Bette's Journal

Transitioning to new location for Bette's Journal

2010-04-01T14:35:00.001-04:00

For several technical reasons, I am going to move this blog across the blogosphere -- a few of my older posts will be copied over, and all new ones will be posted there from today.

Visit me there? www.bettesjournal.wordpress.com.

And visit my other blogs, too, listed on that site. I hope you will.

Experiment drawing to a close

2010-01-19T15:48:00.002-05:00

The experiment of republic-style government in America is being closed down, I think. We have had over 200 years of it now. We should have had it right by now, but in these last few years we seem to have made a mess of it. I think we are seeing it end before our very eyes.

The first government was established in the Garden when, after the fall, God put Adam in charge of the family unit. He was assigned to be the decision-maker. By the time of Moses, a multi-layered organizational structure was needed to help handle those decisions.

Then came the day that Israel demanded a different form of government and God let them have it. They wanted a king, not a priest. Of course, that didn't work out too well...

Over the thousands of years of human history many forms of governing have been tried: dictatorships, monarchies, republics and everything in between. In some eras and some parts of the world, years of anarchy separated these governmental forms.

Certain types seem to outlast others, their longevity depending on many factors. The culture. The societal structure. Character, personality and intelligence, education, wisdom, determination and zeal of leaders. Number of advisors. Number of subjects. Wealth or lack of natural and human resources.

Some forms don't last. Government by committee doesn't last. Benevolent dictatorship or monarchy last longer. But few nation-wide governmental experiments last more than a couple of hundred years, and ours may have run its course. America doesn't resemble the country I grew up in.

What's next? Socialism? That's been tried multiple times elsewhere and failed each time. Humans who can never be perfect and don't really love their fellow man claim it's just never been done right. But like every other imperfect human they won't be able to keep their fingers out of the public till. That try will fail too.

We'll see. Whoever it is that chooses, and I believe somebody is out there doing the choosing, is watching this American experiment wind down. I'm interested to see what develops over the next decade.

Christmas

2010-01-02T14:30:00.002-05:00

I didn't put up any Christmas decorations this year, only scotch taped the cards I received to the inside of my front door as usual. There weren't as many cards this year as last, and a number of those were political... photos of the candidate with his family mostly. A couple of family cards were photos also, which I sort of like since I don't see these people very often. Only a small few were even Christ-centered this year.

I didn't send any cards, didn't send a newsletter, didn't send an email blast. Somehow it didn't seem like a time for celebrating. I sent a check to my grandson Erik for his new baby, sent subscriptions to the Smithsonian magazine to my children and brother, but other than that - no presents, either. I did receive a couple of small gifts from my daughter Shelby, and bought myself some books. Thanksgiving and Christmas lunches were spent with Shelby and her father, who is in poor health. Shelby and I went to a couple of movies.

A strange sort of atmosphere seems to have enveloped my mind over the last few months, almost like waiting for the other shoe to fall. My spirit seems to be listening for a sound, a signal. I read a lot of international news, reading items from Jerusalem and Tehran and noting articles never reported by the American press.

Much of 2009 has been an odd season for me and 2010 may be a continuation of that, who knows. For now I'm glad the holidays are over, and despite not really celebrating the modern-day Christmas I do celebrate the fact and presence of Jesus in my life.

I think I will transition this blog from remembrances of Tim into more of a "journey" journal. We'll see...

No More Night

2009-12-17T17:47:00.002-05:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6vX3HHtytDo

Happy heavenly birthday, honey!

One more Tanner reunion

2009-11-02T15:48:00.002-05:00

I drove down to Hemingway the first Sunday in October to attend the Tanner Reunion one more time. Not for the last time, I hope, but there were only about 25 people there. Although I had taken my camera, I decided not to take any photos, choosing to spend my time talking with people instead. I did take the roll, although I didn't take any minutes.

Mae talked about the family heritage of faith, especially the faith of her parents, similar to the devotion she gave at last year's reunion. Several other people added stories about their own families and faith.

Sam and Bryan were there, Olivia was not. Neither were Dale and Jonathan. Neither were a host of other Tanner relatives of Tim's - but the ones who did come seemed to enjoy being there and the food was good as usual. Mae and Paul were there, despite the fact that their health is not great and driving so far is a strain on them these days. They had driven down a day or two earlier and stayed at the farm.

The place was okay, not great but okay. It was held at the VFW building just outside of town, like last year. There's no place for kids to play, very little yard and what there is has mostly weeds, no grass much. It's also very close to the highway and therefore not really safe for children.

But it was available and has enough space, tables, chairs, and kitchen. The people in attendance discussed several options: suspending any further reunions, moving the place, or moving the date. Those present agreed to leave things as is for another year, same place, same day and date. I thought attendance might be better on a Saturday, but I didn't vote one way or the other.

Anyway, it was good to see people and talk for an hour or two, particularly Sam and Bryan. We sat together for lunch and talked a few minutes about Angie - they don't see her very often at all, even though she is living in the beach house. I hope that situation will improve somehow and she'll become closer to them again one day. It's been a year since I've spoken to her (her choice, not mine) and I really miss her.

I'm glad I went and I'm glad they decided not to stop with the reunions. Betty and Harold plan to have the usual family get together the Saturday after Thanksgiving and it will be down at the farm unless Bryan and Sam decide to host it at McClellanville, which they mentioned doing. I've never been to their house there - it was still under construction when T.C. and Ora Lee died, and that's where they go now for family dinners, etc. I'd like to see it, although that's a pretty long way for me to drive, there and back, for one meal. We'll see.

Suspended

2009-07-31T19:05:00.005-04:00

Adjust. Adapt. Evolve. Change. Flex. How many ways can you say move on? I'm thinking about Tim just as much these days as ever, but when I think about him it's with more calm, more peace, more assurance, more confidence, and even more joy. I think it's time to suspend entries in this blog, at least for now.

I do a lot of praying all during the day but those prayers are usually quick, targeted, specific requests. At night after I go to bed, the praying I do is more conversational, two-way, listening much more than talking. Sometimes it's short, sometimes it's lengthy. That all depends on how sleepy I am.

In the last months those bed-time conversations tend to be about current events and end-time prophecies, plus what heaven is like. Heaven's environment, people, hierarchies, activities, technology, size, and specific geographic and cultural differences between heaven and earth.

I hate falling asleep right in the middle of something fascinating - like the images I got the other night of one block in the city, specifically one skyscraper with no outside walls, all the support in the center core and only "heavy air" panels on the outsides (I don't know what else to call them) preventing things from falling out. The designers and architects and builders and decorators of it all work in that building, and they like it.

I have written some of these things down for my own benefit but not in a blog. I may create a blog for it, though. I prayed and asked the Lord about doing that, whether it was a good idea, advisable or not. He isn't saying no. He's sort of leaving it up to me.

If I actually create a blog for these thoughts, I will put a link to it here.

----------------------------

Okay, I started one. Here's where it is... http://www.speakingofheaven.wordpress.com

Another milestone

2009-06-18T13:38:00.002-04:00

This is what Tim's office looked like a couple of years ago, Tim and me, his desk and chair, Smokey jumping off his desk, the desk covered with things Tim used every day including his yellow talking book machine plus green boxes full of tapes.

Hidden behind Smokey on top of the desk are two telephones and several tape recorders containing Tim's "Roladex" of phone numbers and many notes about people and places and things to do.

You can see the pictures on the wall, a filing cabinet and Tim's much-used walker - and there but unseen in this shot is also a comfortable arm chair to the side of the desk. All in all, this room was a welcoming environment for visitors to sit and talk.

It doesn't look much like this any more. Smokey died a year after Tim did and I eventually donated the desk and chair to my son-in-law's brother. A small antique secretary that once belonged to my mother now occupies that spot. There's no desk chair or armchair, just photos of Tim's grandchildren on top of the little desk, plus several pot plants.

The photos are still on the wall, although I may have moved a couple of them around. The filing cabinet is still there too, and along another wall is the large blond oak entertainment center with Tim's reel-to-reel, tape deck, 8-track tape player, and multitude of tapes, cords and paraphernalia inside and on top of it.

No one in the family was interested in that large cabinet, although it was especially made for Tim long before we met and is still in excellent condition. I guess it's just a little too big for most living rooms or dens these days.

June 15th was the one year anniversary of Ora Lee's death, the 2-1/2 year anniversary of Tim's death. Tim's family had a reunion down at the farm last month, on a day when I had to be in Columbia for a Republican Party event. Angie was there, but without the kids - she and Vernie are separated and he didn't want her to take the children to the farm that day for some reason.

I was so sorry about the conflict in the date, I really would have loved to see everyone. I haven't seen most of them since Ora Lee's funeral and only occasionally talk to Betty Gosnell or Bryan on the phone. I miss them.

And I miss Ora Lee. I still miss Tim very much too, but now when I think about the two of them, it's with images of them being busy and productive where they are, spending time with each other and Theron and T.C. and Ninie and so many others.

In a way, getting past June 15th is like passing another milestone. As if I can draw a deep, mostly pain-free breath for the first time in 2-1/2 years. That's a good thing.

Another dimension, aka heaven

2009-06-01T18:18:00.007-04:00

Nearly a year has gone by since Tim's nephew T.C. Cox was killed in a car wreck (June 7), and then his grandmother, Tim's mom Ora Lee Cox died a week later (June 15).

I think about both of them frequently, not quite as often as I think about Tim, and when I do it's with curiosity, not grief. How has this year been for the both of them? What have they learned? Who have they seen, talked to, visited with, worked with? What do they look like? I think I know that one - they look like mature adults, strong and healthy. Not too young, not too old.

Here's some of what I think, from impressions I receive whenever I meditate in prayer about them and their new habitat.

T.C. is good with younger children, he always was and still is. He can share his own experiences, helping them get to know Jesus, Father God and Holy Spirit better. He can help mentor the younger newcomers and help them adjust to being without parents - although there are a multitude of "foster" parents available, relatives sometimes, who can fill that role.

He can also assist them in learning to use their new capabilities, help with studying and learning the many things they need to know. He can introduce them to other people they need to develop a relationship with. He can show them around, taking them on tours of the many fascinating facilities. He can join them in having fun, too, worshiping and praising and playing and enjoying their new life to the fullest. When I think of T.C., I always think of him smiling and laughing and hugging.

Ora Lee has always been a people person and after spending great quantities of time with her mom and dad, sister and brothers, I have a feeling she looked up everyone she knew who was already there, catching up on news with her friends from church and elsewhere, neighbors, cousins, aunts and uncles. I can see her starting a regular gathering - a sharing group - in someone's home. Maybe in her own home, whether that is with Theron or Tim or both of them. Prayer would be her focus, I think.

Tim has been there longer, and his activities have been on my mind for all these months. I see him spending time with his friends, Mike, Steve, Allyn, Ann Poston and Hope Love, as well as a number of other men and women who had been through tough times of sickness or disease like he did. I also see him spending time working in a lab of some sort, using new technologies, new information and education and training for his new assignments.

Other times I see him exploring mountains and valleys and plains, swimming in lakes and rivers, flying in little one-man aircraft. Sometimes I see him studying in archives and libraries, or sitting in classes indoors and outdoors and asking many questions. I see him wanting to learn and share what he's learned with others. And I see him playing several brass instruments as well as singing with a group of men, worshiping God in small chapels and large auditoriums and wide-open valleys.

Sometimes it's hard for me to be satisfied here on earth, I feel like they are accomplishing so much in their dimension and I'm accomplishing so little in mine.

As a side note - I don't see heaven as being far away, "up" or any specific direction, actually. I see it as being other. Another. Another dimension, maybe occupying the same space that the planet earth occupies, or space right next to it, for all we know.

If we could see how much space there was between the atoms and molecules in a chair, we'd never sit on one. There is more empty space than there is solid matter. So there's plenty of room for more than one existence, more than one real reality to occupy time and space together. It's not really important, but it is an interesting concept.

A lot of people are sad when someone they love "dies," as if once the loved one leaves this planet, there is no chance of them ever being happy or fulfilled or excited ever again. What a limited vision! The most true happy, fulfilled, excited life comes when we're settled in our new habitat, learning and working in our new assignment after we leave this planet.

So - Happy anniversary, T.C. and Ora Lee. Hope you have a party! I know you're certainly not sad, and we'll try not to be selfishly sad ourselves.

A change of plans

2009-04-20T19:08:00.003-04:00

I didn't play for Maundy Thursday service - a meeting was called that I needed to attend. And I didn't drive to the beach on Easter - I still felt tired from being achy, feverish and coughy earlier in the week. So I called Bryan, explained about still recovering from the flu, then we talked for a while about Angie.

Easter I went to Trinity's 11:00 AM service. The service was mostly good but Matt seems to have adopted the Presbyterian "party line." Disappointing, to say the least.

I drove down to Cherry Grove Thursday morning and spent that day, night, and most of Friday with Harold, Mary Lois and Jesse in their nice rented condo. It was so peaceful and calm there, the beach quiet and clean. Thursday afternoon we walked on the beach a while, ate a light lunch, then all of us drove to several stores including all the way to Coastal Grand Mall so Mary Lois could shop for Jesse a new navy blue blazer. After she finally found one at Dillards that fit him, we drove all the way back to Cherry Grove and ate a delicious supper at Olive Garden.

Friday morning Mary Lois and I walked on the beach again, then we all went and played miniature golf, ate lunch at Applebee's and came back to the condo. I watched a little TV while reading a book, while Harold and Mary Lois and Jesse went to look at and photograph a huge sand sculpture close by (a whale and a huge tortoise, very well done). About 4:00 I packed up and came home, as they were expecting Jesse's other grandparents to come up from Charleston for the night. Traffic was heavy and it took a good two hours to get home with no stops on the way.

Saturday I was tired and a little sunburned from walking on the beach without sunscreen. Sunday morning after breakfast I went back to bed and stayed there until after 11:00, reading the newspapers and watching the news.

Today has been an odd sort of day for me. I didn't feel like talking to anyone much, just went to the ships office and did my work, came home for lunch, returned to the ships office and worked a little more. I was polite, spoke to everyone, just didn't have much to say.

I miss Tim. I could talk to him about the way I'm feeling and he would understand. As I thought about all that this afternoon, "Write Write Write" is what I heard in my head, so I am. I'm writing. Maybe this blog is not the best place, but Tim always encouraged me to write, too.

Several subjects for Bible study came to me, as I was meditating. Such as the story of the Prodigal Son. Not the faithful father character, not the prodigal son, not his resentful older brother. No, instead consider the servant who killed the fatted calf. Hmmm.

Second - how many soldiers, when confronted with an enemy, call up the general to come shoot that enemy? That's the way many people pray... I've written about that before, but it's still appropriate.

Then there are all those "If" statements in the Bible. Some things God promises are conditional. Sometimes it IS about me. My response. My obedience. My believing. How many of those "If" statements are there, I wonder? Maybe I'll start looking to see. Doing these Bible studies will help me, they always do.

Easter

2009-04-03T19:38:00.002-04:00

I'm not involved in any of the Easter program at church this year -- except for playing for the Maundy Thursday night service, just a couple of hymns.

So this year I'm going to drive down to the beach and attend the Easter Sunday service at Belin United Methodist Church with (Tim's brother) Bryan, Sam and Olivia Cox, and whoever else in the family is there. Sam's parents, her brother and his wife I think all go to that church, so it should be a good day.

Bella's 7th birthday falls on Easter this year. Vernie is now one of my Facebook friends, so I sent him an email asking if they were planning a special party or anything for her. Also, if there was a chance I could see him and/or Angie and the kids while I'm there. I haven't heard anything definite back on that. It would be great to see them all while I'm there.

I had thought about going up to old Salem (Winston-Salem, NC) to the sunrise service there. Tim and I went to that many years ago, when his Uncle Jay was pastor of Home Moravian Church. It was a fascinating service, with brass bands playing antiphonally, marching from all corners of the old historic district to converge together on the grounds of the cemetery. I'll write about that another time, but it was a great day, a spiritually uplifting and joy-filled day.

