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"....

What a Wonderful World..

I am celebrating 13 years with Brock today.  On our first anniversary we went to eat at a fine french restaurant  in Charlotte.  We lavished each other with gifts and ate the last piece of our wedding cake that was thawed out from the night before.

Yesterday Fletcher reminded me that today was our anniversary, and asked what we were going to do.  I answered simply by saying "What we love to do most, watching y'all play baseball."  He had a fit, exclaiming "Mom!  You watch all of our games.  Go out with Dad, I want you to!"   "Fletcher", I replied, "there is no place your father and I would rather be than cheering you on.  You are a reminder to us of how amazing our 13 years have been together, and I would not miss it for the world."

It is true.  No gifts are needed.  Not even a card.  All I wanted was Brock, settled in next to me at the ballpark, cheering the boys on. With my peanuts and coke. What a gift.

************

16 years ago I was sitting at the receptionist desk at the new office when two men came around the corner to get on the elevator.  I had met Bill, one of the men, but not the other.  The other man put his arm around Bill, looked at me with a mischievous grin and asked , " If stranded on a deserted island which one of us would you choose to be with?"  As I turned bright red and was without an answer, the bell rang, the elevator opened and the two men got on.  Within ten minutes they were back up again, this time with introductions...  " Hi, I am Brock.  Welcome!"

From that moment on, all I wanted was Brock, settled in next to me, making me laugh. 

I am a shy, sometimes insecure, unorganized mess.  He is outgoing, confident, humorous and methodical.  I drive him nuts. But we are a perfect mesh. The common ground that brings us so close together is our passion.  We are passionate about life....  Our relationship with God, the children and each other.  It is that passion that makes sitting on the ball field, that could be interpreted as boring to others, an incredibly amazing night.

As in every marriage, there have been battles that we have had to fight, and thankfully conquer.  But at the end of the day I still feel like the luckiest girl in the world. I am saying good night to my best friend, usually laughing at one of his antics. I sink into sleep thanking God for his amazing gifts to me, which includes that day in the office when I was left speechless.

If we couldnt laugh we would all go insane...

It usually takes the beginning of summer to crank up his tunes, but once I do, I am engulfed in the story of my life.  Folks, I am a Parrothead. I have been since first time I heard Jimmy Buffett, probably the second grade.  My older brother , David, had all his vinyls and the words spilled loudly out of his room and put smiles on the faces of all the family.  It was not long before all 6 us were whistling the tunes of Son of a Son of a Sailor throughout the house.  His words oozed sunshine and sand, love and heartbreak, and the stories of peoples lives that made you want to meet them. 

For those who don't know me, life in the Fletcher household was not often oozing with the happiness that sunshine and sand makes you feel.  Oddly, Jimmy Buffett brought us closer.  On long trips we would blare him in the car, making a game out of his ballads...Like... Who could list all the items he liked on his cheeseburger from "Cheeseburger in Paradise", or the "stuff" in "This Hotel Room".We also loved to see who could recite "God's own Drunk" verbatim.

He was the first concert I went to with David chaperoning me and my cousin Kara.  I remember listening to the words of Margaritaville, and wondering what in the world they were and why you would need a shaker of salt. I went to his summer concert every summer after that , usually surrounded by my buddies. Sadly, time took a hold of me and I quickly found out what Margaritas were.  My senior year, in grand style getting ready for the concert, I decided to have a couple of those great drinks..  While walking into the concert I was approached by a policeman , escorted off he premises and thrown in jail for public display of drunkenness.  I was really too inebriated to remember the experience (except for the many songs we sang loudly in the cell) but I do know it was a humiliating one.  I had some great companions that forfeited the concert and raised up enough money to bail me out, around 1am.  The next day, I begged my brother Richard not to tell my father.  He found great satisfaction in holding that over my head all summer long, and every night at dinner sang"Swing Low, Sweet Chariot", a song that symbolized wanting to be free from bondage and was often sung by inmates.   Although Dad sometimes asked why he was singing that song, to Richards loyal credit, he never did  tell him- I did finally tell him, years later.

