I am not Alone

When this world's unkind,

Please keep this in mind,

I will always be standing close behind

With a hand to hold

to keep you from the cold

I will be with you,

until we grow old.

You are not alone

Blue Dogs

25 years ago in May I walked off the auditorium stage a graduate of Charlotte Latin School. I was  exhilarated that I graduated, nervous about entering a new chapter in life, and heart broken that my fellow graduates and I were heading in different directions.  Daddy always tried to tell me that, although he understood I was close to my high school friends,  I would be just as close to my college friends, and then work friends, and so on.  He was trying to implant in my heart that it was okay to move on, exciting even.  The summer after graduation we played hard and loved hard, and come mid August we said our goodbyes.  On the night before our departure, after the group had given their last hugs and gone home to prepare for the next day, one  of my very best friends and I sat in my driveway on Country Lane and,  unwilling to accept our fate and wishing time could stand still,  cried until the early hours in the morning.

As I have mentioned in earlier posts, my friends played a huge role,  more than they  knew, in my high school years. Those years are hard for any teenager.  Throw in some dysfunction and   insecurities on top of that and you have me.  A lost soul.  They were my escape from the drama of the home. To me they were my security.  They helped transform that scared and insecure girl into who I am today. My senior year, when mom died, they rallied around me and tried their hardest to protect me from even more hardships.  So where many of them were excited about what the future held for them and the independence they were about to encounter,  I felt as if enough change had come to my life. I would have preferred to stay right where I was, with everyone else right there by me.

We went off to college. In the beginning we wrote letters. We cried for hours on the phone together.  We visited each others colleges.  We got together over Thanksgiving and Christmas and summers. And then we got settled in our own schools.  We made different friends. We went weeks, sometimes months with out speaking.   We went to Law School, Graduate Schools, started jobs, moved to different cities.  We got married.  We had children.  We got busy with life. We sent Christmas cards.

Since my 20th reunion we have made great efforts of meeting up once a year.  Ironically, everyone is back on the east coast, within driving distance to Charlotte.  We talk some of the children, jobs and current events. Mostly we laugh.  We laugh until tears are strolling down our cheeks.  We remember things that we haven't thought of in years. Most of the sentences start with, "Can you believe we did this?" or  "I would never let my children do that".   And they always end in hugs and "I love you", and "I can't wait to see you again".

This past weekend was my 25th.  I got in the car on a Gorgeous Friday afternoon and shouted out a giant WOOHOO.  Partly because I was in need of a break from playing taxi, cheerleader, house manager and maid, but mostly because I was excited for the visit. Feeling particularly emotional and  vulnerable lately,  I was ready for their embrace. Throughout the entire weekend I was welcomed with warm, familiar arms and smiles, and drawn in by more stories of the days when. 

I ran into my pre-algebra teacher who taught me to love math(at least for a year) and without knowing it was my own guidance counselor.  Within 30 minutes of mom's death he was at my door, reaching his arms out, asking what he could do for me.  My French teacher was there,  who taught 3 of the Fletcher kids french, but alas, struggled the most with me.  She looked amazing, as if she could have graduated with us.   I spoke to my Physical Science teacher, who, on several occasions, asked to see me after class just to make sure I was okay because he saw the sadness in my eyes. The good ole Doctor was there, a math teacher that taught math above my level, but taught David and Richard too.  He was always full of jokes(he even admits how bad they were) and always stopped and talked to me in the halls, even though I was not a student of his.  And lastly, the current events/economics/history teacher and my advisor for 4 years stopped by.  I walked around the campus with him on  many cold mornings listening to him try to me and inspire me to do better. He loved me, and my family.   How grateful I am to have been surrounded by caring faculty during such a volatile time of life...Not only were my friends of high school a large impact on my life, but the staff was as well.