I decided not to drive all the way up to Salem, choosing rather to spend the day with Tim's family who I have not seen in a long time now. It will soon be the year anniversary of T.C.'s and Ora Lee's death (in June), and I haven't seen T.C.'s grave site, there in the cemetery on the grounds of the church. I think Easter would be an appropriate time to do that. Whenever I think about T.C., I can see him strong and tall in my mind, playing with and teaching small children, smiling and laughing. It's a good image.

Love that elephant!

2009-03-18T10:23:00.003-04:00

The last time Tim and I attended our precinct meeting, there was next to nobody there, and certainly nothing fun going on.

It was good to see so many people this time, and to have something fun going on with Ellie the Elephant wandering around, hugging everybody and having his photo taken with many of the people there.

Tim would have loved to have his picture taken with me and the elephant, laughing and joking and hugging. I'm sure he was watching, though.

Yesterday was our 25th Engagement Anniversary, and I thought about all the good times we had together over the years attending political events, working with candidates and going to meetings. I know the ones Tim attends these days are even more fun that the ones I'm attending, but I look forward to pitching in and helping out wherever I can in the days ahead. Love those elephants!

Getting back into some things

2009-02-17T18:13:00.002-05:00

Lots of the photos I have are not in digital form. That is, I have actual prints of photographs from the old-style 35 mm. film, taken in the days before digital cameras came out. One of them are of political events going back to the early 1990's, when Tim and I first started working with campaigns. I think I may scan some of them so I can upload a few here and there.

After Tim died I more or less dropped out of working in politics. I did go to one state executive committee meeting in Columbia when Rudy Guiliani and other GOP big-wigs were there, and a couple of other meetings for various candidates around the same time. That was before the SC Presidential Primary.

But it's nearly time for precinct reorganization, something we never missed over the years, and then the Florence County GOP Convention, and then the State Convention. A group of younger Republicans are interested in helping revive the party locally and asked if I would come back and get involved, so I agreed.

Any information or advice I can offer, I'll be glad to give them. They are too new to the process to be discouraged and disillusioned, which means they are still energetic. They remind me of the way Tim and I were, back when we first started working with a few local campaigns. I pray they won't drop out as fast as they dropped in, which is always a worry.

And I pray for myself, too, that every time somebody mentions Tim and how much they thought of him, how much they miss him, it won't do me in. I'm better in that regard but occasionally a comment will still hit my heart and hurt, it feels so strange to be out there by myself.

A new , old resolution

2008-12-30T23:31:00.003-05:00

I will survive this. That is my new year's resolution. It's not really a new one for me, but it's needed again. Because of the circumstances facing me many years ago, I made the resolution that I will survive this. "This" meant loneliness, depression, uncertainty, doubt, anger, grief, fear, exhaustion, lack of money, whatever the situation was at the time.

The key to survival was gritting my teeth, speaking my mind to God, and determining to get through it. Then whether or not I felt like it, whether or not it was done in sincerity or hypocrisy, I chose to praise God. Thank God. Worship God. My heart wasn't full of gratitude, it was full of hurt and bitterness, but I walked around in my bedroom and praised God anyway, even as I told him that I didn't really mean it.

Gradually the depression and self-pity lifted. Gradually the praise became sincere and I could feel something other than sorry for myself. Like repentance. I could ask God to forgive me for holding a grudge, forgive me for not trusting him more, and ask for his help in starting my life over. And of course my life did start over. I did survive.

As 2009 is about to begin, I need to make that resolution again. I still miss Tim so much and it's been two years now. I think about him all during the day, imagining who he's talking to, what he's working on, the kind of day he's having. Some days I feel completely in limbo, just treading water really. I know he wouldn't be pleased with that and I know the Lord isn't pleased with that.

It's time for survival mode again, and that's my new year's resolution.

Anniversaries

2008-12-14T18:30:00.004-05:00

Tomorrow is the second anniversary of Tim's death. Christmas Day would have been our 24th wedding anniversary. And Christmas Eve-Eve (23rd) would have been the 20th anniversary of Tim's double transplant surgery in Minnesota.

Today was harder than most people will ever know for me. It took an extra effort for me to go to Sunday School and church, come home and prepare lunch for myself, chat with a friend who needed something notarized, and talk on the phone with my son for a while.

I wanted to just curl up in bed and maybe watch an old movie, but instead I checked my email and Facebook account and wrote early happy birthday notes to several Facebook pals - tomorrow is their actual birthday.

Never once did I or anyone else mention the date, although I have certainly thought about it a lot in the last few days.

I got a phone call yesterday morning from a woman asking to speak to Timothy. I asked, "May I ask why you're calling?" She said she was calling from the University of Minnesota Transplant registry office. So I told her that Tim died December 15, 2006 and that the Transplant team had been notified about it at that time.

She apologized several times, saying that the "call list" had never been updated. She seemed truly sorry, but we didn't speak any further than that. I have no idea the purpose of the call, but it could have been a fund-raising call since they occasionally do that.

Also yesterday I did donate the clothing to the Hispanic ministry, as well as the Suzuki keyboard that I never use. Annette said that they'd had a break-in at their church building and everything they owned had been stolen, including musical instruments, so they were very glad to get the keyboard. And I was very glad they could use it.

Sally had taken me out to lunch for Christmas, then came back to the condo with me and we chatted for a while. She was still here when Annette came, and she helped carry the items out for Annette. We didn't talk about the date then, either, although we did talk casually about Tim in passing.

Later on Sally emailed me the little story below. It's made the rounds before but it was timely and it certainly reflects the way I feel about dying. Whenever my thoughts go back two years, I can feel Tim and the Lord re-directing my thoughts to the present, to the way things are for him now in heaven, and I make the conscious effort not to look back.

Here's the story...
----------------------
There was a young woman who had been diagnosed with a terminal illness and had been given three months to live. So as she was getting her things "in order," she contacted her pastor and had him come to her house to discuss certain aspects of her final wishes. She told him which songs she wanted sung at the service, what scriptures she would like read, and what outfit she wanted to be buried in.

Everything was in order and the pastor was preparing to leave when the young woman suddenly remembered something very important to her. "There's one more thing," she said excitedly.

"What's that?" came the pastor's reply. "This is very important," the young woman continued. "I want to be buried with a fork in my right hand." The pastor stood looking at the young woman, not knowing quite what to say.

"That surprises you, doesn't it?" the young woman asked. "Well, to be honest, I'm puzzled by the request," said the pastor. The young woman explained. "My grandmother once told me this story, and from there on out, I have always done so. I have also always tried to pass along its message to those I love and those who are in need of encouragement.

"In all my years of attending church socials and potluck dinners, I always remember that when the dishes of the main course were being cleared, someone would inevitably lean over and say, 'Keep your fork.' It was my favorite part because I knew that something better was coming ... like velvety chocolate cake or deep-dish apple pie, something wonderful, with substance!

"So, I just want people to see me there in that casket with a fork in my hand and I want them to wonder, 'What's with the fork?' Then I want you to tell them: "Keep your fork ... the best is yet to come."

The pastor's eyes welled up with tears of joy as he hugged the young woman good-bye. He knew this would be one of the last times he would see her before her death. But he also knew that the young woman had a better grasp of heaven than he did. She had a better grasp of what heaven would be like than many people twice her age, with twice as much experience and knowledge. She KNEW that something better was coming.

At the funeral people were walking by the young woman's casket and they saw the pretty dress she was wearing and the fork placed in her right hand. Over and over, the pastor heard the question "What's with the fork?" And over and over he smiled.

During his message, the pastor told the people of the conversation he had with the young woman shortly before she died. He also told them about the fork and about what it symbolized to her.

The pastor told the people how he could not stop thinking about the fork and told them that they probably would not be able to stop thinking about it either. He was right. So the next time you reach down for your fork, let it remind you ever so gently, that the best is yet to come.

Friends are a very rare jewel, indeed. They make you smile and encourage you to succeed. They lend an ear, they share a word of praise, and they always want to open their hearts to us. Show your friends how much you care. Remember to always be there for them, even when you need them more. For you never know when it may be their time to "Keep your fork."

Cherish the time you have, and the memories you share. Being friends with someone is not an opportunity, but a sweet responsibility. Send this to everyone you consider a FRIEND even if it means sending back to the person who sent it to you. And keep your fork!

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Those are my sentiments, too, so I'm sharing this little story with whoever reads this.

Another step forward

2008-12-07T15:12:00.003-05:00

Christmas time, still reflecting...

I realized one day, looking at the box of Tim's clothes in the bedroom and at his clothes still hanging in the closet, that if I wait much longer to donate them to someone, they won't be usable. Wrinkles will get to be too permanent, material dried out and a bit brittle, that sort of thing. Plus, if I keep looking at them every time I get something of my own out of the closet, I'll just keep hurting myself, afresh and anew. It's time to have them picked up by one of the local ministries.

One time years ago we called the boys' home over in Darlington, after Tim's transplant surgery when he had put on a lot of weight and we had essentially bought him a whole new wardrobe. They were very grateful to get all the shirts and pants, plus sports coats that he couldn't fit into any more. I may call them again.

I haven't seen any of Tim's family now in quite a while. I called and left a message on Angie's voice mail but didn't get a return call. I mailed Liam a birthday present, a book from Toys R Us, no card in it or anything, thinking Angie would probably call before the 11th - Liam will turn 4 years old that day.

While I was at Toys R Us I went ahead and bought both kids Christmas gifts, but I'll wait another week to mail those, this time with a card. I won't be giving any adult Christmas presents this year due to the state of everybody's finances. Hopefully 2009 will be a better year, eventually, and next Christmas we can go back to our normal gift-exchanging routine.

I remember the first Christmas Tim and I were dating, when between the both of us we went to about 20 different parties, some of which were gift-exchanging events. Tim was a member of the American Diabetic Association, the Heart Association, Federation for the Blind, Full Gospel Businessmen, Civitans, plus some other groups in Williamsburg and Florence Counties. Then there were employers (mine), churches, Sunday School classes, political get-togethers, you name it, if it had a party, we went to it.

A lot of the gifts we exchanged were "white elephant" types - give something you already have or something cheap. Some were serious, some were gags, and none cost much if anything. I still have at least one of those - a small casserole dish, hand-painted. I like it and use it once in a while.

At almost all of those parties, we sang traditional Christmas carols and funny children's songs (Up on the Housetop and All I Want for Christmas, for instance, and Jingle Bells). We ate the traditional holiday goodies (sugar-free ones for Tim since he was still diabetic in those days) and enjoyed catching up on news with everybody.

Over the years the numbers of parties dwindled and the groups changed somewhat, but after Tim's transplant he could eat sweets so we still consumed quite a few Christmas calories every year! It will be a much quieter holiday this year, all in all. But with or without presents, with or without high-calorie snacks, the reason for the season is still there.

Thinking, just thinking...

2008-12-01T20:46:00.002-05:00

Today is December 1st, 2008. Nearly two years since Tim died. The past couple of weeks I've had a hard time getting into the "holiday spirit," having to try hard to be cheerful for other people's sake. This Thanksgiving was the first one in my entire life that I did not spend with family, either my own or in-laws, and it wasn't much fun. I went over to Trinity church to eat dinner. The church prepares a full meal for the House of Hope residents (men and women's homes) and the Hispanic ministry, plus singles and elderly couples who don't want to cook for themselves.

I sat with the "other" Betty Cox and her husband S.L., both in their 80's now, and Edna Fludd, age 96, plus Perry Mobley, now 80 years old. He is our interim pastor again - he was our founding pastor, actually, many years ago. His wife Jean was helping out in the kitchen so she came and sat with us only for a few minutes. There was one other "youngster" at our table, a woman who is probably half my age.

It was a strange meal. The food was good, lots of traditional dishes and desserts. There was actually way more food than we needed, since the crowd seemed considerably smaller than had been expected.

Sitting next to Edna, I said little, just listened to comparisons of aches and pains, surgeries past and upcoming. I was remembering years past when Tim and I were surrounded by either his family or mine, enjoying laughter, catching up with news, watching the little kids having a ball. I was wishing I had stayed home and eaten a TV dinner and then feeling a little guilty about that, and tried to be interested in the comments of my table companions.

I gladly gave Edna a ride home, chatting about her health, her neighbors, discovering that she had known Frances Baily for many years - they were neighbors. I explained that Tim and I had known Frances from the Full Gospel Businessmen's Fellowship way back in the 1980's. She told me that Frances had died a couple of years ago, which I hadn't known. That made me even sadder.

I have so much to be thankful for, it's really selfish of me to feel sorry for myself right now. I could have driven down to the farm last Saturday to be with Betty Gosnell, Tim's aunt, her family and whoever else from Tim's family gathered for their usual after-Thanksgiving meal. Bryan, Sam and Olivia were there I know, I haven't heard whether Angie went or not, or Dale and Jon.

But I had promised to practice with Bernie Shick - another 80 or so year old - for him to sing at church Sunday, and I hadn't thought that Betty would have the dinner this year since Ora Lee died. Then it turned out that Ed Clement needed me to play for him to sing at a funeral Saturday afternoon, the grandmother of one of Ed's co-workers. We listened to the Carolina / Clemson football disaster (Clemson won) on the way to the church and back. It was cold and rainy, which didn't help.

But the sun came out today and although it was chilly and windy, the sunshine always makes things seem better, and for that I'm grateful. It was a much better way to start December, and my day needed some brightening.

Painfully poignant

2008-10-25T14:00:00.005-04:00

Happy, sad; public, private. Two photographs of my mother kept popping up in my mind, as I considered whether to enter the upcoming miniatures competition at the Florence Museum. I'm sure daddy took both of them, and they look sort of contemporary to each other.

One shows mama sitting on a street curb in front of a Coca Cola sign, which itself is in front of an old truck. In this one mama is smiling. From the little bit you can see of the building to the left, it was probably a gas station. What she was doing there, whose truck it was, why the truck door was standing open - who knows.

The other photo shows her sitting at her bedroom dresser, her reflection showing in the mirror. In this one she is not smiling. It may have been a Saturday morning, since she isn't wearing more dressy type clothes for her work in an office, and she doesn't have her makeup or earrings on.

I sort of remember the apartment we were living in where that one was taken. I may be completely wrong about the location, but I think it's the apartment house on Warley Street, upstairs. The house is still there but the staircase has been moved - it used to run sideways, angled from top left to bottom right across the front of the house, now it runs straight down from the center of the second floor landing.

So what does this have to do with Tim? In order to find those photos, I had to go through a large pasteboard box full of other boxes, and pictures of Tim and his family were on top. I nearly stopped then and there, the emotions attached to those images were still so raw. But I didn't, I gritted my teeth, lifted all the "wrong" boxes out, finally found the "right" box - on the bottom, of course - and tried to re-focus.

Tim would approve of my wanting to do something special with mama's pictures, I think. Daddy would probably approve, too. I'm not too sure mama would, at least not the sad one. She probably didn't want daddy to take that one considering she doesn't have her "face on." (That is, she hasn't put her makeup on for the day yet.)

I'm going to work a little with these photos this weekend. I need to check if they would be admissible to the Museum show since I myself didn't shoot them, but whether they are or not I think I'll print and frame these two. I can certainly sympathize / empathize with the way mama was feeling in each.

Sparse reunion

2008-10-05T17:53:00.003-04:00

I went to the Tanner reunion, stopping at Bo Jangles for a box of chicken on the way. When I got there, I realized that the building doesn't actually say American Legion anywhere (on the outside), just the name of a person and "Post" - but it was in the right place, and it turned out to be the right building.

Only 23 people showed up, and three of those were small children belonging to Tod Gardner. So many were absent that most of the tables weren't really necessary at all. And there was way too much food - of the 20-piece chicken box I took, only 4 or 5 pieces were eaten. I put what was left in the freezer when I got home.

Neither Dale or Bryan were there. Angie wasn't there. All four of Ruth E's sons were there, but only one brought his wife, and that was Ed - his wife Gertrude hasn't been to a reunion in a long time, but she made a special effort to attend, although she uses a wheelchair these days. Frances Tisdale didn't attend and I missed her. None of the Lane family were there.

Morgan Ruppe and his son John decided at the last minute to come, after a friend (Louise) offered to drive them. Morgan is thin and much grayer than the last time I saw him, and he seems a bit frail. His memory isn't as sharp either, and Louise said it's because of his heart attacks. That happened to Theron and to Tim after they had heart attacks, too - some short-term memory seemed to be affected. It was good to see Morgan, though, and I'm glad he made the effort.