Jimmy Buffett weaved his way into our family life regularly. Our beloved Labrador's were named after him.  My Chocolate lab was named Buffett and my black lab was named "Spooner", the name of an old hound dog in one of his songs.  Through the years, David continued to love him.  His senior year he used a family favorite, "He Went to Paris" as his yearbook quote.

        " He went to Paris, looking for answers to questions that bothered him so.
         He was impressive, young and aggressive, saving the world on his own.
         But the warm summer breezes and French wine and cheeses, 
         put his ambition at bay
         And the summers and winters, scattered like splinters,
         And four or five years slipped away..."

David graduated from UVa shortly after my mom's death and proceeded to head to France as the gentleman did in the song.  He often sent me postcards in college with quotes from Jimmy Buffett on them, such as "If we couldn't laugh we would all go insane" .  My favorites was, "The weather is here, I wish you were beautiful".  That was all he wrote on the card, and I saved it to this day. It still makes me laugh.

When I met Brock he was not a fan.  He associated his radio hits for what he sang and was not all too impressed with "Fins" and "Volcano".  But a transformation was made and he has been known to play some of his songs over and over again. On summer nights we have danced under the Magnolia Trees to "Stars fell on Alabama"

       "I never planned in my imagination, a situation, so heavenly.
        A fairyland, that no one else can enter, and in the center,
        just you and me, dear.
        My heart beats like a hammer, my arms wrapped round you tight,
        and stars fell on Alabama last night..."

When David died several years ago we found it only appropriate to have the song "He went to Paris" played at his service.  And I ended my Eulogy with a quote from that song that seemed perfectly fitting.

         "Some of it's magic, some of it's tragic
          But he had a great life all the way"

With the boys I am afraid that the radio station of choice is 20 on 20 XM.  We are often cruising down the street with the radio blaring to Lady Gaga, Kanye West or Eminem.  But I have managed to intertwine a little Jimmy in there and find great satisfaction when I hear them arguing about which Jimmy Buffett song is their favorite.  Oh, they would make my family proud!

I am a long way away from the girl arrested at the concert 23 years ago. And though I can laugh and enjoy songs such as "My head hurts, my feet stink and I don't love Jesus"  his songs mean more to me than parties and hangovers.  His songs tell my life story, full of mishaps and heartaches, tragedies and laughter.  His words keep me connected to people who have long left this "big round ball". In the short time we were given, he brought my family together, and that is a gift that will forever be appreciated.                    

One Word Only

I am a sucker for these things...They seem sort of egotistical... I mean do you really care where my cell phone is or what my dream last night was? But I enjoy hearing ramdom thoughts of other people's, so I will share mine. These are one word descriptions, which I find very hard to do. And I failed miserably on a few.


The picture above is my favorite vacation place and my favorite place to eat where I drink my favorite drink...


