The Day after Christmas

It was the day after Christmas and all through the house,
the kids are all crazy and need to get out.
The stockings are empty and candy is eaten,
On Xbox they echo, "who's next to be beaten?"
The snow has been falling for 2 solid days,
10 inches we have and more on the way.
A snowman was built with the name Peppermint,
but the dogs jumped on him and off his head went.
Brock and Fletch are packing getting ready to fish,
To the Bahamas they go for a 12th birthday wish.
Inside of the house is an obstacle course,
stepping over stripped clothes, the toys and much more.
It sounds chaotic and wild, and it most certainly is,
But there is nothing on Earth I would trade for this.
And as things quiet down towards the end of the night,
We gather together and snuggle up tight.
We are grateful for each other, but more, Jesus's birth,
And want to Wish you a Merry Christmas and Peace on Earth

The Great Thanksgiving Feast

6 pies- 1 apple, 2 chocolate silk, 2 pumpkin, one pecan
1 very large Turkey Brined then roasted
4 casserole dishes full of cornbread stuffing and Pepperidge Farm dressing
Mashed Potatoes
salad
cranberry sauce
Squash casserole
Parkerhouse rolls
____________________

2 days to prepare
30 seconds to bless
20 minutes to devour
2 hours to clean=

The rest of the afternoon to sit in an absolute coma, as content and grateful as a girl can be.  I am surrounded by the ones I love, minus a few (Love you bro!) getting our fill of football and Christmas movies. Did I mention  how content I feel?.  Truly, this is a joy that resinates down in your soul and and sticks around.  There are too many blessings to count.  Happy Thanksgiving!

I want a do over.

Man I don't know, where the time goes
But It sure goes fast, just like that
We were wanna be rebels who didn't have a clue
With our Rock n' roll T-shirts, and our typically bad attitudes
Had no excuses for the things that we'd done
We were brave, we were crazy, we were mostly
Young
Kenny Chesney, Young

I am on a roller coaster here.  Holy sixth grade.  Fletcher, my 6th grader, is exuberantly in love, then terribly depressed because he did not get on the team he wanted to...  Teacher phone calls that homework assignments are not being turned in, therefore bringing his grade from an A to a C.

I find myself reliving middle school all over again.

I was exuberantly in love, once or twice...

Albert was my first boyfriend.  I was in 7th grade. He was a cutie and a heck of a soccer player. And he lived in the same neighborhood as my best friend.  I would meet him at Godfather's Pizza and play video games for a couple of hours before dad picked me up.   Then I found out that the dirty rotten scoundrel was two timing me with Kelly, the cute new cheerleader at school.  I broke it off. I don't remember being to upset about it.

Then there was Carlos (names may have been changed for privacy protection reasons)...  I was in 8th grade.  He was in my Physical Science class.  I looked up one day to see that he had written "I LOVE CATHY FLETCHER"  in big bold letters on his blue notebook binder and was holding it up in class for me to see.   If I had been an animated character you would have heard the  love songs playing in my mind and seen cupid flying over my head hitting me with the arrow.  I was was caught, hook, line and sinker. We were in a state of bliss for several months, at least.  We were big time, or so I thought.  One day, while my head was in the clouds thinking about Carlos, I come to realize Carlos is thinking about Kelly.  Yep, the same cute cheerleader Kelly. On the day he broke up with me, after school, Mrs Rutherford, my art teacher saw me in hysterics.  "There are plenty of fish in the sea" she said, trying to soothe me.  I agreed, particularly the real pretty fish named Kelly!  I am not sure what it was about Carlos that grabbed my heart that year.  It is probably as simple as the fact that he showered me with affections that I was so incredibly unaccustomed to.  We did no show feelings at the house.  Mom was so uncomfortable with hugs you could feel her body tighten up.  My hand was never held.  I love yous were rare.  So this precious boy holds up a notebook declaring his love for me and without even knowing it, he saved this girls life.  It took me a while to get over the heartbreak.  Seriously, a long while.  I loved him for seven years.  But Mrs. Rutherford was right, there were other fish...
(I told Fletcher about how these boys broke up with me for Kelly, and his response?  "Thank God for Kelly!!")

One guy I dated was in the 11th grade, while I was in 8th.  He might have been the only guy I dated that did not break up with me for another girl.  And really, what were my parents thinking letting me go out with an 11th grader????  Eventually they became wise and told me I could no longer go out with him.  I yelled and fought and cried and begged, but they stayed true to their word.  So in typical rebellious fashion, I went out with him behind their back. Other than the smoking and drinking part, he was a very healthy boy for me to date.  Evidently one of my brothers saw me out with him one night and "claimed" I was drinking a beer.  Daddy loved that.  I was grounded for 4 months.  I am not sure I have ever seen my father quite as mad at me as he was when he found out.

I get physically sick to my stomach when I think of middle school and cruising on up to high school.  Such incredibly formative years!!!  I had absolutely no backbone and certainly no confidence.  I was utterly lost. I started drinking when I was just a year older than Fletcher.  I started smoking in the 8th grade.  Today, I get on Fletcher for not turning in a homework assignment.  At his age, I had already formed the conclusion that school was for losers and my social life was much more important.  There was a science class that had a paper due every Friday.  And every Friday morning I would duck my head in hopes that the teacher did not notice that, once again,  I did not turn in the paper.  And where were my parents then?  Didn't they care that my grades were so horrific?  I remember getting a slap on the wrist,  but I am not even sure they ever met one of my teachers, just to say, "What the hell do we do about this?!!!"( Just for the record, my stomach is in knots right now). 

It pains me to no end.  Mostly it saddens me because there was no core to my life.  As I said, I was utterly lost.  I needed a guide book to tell me the shoulds and should nots, the hows and how nots.  I feel like I walked around with a question mark hovering over my head,  feeling stupified and confused.   

In church today Rob talked about the parable of the Sower-  How Jesus threw seeds everywhere no matter what the soil conditions; rocky, thorny or rich.  When the seed was planted for me, the ground was thorny.  I lived in my uncommunicative home with my alcoholic mother and a disconnected father.  I felt sad and alone my entire childhood.  But somewhere, through my grandparents, or the sporadic church services, the seed was laid.  I knew there was a God, and that  he was very loving, but I still did not trust in Him.  But the seed hung around until the thorns were ploughed through and soil was put down.  And I am still growing. 

So now I have a child in middle school.  In a way, I get to start over.  In no way am I Jesus, but I can sure help plant the seed.  I can let him know that there is a place of comfort, first in God, then in his family.  He will know that we love  him unconditionally.  And from there he makes his own choices.  But without, hopefully, a question mark over his head, and with, definitely, the security of his family.  This time with a fairly strong back bone and a much more confidence, I can get through it with my head held high!


³ Then he told them many things in parables, saying: “A farmer went out to sow his seed. ⁴ As he was scattering the seed, some fell along the path, and the birds came and ate it up. ⁵ Some fell on rocky places, where it did not have much soil. It sprang up quickly, because the soil was shallow. ⁶ But when the sun came up, the plants were scorched, and they withered because they had no root. ⁷ Other seed fell among thorns, which grew up and choked the plants. ⁸ Still other seed fell on good soil, where it produced a crop—a hundred, sixty or thirty times what was sown. ⁹ Whoever has ears, let them hear.”