Estelle, Denise and David, and Carolyn were there. Johnny Tanner was there and he had brought his fiddle - no piano for me to play.

Johnny did pretty good, even though he's still learning to play - He played for us to sing Faith of Our Fathers. Mae brought a devotion about her father's faith, which was very interesting. He was known to be able to stop bleeding, and to heal thrush. People would come from all around the area for him to pray for them. Remarkable.

The same officers were elected and the place will be the same next year. There's no playground for kids which is a drawback, but the place was clean and neat and big enough, considering. No piano, no microwave, but the air conditioner worked fine.

Maybe next year more people will be there. I didn't take pictures this year, which I might regret later on, but I enjoyed sitting with Ruth E's family and talking to them a bit. All in all, I'm glad I went.

Tanner reunion time

2008-09-23T17:13:00.005-04:00

Last year I just wasn't up to attending the Tanner family reunion - that's Ora Lee's family - but this year I look forward to it.

The old historic Indiantown School, the place it had been held for some years, has been severely vandalized recently. Thieves had already stolen the air conditioners, and now they've also stolen the wiring! Whoever owns the building probably won't ever repair those things, so the place for the reunion has to be different. The American Legion hall close to Hemingway has been selected, and it's convenient (on the same highway) and new, with all the modern conveniences you need for a lunch-time reunion. I sent out the notices last week, and I sure hope people will come.

Tim loved the Tanner reunion. He called everybody he could each year, caught up on all the news and encouraged folks to come. He enjoyed the hugs, the laughter, and of course the food. But mostly it was the people, his mom, his brothers, niece and nephews, daughter, grand-kids, cousins and aunts and uncles, in-laws and all. Tim was the linchpin, really, the hub of the wheel for the family. People came because Tim asked them to. They came to see him in person, to joke with him, gossip with him, love and be loved by him. Will they come now that he's gone? I don't know.

The picture above is from the 2006 reunion, and I have a framed copy of it on the wall in front of my desk. He's talking and laughing with his cousin Frances Tisdale, and it's one of my very favorite photographs of him. Frances would come only to see and talk to Tim, not to eat lunch or really visit with many other people, and then she would leave. I hope she'll come this year so I can tell her again how much he enjoyed those meetings, those hugs and that laughter.

As I think about all the Tanner family members who have died the last few years, I realize that the reunion they can have in heaven will soon be as large as the one we'll have here on earth! And I bet they have more fun at theirs. But we need to connect with family. We really NEED to connect with family, and I sure hope many will make the effort and come this year.

Grief creeps up

2008-09-11T10:26:00.003-04:00

Once in a while I will be doing something ordinary, not new or unusual, and grief creeps up on me. Painful - though not debilitating like it used to be.

I may be walking around in the grocery store, like last week when I passed a shelf of bagels and realized that I never buy those any more. Tim and I ate bagels with cream cheese for breakfast many mornings, but I don't do that now. I stick to cereal or waffles. Why did it hurt? We also ate cereals and waffles for breakfast quite often, but they don't bother me to buy, like bagels do. That's just another one of those odd things that affect me sometimes.

Driving down the street, any street, where Tim and I used to drive together, can trigger a spasm of grief. I want him in the car with me again, talking about anything, just the two of us again.

I pass Bicycle World and remember Tim and me stopping there to get a new inner tube for a wheelchair tire. He would usually wait for me in the car, although once in a long while he might want to go inside and speak to Phil, catch up on news and make small talk.

Now that I have given away Tim's desk and desk chair, I have a little more floor space in the sun room that used to be his office. I can sit in the living room, in my arm chair with my feet up, and look into that room, and it doesn't always cause a twinge of sadness nowadays. Sometimes, but not always.

I still have Tim's file cabinet in there topped with photos of Angie and the kids, plus his large custom-made sound system cabinet full of tapes, tape player, reel-to-reel, drawers full of wires and cords in that room, and it's topped with elephants and assorted other stuff. There's even an 8-track player and a case full of Elvis 8-tracks up there with the elephants.

On the wall there's still Tim's framed poster that says "Don't pray for an easy life, pray to be a strong person." Someone gave the poster to me long before Tim and I met, but it was so appropriate for him that I hung it over his desk, no matter whether we were in the office building downtown or here at the condo. It's still right where it was, there on the wall. No, he didn't have an easy life. Yes, he was a strong person!

The little oak desk that had belonged to my mother, the antique secretary with the pull-out leaf and drawer, that's what I put in the spot where Tim's big oak desk used to be. One of the dining room chairs is pulled up to that little desk, in case I ever want to sit there. I probably won't, but it makes it possible, anyway. More Angie, Bella and Liam pictures top the little desk, just like they did on Tim's big desk. Every time I see one of those photos I say a prayer for them and wish I could see them more often.

So that room still looks okay, still like an office, and that's where I put several pot plants. They seem to thrive with all the sunlight, as long as I remember to water them. But even watering those plants can bring on a momentary sadness, missing Tim so very much, wishing his desk was back in its place and he was back in his chair, talking on the phone or listening to one of his books on tape.

The feeling goes away as I hear those inner reminders of how wonderful a life Tim has now, how beautiful, busy and fulfilling. I visualize him with his mom and dad, T.C., Ninie, Mike and Allyn, and so many others, and I mentally shake myself off. Until next time.

And while the memories come often, and I'm really grateful for them, the grief and pain and sadness don't accompany them nearly as much these days. I'm grateful for that too.

The beach - it's there...

2008-08-17T13:22:00.004-04:00

I didn't see the ocean during my trip to the beach several Saturdays ago, although thinking back, I wish I had taken the time to park at the pier and walk out on it. Although it was a hot day and there were still a lot of people everywhere, I would have enjoyed it. But I didn't arrive early enough to do it before lunch and afterwards I just wanted to head home. I didn't have my camera with me, having decided at the last minute to leave it at home.

The beach house looks unkempt - no-one was home, unfortunately, and without a key I couldn't look into the bottom apartment. The grounds were okay except for two dilapidated charcoal grills and other assorted junk that needs to be hauled away. I could see only in one window but it was a bathroom and didn't give me any view into other rooms. With some screens missing and several broken places on the vinyl siding, all in all the house looks its age (built in the 1950's).

On either side and across the street the old houses have been replaced with new two or three-story houses up on stilts, some painted peculiar colors. One, maybe more, have a swimming pool in the back yard. Our house is probably the last of the old ones and it sticks out like a sore thumb on that block.

As I was driving up Vista Drive, I saw few cars and fewer people and the houses didn't look occupied. That jived with what I found online when I was checking on vacation rentals and also with what Bryan told me on the phone. With the economy down right now few vacation homes are being rented on a regular basis. It wouldn't be feasible to try to turn our beach house into a vacation rental, better to keep it on a long-term lease basis. But since the bottom apartment still lacks a few repairs and painting, it's empty right now. Bryan had said he hoped to get it ready to rent again in a few weeks. I hope so too.

After leaving the beach house I drove over to Custom Outdoor Furniture and talked to Sam's mom Jane, brother Greg and sister-in-law Teresa while they were eating lunch. Sam called from home while I was there and I talked to her a few minutes, checking on her back (it's getting better) and Olivia (okay, back from her trip with the grandparents to Greece). Bryan was at McClellanville working on the family project, a house that will be shared by his family, Jane and Carroll, Greg and Teresa. It will be a get-away for all of them, fifty miles or so down the beach toward Charleston. McClellanville is a fishing village, not a resort.

Then off to lunch I went with Angie and the kids. I had thought Bella would be with Brenda, but they had all gone back-to-school shopping earlier and Brenda had already headed back to Camden. Vernie was at home sleeping so Angie had Bella and Liam with her, both tired and a little grumpy. She was also on call for Surfside Realty and got several calls while we were trying to talk and eat.

After lunch I gave each kid a dollar in quarters, sort of a consolation prize for us grown-ups talking so long when they obviously would have rather been home napping or playing. None of them, not even Angie, ate more than a couple of bites of their food and she boxed up their left-overs for supper. It wasn't what I'd call a successful lunch, really. Maybe we can get together some time when Angie and I can talk without interruptions.

Traffic coming and going was really bad but thankfully for me it was bad "the other way." When I was going to the beach, the traffic was all coming back and vice versa. The traffic going my way cooperated and I got back home at a reasonably early hour.

I'm glad I went but if I go again this year I probably won't pre-arrange to see anyone. I'll just go by myself, find a motel room, walk on the beach or pier, and remember the times Tim and I went down there together. Maybe I'll take the camera and get a few shots of the surf, sand, trees, whatever.

Driving to the beach tomorrow

2008-08-01T15:11:00.003-04:00

I haven't been to the beach since the Saturday before Mother's Day, when I attended a show at Dixie Stampede with Angie, Vernie, Bella and Liam. Here it is the first of August, and summer is getting away from me pretty fast. I want to go by the beach house, walk around the yard and perhaps meet the lady who lives in the upstairs apartment, go by Custom Outdoor Furniture and see if Sam is working, call the house if she's not. I plan to eat lunch with Angie if that's still feasible, and just whatever else comes to mind as the day goes by.

I have no real itinerary, no place else in particular I want to see right now, since I still can't walk very far at a time. I plan to take the camera with me, maybe get a few pictures of interesting trees or scenery, or people. If I don't feel up to driving back home tomorrow night, I'll look around for a motel room in Garden City or Murrells Inlet, have a leisurely breakfast and read the local newspaper before heading home.

It's going to feel very different, since Tim won't be with me.

Feeling "out of it"

2008-07-23T19:09:00.003-04:00

I'm over it now, for the most part. As I thought about what I'd written below, I remembered some conversations I've had with people in the past. People who were sure I was "perfect," "perfectly adjusted," "doing really great," and who had no idea that wasn't the case 100% of the time. So I'm adding this little paragraph, although not deleting the rest of the post below, to mitigate some of the negative emotions emanating from the following...

It probably seemed like a good idea to the young people and the POW's at my church. That stands for people of wisdom, although I have my doubts... when you keep doing the same thing hoping to get different results, what does that make you? Not wise.

Their idea was to have a combined dinner for the two groups so they could get to know each other better and hopefully so the older folks' wisdom would rub off on the younger folks. I hadn't planned to attend but reluctantly agreed after getting a phone call specifically asking me to be there. I shouldn't have done it.

As I sat there eating and listening with no-one paying much attention to me, I realized how out of it I actually am. Any conversation I participated in, I had to initiate. Any questions asked, I had to ask. That gets old.

The evening was probably okay for most of those present but it was not okay for me. It was just same old-same old, more of the same kind of event that Tim and I used to tolerate at church and elsewhere. It was the reason why we stopped participating in many social events; they were so one-sided that it was hurtful to Tim, and to me.

It would be so nice to have someone ask "How are you" and then wait to hear the answer. Usually the asker is only waiting to tell me how they are, sometimes in great detail, and doesn't care at all how I am. I am interested in other people, that's not the point. It would just be nice to have that interest reciprocated once in a while.

I made myself a promise. I obviously need new acquaintances from somewhere. People who will ask "How are you" and really want to know. The next time I meet someone like that, I will find out where they go to church and then go visit that church.

Old friends get in touch

2008-07-08T10:48:00.001-04:00

I received two phone calls in the last couple of weeks from friends of Tim's. One was Frank Chestnut, a fellow from Kingstree, also blind, who played popular and gospel music at a local fish restaurant in Kingstree for a long time. He also worked in a regular job, I've forgotten just where. He and Tim used to stay in touch and we visited in his home shortly after he got married several years back. He is retired completely now and keeps up with the news on his talking computer.

But somehow he'd never known that Tim died until he read Ora Lee's obituary in the Kingstree News and learned that she was predeceased byTheron, Tim and T.C. He was so sad that he hadn't known it earlier and called to offer his sympathy. I was in no shape to talk to him very long, though, and he asked if he could call again one day. I said yes, certainly, and maybe I'll actually call him first. I would like to keep in touch and forgot to ask if he had an email address.

Another call was from Paulette Evans, an old girlfriend of Tim's. She and Tim kept in touch over the years - as I've said before, Tim still had every friend he'd ever made, even his old girlfriends!

She knew Tim had died but for whatever reason hadn't sent a card or called at that time. She lives in Walterboro, teaches school, reads several newspapers and had seen Ora Lee's obituary in one of them, I guess. She told me she knew how good I was for Tim, and how much I meant to him. I know she and Tim had talked over the years very occasionally, and once in a very long while she would send him a card or a note, marking a birthday or Christmas or something.

I thanked her for the call, and made a note of her phone number. It was good to speak to her, since I had tried to locate her address after Tim died and couldn't find it.

Losing another Mom

2008-06-17T20:46:00.004-04:00

Tim's mom Ora Lee died Sunday morning about 9:00 AM. I wrote several entries about it on my Wordpress blog so I won't repeat all of that here.

What I didn't say there is, Ora Lee was like my second mother. My own mother died in 1970 (daddy in 1960), and when Tim and I got married Ora Lee became another mama to me. She was always there for Tim all his life, and for me from the moment I became Tim's wife. Loving, giving, praying, sharing, whatever she could do, she did, and never wanted anything in return except to spend time with her kids.

She was also my link to Tim's extended family, his aunts, uncles, and cousins. Really, she was the link between all of us - the glue that kept the Cox family together in love and friendship, as well as kinship. Without Ora Lee, the family anchor for her generation, the various scattered members of her family may not get together very often. I hope they will, if only to share fond memories and reminisce. The younger generation needs such an anchor, such a link, such a faithful pray-er for their own sake.

I think sometimes Ora Lee was a tiny bit fearful, a tiny bit doubtful, about whether heaven was a real place. My last prayer for her, early Sunday morning as I was getting dressed to go visit her, was that the Lord would give her a vision of heaven and a true assurance in her soul and spirit, and I believe that prayer was answered. I got the call from Hospice House less than an hour later that Ora Lee had died. My first impression of her in heaven was simple - a deep relief, that heaven is real, Jesus is really there, and all her loved ones were waiting to give her a joyous, hug-filled welcome.

I am going to miss you so very much, Ora Lee.

Choreographed heavenly worship in three dimensions

2008-05-16T19:36:00.005-04:00

Several nights ago, I awoke in the wee hours of the morning worshiping God in my spirit - singing to Him about how wonderful He is, how magnificent, how merciful, how loving, exalting and praising him in poetry set to music. And I could see myself doing this, like watching a television set, as part of a group of worshipers in heaven. But it did not resemble any sort of worship service I've ever been a part of or seen in my life!

We were singing and dancing as we flew around in perfect synchronized three-dimensional twirls and swirls and bows and leaps. In my mind's eye I continued to watch all of this, yet also continued to worship and praise and magnify God. It was the most amazing experience.

I enjoyed and participated in this exquisite worship for some time, then fell sound asleep again. The next morning I remembered it all very clearly. I thought about it and prayed, wondering about what I had experienced.

Remember Esther Williams and her troupe's synchronized swimming routines in the movies? the Lord reminded me. They were so graceful and lovely, those three-dimensional movements in the water that are not possible on land. That's what it was like in that heavenly scene, except without water. Indeed, those graceful 3-D movements were in the atmosphere of heaven, where the worshipers are not limited by earth's gravity.

What an awesome experience this is to look forward to, and what an incredible gift this was, this glimpse of heavenly worship from our awesome God who is so very worthy of our worship!

Musicians, orchestras, etc.

2008-04-19T17:39:00.005-04:00

Most nights I watch a program on TV, usually a Law and Order or CSI, while also reading, usually a murder mystery. When it's getting close to bedtime I just move to the bedroom and continue the same until 11:00 or so, then maybe watch five minutes of the news before turning off the television. Then I start thinking about what kind of day Tim had in heaven, talking to the Lord, praying and listening to his reply.

One night this week the reply to my prayer was about musical instruments in the orchestra Tim is part of. Although he could choose to learn and play a different instrument in heaven than the french horn he played here on earth, that's how I visualize him.

There are many orchestras, bands and musical groups in heaven, too many to count. Combinations of eras, types of instruments, types of music, numbers of people. No-one is perfect just because they're there - they have to learn the music, rehearse, then "perform" it. Although it's worship, not just performance, and the audience consists of God the Father, God the Son and God the Holy Spirit.

