Forced Privileges

Today was a big day.

Lots to write about and lots of photos

(147 to be exact).

I don't have time to do it all tonight - 

- will do another post tomorrow or so - 

but tonight, I'll just start with how it started.

My oldest son needed a tie for church today.

Wesley has grown SO MUCH in the last few months.

All of his ties (youth size and pre-tied) are now too short.

I had quilts made from most of Rob's clothes

(I did save a few) 

but I saved all of Rob's ties for his sons.

Wesley reminded me of this fact and said, 

"I want to wear one of Dad's ties.  Will you get them for me?"

So I did.

After he chose the one he wanted to wear from Rob's Christmas ties,

I started teaching my 13 year old son how to tie a tie...

...although he still needs more lessons.

Just another one of those things that a father would teach a son...

...yet Wesley's learning it from his mother.

Just another one of those things that Rob did not get to teach his sons before his death...

...for there was no need then.

Just another one of those things that they - his sons - need now...

...that I will need - in their father's absence - to compensate for.

Just another one of those things...

...that I, as a widowed mother of sons, 

am forced to have the privilege to do.

My Grandma Caviness - 92

Today is my Grandma Caviness' birthday.

(Mary Elizabeth Flippin Caviness - 
my Anna has her middle name).

She would be 92 years old if she were still living.

She died in 2009.

I still miss her.

I wrote this about her in February 2010.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sunday, Feb. 21, 2010

Today I had the overwhelming urge to go see my Grandmas Caviness.  

To drive down the dirt road into her semi-circle drive.  

To stop in front of her door and walk into her house that always had the distinct smell of books.  

I wanted to walk into her living room, clear off a place to sit and then sit down and talk a while.  

I wanted to search my mind for just the right thing to say about anything that would make that big smile spread across her face followed by that laugh of hers. 

I wanted to feel the breeze blow over me while it was coming in the open windows on a summer evening while trying to keep my legs from sticking to the furniture.  

I wanted to hear what she wanted to say about what “the children” (her younger than me grandchildren) did that day.  

I wanted to see her curtains blow in the wind. 

I wanted to sit in her presence while we talked about whatever came to mind.  

Sometimes we agreed on stuff – sometimes we didn’t - but it was always a valued discussion.  

I wanted to ask her if she wanted me to go get her anything at the store (she did not drive).  

Almost always, if it was an evening visit, she would say she didn’t need anything but I always offered.

Today I had the overwhelming urge to feel my Grandma Caviness’ arms around me in that strong, tight, almost-crushing hug that can only come from a well-endowed, larger woman to a not so well endowed, tall, skinny young woman. 

 Today, I had the overwhelming urge to hear her say, 

“Thank you for coming to see me, honey” 

and then continue on to tell me goodbye and 

“I love you.” 

I wanted to see her as she stood on the porch calling out to me as I would get in my car, 

“Come again when you can” 

and then wave to her one last time as I pulled onto the dirt road 

as I watched her watching me drive away.

Today I had the overwhelming urge to see my Grandma Caviness 

so I shut my eyes for a few minutes and remembered.

And as I started to eat my bowl of homemade soup I’d made,

I dug in my silverware drawer for one of the spoons I use a lot of the time now.  

There was some silverware left in her house when we got it.  

It was marked for good will but I washed it and kept it there until Dec. 2008 

when I brought it home with me.  

These few spoons, forks, and knives are what I reach for on days that I just want to remember for a little bit.  

Today was one of those days and I smiled as I ate my soup with her spoon.

Today I really missed her.  Today I really enjoyed remembering her.

Janna – one of her J’s

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And today, December 12, 2013, on what would have been her 92nd birthday, 

I enjoyed remembering again.

A Cold, Rainy Day

Today has been a cold, rainy day.

But it has been a good day.

Church, a soup and sandwich lunch afterward, and Christmas decorating.

I have thought of Rob so many times over the day especially as the Christmas ornaments came out of the box and the bows went on the tree (the bows we have used on our tree for 20 years now are the same bows we used on the Christmas tree at our wedding reception).  All of those thoughts I had of him over the day and into the evening were all thoughts accompanied by smiles – smiles of remembering good times with my Rob.

I then got a call from my parents.  They needed me to come over there (our houses are literally 30 feet apart).  I was dressed in shorts because I had been working in the house and had gotten warm.  I didn’t take the time to change before going over to my parents’ house so I stepped outside in shorts into the rain.

It was when the rain hit my legs that I remembered…

…and although I did not have the time at the moment to cry,

I did cry as soon as I got back to my house.