Matthew 13 3-9

RAW...(Really Annoying Wife)

I feel raw.  Brock and I just got into a doozy of a fight.  And the annoying thing is it would not have been as big of a fight as it was if I had not been so flipping immature.  My defensive claws came out and I was sarcastic and biting.  I said things that I did not mean.  I knew that I was at least half of the problem . I  also knew that if I had just said, "you know what honey, you are right", things would not be nearly as bad right now.  But here I am, alone in this house, pouting.

We don't fight often.  But when we do, it is over the same ridiculous things.  I am forgetful and  the worlds worst procrastinator. Brock is timely and organized.  I don't call babysitters till the last minute, I have no idea what we are having for dinner until a couple hours before dinner.  Brock asks me to do something that morning( dry cleaners, drugstore etc...) and I say "absolutely!!" But by 9:00 I have completely forgotten and do not remember until that afternoon when  he asks me if I picked up his prescription- OOOFFF, I forgot.  Then I hear, deservedly, his deep breath as he tries very hard not to snap at me. Most of the time it ends with that.  Sometimes, his frustration piles up.

I also tend to turn the world off at times.  I have no idea what triggers this, or even when I have done it.  You see, this is a mechanism that I taught myself at the earliest of ages.  If mom was drunk, switch, I have turned myself off.  If I heard fighting, off.  I remember one day at school I heard one of my best friends talking to another friend of mine talking about how moody I could be.  I was shocked.  I would NEVER have described myself as moody.  Maybe unwilling to talk to the world that day, but never moody!  Well, as the years have rolled by, evidently this is a character flaw that I have carried with me.  If somewhere, somehow, I have felt hurt or betrayed, I have a wall that pops up. I thought  this protected me.  And maybe in my youth it did.  But now, now that wall just guards my heart and makes it even more difficult to let people in.  Brock, he wears his emotions on his sleeve.  You know what he is thinking or feeling the minute you meet him.  He has never known a stranger.  His frustration is understood when my switch turns off to him.  Why would I shut myself off to the one person that has proved his love and loyalty time after time?  Why would I do that to my best friend?  He doesn't get it, nor do I.

So, today was due to me shutting down.  It was a long week, I was tired and probably, do I dare say, moody?....

We are never mad at each other for long.  In fact, today, my anger was just an act, part of my defense mechanism. Damn defense mechanisms.  They get me in so much trouble. They all result in one emotion: FEAR.  Fear of  getting hurt, fear of being let down and fear of failure.  But  Brock is with me through better or worse, thick or thin, moody or not moody.  Thank God he is my best friend, because I can be incredibly annoying.

A mom moment

OMG, I have a middle school boy.  I know I am  totally slow to catch on to this since he is in his 9th week of 6th grade- but it hit me like a ton of bricks this weekend. As I am taking pictures of Hugh's football game, Fletcher comes charging down the stadium stairs with red blushed cheeks and a tremendously joyful smile.  "Mom, a girl asked me out, can I go?"  Flustered, and a bit unsure how to answer, I  stuttered out, "where do you want to go?"  SO uncool.   I  remember when I told my parents that I was "going with" someone and they asked the same thing.  The first thought in my mind back then was that they were so out of it...  and it was followed by an eye roll.  She was simply asking to date him.  I did not get an eye roll from Fletch, only because I think he was too excited to catch on to my ignorance. 
Me: " How old is she? "
Fletch: "My age, 11.  And really, really cute."
Me: "What's her name? "
Fletcher: " Julia, mom, can I ?"
Me:  At this point, I am toying with him.  "Well, what kind of things do you want to do?"
Fletch: " I don't know".  Getting exasperated, but still smiling.
Me:  " I want to meet her.  Will you introduce her to us?"
Fletch:  "Mom, she asked me to go out with her and I told her I had to ask you.  Now can I or not?"
(Okay,that is what you call a sweet mom moment.   Maybe he is in middle school, and maybe he is growing up way too fast, but for a brief moment he proved to me that he is still young and naive.  That he needed my permission.  It also built my trust up with him. I have faith that he feels confident talking to me about situations.  It is a GREAT feeling).
Me: "Yes, you can go out with her.  But I am serious, I want to meet her."
Fletch:  "Oh Mom, you are the BEST.  I love you so much."

He has not stopped smiling.  It has been 5 days.

To the outside world we all grow old. But not to brothers and sisters. We know each other as we always were. We know each other's hearts. We share private family jokes. We remember family feuds and secrets, family griefs and joys. We live outside the touch of time. ~Clara Ortega

It is what they call an Indian Summer... The Fall Equinox was just a couple of days ago yet fall weather has yet to be seen. Temperatures are going to rise to 97 degrees this afternoon. Boys are in school and the weekends are consumed with football- every bit of it. High School, College, Pro, and most importantly, pee wee. But during this amazing season a part of my heart is missing. My wound and memories are too fresh.


It was two years ago when I received the phone call. The car was entirely full of boys 9 and under. By God's Grace a girlfriend was with me. We were headed to a high school football game. But I had to quickly run into the house to grab something when I heard the phone ring. "Cathy, we found David in his hotel room. I am so terribly sorry"... I screamed. I fell to my knees. Please, I begged, do not let this be happening to me. It is too much. I cannot handle it. I REALLY cannot handle it.

But somehow I did handle it, but not without the aching on a regular basis. Brock held me up for as long as he could, but eventually I had to hold myself up. It was hard. While David was my oldest brother, all of my brothers became something different to me when Mom and Dad passed away. They were more cherished than ever. There is something about sharing childhood memories , some that are tough to grasp and some that have us rolling in laughter. Those memories, along with the tragic death of both parents bring siblings together. And although he was across the world in Hong Kong, I knew that I held part of his heart here with me.

So as the years have gone by, and the pain has slightly diminished, the reminder of that night is always fresh during the Indian Summers. Dealing with death is a funny thing. You can walk along and think you are doing just fine, and then the oddest thing can knock you back down on your knees with a memory. For me, it was the smell of the fresh cut grass that took me right back to his days in Pop Warner football. The air was sucked out of me just as it was that night I heard of his death. But I recover quickly, and smile at the memory

Seeing clearly

Hugh got glasses on his very first day of Kindergarten. For those of you who don't know Hugh, let me give you a quick description:  Fearless and clumsy.  Those characteristics combined with glasses calls for many trips to the eye doctor for repairs.  We have 3 pair of glasses for him, his main frames and two back ups.  There have been many occasions that all three were broken at the same time, sometimes even on the same day.  Alex, our go-to guy at Asheville Eye Associates, has threatened to duct tape his entire body to save us some money- exclaiming "I think it is the only way to keep him from being so hard on them!"

So as you can imagine it was a very big day for us( probably more for me than him!) on Monday when we had an appointment to put him in contacts. As we sat down, the very first question the consultant asked me was " Is Hugh clean and responsible?".  With a very long pause and silently asking forgiveness for my fib, I replied  "Yes he is."  We proceeded to learn how to apply the contacts and after an hour or so, Hugh walked out without glasses on.  WoooHooo!

At dinner every night we go through everyone's Highs and Lows of the day. On Monday I knew Hugh's  high would be getting his contacts and his low would be the difficulty getting them in his eyes.  But I was surely mistaken. As we rounded the table and got to him he said  with such pride..."My high...hmmmm... Oh! Dad, you won't believe it!  Mom called me responsible!!!"

