Closure

I don't know why, but I keep thinking of death today. Well, not "death" per se, but of dead people. Maybe, it's because of all of the tragic events on the news lately, or maybe, it's because I just dreamed about my favorite cousin who died a few years ago. She was still young. We were the same age, only six weeks apart in age. Everytime that I dream about her, she is sad. Maybe, it is because of there being no closure in the event...a phrase that I don't like, and is way overused to my way of thinking. Is there ever any such thing, really? Especially to the one who has lost someone they love?

My aunt, her mother, is still grieving over the death of her daughter, even though it has been nearly eight years, now. That's because she feels in her heart that it was not due to natural illness, but that it was something that was done to her, and now she has no way of ever finding out the truth. No closure.

My mother had five brothers, and two sisters. Only one sister survives, and all the rest, except for one older brother, died within two or three years of each other, including my mother, who died six years ago. At the funeral of my cousin, another of my young cousins, Butch, said that it was too bad that everyone got together only at funerals. Eight months later, his dad, my Uncle Seals, died. Six weeks after that, Butch died suddenly. In a span of two years, after the death of my mother, one of my stepsisters, a stepbrother, my favorite sister-in-law, and two very good friends died. They've all been on my mind lately.

Two years ago, a young cousin drove his pickup to his favorite place, high up on a mountain. He climbed into the bed of the truck, and sucked on a hose he had attached to the exhaust. It was in the hot summertime, and they didn't find him for five days. No one knows why. No closure.

This past June, a thirty year old cousin, was found dead of an overdose. Ironically, she had been to the same doctor who was in the news lately concerning the wrestler who killed his wife and son. She picked up her prescriptions that day, and she was dead the next morning. Her death is still under investigation. No closure.

What is that really--closure? Does it mean that it's okay that someone died, they are dead and gone? Does it mean one has come to terms with it, and accepts it for what it is, a final farewell, at least in this life?

I had one real brother. By that I mean that he was not a step-sibling. The thing is, I never really knew him very well. When my parents divorced, my dad kept kidnapping him from my mother who was awarded custody, and in those days there was no such thing as Women's Rights, so there was nothing she could do about it. So, I didn't ever see my brother until I was fourteen years old, and he was a stranger. Many years passed before I saw him again, and he was still a stranger.

When our mother became so ill, and I was taking care of her, he started coming around, pretty often. Soon afterwards, his wife divorced him, and I didn't see much of him, but talked to him, daily, on the phone.

When we moved up here, four years ago, we still talked daily. One day, he mentioned that he had been to the doctor, and had some tests, and they had seen something on an xray, and the doctor thought that he might have cancer. He smoked five packs of cigarettes a day. He joked about it, just the way he joked about everything. He said that he was about to take a trip on that long black train, or something like that, referring to a song .

The thing that I had found out about my brother was that he could either tell the truth about something, or a lie--it didn't much matter. So I didn't even know if what he said was true.

A few days went by, and he didn't call. I called him, and his phone had been disconnected. I didn't know his address. I didn't know his friends. I did everything to try to find out what had happened, and always came to a dead end.

The last time I had talked to him, had been in April that year. In February, my husband got a call from his company's headquarters. They said that they had a phone number for his wife to call.

I called the number. It was someone who had known my brother. He told me that my brother had died the day before. He died of lung cancer. It seems that he never went back to the doctor that April, and then he became so ill that he went to the hospital on that Friday in February. They sent him to some kind of hospice facility the next day, Saturday. He was dead on Sunday.

His friend said that he had gone there to see him, and asked if there was anyone that he needed to call, and he told him no. He asked him if he didn't have a sister, somewhere, and did she know where he was. He asked if he wanted him to call his sister for him? He told him that he had just talked to me that morning. He asked him if he wanted him to call a priest or a rabbi, and he told him no, and became angry and told him that he had better not call one.

I don't know why he told him that...I don't know why he didn't want me to know anything about anything that was happening to him. I don't know anything except that he was almost penniless. I do know that I would have tried to help him. I do know that I gave his friend permission to scatter his ashes on our mother's grave...because that is what he wanted. He wanted no service of any kind...only to be cremated. I complied. That was the only, the final, thing that I could ever do for him. Doing that, for me, was closure.

