Pen Pals

Dear Mama,

Just to catch you up.....

Courtney's grandpa was diagnosed with some sort of leukemia. This cancer does not threaten his life, but the medications he requires are ridiculously expensive. Since Court played such a vital role in your fight, I tried to help her out as much as I could when they hosted a benefit for him (Mr. Crumpton).

The kids played while I helped in anyway I could. It was a beautiful day. The only thing more beautiful was the view.

As I looked around, I saw beautiful volunteers working their hearts out. People were going out of their way to help a friend in need.

It was truly a moving experience to be a part of. I think the benefit was a hit, and a few bucks were raised to help Mr. Crumpton with his meds. But more than that, I'm sure the benefit raised his awareness that he doesn't fight this horrible disease alone. He's got a lot of people rooting for him and his family.

Of course, all of these good natured folks made me start thinking back to almost a year ago...

The crew of David's Grocery worked diligently on a steak supper benefit in your honor. I can only reflect back on my memories, because for whatever reason, I don't have any pictures. You had your port put in that morning, so I worried that your attending the event was a bad idea. But YOU....You wouldn't have it any other way. I recall standing there in awe of the crowd that patiently awaited their turn to donate money. I remember some sweet souls sweating and slaving away (on their own time)in that kitchen for their fallen coworker.  It was the FIRST moment since your diagnosis that I realized we were not alone. It was the first time that I had seen even a glimmer of light in those our darkest moments. I will never forget. Never.

Of course that thought, led to your other benefit. I DO have a few pictures of that one.

It was SO hot. But everyone seemed like they didn't mind.

There were volunteers scattered everywhere working hard for our family.

I bet Courtney never thought that on this day, she was inspiring souls like mine to "pay it forward" and to help others when the opportunity presented itself.

I only have this picture of you from the side. I was so worried about you that day. It was too hot for you to be out there. I didn't want to rush you away, but I knew that the heat could be very detrimental for you. You stayed as long as you could. Much longer than you needed to.

Brother Robby was there as he has been every time we needed him. He opened with a beautiful prayer.

Between your two benefits, you were able to pay for your initial health care and medicines (before medicaid kicked in). Because these special people worked so hard for our little family, you were able to pay your bills without worry, buy your meds that medicaid would not cover, put gas in your car, pay for your casket, funeral and your plot and just live comfortably until your passing. We only had to worry about YOU, not how we would survive this disease financially. We will forever be indebted to these wonderful folks.

I DO spend alot of time looking back. Reminiscing. It is the only place I can see you....In my mind or on paper--so I visit there often. I stay there too much.

Our Sunday gatherings have continued to bring us together each week.

It took some doing, and I still didn't get that "perfect" picture, but I got your favorite little babies to sit still for a picture. I figured you would like this.

Then, after the kids were done posing, we thought it would be funny to take a picture of your OTHER favorite "little" babies.....

What can I say? Michael fits right in with our crazy bunch...

I don't hang out on this side of the camera too much these days. As I struggle to lose the baby weight, I find my self esteem lower than usual.

Mili loves Aunt Amber just as much as Neva and Nori do...Amber got her to belt out her first big chuckle the other day...

I don't know why...But I took a picture of your car at your house, just before Michael drove it away so we could sell it. It was the last night that your car will ever spend at your house. I found this very sad.

I do enjoy our Sunday gatherings SO much. But they are so bittersweet without the sound of your laughter as Ronnie, Josh and Michael goof off and make inappropriate jokes (most of the time you were right in there with them!) and you getting mad at me and Amber as we scold the kids "for no reason". I miss your urging us to eat more and questioning "was it not any good?" when we didn't clean our plates. I just miss YOU. Saturday, I spoke to Amber on the phone. She was headed to her parents house because Josh was out of town at the time. I thought to myself "she ought to spend the night with them", but before I could verbalize it, an overwhelming sting shot through my chest and did not leave as quickly as it came. It lingered for a while. All of a sudden I realized, that when Michael goes out of town, I can no longer come and stay with you. This is something we have done since long before the girls were thought of. It is something I enjoyed so much and as I realized that I would never experience it again, I kicked myself for not doing it more often. Of course, I have been kicking myself alot lately for some reason. Even though I did ALL I could do when you were sick....I sometimes think back to when you were well. We were always hanging out and spending time together--BUT there are other things that bother me. Why didn't I let Neva and Nori spend the night with you more? Why didn't I believe you when you said "they're no trouble". I worried so much about burdening you, that I rarely took you up on all your offers. Now, they can't come stay with you. Why didn't I MAKE you go on vacation with me and Michael every year? You always refused to take off work and said you didn't have the money...I should have made you! Why didn't I help you clean your house more often than I did? You worked so hard and you were so tired that alot of times your sink would fill up with dishes, or your floors would go unvacuumed. Why didn't I help you out more? I should have taken you to your birthplace in Arkansas a LONG time ago. We didn't plan it until right before Papaw grew ill, and it never took place. What took me so long to plan it? You never got to go. WHY were you in your last months of life when you finally got your dream car? Why didn't me and the boys make it happen sooner? Why didn't we go to the mountains before your body was drained from chemo and radiation? I know what you are saying....You said it every time I doubted myself verbally to you....But without you here to SAY it and my ears to HEAR it, the thoughts keep running through my mind and terrorizing my heart...