Daddy's Little Girl, Part 2.

As I ended the previous entry, the rug had been slipped out from under me, again. Life, as I had known it and gotten used to for the past 5 years, had dramatically changed. Below is a recap of the accident through the eyes of Phil Blount, a victim of the crash.  My dad's name is Mac.

"We were travelling south approaching a small town called Dong Hou, when a tremendous gravel truck came out of a side street directly in our path. Mac and I both saw the truck coming and yelled "Look out!" Tony swerved, but there was no room for escape. We plowed head-on into the gravel truck with a tremendous impact.

"After the collision, there was a dead silence in the car. Within seconds, swarms of Chinese circled the car, chanting a pointing inside. I began screaming out the window, asking for help and assistance. No one could understand me or offered me help. I was able to get out of my side of the car and went to the front passenger door where Mac was sitting, unconscious. Just as I was opening the passenger door to get Mac, a van passed by and I waved them down to stop, hoping they would understand and take us to a hospital. The driver stopped and got out and opened the sliding door on the side of the van. It made me feel he understood our need.

"Then I went back and began pulling Mac out of the car and loading him into the van. I went back and got John out of his seat in the back of the car. After getting John over to the van, the driver helped me load him in. I went back to get Tony, the driver, but could not pull him out. The car was crushed on his body. He was dead. There was nothing that I could do.

(Before leaving the hospital scene, Phil, still bleeding from his nose, mouth, eyes and ears, pulled the groups luggage from the wrecked car and loaded it into the van. How he was able to pull these men and the luggage out is a miracle. His arm was broken as well) "All three were brought into an entrance area in the so-called hospital and laid down onto cots. I use the term "hospital" loosely. It was what I would have expected hundreds of years ago here in the U.S.A."

"After seeing the primitive facilities and equipment that was there in the hospital, my fear began to grow even more. Then I saw them cut Mac's throat. I can't describe the fear that gave me. I wanted to make sure that I made contact with our friends at Treasure House Company to come and get us from this situation- NOW!!!!!"

"In approximately two and a half hours , I heard the sweet voice of Patrick. He had arranged for John and me to be transferred to Hong Kong. Mac was not allowed to move because if his unstable condition. Patrick had arranged for a van and a car to take us to the border."

"The Chinese vehicles couldn't cross the border, and it was quite an ordeal to get us transferred to the ambulance that had come up from the Prince of Wales Hospital in Hong Kong. Finally, after paying a substantial amount of money for each of us to leave China, we were allowed to cross the border to the waiting ambulance. We were carried to the Prince of Wales emergency room, where we began our long journey back to rehabilitation."

Because of Dad's condition they were not able to move him out of the Chinese hospital until his condition stabilized. It was another two days and serious negotiations(and more money) to get dad across the border and into the ambulance. His condition was amazingly stable after the trip considering what he had been through. Chinese doctors had removed a section of his skull to relieve the pressure on his brain, which has swelled up, and also performed a primitive tracheotomy to help his breathing.

It was another two weeks and more miracles that started dad and the gang's trip back home. Dad could not be flown because of atmospheric pressure changes during the flight, and a hospital ship was even considered. We received a phone call from a dear friend, Dr. Jerry Petty, neurologist. He said that he would be honored to go to Hong Kong and get everyone back to the United States. He works with NASCAR drivers who have been injured, and through this contacts were given to him to call MedJet International. Through MedJet we were able to get the ball rolling on getting Dad home. Without them it would have been many months before we could think about it.

It was a 21 hour, 23 minute flight. On Thursday, April 30th at 2 am the plane landed. I had been in Charlotte staying at Dad's house during this time managing the phones, visitors, and everyday things. David, Richard and Bonnie had flown to Hong Kong and were coming home with them. Everyone had prepared me - he did not look good. But just to have him home, in Charlotte was exhilarating . There had been no movement from Dad, with the exception of a thumb before they landed. They gave me 5 minutes in ICU to see him. I climbed in his bed, kissed him on the lips and said "Hey Daddy Doo." His lips curled up and formed a smile. He heard me! I laid down and cried on his shoulder for the next couple of minutes before they shooed me out.

Dad spent one year at Carolina's Medical Center with around the clock help. I, along with Bonnie and Richard, was visiting him everyday. His condition seemed to be improving. At times he could respond to questions by blinking his eyes, once for yes, twice for no. He could squeeze our hands. It felt as if he was having surgeries on a monthly basis. It was an emotionally draining time in my life.

The second year Bonnie had him moved to the house with 24 hour nursing, in hopes that the loving atmosphere and different scenery would stimulate him a bit. Having been a nurse, Bonnie understood the undertaking she was involved in, but we could see the strain it was taking on her. Life had become about providing the best possible care for him, and she isolated herself in that house tending to him. Meanwhile, I had changed jobs to something a bit less stressful and moved out close to the house. This way I could be there on a regular basis. It was great to have at the house that we grew up in, in a more comfortable atmosphere. Regretfully, there did not seem to be much improvement. He was taken to the hospital regularly due to seizures. And it seemed the more seizures he had, the further he digressed. It was right before Christmas that he was admitted for the last time with a horrible seizure. This time we knew that he was dying .We were able to get him home for the last time and called the family members home. On January 19th, in the wee hours of the night, dad died with all of his children around him. As with Mom, I knew he was in a better place. He was trapped inside a body that could not move, talk and or understand completely what was going on. No one wants to live that way.

When Cooper was 3 I heard him playing in his room talking to someone. Curious, I asked him who he was talking to. "His name is Mac, mommy. He came to play with me." Feeling as if I had just been kicked in the gut - and certain I had never told him dads name, I smiled and told him to have fun. Over the next couple of weeks he continued to play with Mac and would tell me characteristics that described dad- Like his favorite sport is golf- He has dark hair and blue eyes- He LOVES to wrestle around and play with little boys... When it had been a while since I had heard Cooper mention Mac's name I asked where he had been. Cooper replied, "It was so sad Mom. He died. He got hit by a truck, and had to go away." Wow, Dad's spirit has been here, surrounding me.

And though I felt that my life had stood still for a couple of years, living in a world of more chaos and sadness and wanting nothing more than daddy to wake up, smile and say "Hey Cathy Lou", my life was about to start looking up. It was April Fools Day that year when I found my light out of the darkness, Brock Eugene Himan. God certainly did have impeccable timing.

Daddy's Little Girl... For a while at least.

What I am about to tell you I feel plenty of shame over, but this blog is about me being gut wrenching honest right? Whew, deep breath, here it goes....


After my moms suicide, I felt relieved ( okay, there I said it. I love you mom, so much, but its true). I had felt trapped in a dysfunctional world that no one could enter. Once mom killed herself, the secret was out... There was no walking on eggshells around the house or around my friends, teachers and coaches. Life as I had known for 18 years was suddenly ripped right out from under me- but it was a life of mostly sadness and distraught, so this was good right? And the most exciting aspect of all of this was this: at the age of 18 I could finally be daddy's little girl. The thrill of having him to myself elated me. I mean REALLY elated me. You have heard the pain of my upbringing- Dad lived there too and though an adult, he experienced the pain as well. He was trapped. Not only did he have the pressure of running a successful company, but he had to hold the family together too. And though he was not perfect, he did the best that he could. I respect him for staying with her for 25 years- Always holding out hope that things were going to get better. But in doing so, with all the pressure, he was numb. During that time I needed someone capable of taking care of me emotionally, and sadly he could not. But that was all about to change!! He was free as well, and I just knew that together, we could take care of each other.

