly when she heard my voice. When she was a year old, she weighed eleven pounds and was working so hard to hold her head up! I knew that she was not progressing like other babies, but she had come so far and I was so proud of her!
I turned twelve that November and it was at that time that the doctor discovered that I had scoliosis, a curvature of the spine- and it was severe. (over 30 degrees curvature) I would have to wear a back brace 23 out of 24 hours a day. It looked more like a torture device that a tool to realign my back and I remember crying all night long the day after Christmas when I wore it to bed for the first time. I felt out of place and knew I looked like a freak. Sixth grade is not where you want to appear different, and this contraption with a metal neck ring, one metal rod down the front, and two down the back, made me look very different.
I knew one other person might understand being different. After my first day back at school in January, I found myself at Pat's house, crying into Gloria's neck. She softly cooed at me and I remember laughing at her. I felt that I could do this brace thing as long as I had Gloria to talk to.
That weekend, Pat and the rest of the family were sick and they had Gloria put in a respite care home so that she would be taken care of. I couldn't wait to see her the following week.
I did see her the next week, but it was in a very small coffin in a funeral home.
For reasons unknown to the family, Gloria had died in her sleep Sunday at the respite care home.
I never got to tell her goodbye.
I never got to tell her what she meant to me.
I don't remember the days between that Sunday and the day of her funeral. I do know that my Mom took me out of school so that I could go to the funeral. I have sharp images of that sweet baby in a frilly pink dress lying in the white coffin surrounded by pink flowers and a ribbon that said,"Our Darling Daughter".
My twelve year old brain could not process what was going on. I heard some of the adults talking about the fact that Pat and Donny (her husband) were first cousins and that's why Gloria was the way she was. I heard many say that it was for the best that she was in heaven with Jesus.
I didn't want her with Jesus! I needed her here with me! What kind of God takes a tiny baby away just because she was different? What kind of God does that?
Unfortunately, no one attempted to explain it to me. No one asked me if I was okay.
As I stood in the cemetery that January day, with the snow under my feet and the sun shining, the day wasn't the only thing that was cold.
My heart had frozen. My twelve year old heart was breaking and I didn't know how to handle it.
I could not tell her goodbye.
So I turned my back as they lowered the casket in the ground and vowed that I would never again love someone like I had Gloria. Never again would I allow my heart to feel anything like that.
When Pat and her family moved back to Arkansas in the spring, I didn't cry. Not once.
When I endured the teasing from being different in school, I didn't cry too much.
I was hardening my heart and it served me well. It got me through Jr. High. And when I entered High School without wearing a back brace- it served me then. I was more popular and had boyfriends. I had friends but I did not value them too much. I didn't want to let anyone know the pain I had inside. The grief that I refused to deal with. The baby I had allowed myself to love, but never told goodbye.
I won't go into detail of how messed up I became during those years, but suffice it to say that I was a mess. In college I did meet a boy who I did tell about Gloria. He said he was a Christian and believed in God. I was very skeptical of him.
One day in January, he told me we were going on a road trip. When we ended up in the cemetery in Mitchell, I knew why we were there. I told him I did not remember where she was buried, so we scattered the snow off dozens of headstones with our gloved hands.
I was the one who found Gloria's stone. It had her name on it and her birth and death. I knelt down in the snow beside it and left my gloved hand on her name. In that moment, I cried.
I cried for all the years I hadn't been able to.
I cried for the loneliness I had felt.
I cried for the emptiness I had felt.
I cried for the memory of how much I had loved her.
As the tears froze on my face that day, a miracle was happening in my hard heart.
It was softening.
It did not happen right away, but it was a long process for me. It was a long road back to God. But Gloria was the tiny child that paved the way for me.
Even all these years later, I am so thankful for Gloria.
As tears run down my face now- I give thanks for God for giving us Gloria for even a little over a year.
It was time to tell her story......
I love you Gloria Kay Heath. You will live in my heart forever.
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