I posted this, previously, about two years ago, and since then there have been many more losses. Some friends. Some family. All dear to my heart. There have been deaths in families of some of my friends, too. The one thing that I have learned, is that life does go on. People still get up in the morning, and go to bed at night. They go to work, to school, to family gatherings, to church, and do all the normal things that people normally do. That is not to say that they forget the friend or loved one, but they have to move ahead in their own lives, because they still have needs, and desires, and I believe that the one they have lost would be the first to tell them to do that.

So, can there ever be closure, as long as we hang onto what is in the past, to what was, but is no more? Sometimes, there have been unresolved issues, that now, can never be resolved, and they haunt us. I have found that the best thing that can be done is to forgive--them, if they caused you emotional pain, and yourself, if that is the case. I have said it so many times, but I will say it again, "Forgiveness is a gift that you give yourself."

If there were happy memories, think on these, and be happy and grateful that your loved one will live on in those memories. Whatever the case may be, the thing is to go on with your life, cherishing every moment that you have with loved ones still living.

Closure? Maybe that is the way one finds it. Forgiveness, and living life the best that you can, in thankfulness for what you have.

Of Shoes And Purses

There's just something about me, and shoes...I like them. Shoes and purses. Mama always told me that when I was a little girl, that I would choose a purse over any toy, including dolls. When asked what I wanted Santa to bring me, my answer would be, " A puhse"--I couldn't pronounce it correctly at that tender age, but I sure knew what they were, and I loved them! Even now, when I find a pair of shoes that I really, really like, I will buy them in different colors. Females are strange critters, I know, and we are blessed, indeed, if we can find a man wonderful enough to put up with our strange ways, and not only that, but to be a real help in any situation.

For instance, several years ago, when my husband worked at the Kennedy Space Center, we lived there, right on Indian River, across from where they launched the shuttles. It's beautiful there, but it is so hot and humid, that it sometimes it makes just ordinary tasks seem nearly impossible--and oh, yes, I do have a "for instance" about that, too.

One evening our church took all the young people to a skating rink, which I loved, because I always loved skating. We all were having a great time, gliding around the rink, doing our special little moves. Except that I suddenly wasn't really gliding, more like stumbling along. I realized that one of the wheels on my skates was not functioning properly, and decided to go to the changing room for another pair.

I was easing myself across the carpet, when I suddenly felt myself falling, headlong, with no way to stop myself. I fell like a ton of bricks, with my left hand taking the full brunt of the fall. It was bent backwards, with the tops of my fingers, touching my arm. The pain was so intense that I couldn't move. It seems that there had been a hole in the carpet, and the wheel of my skate rolled right into it, throwing me forward.

Needless to say, I was in the hospital for five days, having undergone surgery, to instill five pins in my wrist, hand, and arm. My wrist was broken in eight places, and the bone in my lower arm was broken in two places.

I don't have to tell you what a predicament that put me in, as far as trying to do things for myself, such as getting dressed. I had a cast from my wrist, all the way up to my arm pit.

The worst times were when I would try to get dressed for church, because being the prim and proper little lady that I am, I wouldn't have dreamed of going to church without wearing pantyhose! And just by the way, have any of you ever tried pulling on a pair of pantyhose with one hand, over legs covered with perspiration from all the humidity, that not even air conditioning going full blast would remedy? And did you ever have to have your husband do the deed for you, while instructing him how to roll them up, position them over your (wet) toes. slowly, and carefully unrolling them up the entire length of your (wet) legs, keeping them straight, so that the seam of the panty part of them would be in the right place? And when it wasn't, pulling and manipulating them, until it was, almost, but not quite? Well, let me tell you, by the time it was over, we would both just about be in tears--of frustration if it turned out to be a long struggle. But, oh the joy when it went well, and we had plenty of time to get my shoes on, and to church on time.

One of those times, when things had gone well, we so enjoyed our time at church--sitting through the service, singing in the choir, a potluck dinner at church, There was only one hitch to that wonderful day! Just as we were going in the door, back at home, I looked down to see--yep, you guessed it! My two feet, each with a shoe exactly like the other, except for one little thing. Each shoe was a different color! Even now, I'm almost embarrassed to think about it, but that's what I get for buying the same shoe in different colors! My husband tried to console me, saying that no one had even noticed. I asked him if he had, and he said, "Well, yeah, but not until it was almost time to come home."

I still don't know if anyone else noticed it, but my only consolation is that if they did, they have forgotten it by now. Sure wish I could.

In case you're wondering, I have another little anecdote about shoes, and if you'd like to hear about that one, too, just let me know, and I will be happy to humiliate myself again, just for you, my dear, dear readers.