And we did. It was a nice summer. I felt peaceful- I was spending time with my sweet, sweet friends in that "It is the last summer before we head to college " phase, and spending ample time with daddy as well. Life was right for me, finally. Please know, that there was plenty of heartache. We missed mom terribly. But I also think that mom had motives in her actions when she took her life. And that was so her children and husband could live a normal life. And I was beginning to feel normal.

I went off to school an emotional wreck. I did not want to go to college. I wanted that summer to last forever. I just got dad to myself, and now I had to leave. My friends were heading different directions. The boy I loved since 8th grade had finally succumbed and had spent the whole summer with me (probably out of pity!) and that had to end as well. I was crushed. My one blessing was that my best friend Janet was holding my hand all the way to Saint Mary's and would attend college with me.

Unable to let go of Dad just yet, I came home almost every weekend. Although I know that he loved having me home, I was starting to realize that he was beginning to have his own life. He began dating. Suprisingly to me he dated many different women. He was pretty darn cute, in an overweight, bald way. It was his twinkling eyes and GIGANTIC grin that I am sure had the women falling at his feet. By Thanksgiving he was serious with someone enough to have her over, and by Christmas he was serious about someone else. Although a twinge of jealousy roused in me over them, I was certain they would not get in the way of our relationship. It wasn't until my summer home that I began to shake in my boots, rather flip-flops.

Daddy loved golf. I dont think golf loved him, but he loved the game. On returning home from a tournament in Orlando with some friends, I knew the moment I saw him that something, rather someone, had taken his heart. Immediately I reverted into a twelve year old. I hated her before I had even heard her name. But trust me, I heard her name PLENTY over the next week. With a skip in his step and even more of a twinkle in his eye, Bonnie was all that was talked about. I cannot believe he did not see the steam out of my ears or heard the sarcasm in my voice.

When I met Bonnie, my world returned to pretending. I pretended that I liked her. I smiled. I laughed. But boy did I hurt.

On August 16th, my birthday, dad and I got into the biggest fight we had ever had. You see, as his protector, I was old enough and wise enough to tell him what he should and should not do. "You should date her," I would wisely tell him, " But do not get too serious. We just lost mom a year ago. Date around. Have fun." In other words I was screaming like a little child, "Don't leave me daddy!!!" He did not like my wisdom too much, and I stormed out of the house. Later that evening, from a friends house, I called him to apologize. "CathyLou," he said solemnly, "We are getting married in 3 weeks."

Yep, three weeks. I went and puked in the bathroom.

Bonnie is a beautiful and loving woman. This is not about her. It is about me and my incredibly immature and selfish ways. There was nothing to dislike about her and everything to love. I just chose to dislike.
Through time I came to love Bonnie. Bottom line, she made dad happy. That is all that mattered right?

Over the next 5 years I graduated from Saint Mary's, went to UGa, went to rehab(seriously, I did. There is a whole blog entry on that!) got a job, got engaged, got disengaged, finished school and went to work in cellular phone sales as my first official job. I had also apparently grown up in those 5 years. My relationship with dad was great, although, if I am still gut wrenching honest, I would have preferred more time with just us.

In the first week of April 1994 I was in what could have been a deadly car accident on Interstate 77 in Charlotte. There was construction in my lane and as slowed down to switch lanes a cement truck did not see me and at full speed rammed me into the next lane. By the grace of God there were no oncoming cars. My car was totalled and my neck and back bother me to this day, but I was fine.

April 14, a week later, while my father was travelling in Hong Kong, a cement truck ran a stop sign and hit daddy and 3 other passengers at full speed. He was not so lucky.  Life, as I had known it, had been ripped out from under me, again....

Things you may or may not know....

Happiest moment

I am horribly shy. It has taken 40 years to try and overcome this. If I am in a crowd of people I do not know, my stomach turns inside out. Once I know you, the shyness diminishes.

Oddly enough, with that shy quality, I do not mind speaking in front of crowds. At one point in my very indecisive life, I wanted a career travelling around high school and speaking to teenagers about alcohol abuse.

My husband of 12 years, Brock, is by far the funniest and most generous man I know.

I am a procrastinator, unorganized and seem to function in chaos. It is amazing that Brock deals with this on a regular basis and is still married to me. I come from it naturally. Not one member of my family did things in a timely organized fashion. My father somehow ran a successful business without EVER being able to see the floor of his office or his desk.

That being said, I am certified ADD. The problem is that I am so distracted I can't remember to take my medication.

I became a mother at the age of 5. It seems impossible, I know. But the minute I held my little brother Chris in my arms, I somehow knew that I would be his caretaker. I think I was rather cruel at times, but nonetheless loved (and still do ) him dearly.

Holding Chris in my arms, sitting on our fresh green shag carpet is my very first memory.

Everyone in my life up to 1999 called me Fletch. Many do not even know my first name. Now, in Asheville, people only know me as Cathy, and call my son Fletch.

I stayed back in the 8th Grade. NO! It was not because I was failing, but because I was emotionally immature?!!

Kiawah Island, South Carolina holds many of my absolute happiest and most treasured memories.

My first kiss was at an 8th grade dance to the Commodores song, Once Twice Three Times a Lady. (second round of 8th grade, I was more mature)

I want to write a book one day, and I want my brother Richard to help me.

It always amazes me that two people can share the exact same experience and have two totally different memories of the event.

I spend a lot of my spare time training 2 of my 3 labs. I travel with them to handle them in hunting and trial competitions.

My biggest regret is not applying my self in school, or tennis AT ALL. I realize now that I could have had a social life, played tennis and studied.

I have always wanted to be a photographer. When I told dad that in the 9th grade he told me to forget it, they make no money! I still want to be a photographer.......

I have not had a drink in almost 20 years.

I want to be a better fly fisherman, I want to break 80, I want to beat certain people in tennis(no names) and I never want to lose a game of ping pong to my boys. Right now Fletcher and I have a bet that he can beat me in the hundred yard dash. It will devastate me if he does. We will find out soon, and I will let you know.

I cry when I hear any of my boys names on the load speaker at football games. "And the tackle was made by #6 HUUUGH Himan"  "Great Block by # 61 Fletcher Himan".  "Touchdown by #69 Cooper Himan!"  Gets me every time. 

I want to run, but can't get past the obstacle that I hate running. I was a sprinter in high school. Distances bore me (might be the Attention Deficit Disorder)

Any body of water soothes me. I am at my happiest when I am in a boat (or behind a boat) on the lake, sitting by the ocean at the beach, or fishing a river.

The person I respect the most in the world is my brother Richard. He has more heart,humility, compassion and integrity than anyone I know, much like my father. He has coached and taught for 19 years and to witness the school and students(old and new) rally around him during life's most difficult times and life's most precious time is quite a sight.

The quality I look for most in someone is humility. "Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit, but in humility consider others better than yourselves." Philippians 2:3

I am passionate about my friends. I do admit that I have a difficult time letting people in... But once you have entered my circle of trust I will cherish you. My friends are my family.

I want to travel to my deceased brother David's beloved land, Hong Kong. I want to see the land he loved so much, and meet the friends that he called family. I want to feel closer to him.