Sunday, after we ate and the kids were watching cartoons, Michael was napping, Ronnie was on his computer and Amber was off to her parents house, I decided to plunder (my favorite thing) through some old stuff. I wanted to look through that box of my wedding stuff that you have been urging me to get for a while now. Stuck neatly down in there was a letter to me.

I was surprised to find it, but not surprised by it's existence......About 10 or so years ago, I found this letter (while plundering, once again). I began to read it sitting on your bed....But for whatever reason, after a few short sentences, I folded it and put it back where I found it. I never really found out what it was concerning. I felt guilty for snooping. Over the years, it has popped in my mind here and there, but I never asked you about it. I figured it was so old, you decided to throw it away.

You didn't.

I found it Sunday and I cried as I read every word on the 10 1/2 pages. You wrote it as I was about to turn 16. It found it's way into my wedding box so I know it was kept for a reason. There were things written in this letter that you and I have never discussed aloud. There are FEW things that you and I have never discussed aloud. Thirteen years have passed since you put your pen on that paper. But, when I read it, it spoke to my heart in this very moment. After I read your words, I felt as though I had just spoken to you. I felt like you explained to me things (woman to woman, mother to mother) that perhaps I was not ready to read as a 15 year old child.  I was saddened that it ended in the middle of a thought. There was no end. No closing words. But it was so thorough and heartfelt, that I know how it would have ended. Because I was there. I know all things that happened and were said after that letter was written. I was there for most every moment (good or bad) for the last 29 years--and it was a beautiful life.

I know that I could sit and dissect and find things to regret. There are things there. But I take pride in the fact that I have to search long and hard to find them. I devoted my life to you and the rest of my family, and there is NO regret in that.

Your letter was just what I needed. It was you reassuring me and nurturing me, once again....Just as you always have.

 I know it is no coincidence that this letter found it's way into my hands yesterday.

Thank you for writing me back, Mama.

I love you so much.......

Love,

Nikki 

Normal Changes

Dear Mama,

I have had some of my worst days within the last couple weeks. I find myself lower than usual in this very moment. Something is going on with my brain and my heart. My brain is constantly reminded of you because of the never ending ache in my heart. My heart is never relieved of it's excruciating ache because of my thoughts. It's a ongoing process that I absolutely cannot get control of. I also have this over whelming claustrophobic feeling. Like I am completely stuck. It is hard to explain. I feel like I have absolutely no control over what is happening to me and it sometimes makes me want to scream out in frustration. I want to rip the invisible ropes from around my body that are keeping me from doing what I want to do. Then I remember what it is that I want to do....see you...... I remind myself that screaming, kicking, or completely flipping out cannot bring you back. I realize this. I KNOW this. Yet, the "trapped" feeling persists, and the urge to "break free" follows. My internal battle rages on, perhaps undetected by others. Perhaps not. I do not know. I often wonder if this will go on forever. I wonder if it is normal. I wonder what "normal" is anymore.