As the night went on, I felt a sense of extreme sadness.  The majority of our class had left, leaving behind the same folks I cried over 25 years ago. The same friend I cried with in the driveway began to cry again.  And as that group began to wind down and head home, I cried harder with every hug.
Daddy was wrong.  Although I did make great friends along every path I travelled, there is simply no replacement. These  guys were family.  They are family still. Goodbyes were still hard.

Over the next couple days I have received texts from them...  "love you Fletch!"  "great to see you bud!"  My favorite was from a friend, recently sober... " I was down today since it was all over.  That was the most fun I have had in years.  Love you"

And in the mailbox I received a letter from my advisor... Addressed to : Happy Cathy Fletcher Himan.
... Your enthusiasm and self confidence shows how far you have come since I first knew you...

The enthusiasm and self confidence that he was writing of  took root in my high school years.  Though during the time I was dealing with unfortunate things, the love of my friends and the faculty kept me above water and showed me that I could battle any circumstance.  As years went on, they never failed to continue the love and faith, no matter what life dealt us, or how many states divided us.  I always know that they have my back, that they are  still surrounding me and protecting me, like they did so many years ago.

Spring Cleaning

Tippy Toed

The urge has hit me. Clean, declutter, organize...Every several years the feeling overcomes me and I know I must act NOW before it quickly passes and I wait a couple more years. Yesterday I accomplished the family room, laundry room and kitchen, and today... the office. The room where all accumulates in no form or reason and piles of my life sit in the closet, or on my desk, neglected and unloved. There is only one way to do this.... Pull it all out in the middle of the room, go through what stays and what goes, find a better way to store it and alas, put everything that stays back in its place...

The hardwoods are barely visible with all that I have pulled out. One side of the room is trash, the other side, treasures. As I look up in the closet to see what was left, there is just one rather large black book sitting on a shelf . It seems unfamiliar to me as I am reaching for it, but the moment I start to pull it down my heart begins to sink. I find the only spot in the room to sit down with the album containing some of my deceased brother David's belongings, photos and notes people sent me... My head starts to spin and my eyes beginning to well... It has been so long since I looked at this, I even forgot I had it. And then in my hands were the Eulogies that Richard and I delivered. As I read them over again the pain was as fresh as the day we wrote them. Cramped in that cluttered room, I found myself hysterically wailing for the loss of my brother almost 4 years ago, but it was long overdue. Once I  put that book up in the corner shelf, hidden deep in my disorganized closet, I had stopped my crying. It was time to move on. But today clearly proved that the pain was just as fresh. I try to live my life every day in gratitude and love. I laugh OFTEN. I thank God many many times a day for the blessings he gave me in my boys and Brock. But though I know that "God has a reason" I still feel cheated by his death. I have searched for ways that I have found growth by his dying, and there are plenty... but in my childish immaturity I think, " could you have not taught me another way??" More often than not I feel God's love right then, comforting me, gently bringing me in closer to him and simply saying, "Trust Me". And today, with puddles on the hardwoods, I did just that. I pulled myself up and trusted. And though my room is a disaster, I feel "spring cleaned""

Richards Eulogy:

Believe when I say, (only half jokingly, if you know anything about our family) WE HAVE GOT TO STOP MEETING THIS WAY. Seriously, I started my family late in life and I am running out of children to to name people after. ..So, the way guilt works on me , IF this keeps going I will be trying to have children well into my 50's and I know my beautiful wife Tiffany, as pregnant and as tired as she is right now, wants absolutely nothing to do with that. ( I hoped you chuckle. I know David would have wanted you to. ) So I now invite you to laugh and cry with me as we celebrate David's life.

As a child, David was the classic big brother and I was the classic younger brother. Almost every stereotype fit. I was always trying to stay competitive, but I was rarely ever a close match for him. He was far more gifted than I in so many things that really mattered at that age... Space Invaders: he could more than double my score. Rubik's Cube: he solved it while I was working on my second side. In Indian Guides our given tribal names were, Big Turtle(my father) Little Turtle(David) and Little Turtle Two(myself). That's how we rolled. I would have followed my brother to the ends of the earth, drawn to him(excuse the old adage), like a moth on a flame.