I always dreamed of having 3 boys. Girls scared me. I was raised with, and so proud of it, 3 brothers.  When David died I felt robbed, in many ways.  One of those was that my entire life I had taken such pride of having 3 brothers.  It identified me in so many ways. Today when asked how many siblings I have I answer with an empty heart, 2. 

I LOVE Music. Every song I hear has a memory attached to it. A place, a time, a person... My ipod tells my life story...

The saddest MOMENT of my life was the moment I received my high school diploma from Dr. Fox and looking down at the third row at the empty seat beside my father. Mom had died 2 weeks earlier. The happiest MOMENT of my life was walking down the street in Linville, NC and knowing I was walking to Brock and having my brothers David and Richard walk me towards him.  

I thank God everyday for my many many blessings in life. I thank Him for the obstacles that I faced, for they gave me character "Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us." {Rom 5:3-5 NIV)

It is great being a mom and being able to be a child  again with your kids. There is nothing greater than the gut wrenching laughter of all three kids at the same time. I call it my perfect place.

Then followed that beautiful season... Summer...


Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light; and the landscape


Lay as if new created in all the freshness of childhood.


-- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Summer afternoon - summer afternoon; to me those have always been the two most beautiful words in the English language. ~Henry James

My absolute favorite days of the year? Hmmm, that is a tough one. Possibly Thanksgiving. The Food, the smells, the gathering of family, watching football and the endless counting of our blessings. There are no expectations around it, except, of course, the ones that I place on myself to cook the perfect meal.

Christmas Eve has always been magical for me and even as a 40 something mom of 3, I go to bed that evening feeling like I am 7 all over again.

And of course, Christmas. I think as a mom it is even better than when I was 7. There is nothing like seeing the joy in your childrens hearts.

But one of the top running days has to be tomorrow. The last day of school. The exhilaration I feel the last day of school is tough to beat. While in school it was the euphoria that exams were over, I had no homework for a couple months, and I planned on spending the summer at the pool and on the tennis courts. Today, it is the same euphoria, maybe even greater. I do not have to pack one more flipping lunch box, help with one more project, and my alarm clock does not go off(well, it does for Brock, but I get to roll over and ignore it). I am not fighting the boys to get to bed at a decent hour or pulling them by their toes and bribing them to get out of the bed in the morning. Nope, not after tomorrow. We get to sleep in and fix lunch whenever we feel like it. The only homework we have is our summer reading. The pool is open and instead of going there to socialize with my friends as I did when I was in high school, I am going there to collapse in exhaustion from the stress that the month of May has brought me. I will feel the warmth of the sun on my face and it will slowly, but oh so surely,release the stress from my body.
That last day of school is something special. It is a celebration of parents and children alike of a job well done, and a break much needed. And it quite possibly is my absolute favorite day of the year.
But I have been known to change my mind come mid-August, when I am about to pull my hair out begging for that first day of school to start.

Through sorrow I hear laughter

 
 

I took a deep breath as Dr. Fox announced the names alphabetically. This is it, what is supposed to be the happiest moment of my life. "Mary Cathlin Fletcher". I stood up, shaking, squeezed my sweet friend Winn's hand and walked up to the front of the auditorium. I glanced down to the second row and saw my daddy's gleaming face and my brothers sweet smile. But it was the empty seat beside daddy that screamed at me louder than the clapping, the beaming smile or Dr. Fox's hug.

Just a few weeks before, I was on cloud nine as mom and I went shopping for graduation. That may seem like an ordinary mom and daughter event for many- but for me it was extraordinary. It had been years since mom and I had spent any time together. Having been diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis a couple years back it was difficult for mom to even make the trek from her bedroom to the kitchen, which was, maybe 20 yards away. Her legs did not have the strength. She also had been struggling with her alcoholism and had just returned from her second treatment that year. Upon her return, I truly believed things were different. Her M.S. was in remission which brought such relief. Her eyes had a shine in them that I had never seen. She and dad flirted and laughed and filled the house with love, which again, was new to me. Her promises were and big and enthusiastic. She apologized for her wrong doings. If she did not ACTUALLY promise she was gong to make up for all those lost years by being a great mother now, that is what the ears of a 17 year old heard and hoped for so desperately. So with her MS temporarily gone, she was quick to get me to Copelands in Charlotte to find the perfect apparel for my graduation weekend. As I look back on it, I think it was a God Given Gift to me that he gave her to me like that for a moment in time.

It was not but a couple of days after my flight up to cloud nine that dad had a trip to Texas for business. I opened the door and screamed my typical "Hey Mom, I am home!!". I walked into the den I and stopped dead in my tracks as my previous hopes were crushed. There she sat in her regular spot, with her green condensed glass close beside her and the dark circles under her eyes. Hardly responsive, she said hello. I turned around and left my drunk mother to fend for herself. In typical style I fixed dinner for Chris, my 11 year old brother, and went upstairs to my room, where I stayed all night. Throughout the night I would hear her moans and groans and her screechings. "CAAAAAATTTHHHYY", she would yell. It would be like the fingernails on a chalkboard as it made my body tight and nauseous. I just went down once, to make sure she was not in trouble, only to find her cursing at me. So, I remained locked in my room, trying to drown out her screams with music, praying that she would just pass out. When she was in this condition I did not sleep at night. I stayed awake fearful that she would do something idiotic. Deep down I always knew what the final result would be, and in the late hours of the night, I would listen for it.

The following morning, I slipped out without being heard with my Chris in tow, and went on to school. I successfully did nothing at school, since the "senior slide' had been well established. School was my outlet. I may have been a zombie in the classroom, but my friends were my family. With my two older brothers in college, they were who I had to lean on. And I do not think they have any idea just how much I leaned. Mom's drunkenness, at least the severity of it, was my secret. It would somehow flaw me if I were to admit what was really happening at home.

I came straight home from school that afternoon. In the previous springs I had played soccer, but I knew this year it would be too hard on me and the family to play, with moms legs as weak as they were. I needed to pick Chris up from school and prepare much of the dinners. She wasn't in her typical spot when I got home. I went into the bedroom and heard her moaning from the bathroom. There she was, sprawled out on the bathroom floor, with blood oozing out of her forehead. She had fallen and hit her head. After many failed attempts for her to get to the doctor(There was no way I could accomplish that on my own), I did succeed in getting her into the bed and clean her up. Finally, I caved and called daddy. I do not like to give into a fight, but this is one I could not do on my own. I breathed a little deeper knowing that he was on a flight back home, and he was, quite obviously , distraught.

The house was silent for days. Dad was depressed by mom's relapse. Mom was in bed, unwilling to come out and unwilling to get sober. Chris and I tiptoed trying our best to stay out of the way. We all had been kicked in the gut, wishing we could go back to the land of almost perfect, but we were well aware that those dreams were gone. If mom had made so many heartfelt promises just days before and could not keep them, our hopes for normal in the future had just vanished.

May 1st, 1987. Mom still had not come out of her room, but according to dad she had began to sober up a bit. It was a Friday and the weekend plans were buzzing. The majority of my friends were involved in the state track meet at our rival school that afternoon. May Day Play Day was the school festival that I adored attending on Saturday, and from there we were heading to the lake for the rest of the weekend. It was, by far, my favorite time of year. And it came at the perfect time considering how tired I was of tiptoeing.