I have good days. I have alot of them actually. The other day, I cooked a huge meal and my inlaws came to eat. I noticed that after feeding us AND them, I still had a TON of food left. So, I called Ronnie. I always worry about Ronnie. Bachelor life is probably pretty great.....Until you lose someone you love with all your heart and soul. Then, all the fun stuff that accompanies single life is kind of back burnered....and you are left with your pain. His days are filled with his successful career and his buddies....But his nights....They are spent in a house that is rich with memories of you. So I called and asked him to meet me half way to get a plate of supper. He agreed. I actually tore away with only Mili in tow. I enjoyed my ride to meet him. It was quiet. I thought of you. How many times did you meet me to get a plate of food? I would cook and I so desperately wanted you to eat. So I would offer to bring it to you. "I will meet you half way" you would always say. So, we had a spot. And a couple times a week I would meet you there in hopes of fattening you up. I never knew for sure if you ate or just picked at the food. But you ALWAYS bragged on my cooking. And I loved every second of it. Like a praise junkie. I thought of you and as I whirled in beside his truck, I even fantasized about seeing your face behind the wheel. Lots of times, you were driving his truck when you met me.  I pulled up to his truck and we were window to window. I handed him his plate. I could see that he was down, as any sibling could tell about another. I asked "are you okay?" He hesitated for a moment. "Uh...." he paused..."No". His answer was accompanied by a trembling lip. This, killed me. He's so tough. It's hard to see him hurting. I reached my hand out the window. "What's wrong?" I asked sympathetically. He reached for my opened hand. We held hands the rest of the conversation, much like me and you used to. "I'm just having a bad couple of days", he admitted. Then, his next line, broke me down. "Nik, I don't think I can live in that house". He need not explain, mama. I already knew why. Not because it is creepy or haunted. Not because you died there. It's because you lived there. Every room is so full of you. You are all over that house, mama. I know you don't mean to be, but you just are. You're in the kitchen with your feet crossed and propped on the bar reading a Woman's World magazine while chicken and rice cooks on the stove. You're in the dining room urging everyone to "eat up, there's plenty!" You are in the living room, with that old mattress pulled out....You're rolling around and tickling the kids. You're in the laundry room, piling the clothes on the floor and vowing to "fold them later". You're in that bathroom, putting on your makeup in the mirror with a smile on your face. You're in my old bedroom, bragging about finally having a suitable guest room. You're in his room, griping about the volume of his tv. You're rocking in those chairs out front. You're pushing the swings out back. You're grilling a big feast on the patio. You are up and down the hall. Lastly and more so than any other....You are in that room. The room you never occupied until your body grew sick. Your old bedroom. You always slept on the couch, until your body just couldn't handle it....Then you moved into your bedroom. That room is full of you. You're in there watching The Voice. You are in there smoking. You are in there on the computer reading my blog. You're in there laughing. You're in there laying with us. You're in there hurting. You're in there sleeping and dreaming aloud. You're in there getting worse.............You're in there taking your last breath.  What I have never said aloud, to anyone...Is that sometimes I go to your old house. I leave the kids in the car. I walk in. I go down the hall. I walk in your old room. And I stand there and cry. I walk in your closet and I rub the sleeves of your shirts across my face. I smell the leftover scent of your smoke. And for once, it don't bother me. It brings you to me. I feel you there. I feel you all over that house. It is wonderful and sad. But me? I can get a dose of nostalgia and go home. Ronnie is locked in those memories all the time. I listen and totally agree with him as he describes in tears, his difficulty living in that house. I never let go of his hand. I can feel his guilt as he finally admits aloud that it is just too hard. The house is full of you. Full of you in a good way, but even the "good way" is sad. While memories are beautiful and priceless, dwelling in them sure makes it hard to heal. You knew you would die in that house. You knew it, and you worried about Ronnie living there afterwards. You told us that you didn't want him to be unhappy or uncomfortable. You said you were more than fine with it being sold. Like I said earlier, it's not the dying part. It's the living part. That house is so intertwined with our old life and you, that it is making it difficult for Ronnie to move on. First, I told him that you were EVERYWHERE. Not just that house. For me, you are at Wal Mart pushing the buggy with Nori in it. You are at Ryan's, getting you a chicken leg and bribing Neva with chocolate cake. You are in my passenger seat. You are at every turn on the route to Taylorsville. You are in Davids. You are on my couch. You are in the girls' room playing with their toys. You are EVERY WHERE. I wanted him to know this, before any decision was made. Then, I told him what you would want me to tell him: "I support you 100% in whatever decision you make. I just want you to be happy". And that is the truth. We don't need that house to keep our memories. We don't need that house to keep us a family. We just need each other and the values that you instilled in us. I got out of the car and gave him a big hug and kiss. His tears continued to flow. We talked for a while longer, then he left. I cried the whole way home. About him. About the house. About you. I later called Josh to go check on him for me, since he lives so much closer. Ronnie was fine. Full and fine.

In addition to the house possibly being sold (he's thinking about it),  We are putting your little bug up for sale as well. The money will go toward your headstone. That car was something that you wanted your WHOLE life and you finally got it on your birthday last year. It wasn't new. It was actually almost 9 years old at the time.....But it was new to you. And you loved it so much. I feared us spending that money on something frivolous was a bad decision, but more so, if your time line was indeed true, I feared your never owning your dream car ...We had no idea what the future held. But you wanted it and we wanted you to have it. My only regret is that you didn't get to drive it and enjoy it more than you did...Remember that day on your porch? You told me not to keep that car for the memory. You knew I would have trouble selling it. I promised you we would. Now, as we clean it up and assess it's value to sell, it is yet another thing that is changing.

Changes are happening at such a rapid rate, I feel I cannot keep up. Just over a year ago, I led a "normal" life. Now, I question whether normalcy truly exists or falls into the same category as Santa Claus. Is it just a figment of our imagination that is referenced occasionally to make people think or behave a certain way?

Perhaps, 4o is the new 20, Neon is the new black, and abnormal is the new norm.

Either way, I miss you....Wish you were here to guide us through all of this difficulty as you have done our entire lives. I hope you are proud of us and the decisions we are making. I love you.

Love,

Nikki