An American Without Reserve

An American Without Reserve
by Daniel Webster

I was born an American; I live an American; I shall die an American; and I intend to perform the duties incumbent upon me in that character to the end of my career. I mean to do this with absolute disregard of personal consequences.

What are the personal consequences? What is the individual man, with all the good or evil that may betide him, in comparison with the good or evil which may befall a great country, and in the midst of great transactions which concern that country's fate?

Let the consequences be what they will, I am careless. No man can suffer too much, and no man can fall too soon, if he suffer, or if he fall, in the defense of the liberties and constitution of his country.


In spite of everything that's going on in our great country right now, I know that there are still those who echo those very words of Daniel Webster, and have within their hearts, a commitment to do whatever is required to preserve the freedoms for which so many have sacrificed and died.

It is easy to become discouraged, when all around us we see those freedoms slipping away, but I have to believe in my own heart that there are more like the men I just mentioned, than those like the person who wrote these words on a blog I just read:

"And Happy Fourth of July to all nihilists out there. Burn a flag for Obama tomorrow."

When I read such things, it only makes me more thankful for the men and women who truly love and respect this great country of ours, and even more determined that people like the one who wrote those hateful words will never have their way in destroying what we have.

Happy Independence Day to everyone!

GOD BLESS AMERICA!

The Bill Of No Rights

The Bill of No Rights

"We, the sensible people of the United States, in an attempt to help everyone get along, restore some semblance of justice, avoid any more riots, keep our nation safe, promote positive behavior, and secure the blessings of debt-free liberty to ourselves and our great-great-great-grandchildren, hereby try one more time to ordain and establish some common sense guidelines for the terminally whiny, guilt-ridden, deluded, and other liberal bed-wetters. We hold these truths to be self-evident: that a whole lot of people are confused by the Bill of Rights and are so dim that they require a Bill of No Rights."

ARTICLE I:
You do not have the right to a new car, big screen TV or any other form of wealth. More power to you if you can legally acquire them, but no one is guaranteeing anything.

ARTICLE II:
You do not have the right to never be offended. This country is based on freedom, and that means freedom for everyone — not just you! You may leave the room, change the channel, or express a different opinion, but the world is full of idiots, and probably always will be.

ARTICLE III:
You do not have the right to be free from harm. If you stick a screwdriver in your eye, learn to be more careful, do not expect the tool manufacturer to make you and all your relatives independently wealthy.

ARTICLE IV:
You do not have the right to free food and housing. Americans are the most charitable people to be found, and will gladly help anyone in need, but we are quickly growing weary of subsidizing generation after generation of professional couch potatoes who achieve nothing more than the creation of another generation of professional couch potatoes.

ARTICLE V:
You do not have the right to free health care That would be nice, but from the looks of public housing, we're just not interested in public health care.

ARTICLE VI:
You do not have the right to physically harm other people. If you kidnap, rape, intentionally maim, or kill someone, don't be surprised if the rest of us want to see you fry in the electric chair.

ARTICLE VII:
You do not have the right to the possessions of others. If you rob, cheat or coerce away the goods or services of other citizens, don't be surprised if the rest of us get together and lock you away in a place where you still won't have the right to a big screen color TV or a life of leisure.

ARTICLE VIII:
You don't have the right to demand that our children risk their lives in foreign wars to soothe your aching conscience. We hate oppressive governments and won't lift a finger to stop you from going to fight if you'd like. However, we do not enjoy parenting the entire world and do not want to spend so much of our time battling each and every little tyrant with a military uniform and a funny hat.

ARTICLE IX:
You don't have the right to a job. Sure, all of us want all of you to have one, and will gladly help you along in hard times, but we expect you to take advantage of the opportunities of education and vocational training laid before you to make yourself useful.

ARTICLE X:
You do not have the right to happiness. Being an American means that you have the right to pursue happiness — which, by the way, is a lot easier if you are unencumbered by an overabundance of idiotic laws created by those of you who were confused by the Bill of Rights.


The famed "Bill of No Rights" was written in 1993 by Bill Napper, a self-described amateur philosopher. He is from Mississippi, and ran for a U.S. Senate seat in 2000, as a Libertarian.

It is said that it resonates with a number of issues, including the one which most often causes our ire to rise, which is the sense of entitlement, so prevalent in today's society.