It was noon when I walked home from school due to a half day schedule. It was one of those days that was so spectacular that every color had a brilliant shine. The sky was crystal clear, the air perfect. I can still remember smelling the fresh cut grass of the campus drive. I walked in the house euphoric over the weather and my weekend plans. Right there to meet me at the door was my housekeeper with a look of concern on her face. She was worried that "Ms. Fletcher" had not come out of her room all day. I tried to soothe her by telling her she had not come out all week and there was nothing to worry about. But the concern ate at me. I changed into a bathing suit, grabbed the jambox and babyoil, and went out on my back porch to lie out in the sun. This time, rather than trying to tune her out, I blared the music as loud as I could, hoping to wake her. I was unusually restless. I went inside and knocked on her door. I tried to open it but it was locked. There was another door that led to the outside porch, so I went out there and turned the handle. It was not locked, but in another God Given Moment, I opened the door to a crack and then stopped and pulled it shut. It was at that moment that I knew that I needed to call dad and I should not be the one to enter that room.

From then until dad returned home, there was a lot of pacing and near hyperventilating. My heart felt as if it was going to burst out of my chest and my ears were buzzing so hard internally that I would just hold my hands over them to ease the noise. Every part of me wanted to believe that this was just another nightmare. But in fact, my nightmares had become my reality.

Dad rushed in 45 minutes later with Chris in tow and instructed us to sit back while he went into the room. With his shoulders slumped and his head dropped low, daddy came out. Mom had taken her own life, with a gun.

One moment we are alone in our grief and the very next second, my house is full of strangers- Police, Medics, friends of dads. The police cornered me and aggressively began asking questions, along the lines of, "Could your dad have killed your mother?"... I am a teenage girl who just minutes ago lost her mother and worships her father. Really, you need to do this now? By the grace of God, a dear friend of mine walked in the door. As he told them to lay off of me, I took a deep breath, and in that moment the reality of the afternoon hit me all at once. My knees buckled and he had to set me on a step. I had to get out of there. The chaos was too much.
As we left we stopped by the closest convenient store. Parked in front were the policemen that accosted me. As I was waiting in the car, the partner came up and very sincerely apologized if his partner seemed out of line. They have questions they needed to ask, but he fully admitted that it was not the right time. "We are so sorry for you loss", were his words as he awkwardly turned away.
The rest of the afternoon, really the next couple of days are all a blur. I did not miss out on any of the festivities I was planning on, and so excited about just hours before. I went to the track meet and dinner afterward. May Day Play Day was on Saturday and then we caravanned on up to the lake. I have often questioned why I spent such little time at home during those days of grief. The house was a place of such sadness and suffering for me, and my dad and my brothers were coping with their own grief. During those days, I needed the strength of my friends. I felt as if they walked around me in a tight circle holding hands, with me in the middle. They could protect me and keep me safe.

We said our goodbyes to mom in a funeral home. Due to the Catholic Church's view on suicide, we could not have the service in the church(which was enough to tear me away from organized religion for a while). From there we went to her graveside for the burial. I was a gorgeous spring day, and as we laid her body in the ground, my one thought was, "May she finally be at peace"

I have no idea of what the thoughts were that tormented moms soul. But she lived most of her life in self loathing. She was such a gorgeous lady with the most incredible laugh. Maybe I loved her laugh so much because I did not hear it enough. But it was music to my ears. Regretfully, she did not recognize her own beauty. She could not look in the mirror any more.

As Dr. Fox squeezed me tight and told me how proud he was of me, I returned back to my seat and exhaled. Daddy was still smiling and for a moment I could see mom in the seat beside him, with her hands waving, her beautiful face smiling and she was laughing. AHHHH, that wonderful laugh. It was then that I completely relaxed. It dawned on me that she could take better care of me from where she was than she ever could living. I am fortunate to be surrounded by angels and cheerleaders and that at any big event in my life I can hear her laughter.

Take me out to the ball game...

 

Spring is in the air... The bird are chirping loudly outside my window, the brilliant blooms are everywhere around me, and the sun is shining his warm rays down. It has been a long time coming! But the greatest thing about spring? Every night of the week I get to hear the bats cracking in the ball field, the fans cheering in the stands and umpires yelling out the calls. I relax in my chair and watch all of these kids,whom I have grown to love dearly over the years, play. I spurge on a hot dog or two, and a bag of peanuts with my large coca-cola... I bite my nails as I see my child take several deep breaths to calm his nerves. My heart sinks when I see him allow a ball to get by and leaps when he makes an out. Many times I feel sick with nerves when he is up to bat, and jumping up high in the air when he gets a hit.

I try real hard not to be one of "those parents". It is an effort for me not to cheer loudly and obnoxiously for the children. If I could I would run the bases with them, and be out celebrating with them when they ran home. Although I do know what people whisper about "those parents". "Its just little league after all", or , "She needs to chill out"... And I don't want whispering, or rolling of the eyes behind my back. But my thrill for them is not because I think they are going to the big leagues, but more so because I know they are happy. And most of parenting is about raising happy children, right?

My children are not the best on the team, nor are they the worst. But they have that love for the game that keeps them coming back, year after year. And for that I am grateful, because it is the highlight of this season. And when people look at me with pity when they hear that our family plays 6 games in 5 days for 6 weeks, I can only say "There is no other place I would rather be". (Except possibly, the football stands)

A sad day

 

Loyal, loving and patient-
Three words to describe a best friend- And the perfect words to describe Otis.

If you had asked me a week ago, I would have told you he had a good 2 years left. He went swimming with us, walked around the neighborhood, and even found enough strength to jump into the back of the jeep. But this morning, when he would not get up for even a piece of bacon, I knew that my goodbyes were hours away.

He was just the dog you could not help but love. He followed anyone everywhere, he let kids climb on him without once snarling a tooth. And when he was full of joy he not only waggled his tail, but he waggled his whole body. He was big and lumpy with rotten breath, but his eyes were full of kindness and wisdom.

So, as I lay stretched out with Otis on the floor of the vet's this morning, it was only natural that his eyes were looking at me, giving me the comfort that I needed. He somehow made my goodbye a little easier.

And honestly, I think I am going to miss that rotten breath the most of all.

Go Dog, Go!!!

 

 

 

One of the greatest joys in my life are my dogs. I have 3 of them, all rather large Labrador Retrievers with very different personalities. Their passions include fighting for my attention, marking every nice thing in the house(it is a rather annoying competition they have), chasing birds, and swimming. I try, as often as I can, to take them swimming. About a mile from my house is a small pond, commonly known as "the duck pond". The howling and deep panting begins as we turn the bend. It's like horses at the Kentucky Derby when the gates are open. As soon as I swing open the back of the jeep they charge out with such power and adrenaline! Deacon and Otis look at me longingly in the water with anticipation that I may throw something for them. But Boo, sweet ole Boo, has something completely different in mind . The minute he has charged out he is on a mission- to catch a duck. But nobody flies away. In fact, the geese that are in the grass actually get in the water. You see, I think they like the game. They enjoy taunting Boo. As Boo approaches any of them by about 3 feet or so(close enough to get a little nervous about what to do if he does get one) they dive under the water and appear on the other side of the pond seconds later. Boo is left looking utterly confused, momentarily, until he spots them and begins the chase again . This can on for an hour or more. He is determined that one day he will catch a duck. It doesn't matter that they can fly or dive to their escape every time. Boo's persistence, determination and passion keep him out there.