I watched his bright flame with awe and wonder and more than a few times with childhood envy. David was a mystery, and I never quite knew what would come next., but imagined he would always have some fantastic story to tell. Either about the people he had met(many of whom are here today) or the faraway places he had fallen in love with, especially his beloved Hong Kong. It always boggled my mind to watch him carry on in fluid Cantonese when I barely got by in French 2. In fact, so long a shadow was cast by David that I learned in early High School to steer my life in a completely opposite direction, to find my own interest far away from his, lest my own flame never cast a shadow of it's own.

You see, my brother, David is without question, the most complicated person I have ever known. He spiritual but not religious. He had a scientific mind but was constantly on a quest for answers to questions he knew logically he could never find. He loved Jimmy Buffet and cut his teeth to John Denver(Don't tell) but was far more passionate about the Stones and absolutely ravenous about Snoop Dog. He was both David and "Fletch" and as noted at his wedding's rehearsal dinner the two were completely different. He was both UVA prep and Hong Kong Hip Hop. His life was full of trials and pain, but, in 42 years, I never once heard him whine or complain.

David was sometime Bacchus and sometimes Socrates, but he was in all ways a traveler. Whether on a spiritual, intellectual or physical journey David was happiest when in motion. His stamina and appetite for all thing that life brought him were legendary. Most of all, David loved to laugh. If a joke was really good his laugh would be accompanied by the now famous "Fletcher hand rub". He was childlike in his enthusiasm( and if truth be told, even as an adult he still got up at the crack of dawn when he came home for Christmas to see what Santa had brought him).

It is somewhat amusing to me that in the last photograph ever taken of us ( a picture of David meeting our son Mac for the first time), I noticed that David was much taller than me. I looked at the photograph more closely, thinking, competitively,"David can't possibly be that much taller". Then it hit me. He was standing on his toes. He had that sparkle in his eye and that Fletcher grin on his face. It was an old one-upmanship trick of ours, but in the excitement and the grand moment of introducing my son to his uncle for the first time, I had been off my game and quite literally, not on my toes. So now, and for eternity David will be taller than me... and it will always make me smile.(the picture is at the top of the page)

I close with this:

Dearest David,

It seems the old adage may be true that " a flame that burns twice as bright burns half as long" , but others carry the flame that you ignited. You go now on a journey where I cannot follow. Know, however that a huge piece of my heart goes with you. I will celebrate your life in all things and tell stories about you to my children, family and friends until I draw my last breath.


My Eulogy to David

So, as you gathered from Richard's elegant words, the Fletcher's were a competitive family. The stories could go on and on about the battles on the tennis courts, basketball court and even the kitchen table where games like Risk and Bat Gammon became quite tense. With that being said, put this picture in your mind... We grew up across the street from the school we attended, Charlotte Latin, and walked most days. At 7:45each morning mom would shoo us out the door and appropriately tell us to be good and walk together. Yeah, yeah, we would mumble and out the door we would go. David,14,  Richard,12 and me 10(Chris was still in pre-school) would begin our 7 minute trek to school. The minute we stepped foot on the driveway, the race would begin. Someone, inevitably, would try to walk faster than the others. Then the others would join in, all of us breaking a sweat, in the attempt not to be the last. Now David, he never had that worry. He would smirk as he briskly walked ahead of us and every once and I while looking back with the Fletcher grin, exclaiming "Run, Run Run"... I would sulk in my chair when I got there in defeat, while David, I am sure, would enter his classroom completely satisfied.

Someone asked me the other day which brother I was closest to. As I stand here in front of you , I can assure you that was one area in life we were not competitive with. We loved together, we hurt together, we laughed together. I am a better wife, mother and friend because of my brothers. They have each played a monumental role in my life and I am so fortunate to be loved equally by each of them.