Who are all the other people in the orchestra? Where did they live on earth? What was their time frame? What else do they do in heaven, in addition to music? And then, who made their instruments?

These are questions Tim has been investigating this week, the Lord seemed to be telling me. Getting to know other musicians, learning about their lives and their musical instruments, and sharing about his own. What a fascinating, fun thing to do.

Cleaning out the closets and chest of drawers

2008-03-25T09:57:00.010-04:00

My closets are still full of Tim's clothes, his shirts, slacks, blazers and neckties. And his windbreakers, jackets, rain ponchos and all-weather coat. His chest of drawers is still full of his tee shirts, underwear, golf shirts and sweaters. I actually sat an empty box in front of the chest of drawers, thinking if I left it there long enough I'd be able to start moving Tim's clothing out of that chest. But I just can't do it. I'm not ready.

Some of my own clothes are stacked atop a bookshelf in the bedroom, others folded neatly atop the clothes dryer. I've gained some weight this past year, not adjusting my eating quite enough while unable to exercise due to hip and foot problems. Not good. After losing a battle with bluejean zippers, I finally purchased some new ones that fit. But of course I have hopes for the future, that returning to peddling my exercise bike and eating smaller, healthier meals will result in a reversal of this trend. Therefore, I haven't thrown any of my smaller clothing away. (That is, donated somewhere, which is what I always do.)

It made sense that after a year plus three months I'd be able to donate Tim's things to the boy's home in Darlington, or to the Hispanic ministry. He and I did that in the past whenever his own clothing size changed. Then I'd have more space to get my own shirts and pants off the tops of furniture, right?

But I can't do it. I bought most of Tim's things, especially the neckties. I love neckties. Tim only wore one a week, but he had enough to wear a different one every day for several weeks - back when we worked from an office downtown, that's what he did. How can I part with those?

I've taken a photo of my favorites, some new, some old. I especially like the Norman Rockwell Christmas one, the horn player rehearsing. That's the one Tim was wearing the Sunday before he died, the one in the photos I took of him that day. In those photos you don't see the horn player, but you do see a french horn - Tim's instrument - showing above the vee of the blue sweater vest he had on. See the photo below.

And the shirts! I can't part with them, not just yet. Tim looked so good in those colors, the burgundy sweaters, navy blue golf shirts, solid or striped pullovers, baby blue or red and white striped dress shirts. Now and then I pull something out and just smell it. Most things smell a little like dryer sheets, but some of the heavy sweaters haven't been washed. They still have a lingering fragrance of Tim's Pierre Cardin cologne.

He kept one cologne bottle in the pocket of the car, another on top of his chest of drawers with his hairbrush. He always put a little on when we went to church or out to lunch, to visit somebody or attend a meeting. He'd always lean over and ask "Can you smell me?" knowing how much I liked it. I'd sniff real big and tell him how good it smelled. And it did. I had bought him a new bottle of the same cologne recently so it's mostly full. Now whenever I want to wear fragrance, that's what I choose. Who cares if it's not a "woman's scent." It's Tim's and that's what matters to me.

I remember too many occasions, too many times I saw Tim smiling, heard him laughing while wearing a particular shirt or sweater. And that hat! His "Indiana Jones" hat, he called it. It's a waterproof khaki hat I'd bought years ago to go with his long all-weather coat. He wore that hat all the time when the weather was cold, rainy, or windy. I wish I had a picture of him wearing that hat - but I still have the hat, and I probably always will.

Because the hat was a little wrinkled from having been sat on by accident, and a little dirty from having been rained on, I had bought him a new almost identical one for Christmas. He never got to wear it or even "see" it - that is, feel it and examine it with his hands. It fit Tim's brother Dale, so I gave it to him. After all, I had the one that counted, the one Tim had always worn.

Angie wanted Tim's button-up sweater of many colors that he wore the most. She put it on after he died and wore it that whole weekend. She asked to keep it and I didn't have the heart or selfishness to say no. She wore it home.

I did give several articles of clothing away, especially to Dale, things I knew he could wear and would probably like to have. But that's all. Everything else I kept. There's still too much of Tim in all those shirts and ties, slacks, pullovers, tee shirts and sweaters. And hat.

As I was writing this, I could hear the Lord (and Tim) point out that he doesn't wear that style of clothing any more and he won't need those items ever again - he has a whole new wardrobe now which I would love, if I could see it. I'm sure that's true, but they understand. I'm not ready to part with Tim's old wardrobe. Not yet.

So, for the time being I'll still stack some of my own stuff on top of the bookcase in the bedroom and clothes dryer in the hall. And I'll still pull out a shirt now and then for a good smell, and wear his cologne when I go out.

March 25, 2008

Reading old prayer lists and remembering

2008-03-14T19:39:00.003-04:00

I rummaged through a stack of stuff in the china cabinet I use for a bookcase this afternoon, and pulled out an old composition book. Curious, I started reading. The first pages were Bible study notes for a class I was teaching back in 1986. As I flipped through the pages, I came to notes on the first meeting of the Board for Tim's Transplant Fund in October, 1988. I had taken pretty good notes on the discussion, which covered a lot of financial and legal questions.

Then I came to prayer meeting notes. Back in the days after Tim's transplant surgery, we had a Friday night prayer group at the house on Hobart Drive. Most of the people went to the same church we did, but not everyone. Every week we prayed for each other, the church, friends and family, and the moral / political / legislative issues in the country.

I stood at the kitchen counter, determined to read through those notes, despite the fact that it was hurting me to do it.

I had forgotten so many things, so many of the people and situations. The names mentioned - some of them are dead now, like Tim. Others divorced from each other, moved away from Florence or even out of state. As I read, I hurt. Anger, sadness, disappointment, frustration, regret, loss, all washed over me. Occasionally there was gladness and joy but all too rarely.

The last prayer group notes stopped the end of 1989 when the group stopped meeting at our home but I had continued writing my own prayer requests in that book for some time. The last item is dated 1997 but it's just one page and just a few lines on that page.

I have other prayer and Bible study notebooks stored in the bottom of that china cabinet, but I don't want to pull them out to read right now. Maybe later. I still do some prayer lists and some Bible study, but not much writing in a composition book. Most of my writing these days is on computer. I don't usually even print those pages out.

But those composition books contain a treasure, a tangible record of the years of our lives, Tim and mine. Reading those notes takes me back and I remember, and then I begin once again to miss him so very much.

And once again I hear the Lord gently, patiently, repeatedly remind me that Tim's life is so wonderful and fascinating and full, that it would be a dreadful thing for me to pull him back here with me. I just ask him to patiently forgive me again.

I know it's selfish of me to miss Tim that way, and I get over it pretty quickly once my attention is refocused off the past and onto the present - the heavenly present, especially. "Look forward, not back," the Lord reminds me. Maybe I should write that in big letters on index cards and tape them up around the house.

"Grieving Alone" (re Dear Abby 3/2/08)

2008-03-02T16:18:00.005-05:00

I'm an avid newspaper reader. First thing every morning while a cup of instant coffer heats up in the microwave, I go to the front door and collect my two daily newspapers, The (Florence) Morning News and The State. As I sip my coffee, I flip through the pages of The State paper first, skipping the sports sections and advertisements, but never missing the news, editorials, comics, or Dear Abby.

This morning's Dear Abby column hit me hard, making me a little sad and a little angry, and it opened my eyes a little. So I'm not the only one, huh. Here's a quote:

"Dear Abby, could you please share suggestions on how to offer support to someone who is grieving? Well-meaning friends have used my loss as an opportunity to relive their past losses with grisly and sad details. Perhaps these people are trying to relate, but it's torture. I have a feeling I'm not the only person who has suffered through this ignorance."

No, you're not the only one. In the months after Tim died, several people called me to "express their sympathy," but after one or two sentences they spent the next thirty minutes or more dumping on me all of their own troubles and grief, grisly details included. They weren't interested in me. They were using me to vent.

Two of these people were women Tim and I barely knew. But one had been a good friend of Tim's in their youth and over the years since, and she was genuinely grieving the loss of his friendship. Yet she too spent only a couple of minutes talking about Tim, and nearly an hour talking about herself, her many ailments and her multiple other problems.

And it's not just women. A couple of men who were friends of Tim's have called me this past year to see how I'm doing, or so they claimed. After I said, I'm okay, how are you? they spent many minutes telling me how bad off they are, how broke, or sick, or troubled in some other way.

Maybe they wanted me to know they understand my pain. If so, they could have said so in one of two minutes, surely, and then added something positive, uplifting, helpful. There was no comfort in what they said, no real concern or caring for me.

Maybe they thought I was such a "rock," so strong, so close to the Lord, that I didn't have any real need for their comfort, concern or caring. If that's how they felt, they were wrong.

As I think back, I realize that if they had called Tim, he would have helped them get through their current crisis situation, with his humor, his genuine friendship, his listening ear and "shoulder to cry on." In his absence, I was a Tim-substitute to them. I listened, and where appropriate shared scripture verses, or my own personal experiences of the Lord's comfort, strength and grace. I promised to pray, and in some cases I prayed right then, over the phone.

After all, I did ask How are you, and I did want to know. I did care. But at the same time, I hope I remember what it felt like to get those non-comforting sympathy calls and never treat someone else who is grieving that way.

Thanks, Dear Abby, for running that column today.

Fly north to Nova Scotia and turn right...

2008-02-07T07:48:00.000-05:00

Since my last entry, I've flown to Germany and back. Via Delta I flew from Florence to Atlanta, via Lufthansa from Atlanta to Frankfurt, then via bus from Frankfurt to Mosbach where the January GO (Global Orientation) Conference of Operation Mobilisation was taking place. It took over 24 hours start to finish, with only a few short naps on the plane. That was a looooong day!

Ten days and several adventures later, especially about my sprained ankle and torn ligament caused from falling down several steps my first day in Mosbach (I'll write about that separately), I traveled one full day via bus from Mosbach to Kiel with the new OM Ships mission recruits, an enthusiastic, lively group, where I spent six days aboard the Logos Hope.

Arriving after dark and leaving before daylight, I really didn't get to see this gorgeous view of the ship from the outside. But I can tell you one thing,it is BIG. B-I-G!! The gangplank looked a mile high to me, and it did enter deck five so it was pretty tall. Helpful hands in front and in back got me up (and down on departure day), thank goodness.

I had more adventures there! After touring four decks my first day and having more aches and pains in my foot, the ship doctor said the sprained ankle was now infected and wanted to put me on antibiotics, five days of bed rest, no walking much, no more touring the ship, no ship stairs, and at first she said no flying! (I'm thankful for the tiny ship elevator, stuck door and all - I had an escort up and down because of that.) After explaining I was only there for a week, she relented to half-day bed rest, keeping my foot elevated the rest of the time, and flying home at the end of the week.

The Lord provided me excellent care by way of one of the ship project workers, Geri Weirich, who took it upon herself to assist me every day until I left. I would have been "up the creek without a paddle" without her help. Truly.

Then via car to Hamburg, via Lufthansa airlines to Frankfurt. Bad weather resulted in a missed connection to Atlanta, so Lufthansa paid for me to stay overnight in the posh Sheraton Hotel adjacent to the airport, complete with wheelchair and attendant. It would have been a mite more enjoyable without the achy foot and with clean clothes, but the room and the food were super first-class.

The next day, Lufthansa left on-time to Atlanta without any further delays or problems. I can't tell you what a relief it was to have Lufthansa personnel look after me, making all the necessary arrangements to take care of me. Wonderful wheelchair and attendants everywhere got me where I needed to go every time and I am so grateful to the ship personnel for making those arrangements.

Lufthansa couldn't control the weather and they didn't cause the delay, but they tried every way possible to make up for the inconvenience. Vouchers for meals (which I ordered by room service, feeling too grungy to appear in the nice restaurant), big screen television complete with old English murder mysteries, etc., etc. made my stay a lot more pleasant than the last overnight delay caused by Delta and paid for by me, myself and I. Here's a photo I took through the airplane window as we ascended over Frankfurt on sunny Sunday morning.

Finally, after three gate changes, Delta took me home from Atlanta to Florence, minus one important piece of luggage containing my prescription medicines, which was delivered to me only 24 hours later. I was fortunate. Some folks' luggage didn't arrive at all in Florence, none of it. All those gate changes... par for the (Delta) course.

Prayer is a must when traveling as I know very well, confirmed and emphasized and stressed quite a few times on this trip. I'm tired of airlines, airports, delays, lost luggage, just plain tired physically and mentally and emotionally. But the Lord encouraged me and enabled me to do most things, I saw a lot of beautiful German countryside, met a lot of great people, did a lot of good interviews, took lots of photographs, and now I'm ready to start writing stories.

As I traveled, I kept thinking how much better it would have been with Tim along. But the Lord kept reminding me that Tim can see everything I see now, he enjoys witnessing my travels and adventures right along with me, and we are still partners though in different stages of our lives. What a wonderful thought.

Learning contentment...

2008-01-07T16:15:00.000-05:00

In his thank-you letter to the Philippians, the apostle Paul states that he has learned to be content no matter what state he is in. He goes on to say that he can do everything through him who gives him strength – that is, the Lord. He thanks the Philippians for sending him some support, saying that he is now amply supplied, and then he adds “And my God will meet all your needs according to his glorious riches in Christ Jesus.” (NIV)

This section of Philippians 4 has to do with our attitude, whether we have everything we need or whether we don’t. And what is our attitude supposed to be, when we don’t have food or clothing or rent money?

I know what the attitude of many of us would be. Panic. Fear. Anger. Anger at God, who we feel has let us down. Didn’t God know we needed money? Job security? Good health? Stable marriage? Well if he knew it, why didn’t he do something about it? And so we’re angry at God. We're definitely not content!

Paul didn’t say how long it took him to learn to be content, but it did take some learning for him and I’m certain it takes some learning for every believer.

I remember the days when with clenched teeth I spiritually "yelled" at God, I WILL learn to be content, I WILL. And eventually I did, but it wasn't easy.

Over the years, especially this last year, I've found this is a lesson that has to be repeated occasionally.

Tim has a new pet in heaven

2007-12-22T14:15:00.001-05:00

Smokey, Tim's pet, had to be put to sleep Thursday, December 20th. She was 16-1/2 years old and we'd had her since she was about 6 weeks old. The last week or so she'd gotten to feeling bad, didn't play with her companion and niece, 14 year old Misty like usual, didn't really want to do anything except lie down, and then the last couple of days Smokey didn't want to eat. I don't know if she was even drinking anything. I took her to Hewitt's Animal Hospital and veterinarian Amanda Lewis examined her, drew blood, then x-rayed her. Smokey's belly and chest cavity seemed to be filled with fluid, so they drew some off with a syringe. It was all blood. She was extremely anemic and had lost a lot of weight. The vet couldn't tell me where the blood was coming from, just that Smokey was extremely sick. There just weren't any good options. The probability was that a tumor was eroding a blood vessel in her abdomen. At her age, exploratory surgery would require a specialist in Columbia to perform, and even then there was a low likelihood of finding something treatable. The only kind, compassionate thing to do was to put her to sleep.

I was so horrified and grief-stricken that I just broke down. I called Shelby and she came down to be with Smokey and me, we held her and talked to her, stroked her head and told her she was my pretty girl, and the vet gave her an injection. One little breath and it was over.

I had thought maybe Smokey needed insulin again or perhaps an antibiotic, but nothing really too serious. She'd been so strong, so beautiful, except for a supposedly benign growth on her lower lip -- now I have to wonder if that growth was indicative of other internal growths or tumors. The vet had told us several years ago that it wasn't anything to worry about, it probably wouldn't heal up if they tried to remove it and it didn't interfere with Smokey eating or drinking.

Smokey had been Tim's pet for the last several years, always sitting on top of Tim's talking book machine on his desk (where it was warm) or in his lap. After Tim died, Smokey grieved right along with me. She wouldn't even get up on his desk, although I left the book machine there for a while before returning it to the Library for the Blind. She wouldn't go into his office and sit on his windowsill or anything, just seemed to revert to me, wanting to be in my lap if I was in the living room, or by feet if I was in my office.