It is quite a sight to be seen. Unfortunately the policeman drove by the other day and told me that we could not be out there any longer because of the leash law. Leash law, seriously? You expect me to bridle Boo's enthusiasm over your leash law? I suppose I will have to find another pond, with more geese and let them play there until I am stopped again.
It would be awesome if we all had that enthusiasm and persistence for something in life and we went after it, no matter what the outcome. But many times we put the leash on ourselves- because we are scared of failure, or judgement. If we could just GO AFTER IT, whatever IT is, the way Boo goes after those ducks, we would all be happier.

A battle won...

Hi. My name is Cathy and I am an alcoholic. I have been surrounded by alcohol my whole life. It is a relationship I cannot quite kick, though I try, time after time.
The relationship started before I was born. I am quite sure that having a couple drinks did the same thing to my mother that it did for me in the beginning. She and I were a lot alike. She was shy and soft spoken and suffered from self-esteem issues. If she felt anything like I did, those first drinks probably loosened her up a bit and gave her the confidence she had searched her whole life for. Even on her first blind date with my father she had had too much to drink, passed out in Dad's apartment, and got kicked out from Emory the next day for spending the night out of her dormitory(Times have changed since then!). By the time she was a mother of four, she had spiraled out of control. She remained shut off from the rest of the world and managed to have only one significant relationship in her life, Bourbon and Ginger's. She refused to let anyone else remotely close to her. Yet, occasionally, when she was blistering drunk, it would be the time that she would want to tell me how much she loved me, and how sorry she was for being such a bad mom. Alcohol opened her up, allowed her to reveal her feelings, even helped her stretch her arms out to me and give me that rare hug. So, in a sick way, alcohol was my friend before we even met head on.
Oh! But did that first encounter ever come!!! 30 minutes after I took a swig of that warm, brown juice she was my best friend. I was 13. I was painfully shy. Although I appeared to have friends, I felt very alone in the world. You see, with the dysfunction that was going on in my own house, it was nearly impossible to really have friends. You cannot invite them over to your home, you cannot share what is happening, and you are constantly jealous of what "normal" people have. I was isolated. So when that sweet, brown bourbon kicked in, my life, as I knew it, had changed. It comforted me. It took my inhibitions away. I felt confident and secure. As weeks, then months went by, I felt more popular. The high I felt from drinking, the false security it gave me, was enough to get me through the week. My head was held a little higher. My smile a little broader. My friendship circles grew significantly..
Those months turned into years. Drinking was an every weekend event for me from the moment I started. About a year into drinking, the blackouts began. The vomiting was frequent. We laughed about it. We thought we were indestructible( as a parent of an 11 year old, this frightens me to pieces!)But soon, friends began to become concerned. Even my parents began receiving phone calls from friends, worried. (I will add that although I was making poor choices with my behavior, my choice of friendships in High School was a God intervened act!) And by the time I was in college, drinking had LONG past being my friend, and had pushed me on a path that was not simply just poor choices, but it was incredibly dangerous. I will never forget the moment that started my fight against alcohol. I was at a fraternity party, extremely inebriated, when I ran into my older, and very cherished, brother Richard. He looked at me with such disdain, and said, "Cathy, you disgust me. You look and act just like Mom right now." Everything else about that night was a blackout, but running into him ate at me, and continued to for a long time. It did not stop me from drinking that week or month or year, but it remained in the back of my mind and haunted me.
I made the decision to quit drinking at the age of 21, the legal age of drinking. I'd had enough. I had the remarkable support of my father, and such great encouragement from my friends. I have been sober for 20 years on April 28th. I never looked back. Everyday I praise God for sobriety and helping me get off that scary path of danger and self destruction!
And although I had banished her from being my personal demon to fight, the alcohol has found ways of manifesting herself into those that I love, and getting to me that way. She has been involved in the deaths of three family members. She tried REAL hard to come between those I love most dearly in the world, but thankfully failed.
And though I am blessed to have a reprieve from fighting any battles, or having to sit on the sideline and watch, they do say, quite certainly, that Alcoholism is hereditary. She better not mess with my boys! But if she so chooses to, I will do all that I can to equip them.


"Finally, be strong in the Lord and in his strength of His might. Put on the full armor of God, so that you will be able to stand firm against the schemes of the devil."
Ephesians 6:10-11

Series of Cooper's buzz cut

 

 

 

You see his joy in the first picture, and that the hair was not THAT bad.
Brock's mistake really began to sink in when we were in the growing out phase of the hair cut. I know that he is a beautiful boy, and has the spirit like none other, but don't try to tell me how cute he is in the other two-(with the exception of the excitement he had holding the goose)

Even your child's hair can teach you a life lesson

 

When I had Fletcher, sadly, I was in a rush for him to grow up. I couldn't wait for him to say his first words and take his first steps. I was ready for him to be my friend at the age of 18 months. Then,there was Hugh, 19 months younger than Fletch, and suddenly, I was not in much of a hurry. Not for sentimental reasons, but more for sanity reasons- I could not imagine having two toddlers at the same time. Soon enough, two little boys were running in two different directions. That is the way I planned it but I still think to myself, WHAT WAS I THINKING??? And before long, I was pregnant again. I was wiser this time, I waited until Hugh, who was and still is, the demolition man, was 22 months. I was much wiser, hmmph... Which leads me to the point of my entry. Charles Cooper Himan. Look, just look at how cute he is. From birth he was the sweetest, snuggliest, calmest one of them all. He slept the obscene hours that most moms would kill for. He woke up and went to bed happy. I WAS NOT, let me repeat, I WAS NOT ready for him to grown up.
Now look again at Cooper's hair in the skunk picture. Cutie. He was 2 1/2. November 1st, the day after this picture was taken, I was heading to Clemson for a football game against Wake. It was just me and the older two heading out for a Mom's day. Brock assured me that he and Cooper would have a day of adventure themselves and NOT TO WORRY. Now that I think about it, he did have a smirk on his face. I should never have left him alone with the child. On the way back from the game my phone rings and sweet Coop's is on the other line. All he has to say to me is "Mamma, buzz cut" I was not sure I understood him so I said, "sweetie, what did you say?" And again he repeated "mamma, buzz cut". So I giggled and thought, Oh good, Brock must have taken Cooper to get his hair cut. Poor thing thinks he got a buzz, because the OLDER MORE MATURE, NOT BABIES ANYMORE, have them! He wants to be just like them.

Before our renovation there was a huge window in the kitchen and the boys would sit there and wait for one of us to pull up, waving enthusiastically when we finally did. Boy I miss that enthusiasm. Come to think of it, I miss the window too! Sure enough, there was a boy there, waving his arms high in the air, with sheer joy in his heart. He looked 2 1/2 to me, he had Cooper's beautiful eyes and sweet smile, but he had no hair to speak of. In sync, both the older boys screamed "COOL MOM, COOPER GOT A BUZZ CUT". And at the same time Cooper is running to me so proud "MOMMY!! BUZZ CUT!! MOMMY BUZZ CUT!!" I swooped him up in my arms, kissed him all over and told him "Honey, I love it". Don't worry, my fingers were crossed. Over his shoulders I am looking for Brock, who usually greets me at the door as well. Interesting that he chose not to today. He has, in a flash, taken the baby out of my boy. I am surprised that Cooper could not feel the steam coming out of my ears. After all the hoopla is over and the big brothers stopped doting on him, I made my journey inside the house, ready to pounce. I was ready for an argument. Arguments are rare around the house but they do happen. Brock must have been the captain of the national winning debate team in high school, normally getting his point across so quickly and affectively that I am left wondering why I chose to argue anyhow. As he made his way down the stairs I could not believe what I saw. There was Brock, in total defeat. It was impossible to be mad. He looked down at me with sorrowful eyes and asked, "it's not that bad is it?". And again, with my fingers crossed, I hugged him and said, "no honey, it's not that bad."