1. Where is your cell phone? car

2. Your significant other? rock

3. Your hair? crazy

4. Your mother? sad

5. Your father? inspirational

6. Your favorite thing? home

7. Your dream last night? highschool

8. Your favorite drink? Grande one sweet n low latte

9. Your dream/goal? attained

10. What room you are in? bedroom

11. Your hobby? dogs

12. Your fear? separation

13. Where do you want to be in 6 years? With 3 teenagers? SANE!!!

14. Where were you last night? happy

15. Wish list item? Spring

16. Where you grew up? Charlotte

17. Last thing you did? baseball

18. What are you wearing? jeans, always jeans

19. Your TV? on

20. Your pets? many

21. Friends? family

22. Your life? bumpy

23. Your mood? remarkable

24. Missing some one? painfully

25. Car? taxi

26 Something you're not wearing? hat

27 Your favorite vacation spot? Kiawah. Always has been, always will be.

28. Your favorite color? Green

29 When is the last time you laughed? this morning

30. Last time you cried? yesterday

31. Favorite day of the year? First day of Summer

32. One place that I go to over and over. grocery store

33. Favorite sport? all sports

34. My favorite place to eat? Kiawah porch

35. Spontaneous? I used to be much more so before old age hit.

Sweet Sweet Travis

Travis, aka Juicy, Hicks.  7 years ago he quietly snuck in, snuggled in as close as he could to my heart and decided to stay for a while. At that time, Travis lived across the street from Brock's office. He comes from a torn apart family, his father unknown, his mother a drug addict with mental problems and brothers and sisters in and out of jail.  But something about Travis exudes goodness and love. He has a quiet nature about him that turns playful and jovial when he knows you and trusts you. 

Over the past years we became a safe spot for Travis.  We wanted to be a place he could come if things were too tough at home, or quite frankly, if the only spot at home was a floor to sleep on.  He could stay with us as long as he was making the right decisions, in school and in life. Life is hard for him.  He is surrounded by family and friends that are making wrong choices and if caught in a vulnerable moment, could bring him down as well.  Travis has a soul that wants to do the right things but a heart that connects him to his family. He loves everyone with everything he has and will give you all he has as well.

For a couple years Travis moved down to South Carolina to live with his aunt and finish high school.  He thrived down there, and was the first in his family to graduate!  The day after graduation he packed his things up, came back to Asheville and moved in with us.  WHAT A BLESSING HE IS!!!!!   Everywhere we go the Travis Hicks fan club gets bigger and bigger due to his sweet demeanor and playful ways.  Fletcher, Hugh and Cooper absorb every minute they have with him and when he cannot be with us the house feels empty.  Now don't get me wrong, having a teenager in the house has surely had its trials, and I feel that God paved the way of teenagedom through Travis. We have certainly had to have the "heart to hearts" and even have had a car wrecked by him over the months. But the power of the love I feel for him is simply overwhelming.

This past week he let me know that he was going to move to Atlanta and live with his uncle, who is a healthy and trustworthy man.   It seems that the love he felt for his family here was taken advantage of, and no matter how hard he would work, they would find a way to manipulate him to pay for this and that until his paycheck was down to nothing.  He felt he had to leave town and get away from the negativity and pull of his family in order to make something of himself.

At dinner last night, while the children were pounding him with questions after questions about his move, holding back my tears I told them that I would prefer to talk about something else.  Well, kids being kids, they continued to ask Travis different questions and right there I burst into tears enough to silence the table (trust me, that is quite a feat). Though I am happy he is making a wise choice, my heart is hurting.  My oldest son is leaving the roost.  And I guess God is paving the way for that step as well.  In one week my home will be less one child and my heart will ache more that it does just anticipating the day.  But this family will always have a place for him.

Extraordinary in ordinary things

There was a time in my life, actually the majority of my life, that ordinary was a word that appalled me. Who in their right mind strives for ordinary? It is boring, unappealing and simple.

Yet being someone extraordinary meant I had made something of my life. My definition of extraordinary would differ from many people, but at its core was the same desire. I never strived to win the Noble Peace Prize, or taking an idea like Facebook and running with it... Yet I did strive to stand out. I wanted to be the best dressed. I wanted to be the prettiest. I wanted to be the best athlete. I wanted to be noticed. To be honest, I think that is why I took to drinking at such a young age. The drinking uninhibited me and helped push me to grab the most popular vote. I NEEDED to be special, significant.

Getting married and having children changed my priorities, but not my hunger to be extraordinary. I wanted my children to be the cutest and best dressed. They needed to be the gifted athletes. Not only was my worth tallied by how impressed you were with my house, it was always in need of new additions or decorations. We needed to keep up with the Smith's and know everything about them. My weekends were spent heading out to another big event eerily similar to the last one, leaving my children with the well known babysitter. And the following morning was spent gossiping about the Smiths', judging every outfit that was worn, every word that was said, and ALWAYS the question, "Can you believe so and so did that???"