Unfortunately, the ones whom Mr. Napper had in mind when he wrote this, will probably never read it.

I originally posted this on January 03, 2008

Happy Father's Day

"Children, obey your parents in the Lord: for this is right. Honour thy father and mother; which is the first commandment with promise; That it may be well with thee, and thou mayest live long on the earth. And, ye fathers, provoke not your children to wrath: but bring them up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord." (Ephesians 6:1-4 KJV)

Daddy

~The following is a repost, which I first posted in August of 2007~

Maybe some of you, who read that last post, thought that I wrote it about me. It could have been written for a lot of people, I know, but I wrote it, thinking of Mama and Daddy.

You know, I told you about how she, and my real father, had been divorced when I was just a baby, and then when I was eight years old, she remarried.

From the very first time I saw him, I began calling him Daddy...and that's what he was to me, always, no matter what.

Daddy had been born and raised on Sand Mountain. Many of you could never imagine the kind of existence that entailed. Not only for himself, but for just about anyone in those days. It was pure, abject poverty, lived out by those uneducated, and certainly no resources which may be acquired nowadays.

Daddy was uneducated, his daddy was, and I'm sure it was that way back through all the generations of his family.

I knew my step-grandfather for only a short time. He died a few years after Mama and Daddy married. I'm not sure, exactly about his character, per se, as to the kind of worker he was, as far as trying to provide for his family.

He was a tall, handsome man, even in his later years. It seems that all of the men in that family were exceptionally handsome, especially when they were younger. I think he was well aware of that, too...being handsome, I mean.

Living out in the country, which is where everyone there lived, not many of them ever venturing into the small town, other than to pick up a few things that they might need, such as tobacco, or a few commodities. That's what I meant about not knowing his character. Most folks tried to farm, and grow most of the food they needed, or raised hogs, or cattle, if they could, but I don't think he did much of that.

I don't know about many of those details, but I know that it would have been during the depression, or there-abouts, that Daddy would have been growing up. Times would have been tough all over, and it would have been a struggle for survival for most folks.

That isn't all that made it hard on Daddy, though. He was horribly abused by his father. He had been a harsh, and cruel man, who was a bootlegger. So maybe, that is how he got by, but from what Daddy said, he drank as much of it as he sold. Not only that, but he gave it to Daddy to drink when he was only a child. Daddy said that he got drunk for the first time when he was three years old on "white lightening."

His father beat him, not always for any good reason. It was not in the way that one normally thinks of in the way of punishment for a child's innocent misbehavior. It was with fists, or a wooden chair, and once, he said that he woke up from unconciousness, with rain dripping onto his face from the roof. He had been knocked unconcious with a two-by-four-- trying to defend his mama from his daddy --and dragged over there by the side of the house. He finally left home, and married at fifteen years of age.

Maybe, that's why he always drank, and no matter how hard he tried, he never got to the place where he could stop. Oh, it wasn't a matter of drinking every single day, but when he did drink, it would be for four or five days straight. I think he just had too many demons, too much torment, from memories that never left him.

I told you all this because, even as bad as that was, Daddy still had a big heart. He would give you the shirt off his back, and as I have said before, he was a very proud man. He wouldn't accept anything that he couldn't repay, and he was a hard worker. Right after he married Mama, about a year later, we moved to another town, and he was hired at the local Army facility in that town. He didn't make a lot of money as a laborer, but it kept a roof over our heads, and food on the table. We moved around a lot, around town, but it was never into anything better than what we were moving out of, but he always thought so, and took pride in that.

The only thing was, that Daddy still had that same mentality, prevalent in his own dad. He was handsome, and he knew it, and even though he loved Mama--in his own way, and as much as he was capable of loving anyone-- he went out with other women. Not only that, but he thought that it was his right to do so. And he did it often, sometimes leaving Mama, and staying with the other woman for days, and at one time, months at a time.

Once, he told Mama this story about going deep-sea fishing in Florida, and was supposed to meet the guy he was going with over at his house. He never asked her to go along on these jaunts, and never even asked if it was alright with her if he was going to be gone for a week. She was a woman, and he was a man --that's just the way it was.

What he didn't know, is that she was suspicious, and had a pretty good idea where he was headed, which was a few blocks from their house. As soon as he left in his car, she left on foot, and sure enough, when she got there, there he stood out in the yard, practicing his casting with his rod and reel.