You see what I realized was that Brock's feelings were so different than mine. He was done having babies. He was ready for his foursome to begin. He was ready to fish as a family. He was wanting Cooper to grow up faster. And in some crazy way, cutting his hair would get him there. Just as leaving his hair the way it was, or snuggling with him more would keep him a baby and keep me young. At six he is a unique child of God's, and I am enjoying him day by day. And yes, he still has a buzz cut.

What a difference a year makes

One year ago today, my life was at the brink of disaster. Noone would have ever guessed I was there, but internally I was near the boiling point. I had become a full time professional at holding my emotions in, putting on a big bright smile and letting everyone know how great I was. Amazing even. From an early age I was trained to do that. I could never expose the secrets of the family, so I had to overcompensate the pains I was feeling with smiles. The secrets kept getting bigger and the smiles kept getting broader. I never stopped.

My oldest brother David died tragically in September of 2008. I do think that is what sent me over the edge. I had dealt with other significant losses and tramautic events, but this little ole body could not take any more. For months I tried to smile my pain away and pretend as if everything was fine and dandy in Cathy's world. Secretly, all I wanted to do is crawl in my bed and wish the time away. I was wishing away the precious time I had with the boys and Brock. It made no sense to me as to why I felt the way I did. I was physically healthy, had 3 terrific boys and an incredibly supportive husband. I live in an amazing town and neighborhood, was kept warm at night and sheltered by a nice home. How dare I complain of discontent! For months I kept my mouth shut and continued going through lifes motions, aimlessly and exhausted. And sore. My efforts at trying to keep up the happy face had manifested into severe neck and back pain. I had reached a point that hiding it was no longer an option. My emotional and physical pain was beginning to seethe out of every pore. I could not breathe.

I had asked God for help before, but only halfheartedly. I am not sure I even wanted to change. I felt too lazy to change. It takes a lot of work to break old habits and live life differently. Exactly a year ago, I got on my kness and prayed to God. I prayed for strength. I prayed for change. I prayed for peace. I cried and I begged. This time I prayed with all my heart, not just half of it. Then I carried on with the next couple days, still carrying the burden of my pain right on top of my shoulders. It was not until, in the midst of an argument the following night, that I was aware God had heard me. Brock stopped short in our "discussion" and very tenderly asked me if I needed to go somewhere to deal with my depression. I replied, very calmly and matter of fact like, "yes". At that point I knew that I needed to separate myself from Brock and the boys for a certain amount of time and just focus on myself. I was unable to do it with the constant demands that the home brought me. And I wanted to heal, not just partially, but all the way.

The next day may be one of the scariest days of my life. Driving to the facility knowing the pain the separation from the family was going to bring me, and NOT knowing what lie ahead in the next 30 days filled me with a gut wrenching fear. I wanted to take back that "yes", and go back to the way it was, because at least I was comfortable there. When the boys and Brock kissed me goodbye at 2:00 in the room of my temporary home, I curled up into a fetal posistion and stayed there, all night long. It was not until the next morning that I had my next conversation with God. It went something like this... "Well, I am here, I cannot turn back, help me give it all I got." So at that moment, I got up, got dressed and opened the door to my new life.

I am so grateful to Brookhaven and the women there who helped me get through some pretty serious stuff. There was so much to work through, so much pain to rehash, but the more I let go, the lighter the load on my shoulders was. My pain started to go away. I could breathe.

So here I am, a year later. I am still breathing, my neck and back are still burden free and most importantly, I am with the family. I mean REALLY with them, and there is no other place I would rather be. There is no doubt that the challenges were great at times and will continue to be. But to be able to look someone in the eye and tell them how great I am, and really mean it, far and away outweighs the challenges.

God made fun of me

Brock and I are constantly laughing at God's sense of humor. It is everywhere. In the last blog I whined and whined about winter. Particularly the current winter we are experiencing. So, the next day, in typical God style, there was a blizard warning. In North Carolina, a blizzard warning. Never in my young 41 years have I ever been in a blizzard warning. Granted, it was not much of a blizzard- a couple of flakes and strong winds- God was funny but not cruel. Everyday since my whinefest snow has fallen. I AM NOT COMPLAINING, just recognizing the humor in it all. I love jokes. I just prefer them in the spring and the summer.

 

Wintertime Blues

I hate winter. From my toes up to my cold nose, I hate everything about it. Every year, I promise myself it is going to get better, that I will be nicer and I will not let my feelings get in the way. I tell myself that I will do things that soften my feelings, such as play in the snow, or take a trip skiing. But every year, around March 1st, I throw my hands up in the air with complete defeat. Winter won again. It got the absolute best of me. The short, dark, cold days have entered my body and sent me into a whirlwind of a depression. I am not quite sure there is such a thing as "seasonal depression" but that is undeniably what I have.

I have begun to meditate. During my meditation I am instructed to go to my "happy place". So as the ice is hammering down and the trees are cracking, I simply shut myself off from the rest of the world, take some deep breaths, close my eyes and imagine the sun beating down on my skin. It unwinds me and soothes me, even if just for a moment.

This winter has been unusually cruel. It is just mid February and I am already throwing in the towel. We have been stuck inside the house for 5 straight weekends due to snow, ice or just cold rain. It has made me stir crazy, but worse yet, it has made my boys stir crazy. Having 3 cooped up boys, 3 cooped up dogs, and one cooped up husband is enough to send me away to the funny farm. Fortunately, there is not a funny farm in the future, but there is a closet that I close my self in and dream of warmer days.

I DO love the first initial snow, the beauty and silence that falls with it.
I adore the comfort of a fire.
I treasure my children's reactions when they find out they do not have school
And mostly what I love is the unexpected day that forces you to forget obligations and simply enjoy each other.

The groundhog said we have six more weeks of winter. I think I can, I think I can, I think I can!!!!

Lucky me

I am going to begin my blogging experience just by talking little about myself. I am 41 years old, although my mind still thinks I am in my early 20's- My body DEFINITELY knows I am in my 40's. I have 3 great boys, Fletcher,11, Hugh,9, and Cooper,6. They have their own unique qualities but their common ground is their passion for sports, their joy in friends and their love for each other. They bring such joy and amazement to my life.

Brock is my husband of 12 years. He is my best friend. Being so different in personalities we are a perfect mesh. He is the outgoing one, I am the introvert. He is organized and methodical, I am the definition of CHAOS. 5:00 would be his ideal time to start his day, and I have to be pulled out of bed at 6:45 to wake the boys up. We are Yen and yang. I consider it close to perfection( there are flaws of course, and fights, and eye rolls, but we we are close to perfection)

I am so fortunate to have such a wonderful life. But there has been darkness. Long periods of darkness in my years that I could not see my fortunes. I have to work, and pray on a regular basis to obtain my happiness. But for today, I am happy. Really happy.