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)