Just about the same time that he spotted her, the other woman stepped outside, and Mama tackled her like a linebacker! They rolled all over the yard, across the sidewalk, and right out into the street. A city bus had pulled up and stopped, and the passengers were cheering her on, like crazy!

Finally, Daddy got Mama off of her, and told her to get home, and he would be right behind her. She left, but he didn't go right behind her. He and the other woman went on their fishing trip to Florida. Daddy brought back pictures, showing all the big fish he caught, but many of them, which were taken of the two of them, had one side torn away, and had only Daddy standing there with his big grin and his prize catch.

I'm sure that some of you may be wondering how I could still feel so much affection for him, seeing as how he had treated my mother like that. All I can say is that he loved me from the start, he was always good to me, and treated me with respect, and I loved him...he was my Daddy.

I asked Mama once, after I was grown, why she had married him, and why did she stay with him. Her answer was simple, and from the heart. "Because I love him, Janice...I always did, and I always will."

Love covers a multitude of sins.

*While reading this again, I was reminded of something which I think is very important, and says a lot about the character of my sweet little Mama.

Several years after this event took place, the "other woman" came to Mama and asked her forgiveness. She had become a Christian, and wanted to make things right. When Mama told me about it, I asked her if she had forgiven her. She replied, "Well, sure I did, Janice. If she asked God for forgiveness, and He forgave her, who was I, not to?"

Oh, Mama, what a precious treasure you were!

It is interesting to note, that the three of them, eventually, belonged to the same church, and the woman and my mother became good friends. One day, while going through her pictures, after her death, I came across several pictures of them together, looking so happy, and having a great time at one of the church's "dinner on the ground."

For those of you not familiar with that pharase, it is simply a potluck meal eaten outside, usually after the church service, and sometimes, between church services.

It's always a great time of fellowship, and sometimes, it is "Singing, with dinner on the ground."

Precious memories.

Do You Believe In Angels

Do you believe in angels?

I'm not talking about the little cherub depicted in Raphael's painting. I'm talking about the real, genuine, angels sent from God to watch over, help, and protect us.

Well, I do. I could tell you lots of reasons why. I know that there are some who scoff at such things, but I believe in them, anyway.

Here's one reason.

Several years ago, I was awakened by something. I wasn't sure if it was some sound that I heard, or the feeling that someone had, lightly, touched me on the shoulder.I wasn't frightened, and in fact, had a peaceful feeling. I thought I heard someone say, "Don't get up, don't go downstairs," but I wasn't sure if I was awake, or dreaming. I turned over, and snuggled down under the covers. It was October, and cold, and raining, but there in my bedroom, it was warm, and cozy, and peaceful.

I lived in an older, two story house, and my bedroom was on the second floor. The next morning, I got up and started down the stairs. As I got to the landing, I noticed that the front door was standing wide open. I was surprised, but continued on down the stairs.The light was dim in the room, but as I stepped into the livingroom my hair stood up, all over my body!

There, leading from the front door, to the foot of the stairs, were muddy footprints, which seemed to have reached the foot of the stairs, and stopped. There were wet leaves on the floor, and a second set of footprints, headed back toward the door, as if the owner of those footprints had changed his mind, and turned and headed back out the same way that he had come in.

Now, I don't know what you think about this...but I know what I think,and the reason that I think what I do about it, is because of another event which had occurred several years earlier.

I was married to an insanely jealous man, who was several years older. He was the one mentioned in another post...the one who was abusive, and tried to kill me. And would have, probably, if I hadn't gotten away, which you also read about in another post.

This particular night, he was even more abusive than before. He had ranted, and screamed, and verbally abused me for hours. He kept trying to make me go to the phone to call my lover, who existed only in his own mind. He had dragged me around by my hair, while I was sitting holding my little son. He dragged me, chair and all, all around the room. He would scream at me, that this was my last night to live, and other things, too horrible to mention here.

This went on for hours, and finally, he walked into the kitchen, and got a large, machete-type knife from a drawer, and was heading toward me, walking fast, when suddenly it was like he ran into an invisible wall. His feet actually lifted off the floor, and he went flying backwards, all the way across the room. I couldn't believe my eyes. He was totally unconcious, and stayed there throughout the night!

He never mentioned it, and neither did I, but he did leave me alone for awhile after that, perhaps, out of some kind of fear. I don't know.

Believe as you will about this event, too. I know there will be differing opinions about what actually happened, but I know what I believe, and why.

"For He will give His angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways."
Psalm 91:11 KJV