Was I actually extraordinary? No. Hollow? Absolutely. I was sustaining myself solely on peoples’ impressions and opinions, never grasping how fleeting and unreliable those are.

It was not until a couple of years ago that I began to open my eyes to the emptiness of the life that we were leading. It was very painful to tear the thick skin away from our bodies. There is a scene in C.S. Lewis’s Voyage of the Dawn Treader symbolizes the shedding perfectly. Eunice is a boy who was transformed into a dragon, and had tried over and over to shed his scales in order to be a boy again. But in every attempt, the scales fell to the ground only to quickly grow back. Eventually Eunice turned to Aslan, the lion and King of the land, out of desperation.

“Then the Lion said… ‘You will have to let me undress you’
I was afraid of his claws, I can tell you, but I was pretty nearly desperate now. So I just lay flat down on my back to let him do it.
“The very first tear he made was so deep that I thought it had gone right into my heart. And when he began pulling the skin off, it hurt worse than anything I have ever felt. The only thing that made be able to bear it was just the pleasure of feeling the stuff peel off…It hurts like a billy, but it is such fun to see it coming away,
… Well he pulled the beastly stuff right off-just as I thought I had done it myself the other three times, only they hadn’t hurt. And there it was lying on the grass: only ever so much thicker, and darker and more knobbly- looking than the others had been. And there was I as smooth skin and soft as a peeled switch and smaller than I had been.”

For both me and Brock, it was a long and painful process to “peel our skin back”. We still struggle daily to live in the Way, but it becomes more woven in with study and in the honesty of friends. Our esteem now comes from our relationship with the Lord not in things of this world.

When Jesus was born, he was delivered in a manger. Not the nicest suite in the hospital, but in a trough surrounded by animals and unpleasant smells. There was no room in the Inn for these unknowns. He was the son of a carpenter and a laborer himself. And when he travelled to spread The Word, he was ORDINARY. He was not attractive to the eyes, he was not dressed well and certainly he wore no crown on his head.

Isaiah 53:2-5


He had no beauty or majesty to attract us to him,
nothing in his appearance that we should desire him.
3 He was despised and rejected by mankind,
a man of suffering, and familiar with pain.
Like one from whom people hide their faces
he was despised, and we held him in low esteem.

In C.S. Lewis's book, The Screwtape Letters, the devil is training his nephew on how to lure people into his grasp. When the nephew expresses concern that his client converting to Christianity, the Devil smirks and lets him know that new Christians are the most vulnerable! They will go to church, look down the pews and realize how ordinary everyone is. They will then think ,"I did not sign up for ordinary!" And it is then that the devil should roll up his sleeves and begin his work.

A couple years have passed. I now find my joys and fulfillment in what has been in front of me for a long time. I find it in Brock, my husband and my best friend. In my Home, where the three boys, Brock and I share the core of our life; laughter, love and intimacy. No longer is it a place of pride. At the ball fields where I go to relax and find peace in the boys energy and solace in friends. No tackle or homerun can improve on their greatness in my heart. The ball fields are also where my friends are. Simple, ordinary friends, who love me and love my children. Don't get me wrong, all of these "simple" friends do extraordinary things- but the core is utter simplicity, without priorities out of whack. And lastly, Church is now a daily event scattered around town and in homes, but more importantly in my heart. On Wednesdays we share fellowshipwith an eclectic group of homeless and businessmen at Haywood Street Congregation. Formally, this would have been a place that we attended to check off the list of “doing good for the community”. But now, we can’t miss it. It is where we are all simply brothers and sisters in Christ with one shared desire... To soak up The Word.

I have 5 t-shirts at home that read “Live Simply”. In AA one of the main motto’s to staying sober is Keep It Simple. If you get too complicated you get lost. I have been lost for a long time. I am happy to be on track. Life is in the simple things, I long to thrive in the ordinary.

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!

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.

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.