Last night I could hear Tim telling me how beautiful Smokey is - is, not was - and that she's strong and healthy, able to go in and outside at will, looking all around her new home and getting used to being there. In my mind several months ago I'd seen Tim running across a field, playing with his white German Shepherd Star. Now I'm seeing Tim petting Smokey.

Misty came and sat in my lap Thursday for almost the first time, even before I took Smokey to the vet. She seemed to know that Smokey was sick. Misty had never wanted to sit on anyone's lap before, although she would sit by my side on the chair or down by my feet in the recliner. And she usually sleeps on the bed beside me. From Thursday afternoon until now, she's quietly, softly walked from room to room, looking for Smokey. I talk to her and try to play with her as much as possible.

She and Smokey had sort of a stand-offish relationship. They chased each other around the house, spit and clawed occasionally, but then would call a truce and lie down near each other. Smokey usually let Misty eat first, although sometimes Misty would just back up and let Smokey get to a food dish first. Misty was the offspring of one of Smokey's sisters and they were shaped alike, medium sized, sleek, Siamese type -- Smokey's mom was a full-blooded seal point.

I really miss having Smokey but if there are pets in heaven, and I'm sure there are, then she and Tim are back together.

Smokey was solid black, Misty is solid gray.

Visions

2007-12-18T16:12:00.000-05:00

Ora Lee has had several "visions" or hallucinations lately, seeing Tim, Theron, and her mom standing together and looking over at her, as if to say, we're waiting for you. It's not unpleasant for her, rather sort of comforting. She never sees her dad or anyone else, for that matter. But these three people are those who have loved her the most and who she has loved the most, here on earth. I have no doubt that they are indeed waiting to welcome her.

There will be a lot to do, see and absorb when she arrives there. I don't think she has any idea of just what excitement and joy she's in for at that moment, but she is looking forward to it more and more these days.

After being in the hospital three days again last week for more IV treatment with Lasix (third time in the last month), she returned to health care at Bethea on Saturday evening. Bryan and Sam, T.C. and Olivia, Angie and Liam, as well as Dale, were all there. The "Come to Bethlehem" event was going on at Bethea and Dale was very involved in that so it was good that Bryan and everyone else were there.

Ora Lee has now signed a DNR order - do not resuscitate. She says she is tired of hospitals, and since there is very little they can do to help her now I can understand that. Her kidney function has gone downhill a lot in the last month and she is having more and more problems with fluid retention, including around her heart.

Tonight is the Christmas Dinner at Bethea and Ora Lee invited John and me to come as her guests, and Dale said this morning that she was going to try her best to be at the dinner. I sure hope she can.

Imagine "Friar Tuck..."

2007-12-09T16:31:00.000-05:00

The other night I was meditating and praying about whether heaven has any kind of entertainment... you know, plays, movies, books, etc. , and an interesting scenario began playing out in my mind.

I was totally fascinated as I was given a glimpse of a group of people talking and laughing among themselves. After watching them for a while, here's what I concluded.

Heaven is definitely not boring. There is laughter, fun, joy, playing, singing, dancing, and even drama. Serious drama and comedy!

People don't become all-knowing just because they're in heaven. Some have been there for hundreds, even thousands of years, and they still don't know everything. They have to learn the scriptures, just like we do. They have to learn self-discipline, and worship, and getting along together, and how to do certain kinds of work and assignments.

There are classes and workshops, auditoriums, laboratories, libraries, universities, archives, studios, theaters, amphitheaters, cathedrals, concert halls and rehearsal halls, low-tech and high-tech everything. All in addition to the Throne Room and individual homes and villages and rolling hills and seas and lakes and the wonderful city full of activity, both above ground and below ground.

There's continuous learning and inventing and trying-out and practicing, improving and modifying, and just plain having a fascinating, exciting and fulfilling life. Everyone's work assignment from the Lord is designed especially for him/her and changes from time to time. Nobody ever gets bored or sad.

So back to my question about entertainment. First I was given a little lesson about how some things are taught, scriptural things and historical things. Some past events are portrayed in holographic-type skits, designed and sometimes even performed by those who were there at the time.

Newcomers who want to know what it was like in the days of Elijah can go see a reenactment of his miracles, Elijah himself explaining and describing what they're seeing! Now that would be worth getting in line for.

So what does all that have to do with Friar Tuck? I asked the Lord whether all this was strictly for educational purposes, or was there ever anything fictional, you know, just for fun. For entertainment.

And then in my mind I was taken to a Robin Hood play rehearsal, to be performed by a group of folks just for their own enjoyment -- a "limited engagement." It was hilarious. Modern-day believers, most of them, had no idea what to do with some of the props. They had researched and created what looked right, but they'd never worn clothing like that and they looked so funny getting into costume.

The funniest was the fellow playing Friar Tuck -- nobody in heaven is overweight, you see, but every Robin Hood movie I've ever seen shows Friar Tuck as roly-poly. Pillows? No pillows handy. Some other kind of stuffing -- layers of clothing, maybe? It was like some skinny fellow playing Santa Claus in a shopping mall.

Everybody was having a wonderful time with this rehearsal, laughing at themselves and each other. Then I asked -- so, Robin Hood was really a fictional character, wasn't he. Here's what I heard in reply:

Well, actually there was a "Robin Hood" but he was more than one person. He was a composite character, many people written up in English traditions as just one for the sake of the story. Lots of embellishment was added as the years went by.

And the various "Robin Hoods" weren't all honest, either. Some of them robbed the rich and gave to the poor today, but then robbed the rich and kept the loot for themselves the next day. Still, the traditional story had a nice moral to it, good triumphing over evil and all.

These actors were going to play it that way, if they ever got their costumes on and started the rehearsal! One of these days I'm going to ask the Lord to show me their finished production.

Thanks Giving; "Think" Giving

2007-11-25T16:59:00.000-05:00

Setting apart one day a year to Giving Thanks is not just an American tradition, other countries do it too, thanking God for many things - food, clothes, family, freedom, houses, cars, jobs. As I look back over the past few days, I realize that we often give thanks for what we've got from one side of our mouth and complain about what we haven't got out of the other side of our mouth. I'm just as guilty of that as anybody else.

This year Tim's mom Ora Lee was admitted to the hospital on Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving -- just as last year, Tim was admitted to the hospital on Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving. It was a horribly bittersweet memory.

She was suffering from fluid retention, her legs very swollen, her heart and kidneys showing the signs of disease. That's what was happening to Tim last year. Sympathy ailment? No, she really does have heart disease and her one kidney isn't working 100% well.

Ora Lee had been in the hospital a few weeks earlier with the same symptoms, treated with IV Lasix, her medications adjusted and she was doing much better, everyone thought. She was looking forward to being with her family down at the Hemingway farm on Saturday after Thanksgiving.

But the improvement didn't last long, the same symptoms returned, so back to the hospital for more IV Lasix, more medication adjustment. She's back home at Bethea again now, released yesterday morning, but not feeling quite strong enough to make the trip down to the farm. So most of her family that were at the farm have been up to see her instead, which works out better for her.

In the back of my mind, I can't help but remember last year, and the "thinking" is requiring some discipline. The Lord (and I believe Tim) keeps telling me, just get through it and get past it, and the way to do that is by frequently reminding myself, "Look forward, not back."

I went out this afternoon, planning to go to Hobby Lobby and buy a few plastic or silk poinsettias to take to the cemetery, but they're closed on Sundays. Good for them. So I went to Toys R Us instead and bought Liam a birthday present. He'll be 3 on December 11th. I got several stuffed toys - a gray life-like, life-size bunny rabbit, a solid white one, and a soft stuffed Ratatouille toy - Emile the Rat.

I'll send Liam one of those (probably the gray rabbit) along with a card and a check so Angie can use the money to help with his birthday party. I'm not sure what I'll do with the other toys, but they were so cute I couldn't resist. Especially Emile!

I remember a stuffed life-like, life-size dog (terrier) I got one year, and how much that one toy meant to me. I'm not sure how old I was, probably still in grammar school. I talked to him like I would a person. Dolls didn't seem life-like, so although I enjoyed playing with dolls, that stuffed dog was a bit more important. I have no idea what happened to it over the years, but I thought about that dog and his being very life-like in size and appearance when I saw the bunny rabbits.

Liam has so many toys he probably won't really appreciate this one, but I'll like thinking about it being there in his collection.

Last year, Tim got a chance to talk to Liam on the Tuesday before he fell on Wednesday, although the conversation between Tim and 2-year old Liam was a bit hard to understand. He'd had a birthday party and Tim was asking him if he'd had a good time, that sort of thing, and Liam chattered away in 2-year old.

Tim was very glad he'd had the chance to talk to him on the phone, because we had not been able to go down there. Tim was simply too sick still for us to drive to the beach.

This year Tim can see Liam, he can even attend the birthday party and watch for himself how much fun he has, and that's something I can think about with a smile.

I do give thanks that I know where Tim is, that he's healthy, very busy, observing and interceding for me, for Angie and Vernie, Bella and Liam, Ora Lee and all the rest of the family, and that we're still a team.

That's always something good to think about.

It's hard for me to look forward to the holidays...

2007-11-04T19:13:00.000-05:00

I'm having a hard time looking forward to the holidays suddenly. Christmas decorations are going up in the stores, some even went up before Halloween. Now Halloween is over, Thanksgiving is coming up and suddenly it's hard for me not to be sad. I'm having to work at it.

Whenever someone asks me how I'm doing I try to always say "I'm doing good." And that's usually true, whether I feel good physically or emotionally or not, my spirit is usually okay. I know the kind of life Tim has now and in some ways I'm very jealous. He has no worries and no pain. He has so many friends and family to spend time with, besides having Father God, Jesus, and Holy Spirit to "bum around with." And he has quite a lot to do, varied activities and assignments that are fascinating and wonderful.

Last year this time Tim was having more and more trouble physically, his heart and breathing were giving him more and more problems, and although he tried really hard to always be upbeat and cheerful, I knew he didn't feel good. He developed a cold, unlike him, in the week before Thanksgiving. That turned into bronchitis, then severe congestive heart failure and he was admitted to the hospital the day before Thanksgiving. He actually had a heart attack in the ER waiting to be admitted.

I do not want to spend these days remembering all of that. I want to think about how he is NOW, who he is with NOW, what he is doing NOW, and most of the time I succeed. It helps that I can talk to him, and the Lord lets me know some of Tim's activities these days.

Yesterday afternoon I went to visit Harold for a little while, for an update on his recent photography workshop / trip to the Outer Banks. Afterwards I went and took a couple of photos of trees around town that I liked, then drove to the cemetery and took several photos of the newest flowers (fall colors) I'd put in the vase. I could just hear Tim reiterating that he doesn't like that place!

Recently I made him a promise not to spend much time there, and not to spend much money on flowers in the future. Maybe just when the seasons change I can change the main colors of the arrangement, use the basic greenery and just add a few new ones each time. Eventually, maybe give up even doing that. We'll see.

I promised Angie that I would join the Cox family for Thanksgiving dinner the Saturday after Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving dinner I will be at Shelby's. I am trying not to remember last year's miserable holidays and obey the Lord's - and Tim's - reminders to look forward, not back.

He means well...

2007-10-29T16:11:00.000-04:00

The other day an elderly gentleman who has been a typing customer for many years came by to pick up some work. When he was leaving he made a comment about my hair. It was a little longer than I usually wear it and he said he liked it that way. He'd never made any kind of personal comment before so that surprised me. He usually justs asks how my cats are getting along, pays me for the typing and leaves.

Then he added something about eligible gentlemen probably admiring long hair more than short, or something equally irritating to me. I realized that he thought he was being courteous so I just smiled, wished him a good week, and he left.

I did find his attitude offensive, however. I never think about Tim in the past tense, I think of our relationship as a long-distance marriage -- really long-distance -- but ongoing. If that feeling ever changes, then those kinds of comments won't annoy me, I guess.

I spent some time Saturday with Ora Lee out at Bethea. I had bought her a pay-as-you-go cell phone of her own so she could return Dale's to him, then I programmed her family phone numbers into it. I showed her how it worked and it should be easy for her to use. She's now in her own private "Dorm" room with her own belongings, and except for having to use the wheelchair to get to the dining room, seems to be doing much better. She's supposed to be getting a motorized scooter to help her get around by herself. We'll see how that works.

Autumn and orange flowers

2007-10-05T20:04:00.000-04:00

I went by the cemetery a couple of weeks ago and checked the summery yellow flowers I had put on Tim's grave. Some were beginning to deteriorate. The brown sunflower centers had become detached from some of them and others were beginning to fade. I took them all out of the vase and turned the vase over, leaving the marker empty of flowers temporarily. I was thinking, fall will soon be here, it's time to put some new ones in anyway...

Suddenly as clear as a bell I could hear Tim say, "Please don't spend a lot of money on more flowers to put out here."

I reminded him once again, "Honey, they aren't for you to look at, they are for other people. Remember what your mom and your Aunt Betty said?"

They had expressed the same sentiments I had, that it looks like people don't care when gravesites have no flowers, or if the flowers haven't been cared for in a while. Even if the families do care, the appearance is that they don't. I just don't want to give that appearance to any visitors.

"Well then, just buy one or two orange ones and use the others that are still good, put them back together and that should be plenty. Okay? Please?"

So I said okay, and that's what I did. I only threw away a few of the flowers after all, the ones that had come apart. Most of the others still looked okay and all of the greenery was fine. I went to Hobby Lobby one afternoon soon after that, picked out a few pretty autumn orange flowers, came home and made a new arrangement. This time I did a better job of getting the stems together, then took some tin foil with me to fill in around the bottom of the vase and drove back over to the cemetery. I like this arrangement better than the yellow one and it should last a good while.

I know Tim really doesn't like that place. I know it's not the kind of scenery he's seeing these days, which is spectacularly beautiful. In my mind I try to visualize what kind of landscape surrounds his new home, but I'm quite sure it's far more gorgeous than anyone here on earth can possibly imagine.

Still, now and then the Lord prompts me to see the beauty right here on earth, and as I see the leaves beginning to take on their fall colors I am so grateful for it. All those greens! All those browns! All those golds! Those sprinkles of orange, and yellow, and red among the greens and browns. How lovely the fall can be.

And all the multitude of shades of green, brown, gold, orange, yellow, and red -- the Master Designer planned every one of them, created them in His mind first, then brought them to life here on earth.

Recently the Lord asked me a question: Have you ever considered leaves? Well, no, not really. Then the thought came to me -- how many different leaves are there in the world? How many shapes? Colors? Shades of green? Type of edges? Sizes? Textures? Thickness?

I started thinking about leaves. Some are pale green, some dark, some are dull and some shiny. Some are thin and some thick, some very large, some very small. Some have sawtooth edges, some are smooth and straight. Some are delicate, nearly transparent. Some are leathery, others velvety to the touch. From broad magnolias to tiny ferns, God designed leaves in an infinite variety then gave them to us. And that's just an infinitesimal fraction of his creation...

He pointed all this out to me that day. He designed, created, and gave these to us, to me, to notice, look at, enjoy, and give Him the glory for. And I do, I am grateful for God's beautifully designed creation all around me, even the artificial likenesses of His autumn flowers and leaves in the vase on Tim's grave marker.

Iceland, without Tim

2007-09-08T14:04:00.000-04:00

The end of July, Hans asked me if I would like to go to Iceland. Not just to see Iceland, but to be aboard the Logos II while it was in port there for two weeks. I said yes, and on August 15th I flew out of the Florence airport on my way to Rekjavik. A connecting flight in Atlanta, another one in Boston, then on through several time zones up to the "Top of the World," the "Land of Fire and Ice," the "Land of the Midnight Sun." It was an adventure, to say the least. I have started writing some things down - see my regular website for those stories, www.bettecox.com.

I took the above photos (four merged into one) while standing in the parking lot of the Iceland Coast Guard Station in Rekjavik, just a couple of blocks from where the ship was berthed. It was a clear sunny day and I took the pictures one right after the other, but for some reason unknown to me at this time, the lighting on each shot was slightly different. I still like it.

