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.

Tanner reunion time

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

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...

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

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"

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

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

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

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.

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.