Mama

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

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?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.