All the time I was there whether on the ship or off, I could sense Tim with me. The Lord spoke to me a number of times, explaining various things I was seeing, elaborating on what I was seeing or thought I already knew. It is a beautiful, small island nation full of touristy sightseeing spots, such as the geyser, the volcanic section, the places where the tectonic plates of Europe and North America meet, the Blue Lagoon full of geothermically heated hot water, the glacier, and lots of lavender-looking hills. You get a sense of those in this photo.

I was wishing Tim and I had been able to travel together, but I realized that he was seeing all of these interesting things and experiencing the island for himself not limited or hindered in any way. I didn't have to try to describe the indescribable to him, he was perfectly able to take it all in with all his senses! And maybe not for the first time...

So I talked to Tim as I walked around (not out loud of course), talked to the Lord, thanked God I was able to be there, that I had obeyed Him when he told me the first of the year to go get a passport. He created this beautiful place as he did so many others. Man hasn't been able to completely mar His handwork, and it's His pleasure to share it with me.

I believe there will be other trips, other beautiful places God has made that I will get to visit in the days ahead. And I believe Tim and Jesus will be right there with me, wherever that turns out to be. How neat.

No title, just thinking

2007-07-27T15:02:00.000-04:00

I re-read my last post and thought I'd jot down a few things. On Tim's birthday Angie, Liam and I ate lunch with Ora Lee in the dining room at Bethea. That was Angie's idea, coming up for the afternoon. She brought Liam because Bella had somewhere to go, and besides that Liam is a happier traveler, usually. He's such a happy little 2 1/2 year old, friendly to everyone who came by the table. And a lot of people at Bethea did come by the table, stopping to greet Ora Lee and telling her they were so glad to see her back in the dining room. She had been having her lunch in her room in the Health Care wing nearly every day. But I think Liam was one big magnet too, it's not that often that a small child comes to Bethea for lunch. He seems to thrive on the attention and really behaves excellently.

The next Wednesday (July 18) was Ora Lee's 88th birthday, and she wasn't feeling well enough to go back over to the dining room. Her back pain had flared up again so she was staying in her room for meals. But a variety of people came by to see her and to wish her a Happy Birthday during the day. Angie came back from the beach, this time bringing Bella and Livvy (Olivia, Tim's niece) with a birthday cake Livvy had baked.

I went to see her after work and Ora Lee's sister Betty and her husband Harold were there. Ora Lee had saved some of Livvy's cake for us so we enjoyed it with her. We had a nice visit, and since then I've called her to see how she's doing. She is still doing physical therapy and Dr. Richey says he wants her to stay another few weeks, because her back pain is still bothering her quite a bit.

I'm sort of glad July is coming to a close... it's been very different not having Tim here to celebrate these special occasions with us. As I wondered if birthdays are celebrated there like they are here, I seemed to hear Tim say "And how! Not just physical birthdays, but spiritual birthdays." Well, the Bible says the angels rejoice when someone is born again.

Now those are parties I'd love to see -- friends, relatives, angels, Jesus and everyone celebrating. Thinking about that makes these July birthdays seem a little less sad indeed.

Happy July Birthdays to Tim and to his mom Ora Lee

2007-07-06T15:05:00.000-04:00

Wednesday, July 11th Tim would (will) be 61 years old, with some gray in his beard but very little if any in his hair. In his family there are several birthdays in July, pretty close together, so they have been celebrated together the last few years down at the family farm outside of Hemingway.

On July 18th Ora Lee will be 88 years old. Right now she's spending a few weeks in the Health Care wing at Bethea, taking physical therapy and getting her strength back after a bout of back pain. She is feeling much improved this week and is able to get around better, even going back to the main dining room for lunch the other day.

It's hard to believe so many months have passed since December 15th. On the 11th I will celebrate Tim's birthday, probably just here at the condo. And on the 18th I'm sure a lot of the family will help Ora Lee celebrate her birthday. I know Tim will be joining in from heaven as we sing Happy Birthday to her!

Ora Lee still has an assignment to finish up down here, prayers to pray and phone calls to make and notes to write, things that only she can do to make that difference in someone special's life.

I'm so glad I took the camera with us that Sunday before Tim died, when we went over to visit Ora Lee at her duplex apartment at Bethea. I took a picture of Tim and Ora Lee together (see above) and it came out very well. It has meant a lot to her and it does to me too.

Well, that's enough for this post. Happy Birthday in advance, Honey. I wish you were still here in person to celebrate it, but I know the kind of parties they have in heaven outshine anything we could put on down here!

Mama

2007-06-25T18:24:00.000-04:00

It was a lot of little things that did it. Something I saw about the National Cemetery here made me think about Mama.

I thought about Mama refusing the grave-site for daddy there when he died because there could be only one plot per family. She bought two side-by-side cemetery plots at Mt. Hope.

Other little things made me think about Mama some more.

Tonight I thought about the recurring bad dreams I had for years, nightmares really.

In 1970 Mama disappeared, vanished off the face of the earth. She left all her stuff in the house and her car in the driveway. No-one knew where she could have gone. Frantically we searched but years went by without a trace of her, no letter, no sighting, no word at all.

In my dreams I searched, going from house to house, person to person, even to neighboring towns, all without success. In one dream I was staying at my grandmother's house when Mama left, and I was devastated when I realized she was gone without leaving any indication. In another dream I was at her house, going from room to room searching for some clue but finding none.

I refused to believe my beautiful talented mother would simply abandon my brother and me and disappear willingly like that. She had grandchildren that she adored. She couldn't have left them voluntarily. And in my recurring nightmares I looked for her everywhere but never found her.

The fact is, she did abandon us. She did leave voluntarily. In June of 1970 Mama died, and for many years I had those nightmares of searching, and searching, and not finding her.

Tonight I cried for her again, missing Mama, missing Daddy, and missing Tim, still feeling abandoned but understanding us all much better.

I might cry again one day but they will be tears of self-pity, selfish tears. Not tears of anger, resentment and bitterness like they were in the past. And they will be short-lived, because I know that they are together now, these dear people I loved and still love.

I don't have to search for Mama any more, she and Daddy are together. And Tim is getting to know them as the days go by.

Six Months

2007-06-10T15:31:00.001-04:00

Yellow Flowers
Friday will be six months since Tim died. Yesterday I took my camera to the cemetery to take several shots of the grave marker and the yellow flowers I'd put in the vase some days ago. I wanted to check that the flowers weren't blown away by the storm the other night.

When I got out of the car, it was as if I could hear Tim say, "This place is creepy, all these graves for people who aren't actually dead..." I understood what he meant.

If Jesus was their Savior, they are more alive today than ever, enjoying the beauties of heaven and the wonder of His presence, as well as the fascination of whatever assignment they have now.

I told him, "I never thought about it that way. Anyway, I'm not doing this for you, remember. I'm doing it for other people." I checked that the flowers were okay, then took my photos and headed to the grocery store. Time for cat food and kitty litter again.

As I pushed the cart up one aisle and down another, I passed by things I don't buy for Tim any more, but this time it didn't bother me so much. I looked at the fresh fruit and wondered what kind of snacks Tim nibbles on these days. Ice-cream flavored "grapes?" Cheese-flavored "canteloupe?"

And what delicious things does he have for breakfast, lunch and supper in heaven -- bacon-flavored "oranges?" Scrambled egg-flavored "apples?" Grilled chicken or green bean-flavored "bananas?" (In addition to oranges and apples that taste like oranges and apples, of course.)

Tim is okay, much more than okay, really. And we will be okay, too, his family who still miss him so very much.

What is Wrong With People?

2007-06-01T08:02:00.000-04:00

For many weeks I did not hear from Mrs. x or Miss y. or Mr. z after Tim died. I saw some of these folks at church but they didn't get close enough to ask how I am doing. If I headed their way, instead of a greeting, they offered a nod. Sometimes when they saw me, they even turned away and walked in a different direction. Having a death in the family gives you a dreadful germ, like the plague, I guess. Even in church.

I did get in the face of one young fellow that Tim and I used to be friends with. I asked him how he was, since he didn't ask me. He sort of stammered, then apologized for not having spoken to me in the weeks since Tim died. He actually had the guts to tell me "I didn't know what to say."

I think I know his problem. Like so many of our Christian friends, he had prayed for Tim to be healed. But Tim died. Was it a failure of his prayer? A failure of his faith? Was everything he believed wrong? Instead of seeking answers, he avoided the questions by avoiding me.

Some people acted like they're afraid death might be contagious and maybe I'm a "Typhoid Mary." They sent me a card but they wouldn't talk to me in person.

I discussed this with several pastors and elders at my church, suggesting that perhaps we need a grief ministry. Somebody to insure that newly bereaved members aren't left to grieve alone in the weeks and months to come. But nothing was done. It's as if a bucket of fried chicken and a basket of flowers is enough - "Everybody's too busy, somebody else will probably do it, it's not my job, if you think it's a good idea then you do it," etc., etc., etc.

Things have improved in recent weeks, I'm glad to say. Most people seem back to normal, greeting me and asking how I'm doing now, seeming genuinely interested again. So I tell them, forgiving their earlier behavior.

And I have decided to make new friends, do new things, go new places, and try not to take that avoidance behavior personally. Because I don't think it's personal. I think it's fear. What a pity.

"If you've done it to one of the least of these, you've done it to me..." needs to be taken more seriously. I am praying that I myself will take that verse seriously, no matter what Mrs. x or Miss y. or Mr. z does or doesn't do.

Anniversaries should still be celebrated

2007-05-20T16:22:00.000-04:00

May 14, 1960, in the early morning hours between midnight and daylight, my daddy (Harold Whitten Motte, Sr.) died of a heart attack the week before he was scheduled to have open heart surgery at the Medical College Hospital in Charleston, SC (now part of the Medical University of South Carolina). I was a high school junior and had been to the Junior-Senior Prom at McClenaghan High School. I came home, went in to kiss him goodnight and never saw him alive again.

I usually just mark the date in my mind when I recognize it on the calendar. I haven't actually been to my parents gravesites in some time, never taking flowers for their graves, as I have been doing for Tim's. (Actually I took some bright yellow flowers out to his grave this afternoon; yes, yellow. I actually found a baby yellow begonia for the house last weekend, too.)

I have never thought of my parents as being at the cemetery... until Tim died I had always thought of them as being far, far away in some blurry expanse of clouds, doing something peaceful and restful. And dull and boring.

Mother died in 1970 so daddy was already there, maybe getting a home ready for them to share, I thought. What else was there for him to do? I had no idea. Now I realize that they are both very busy with work assignments and learning opportunities, and also enjoying music, praise and worship as they did here on earth.

Oh yes, I'm sure they're participating in music somehow. "Daddy sang bass, Mama sang tenor, me and little brother would join right in there," the old song goes. I'm not sure if daddy really sang bass, but he played a banjo and sang with a barbershop quartet off and on.

I don't remember ever hearing mama sing but she did love music. After he died she taught herself to play the piano, playing a variety of hymns for her own enjoyment. She taught a children's Sunday School class and loved to teach the little kids some gospel songs and choruses, so I guess she must have had to sing them herself. I bet she continued practicing in heaven, playing the piano while daddy plays banjo - or some new instruments they have discovered along the way. And I bet Tim plays his French horn or sings right along with them.

Imagine all the instruments ever invented throughout all of human history, plus some still yet to be discovered here on earth, all being used to glorify God. Not all played at once, but in combinations small or large, glorious melodies and harmonies. I don't believe all music in heaven is necessarily religious but it must certainly all be wonderful. Love songs. Folk tunes. Maybe even beach music, that would be a blast!

Some weeks back I had a mental image of a great pipe organ with pipes of crystal, not metal, and I could almost hear that sound. The depth and height of those octaves can't be duplicated on earth! I played a big pipe organ for some years, and I still get a thrill from hearing those deep rumbling bass pipes and the high, high flutes.

This week I had a mini-vision of a different kind of piano among all the musical instruments in heaven. Instead of the soundboard and strings being encased in a wooden box, these strings were completely exposed in a large separate frame. There were far more octaves than on my Baldwin Acrosonic. The player sat in front of the keyboard facing this great frame of strings across a short distance, maybe a few yards. As a key was pressed, a grouping of strings for that note was struck by the hammer. It was still a piano sound, but what a sound! It makes me want to find an inventor and have him construct one for me, here and now.

This past week as I realized it was the 47th anniversary of daddy's death, instead of visualizing a boring, cloudy expanse, I visualized daddy, mama and Tim in a noisy concert hall full of fun and laughter, music and melody, where fabulous pianos, crystal pipe organs, gold and silver French horns and every other imaginable and unimaginable instrument is being put to good use. Think what those rehearsals must be like!

So I celebrated that date a little differently this year, entering into their marvelous musical joy and excitement. As I'm sure you can tell, I no longer think of heaven as a dull and boring place.

Begonia

2007-05-12T08:54:00.000-04:00

No, it's not yellow, but it does have green leaves... And no, it's not in a cement planter, it's in a flower pot up on a stand. But I see it every day as I come and go, water it and talk to it a bit. I tell it "You're such a pretty plant, a pretty flower, bloom, bloom, bloom." We'll see if I can keep it healthy during the spring and summer.

I went to the cemetery and collected the red, white and blue silk flower arrangement from Tim's grave. Still in place and intact, it looked pretty good despite the several windy rain storms in the last few months. I noticed scattered flowers from other arrangements here and there that had blown off the stems but none of mine seemed to be missing any blossoms.

The large red ones had faded somewhat (as expected in our South Carolina spring sunshine) but the white and blue flowers still look like new. The styrofoam I had stuck the stems into had broken into several chunks, though. I definitely need a more sturdy base. A wire form, maybe? I'll make another trip to Hobby Lobby for flower replacements and see if one of the staff there can suggest something.

Even though Tim won't care if there are flowers at the cemetery or not, I think I'll keep some there for a while, for other people's benefit.

The present arrangement will go into a vase to keep here at home, faded red flowers and all. Actually, I like it. It was my first attempt at silk flower arranging and I did a pretty good job if I say so myself.

Heartstrings

2007-05-05T13:49:00.000-04:00

I read two newspapers every morning, our local (Florence) Morning News and the State Paper. I make a mental note of events going on within driving distance and ask myself -- do I want to make the effort to attend this? Usually I answer, no, not really. Not enough.

Some are things I know Tim and I would have enjoyed, like town festivals. Some are speakers, singing groups, sometimes plays; perhaps I would enjoy it, perhaps not. But getting the motivation to actually go there, do that, is the hardest part of this daily decision-making process.

Yes, I have the time. Yes, I have the money to buy gas and tickets to get in. Yes, I have the interest, sort of. But no, I don't have the inclination, motivation, gumption, get-up-and-go to actually do it. Too many remembrances are attached...

I think of all the events Tim and I attended together over the last 24 years or so. (We would have been married 22 years on Christmas Day, 2006.) When we first started dating, he was a member of multiple boards and commissions across South Carolina, community based health organizations or civic groups.

He owned his own car, even though he was blind. He said it was always easier to get someone to drive him to a meeting if he had the car, and that was true. I started driving him from meeting to meeting, and we got to know each other better along the way.

One in particular was a speaking engagement to an ADA (diabetes association) meeting in Beaufort. That one took many hours of travel to and from. Because I was driving him, I often got to sit in and listen to whatever was going on, even board meetings. That was quite interesting and educational for me.

Tim was a state board member of the South Carolina Chapter of the American Diabetes Association and over the years I came to know several other board members. After attending Crimestoppers of the Pee Dee board meetings with Tim, I eventually was invited to become a board member also. We did that together for about ten years.

Full Gospel Businessmen's chapters in both South and North Carolina would invite Tim to give his testimony, and he sometimes would sing with soundtracks as well as speak. One song he especially liked to sing was "He Didn't Lift Me Up to Let Me Down." I loved to hear him sing.

Tim's solo singing ended after his heart bypass surgery. His voice box was damaged by the airway down his throat and he went from being a tenor to a baritone. After he recovered from that surgery he didn't like the way his voice sounded and it was way more of an effort to do it. Pretty soon he stopped singing with backup tapes. But he played his french horn for church services, refocusing all his breath and energy into worshiping and praising the Lord that way.

And we kept on traveling, Tim attending or speaking at lots of meetings and me driving sometimes, or us taking in festivals and conventions and concerts sometimes.

