A change of plans

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

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!

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

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

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

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...
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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

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...

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

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

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.