I can so easily picture him now. Newly 16, driving his red prelude, golden blond curls and tan skin, blaring either the Stones or Buffet in the tape player. He would be carting me, a very scrawny and awkward, 12 year old around staring in  in admiration.  "Man, he is so cool, I would think to myself".  Later in life, tan gone, curls cut, and he would come relive some of his ferrarri driving experiences, or share his Hong Kong adventures, still, in awe, I would think, "Man he is so cool".

When I found out about  Fletcher Barnhardt and Whites 40th reunion, the boys and I hopped in the car and drove down to spend a couple of days with him. For the first time in 3 years David, Richard, Chris and myself spent an amazing evening together, recapturing moments of history. As the evening came to a close, I believe we all had the feeling that we did not want it to end. It was a night of perfection. From there David followed me home to Asheville to spend time with our family. He spent 6 incredible days with us, sharing every activity and soaking in as much time as he could with us. At night we would sit on the back porch relaxed and exhausted from the days activities and engage in conversation as deep as politics and religion or as light as the boys sporting events that day.

July 30th I drove David to the airport. As I got out of the car and embraced him, he simply said, "Cathy Lou, I love you." I drove away from him that day with tears in my eyes knowing that the time spent with him was priceless and unforgettable. I also knew it was a gift.

So, in this moment, I visualize David running down Providence Road, looking back at us and grinning infectiously. He won. He won in life. He lived it large, he lived it happy...And with that smile he is quoting the song we heard earlier,

Cathy Lou,
Some of it's magic
Some of it's tragic
But I had a good life all the way...

Home sweet home...

 

As I turn off of Highway 17 onto Johns Island it seems time has stood still.  The twenty miles of road are canopied by the beautiful, gigantic oak trees and the Spanish Moss swaying in the breeze.  Any tension I may have felt from the drive have diminished, and the stresses from home forgotten.  I roll down the windows and breathe the air as the boys in the back simultaneously chant," ahhh, I love the smell"...

The excitement builds as we enter the island.  "Look, that is new! I wonder if we will see any alligators sunbathing!  Have you rented the bikes? Do I have to unpack or can I go straight to the beach?"  The bags are eagerly unloaded and doors slamming as they each go their own directions to the favorite part of the island.  I, on the other hand, absorb. My senses are alive and I am taking in every last thing.

Kiawah Island, South Carolina.  For thirty five years I have been returning to the same incredibly old, wood paneled beat up beach home.  Anyone I have loved deeply has shared this home with me in some capacity.  I am surrounded by ghost. Amazing ghosts.  The kind that when I walk into this house embrace me and laugh with me and say, remember when?...

This place was my mom and dad's favorite.  Mom loved the sun and dad loved the sand.  So joy was in the house that we could never find in Charlotte.  A relaxed joy.  My brothers and I felt such freedom when we arrived here.  The same kind of freedom my boys have...  The freedom of exploring the island, finding the best waves or sneaking out at night and looking for loggerhead turtle laying eggs...  But our freedom was different as well.  We were free from the shackles of mom's drinking and dads stress.  The emotions we felt at home were left there, and we were happy.

Over the years I have shared the house with those I love most.  I feel as if it is a way to open my heart to them.  Even though when they walk in the door they don't smell what I smell or  feel what I feel they do see the expression on my face when I am there and they get to experience a slightly different me.
I have brought them home.

We have a boardwalk that leads to a porch overlooking the ocean.  Early in the morning my father would take his coffee out there and reflect.  In my early 20's I would jump at the chance to get out there with my coffee and join him, so for part of the day it could be just the two of us.  I treasured that time with him.  Since he died, when I was in my mid twenties, there is not a morning I miss when I am there, going to the porch to join him for coffee.  I know he is there reflecting, and listening to me and my recaps. It is a standing date.

Richard, Chris and I reunite here  with our families every summer.  The children bond and form new traditions while  the adults share in some of the same traditions year after year. My heart is full, overflowing in fact.  No matter what tragedies we have endured in the past, we share a place that heals and continues to bring us closer together.  They do say, "home is where the heart is"....