I'm not interested enough in traveling alone, I guess, to go to many of those things by myself. I can still talk to Tim as I drive, talk to the Lord, listen to good music or tapes in the car, but it's not the same. Maybe one day, but not yet.

So I'm finding new things to do, things we never did together, places we didn't go, events we didn't attend. These don't bother me much and they are becoming part of our new NOW life together. I see people and places from the viewpoint of how Tim might be seeing them (he actually is if I ask him to). It's fresh and different, with no backward looks, no reminiscences of past occasions that remind me how much I miss Tim's physical presence.

Like my grand-nephew Jesse's Little League baseball games. I went to a mid-season playoff game this morning, sat with his grandparents Harold and Mary Lois to watch him play and enjoyed it. No twinges of grief and sadness, no remembering the last time Tim and I did this, because we never did this, and it was okay. It was really okay.

Tomorrow I'm driving down to the beach. I plan to attend church with Tim's daughter Angie, her husband Vernie, 5 year old Bella and 2 year old Liam. I will have lunch with them, hang out for a few hours and then attend Bella's dance recital at Coastal Carolina University at 5:00 PM. Tim and I did go to church with them one Sunday last year but we didn't attend Bella's last dance recital, I don't remember exactly why right now.

The last time I drove to the beach alone was Christmas Day, ten days after Tim died, to have lunch with his family. That was very, very hard. I'm counting on tomorrow's drive to be easier.

And I'm counting on all tomorrow's events to be okay, too. Tim and I will see them together. He will be able to see them! It will all be new and fresh, and it will be okay. Really okay.

Perspective

2007-04-25T08:36:00.000-04:00

Where you stand makes a difference. If you stand too close to someone when you talk, they back up. Their personal space was invaded. But you can see someone better from close up, right? So you want to be fairly close when you're talking, especially if you don't want to be overheard or if you're in a noisy environment and want to hear better too.

The same is not true of perspective. Being too close skews everything, distorts everything. You can't see the "big picture" if you're too close to the Person. Event. Issue.

It's been over four months since Tim died, and my perspective has changed. A little distance from the event has done that. Sharpened it, actually. Increased my focus on some aspects of the person, the event, and the issue - life. Past, present and future, the ongoing NOW life of Tim that stitches them all together in one fabric. The NOW life of me myself.

A couple of times during these months as I have talked to the Lord and to Tim, I searched through photos of Tim and picked several to keep on hand in the kitchen and office. It's easier to talk to Tim when I'm looking at a photo and visualizing his face. And I came to realize just how physically tired and ill Tim was last December.
When I asked the Lord what Tim looks like in heaven, he directed me to a couple of photos from the 1980's. One was our wedding picture. One I pulled out yesterday was taken in the parking lot at Creekside, where Tim is leaning against his Cutless Supreme and smiling as he looks directly at me holding the camera. Except that he has more hair now, this is pretty much what he looks like.

Comparing that photo with the last December photo, it's easy to tell how tired Tim had become. He's not tired now, though - he's full of energy and enthusiasm, interest and excitement. He tries to stir up more of those attributes in me these days, get me out of my physical, emotional and spiritual lethargy in the mornings. "Up and at 'em!" I'm not a morning person but I'm trying.

My perspective on our NOW life together is gradually changing, and I'm having fewer lonely, self-pitying afternoons. Less intense ones. I find reasons to do something, go somewhere outside of the condo in those times. Sometimes I save up errands so I can do them later in the day, the worst time of day for me. And then I ask Tim to go with me when I leave the house.

As I drive down roads and streets and walk around in stores, I look at these places as he is looking at them. Some of these he had never seen before and my descriptions of them in the past had been very skimpy. It's hard for me to try to describe something "on the fly" as we drive or walk pass. Now Tim is seeing for himself those streets and stores and commenting on them. Pretty. Crowded. Junky. Busy. Interesting. Expensive. Hmmmm. Now I understand, he says.

Then as Tim describes his present-day life and activities to me I try to visualize his environment as he is looking at it, and my perspective of life and eternity changes too. From time to time the Lord gives me a glimpse of what is ahead for Tim, for me, and for the world. He enlivens my perspective! He expands, widens, broadens, deepens it, yet focuses and clarifies it, like letting me examine a wide-angle high resolution photograph with a magnifying glass.

Keep things in perspective, people say. They usually mean don't go overboard, don't take things too seriously, don't be a fanatic. My changing perspective might require some or all of those, considering what lies ahead.

Colors of spring, colors of life

2007-04-21T08:40:00.000-04:00

This week I've wandered through three stores looking at pot plants, thinking I would put a planter box on the cement pad outside my side door -- that's the door I use these days, the one in Tim's office. There's a plastic chair and a garden statue of the child St. Francis (a Christmas gift) there now, but I'd like to replace them with something bright and cheerful, a planter box full of colorful spring, summer and fall blossoms. Colors Tim would like.

I asked Ora Lee one day what Tim's favorite colors were growing up. I always picked out colors of shirts for him according to my tastes, blue, red and white, or maroon mostly. But as I thought back to the clothes he owned when we first met, I thought he probably had preferred yellows, tans and greens. Sure enough, that's what she said. In fact, he owned a bright lemon yellow sports coat and a pair of grass green slacks one time. We finally gave them away several years ago because he'd outgrown them.

So I planned to look for bright yellow plants and a heavy (too heavy to steal) rectangular planter for them. I first went to Forest Lake Greenhouses and slowly walked around, admiring all the red begonias and pastel petunias. They had a few yellow chrysanthemum type flowers in small containers but nothing struck my fancy. Their only oblong planters were plastic and lightweight, too easy for someone to pick up and carry away. Most were round and most were plastic. I decided to keep looking.

Later in the afternoon I drove over to Lowe's, parked near the garden shop and perused their selections. Skimpy. They had less yellow offerings than Forest Lake. Yesterday I made my way out to the new Home Depot. The few other shoppers seemed just as disappointed as I was, frowning as they looked around. Aisles and aisles of sameness, shelves and shelves of more sameness. The only thing that drew my attention was outside, a display of two-toned yellow petunias, something I'd never seen before. If I had been able to find the planter I had in mind, I might have purchased some of those but their planters were plastic, too. Most were round, too.

Again I came home without a flower or a pot to put it in. As I pushed open the door and stepped into the house, I could clearly hear Tim speak to me.

"You're the one who's going to look at them," he said, "why don't you get a color you like? They have lots of those. And it doesn't matter if the pot is plastic or plaster, round or square, just get something you'll like seeing whenever you come and go. Since you use this door all the time now, you'll see it every day and you'll remember to water it."

He was reminding me of the plants I've put at that door in the past, how they usually died from lack of attention. Lack of water. He reminded me that he has plenty of other flowers to look at where he is; he won't care one way or the other whether the ones I put there to look at are yellow or zebra-striped.

Okay, since he put it like that, maybe I'll go back over to Forest Lake and take another look. I will ask somebody to help me pick a hardy outdoor plant that can survive through the summer.

One day this week I wondered what Tim was doing, and he said he was taking a few minutes to simply enjoy heaven's beautiful colors. I tried to imagine what that was like but it's impossible to do. We take colors for granted, shades of blues and greens in sky and ocean, reds and golds in trees and flowers. But in heaven there are colors we've never seen on earth!

For so many years Tim was blind. Now he can see colors! And far more colors than I see, some that don't even have names, nothing I can use to compare them to something I'm familiar with. What an interesting, exciting, wonderful way to spend a few minutes. I'll think about that when I go back to find a flower pot for the door.

Some folks don't want to understand, I think

2007-04-16T14:53:00.000-04:00

I got another phone call this afternoon wanting to know how I'm doing, a gentleman with a very sympathetic tone to his voice expecting to hear me respond with self-pity, I'm sure. He seemed disappointed when I didn't. When I tell some people that I'm really doing fine, they seem puzzled and even annoyed. They seem to think I am not missing Tim as much as I should, I'm not as sad as I should be, not the loving spouse/widow I should be. They don't get it. And I don't like having to try to explain and listen to their doubtful expressions in reply.

Tim's physical body is gone, but he's not gone. He's not dead in the true sense of the word, he's more alive than I am. He can go more places, see more things, do more activities, and understand far more than any still-on-the-earth-in-this-life Christian can possibly understand.

I certainly do miss Tim's physical presence with me, but I am really doing fine most of the time. Late afternoons and evenings are the worst times of the day for me, when the aloneness seems to be stronger. That's when I talk to the Lord about it, talk to Tim about it, and it's much better.

Yesterday I went to the grocery store and almost got through the trip without thinking about all the stuff I no longer buy. I did point out to Tim that my tastes in breakfast food have changed, that I mostly eat cereal these days, not much in the way of bagels and cream cheese. He seemed to be telling me that I needed some variety, so I went ahead and bought some of those. We'll see how long it takes me to eat them... I didn't see anyone I knew and I was grateful for that.

I did skip the Powers family reunion, though. I left church after Sunday School with intentions of picking up some Kentucky Fried Chicken and heading to the reunion, but the more I thought about it the less inclined I was to go. I realized that Uncles Charlie, Mike and Palmer and families were going to be there and I would have liked to see them, but I just couldn't do it.

So I just came home, cooked myself a pot of chili, ate lunch, watched some TV, worked on emails, did some blogging, and read a lot. I don't know if we had the small group last night but yesterday was very stormy and I had no inclination to drive in a lot of wind, so I didn't.

I find myself not wanting to do much when the weather is bad, just hibernate with a book and an old television movie or something. The clouds are mostly gone today but it's still pretty windy and the windows rattle with it. So I haven't done much today either, just a little work on a client's typing, a little email, a little blogging, a little reading, a little news on TV...

I'm glad I know Tim is having a blast, learning, doing, anticipating. Knowing about all that is the reason I can truthfully say I'm doing fine, most of the time.

Day of Resurrection

2007-04-07T17:09:00.000-04:00

There are a lot of people in heaven who have already been resurrected from the dead... that is, they already have a new physical body combined with their spiritual body. Enoch walked with God and was not, the Bible says. I take that to mean he was taken bodily into heaven without having to die and be resurrected first. Somebody must have been there to record that, else why would it be worded that way?

So was Elijah. And we know Elisha saw him as he left, being escorted in a grand fashion. Then, in the book of Matthew we read about the many, many saints who were raised from the dead along with Jesus, and who were seen by a lot of people in Jerusalem and no doubt other places before they went along with Jesus on into heaven. I believe these were the saints who believed in advance in the Messiah who was to come. The cream of the crop of the Old Testament, Adam and Eve, Noah, Abraham, the prophets, and quite probably John the Baptist.

So, there are quite a number of people in heaven who already have a physical body. Wonder how their abilities, their activities, their assignments differ from those who only have spiritual bodies and no flesh?

Questions like these come up regularly in my conversations with Tim and the Lord in the last several months. I do receive answers to my questions, but those are recorded in a quite private place for the most part.

But about those believers in heaven who have physical bodies already... sometimes you read about "angel" appearances on earth, bringing warnings or encouragement or instruction or assistance in some form. Because they appear and disappear, they are believed to be angels and not humans. But Jesus appeared and disappeared at will, after his resurrection. These appearances may just be incognito earth-assignments for David, or Abraham, or Daniel. Who would recognize them these days? Of course, they may also be angels.

Sometimes I am envious of all the exciting, interesting, challenging, wonderful activities Tim is involved in now, but the Lord reminds me that patience is a virtue and reassures me that my future assignments here on earth will blessed, interesting, challenging, and are necessary.

Thank You

2007-03-19T17:23:00.000-04:00

Dear Friends,

I'd like to thank you for all the expressions of love and sympathy Tim's family and I have received since his death on December 15th (2006). Many folks have asked if Tim died as a result of all the health problems he'd had over the years and that's partly true, I guess. (See The Tim Cox Story)

Tim fell here at home on Wednesday, December 13th and broke his left leg close to the hip. On Thursday they operated to fix the leg and he had a heart attack in the Recovery Room. Although the doctors did everything medically possible to save him they could not get his blood pressure back up to anything near normal. Tim's tired heart finally just gave out and stopped on Friday afternoon.

Psalm 91 was given to Tim's mother by the Lord as an encouragement many years ago, and it promises long life to those who set their love upon the Lord. Tim was only 60 years old and that's not really a long life to most people. It certainly didn't seem long enough to me. But for Tim whose body had undergone so many attacks and challenges over his lifetime, it actually was.

Tim was the most courageous, kind, loving, and determined man I ever knew. He was my very best friend almost from the moment we met. Only my Lord Jesus Christ has ever been closer to me, and I miss Tim dreadfully. But today Tim can see, has both his legs, all his fingers and a strong heart, and I believe he is experiencing the greatest of joy with his Lord and with those who arrived in heaven before he did.

Some have said he's playing his French horn with the heavenly orchestra, others have said he's probably water skiing or driving his 280Z (if there is a way to do that in heaven), dancing, playing tennis, telling funny stories and all those other things Tim loved to do at some time in his life on earth. His daughter Angie said he's probably already been elected President of some group, organizing ways to help somebody else! They may all be right.

And he is meeting and greeting family and friends who went ahead of him, especially his grandmother and his dad, but many others who Tim loved. Tim's spiritual gifts included helping a multitude of other people and encouraging everyone he knew whether they were close friends or new acquaintances. I told someone that Tim could make a friend out of a wrong number, and that was true. He even put one lady who had dialed the wrong number on hold, then used our business line to get her the right number.

When I am tempted to feel sorry for myself, my heart hears a little voice telling me to "Look forward, not back." I am striving to do that, to look forward as I work to make the Lord — and Tim — proud of the way I live my life from this point.

A number of people have asked me about the Family Memories column. Actually, my writing it was Tim's idea in the first place. I think he would like for me to continue so I'll try to get back to it in the very near future. If you ever met Tim, would you let me know? I'm making a little collection of the various ways people were touched by his life.

In the meantime, Tim's family and I wish to say a heartfelt thanks to you for all the expressions of love and sympathy we have received. With gratitude and prayers for a blessed 2007 for us all,

Bette Cox

I use different routes these days...

2007-03-19T17:16:00.000-04:00

March 19, 2007

The strangest things happen occasionally. I'll start to drive down a familiar street and realize that the last time I drove down this street Tim was in the car with me. Then I can't make myself continue down that street. I'll turn off somewhere, go a different route, even if my destination is one where Tim and I had been numerous times. There's just something about remembering that last drive on this street, this block, that gets to me.

The first time I went to buy groceries was like that. It was very hard. I no longer had to purchase certain things that Tim liked, that I previously bought just for him. My shopping list was much shorter, truncated, just as I felt my heart was. Pushing my cart down certain aisles became nearly impossible and I just didn't buy some things that day.

Last night as I drove home from my small group meeting I deliberately went the long way around, just so I wouldn't feel that same horrible aloneness when there should have been the two of us in the car.

For a similar reason I no longer use the front door to my condo much. I could, but now I park the car near the side door that Tim and I never used together because it has a step. I don't need the handicap parking space close to the front door so I just park near the side door. Entering the condo this way doesn't trigger fresh memories of the last time Tim and I went in or out of our condo together, and that way it doesn't trigger fresh pain.

Strange, the things I do to keep that pain at bay, the pain of Tim not accompanying me when I leave the house. Even though I went many places, many times, by myself in the past, it's those times we went in and out together that are still too fresh, too tender in my mind.

I know Tim can experience my comings and goings along with me, and he can see where we're going now where he couldn't before. Sometimes the Lord lets me hear Tim's reaction to seeing the inside of a place we'd been but he'd never seen, like Lowe's, or the Mall — cluttered. Jumbled. Noisy he knew, but splashy, junky, cluttered he didn't know. I was never that good at describing all the stuff you find in places like that. His reaction to those places is funny, really, like a kid sometimes turning up his nose at spinach, yuk - why on earth do you want to shop here, I can almost hear him say. Well, I'm used to the junkiness, I don't even think about it, I tell him.

It's just that his physical presence was so much a part of my life. It's something I want back! But not want back too, if it meant Tim wouldn't be well and whole and able to see and do everything he can see and do in heaven these days.

I know one day this hurtful aloneness feeling will be gone. It just comes over me sometimes and I use whatever means I need to get past it.

