Autumn and orange flowers

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

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

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

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

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.