Bette's Website

2007-03-19T08:30:00.000-04:00

All former material on this blogsite and Bette's other blogs has been transferred to her website www.BetteCox.com.

This blog will be dedicated to Bette's thoughts and reactions following the death of her beloved husband, Tim C. Cox, on December 15, 2006.

Thank You is a letter Bette wrote to the community following Tim's death.

Several of the following are special posts about Tim. One is an article Bette wrote about Tim several years ago, titled The Tim Cox Story. The Cool Dozen is an article Tim wrote himself, about an adventure he and several friends had on Black River the year they graduated from high school.

Please visit Bette's website to read her Family Memories newspaper columns, her short stories, humerous online novel, Bible studies, opinion pieces and other writings, www.BetteCox.com.

The above photograph was taken by Bette in their living room the Sunday before Tim died.

The Tim Cox Story

2006-01-07T20:44:00.001-05:00

In 2004 Bette was asked to write an article about her husband Tim for the Voice of the Diabetic Magazine, published and distributed worldwide by the National Federation of the Blind. The following article appeared in the Fall 2004 edition.

The article appeared with this photograph. The caption on the poster in the background reads: “Do Not Pray for an Easy Life...Pray to be a Strong Person.”

"Tim Cox 'Sees' a Lot More Life than Most Folks Do" reads the article headline from the Florence Morning News of Sunday, May 4, 1986.

This just one of dozens written over the years about the 58 year old native of Kingstree, South Carolina, who at age 5 developed juvenile diabetes. Insulin shots became a way of life for this little boy, in the days when there was very little sugar-free anything to satisfy a child's craving for sweets. A constant dietary balancing act became his mother Ora Lee's way of life, as were frequent trips to the doctor's office or hospital.

As Tim grew, he determined to never let diabetes stop him from accomplishing the important things in life. He joined the high school tennis team, played french horn and the trombone in the marching band, he water skiied, and he had a ton of friends. In 1964 he graduated from Kingstree High School (celebrating their 40th class reunion with Tim as primary instigator this June). He went on to business school, began work as a computer programmer, and got married. His daughter Angelia was born. And then Tim started having vision problems. He underwent laser treatments, traveled to Dukane University in Pittsburgh to be trained as a blind programmer, and by Labor Day 1974, Tim began losing his eyesight. A month later his kidneys failed.

Up until that time, diabetics in South Carolina had never been put on dialysis. They were left to die. But Tim wouldn't give up, and after many agonizing days of praying, pleading and waiting, he became the first diabetic ever to be put on dialysis in South Carolina. His wife learned how to do home dialysis, but the many pressures of his illness soon led to separation and later divorce. Once again Tim had to rely on his parents, family and friends, and a lot of prayer.

Eventually Tim's mother learned to operate the home dialysis unit, and the family settled into a precarious routine. Tim refused to settle for being "disabled." He got involved with his whole heart in the community -- serving on local boards for the American Diabetic Association (ADA), American Cancer Society, Kidney Foundation, and Jaycees. He helped found the Black River CB Club and organized such activities as the "Coffee Club Patrol," calling drivers in from the highway to raise funds for house fire victims. During these years, Tim won many awards: Outstanding Jaycee in South Carolina, 1978; Kingstree Jaycee of the Year 1979, and the Adam Fisher Award of the ADA, 1981. He was a member of the Committee on Computers for the Physically Handicapped based in Chicago, Illinois, the South Carolina Physically Handicapped Society and the National Federation for the Blind. He kept very busy between dialysis treatments.

In 1978, after four years of ups and downs with dialysis, Tim and his mother traveled to the New England Deaconess Hospital in Boston and Ora Lee donated a kidney. Tim arrived home from the hospital at 12:05 AM, Christmas Day 1978. A month later, he became public affairs director and talk show host for WKSP radio in Kingstree. He owned a 1976 Datsun 280Z, and with driver Joel Stone, in 1979 he competed in several Sports Car Club of America races, coming home with first or second places.

"He Has Battled Death and Won." So reads a December 17, 1979 Charlotte Observer headline. A State Newspaper headline of December 25, 1979 reads, "Christmas Very Special to Tim Cox." And it was, indeed. Tim celebrated by arranging for the Brass Ensemble of the Charleston Symphony to play two public concerts in Kingstree, "as a Christmas gift to the community."

"Blindness Didn't Stop Him," reads the headline from a Florence Morning News article of 1983. Tim had determined to get on with his career and enrolled in Francis Marion University in Florence. He moved to Florence, rented a room in a boarding house, and still owned a car. "It's a lot easier to bum a ride if you have your own car," he said. He graduated with a Bachelor of Science in Business Administration in December of 1982 and went to work as the only blind instructor in the state's technical college system. He had all his text books audiotaped and recorded his class notes on tape also. "Talk about a challenge, whew!" he said. He moved into an apartment complex and "sometimes I would be known to run into the hall asking my neighbors, what was in the box of Lean Cuisine, and for how long did I set the microwave!"

About that time, Tim met Bette Gaymon at a Full Gospel Businessmen's meeting in Florence, where she served as pianist. They began dating and were married on Christmas Day, 1984. Diets and insulin shots became the way of life for yet another person in Tim's life.

When Tim's contract with the technical college ran out, he and Bette opened their own business, Executive Services of the Pee Dee, Inc., a full-line secretarial service. It was May, 1986. Tim and Bette both got involved in their community. With Bette at the wheel of his car, Tim became a popular spokesman for the ADA, speaking to civic and church groups across the state. Both joined the board of Crimestoppers of the Pee Dee, and Tim took up playing his french horn again, joining Bette in the music ministry of their church. Their business grew and expanded along with their community activities.

"Tim Cox Receives President's Trophy," reports a May 1988 headline from the Florence Morning News, as Tim was named Florence's Handicapped Citizen of the Year. This award was followed by being named South Carolina Handicapped Citizen of the Year for 1988, as well as Employer of the Year of the Handicapped, recognized for hiring handicapped employees for his business. But ...

By 1987, Ora Lee's donated kidney had begun to fail. Despite the tightest blood sugar control Tim and Bette could achieve, diabetes had taken a toll on the transplant, and Tim began to study the possibility of a pancreas transplant to stop the diabetes completely. There was one obstacle -- he also had coronary and other major artery disease, likewise a result of diabetes. "Get your arteries fixed, and then we'll talk," said the physicians. That didn't seem to be an option at the time.

But in May of 1987, Tim was admitted to the hospital with unstable angina, and while an inpatient on the cardiac floor he suffered cardiac arrest. An emergency pacemaker saved his life and ten days later he underwent triple bypass surgery. Later that year, his right leg had to be amputated due to gangrene. Diabetes had wrecked the peripheral arterial system in the leg. After recovering from all that, Tim made another call about the pancreas transplant, and after traveling alone in September 1988 to the University of Minnesota Medical Center for a complete examination, he was accepted as a candidate for a double kidney-pancreas transplant. Since the kidney was already weak, they must replace it also. While Tim awaited a donor, this time he began fund raising efforts for himself -- in 1988, insurance companies considered a pancreas transplant experimental and wouldn't cover those costs.

"Tim Cox Never Gives In To Fate" said Charlie Walker in a December 14th newspaper column in the Kingstree News. "Tim Cox believes when you're handed lemons, you make lemonade," quipped Charlie. He pointed out all the other people Tim had helped over the years, and the fact that now Tim needed help. Charlie organized a Jail-A-Thon to help out. Civic clubs, church groups, friends, business acquaintances, and even strangers -- people all over the state began helping out. Billboards went up all over the county: "Tim Cox Needs $100,000." A trust fund was set up by a local civic club, a beeper was donated, and money started coming in.

On December 23, 1988, the call came in. "We've got a perfect match. You need to get here within twelve hours." But the private planes Tim had lined up weren't available due to the holidays. And all the major airports connecting to Florence were fogged in, so he couldn't get to Minneapolis on a regular airline, even though Florence skies were clear. Desperate calls went out for a private plane, and one was finally found in North Carolina. Friends, family and news reporters waved goodbye as Tim's parents, Tim and Bette flew out of Florence, headed for Minneapolis. By this time Bette's daughter Shelby Powell was helping run the business, a tremendous blessing over the weeks ahead.

The transplants took place on Christmas Eve. All day long Tim's parents and Bette sat, stood, paced the floor and prayed in the nearly deserted waiting room, and finally Dr. David Sutherland, head of the surgical team, came out with the news. The pancreas and kidney were working fine -- the pancreas fired up immediately when the last stitch went in and Tim no longer needed insulin shots.

Over the next two days, bleeding problems necessitated two more surgeries, but thirty days later Tim was back home in Florence and well on the way to recovery. Diabetes was no longer a problem but fund raising had to resume, with talent shows, gospel sings, auctions, and a myriad of other events. Slowly but surely, the community responded and enough funds were collected to defray most of the medical bills and medications not covered by insurance.

Today, over 15 years later, Tim is busier than ever. The transplants are still working fine, and Tim is a true advocate for pancreas and kidney transplants, and of course organ donation. The disease was stopped in its tracks, but the damage already caused by diabetes wasn't reversible. Tim lost his other leg in 1989 and later most of his fingers. He's had several small strokes which affected his hearing. However, he still runs his business, still plays his french horn for church, and is still active in community affairs and politics. In 1991 he organized the UP (for Used Parts) Club, a support group for transplant patients of all types, and established the Carolina Transplant Foundation, a nonprofit organization designed to assist patients in fund-raising. He received WBTW-TV13's "Giving Your Best" Award in 1991. In 1992 he added another division to his company, Advanced Insulation. He was named Florence County Republican Party Volunteer of the Year for 1993-95, and received the James B. Edwards Award of the state Republican Party in 1998.

"Advantage: Attitude" is yet another headline about Tim. "I don't consider myself handicapped, I'm handicapable," declared Tim in the 1992 business article in the Morning News. That really sums it up well. "Tim Cox is Not Special; He's Stubborn," said another Morning News column in 1997. "I like to surprise people. I like to do things they think I can't do." And he's still doing it. Tim is now a grandfather with a two year old granddaughter, Bella.(And now a 1 year old grandson, Liam.) He and Bette recently added a new division to their company, Family Memories, which conducts interviews for personal histories, biographies or memoirs. Visit their web site and take a look at Tim's resume. (www.SCFamilyMemories.com)

Tim could never have survived, much less accomplished all that he has, without the help of his family, his multitudes of friends, and his faith in Jesus Christ. Every time there was a medical setback, a call for prayer went out across South and North Carolina and things took a dramatic turn for the better. A special Bible verse came to Tim's mom Ora Lee during a critical period, and over the years it has been a great source of strength. If you don't remember much else about Tim Cox, remember that verse: "With long life will I satisfy him, and show him my salvation." (Psalms 91:16)

That is the reason that still today, "Tim Cox 'Sees' a Lot More Life than Most Folks Do."

A Cool Dozen

2006-01-07T04:00:00.000-05:00

Tim Cox recalls a memorable trip down Black River in 1964...

December 26, 1964 a dozen members of the 1964 Class of Kingstree High School, most home from our first college semester, took a boat trip down Black River for fun, fellowship and adventure.

Charlie Bell, Tommy Bishop, Buford Boyd, Tim Cox, Danny Fry, Paul Jacobs, Billy Jenkinson, James Hugh McCutcheon, Richard Mims, Frank Seignious, Phil Stoll, and Johnny Tanner distributed ourselves among seven small boats of varying sizes, all powered by small outboard motors. An adult friend, Aubrey Williamson, served as unofficial guide for the first leg of the trip and carried our supplies in his large 16-foot boat.

One of South Carolina's scenic rivers, Black River is indeed black although clear, not muddy, with a white sand bottom. If you scooped up a glass full, the water would look just like brewed tea. Tannic acid from cypress trees growing along the river darkens the water, like the tannic acid in tea. Lynches River, Little Pee Dee, Waccamaw, Edisto, and Black River all have black water from cypress trees.

The morning after Christmas dawned sunny and cool. We put in below Kingstree, planning to end the day at Brown's Landing. Near Kingstree the river was barely twenty feet wide and in narrow spots the water ran swift, but suddenly the river opened out into a beautiful vista. Except for navigating around the occasional log we had smooth travel for miles. Ducks and deer peered at us from the banks as we put-putted by. There were no snakes or alligators to worry us, being winter time.

Our 4:30 arrival at the Landing left little daylight to set up camp and unpack food supplies. As the sun went down and the temperature with it, we scrounged for kindling and started a camp fire. Aubrey's ride arrived and he departed for home and his nice, warm bed. Hot dogs, vienna sausages, peanuts and junk food made our supper, but our favorites that night were coffee and hot chocolate. It was growing very chilly.

We were all dressed appropriately for the occasion, we thought -- heavy coats, hats, gloves, hunting boots and thick socks. Each had a sleeping bag and Charlie Bell and Tommy Bishop even had a tent. We kept the fire going until too tired to tend it, sleeping bags spread in a semicircle around it. Crawling in fully clothed with hats pulled low and just our noses poking out to breath, we thought sleep would be easy. It wasn't.

We were not prepared for the 24-degree weather that night, plus sleet. Tree branches kept the worst of the sleet off of us, but Charlie soon got so cold he decided to re-start the fire. The sound of Charlie chopping down trees to feed the fire awakened the rest of us every couple of hours.

At daylight all we wanted was coffee and hot chocolate to thaw us out. Ice had formed in the bottom of some boats, and Billy Jenkinson and Frank Seignious' outboard engine refused to crank. Billy pulled until his arm tired out and Frank crawled to the back to help out. Unbalanced, their two-man boat tipped one way, then the other, and water poured in on three sides. Bailing their boat delayed our departure, but finally we got that last engine cranked up.

Aubrey didn't return that morning -- guess he thought it was too cold -- so Danny Fry took over solo control of my boat, I moved to Aubrey's 16-footer, and the smaller boats moved out in front. Aubrey had warned us that the river was deceptive close to the landing, and he was right. In the daylight the water appeared to run straight ahead but the map showed a 90-degree turn to the right. Sure enough, some guys missed the turn and ran out of water. They thought they'd have to haul the boats through the woods to find the river again. Watching from behind, I circled around and slowly ran down the right hand side, checking the current until I found the turn between two large cypress trees. The opening was only 12 to 15 feet wide. We re-grouped and started again.

Down river we stopped at a cabin where some guys came out to chat. "We hate to tell you," they said, "but there's some fallen trees blocking the water downriver. Those small boats might make it but you'll never get that big boat through." Well, being teenage boys we decided to go for it anyway. Sure enough, a few miles downstream the river was blocked. Some of our dozen had been football players, big strong guys, so they climbed out to clear enough of the brush on one sandy bank to carry the boats around. The small boats were easy, but Aubrey's 16-footer was nearly impossible. Wearing his waders, Richard Mims eased out into the water. We all yanked, pushed and pulled to make a gap big enough to manhandle the big boat through. A solid hour of precious daylight was gone. "Are we still having fun?"

Things seemed to be going fine again, when we hit a "T" where it looked like the body of Black River ran into some other river. As the boats up ahead turned right, I watched to see which way the water flowed. Yep, that was the wrong way. Back-tracking was getting old, but nearing Andrews where the water gets wide, we thought we could make up for lost time. And we did, until we reached the Andrews Narrows and yet another log jam. This time there was no way around. Ropes were made fast to one log, then another, the outboards were cranked up, and gradually we pulled the downed trees apart. Another long hour had passed, but all the boats were through. We were getting short on fun and a little long on adventure…

Out in the wider water there were no trees close enough to serve as windbreaks. The cold was seeping through to our bones, and with daylight getting away we speeded up and stretched out. My boat had a smaller engine than the others and Danny had trouble keeping up. The rest of us arrived at Brown's Ferry, piled out and got a bonfire started, but still no Danny. When Aubrey rejoined us at the Ferry he and another guy took off in his boat upriver, searching. They found Danny still put-putting along, holding up a gas lantern to see where he was going.

Huddled around the bonfire we tried our best to get warm. Buford Boyd pulled off his frozen boots, stretched his feet close to the fire and said, "If I could figure out how to levitate and hold both feet out at one time that sure would be great."

After a moment he added, "You know, I'm mad at my mama." We all asked, "Why?" He said, "She had better sense than to let me come on something like this!"