You see, when the rain hit my legs, it reminded me again that my 20^th wedding anniversary would be coming up on January 1^st and that made me sad. 

It made me miss him again

(not that I’ve really ever stopped missing him –

I’m just at a different place with it now than before).

 When Rob and I married in 1994, it was in style to wear corduroy shorts with tights.  That’s what I wore leaving my wedding to start my life with my Rob.

And for those of you who were not there – IT WAS RAINING – no, it was POURING at our wedding.

And that rain on my legs was cold.

But we didn’t care.

We were so happy that we were married.

It didn't even matter.

And now, even though I really am okay and am moving on in my life, all it takes

to remind me once again of

the love that I had 

and the love that I have lost 

 is a little cold rain on my legs.

"Man" Hands

My Wesley turned 13 this year.

And he has not stopped growing since that April day.

There’s a reason why the year a boy is 13 is considered the year a boy turns into a man.

It’s because, in so many ways, it IS the year a boy turns into a man.

This past Sunday in church, I held my oldest son’s hands for a bit.

It’s the first time I’ve held his hands in quite a while.  There’s just not much need or chance for a mom to hold a 13 year old’s hand.

Wesley was VERY sleepy because he had not gone to bed until around 2:30 the night before (see post about Luke’s stitches to see why).

He was having a hard time staying awake.

So was Luke but I let him put his head in my lap and go to sleep.

Wesley, however, was trying NOT to go to sleep.

He whispered, “Mom, my hands are ticklish so if you hold my hands, you can just tickle them each time I start to go to sleep and I’ll wake up.”

So I did.  

Why would I pass up that chance?

It was at that moment,

in the middle of church,

when I took my oldest son’s hands in mine

that I realized that my baby boy

has “man” hands now.

Hands larger than mine.

Hands that are being taught by my mom to play the piano.

Hands that practice on the same piano she first learned and practiced on.

Hands that are growing fast.

Hands that have turned into strong, “man” sized hands.

But even though they are “man” sized now,

they are still the hands that I got to hold for a short while during church

to keep a 13 year old awake!

And they are the same hands that have left permanent handprints on my heart. 

And that moment was as cherished as are the golden handprints that live on top of our piano - 

the handprint impressions frozen in time by our 4 children.

(As happens with middle children, Wesley was a 3 1/2 year old by the time I got his made - his hand was not that big as a baby!)

11

My Luke is 11 today.

 We celebrated on Thanksgiving Day.

We made and built his cakes for the party.

He had so much fun arranging his Minecraft scene.

And just like all of my children's birthday cakes since Anna's first birthday, we cut Luke's birthday cake with his dad's and my wedding cake knife and server.

We had lots of family to celebrate with us.

My Luke had a great party day!

And today, well, we are spending the day together.

That's what he wanted.

And I'm loving it!

Luke, you are my youngest.  You are the one who gets the least of a lot of things.  You are the one who gets the most of a lot of things.  You are the one who benefits from all I learned from the older three.  You are the one who doesn't get to do some things because I learned better with the older three. It just works that way when you're the youngest.  But you're also the one when we're on the way to the emergency room to get stitches for your knee, I know from so many times of doing the emergency room thing before, that there's time to run in the convenience store to get you the chocolate milk you wanted.  And you are the one who gets to do more of certain things at an earlier age because it's what the older ones are doing and you just get to go along for the ride.  

You are our youngest.  When we made the decision to try and have you, your dad said you were the child of "his old age" (your dad was 1 month shy of 44 when you were born).  You are our youngest.  You were the one that your dad acted more like a grandpa with.  You are our youngest.  That birth order brings lots of wonderful and not so wonderful things.  You get babied - that's for sure.  But you also have the hardest of some things.  You, unfortunately, are the one who has to work so hard at even remembering your dad.  That fact, when I think about it for more than a minute or two, always makes my heart break all over again.  And I am never unaware that it's my responsibility to help you remember your father.

But all that you've been through at your young age - including all of your scars - have made you who you are.  

The other night when we were on the way to the emergency room, you started praying out loud, asking our God to help you through what was going to happen.  You were very detailed with what you asked God for.  You were scared of the pain that getting stitches might cause.  But you were asking God for help.  And He did.  

While we were there, you were telling one of the nurses about all of your scars.  He smiled as he listened and responded with, "If that's the worst that ever happens to you, you'll be good."  You answered with, "Well, it's not the worst that's happened to me.  My dad died.  When I was 8.  If I can get through that, I can do this."  The nurse said, "I'm sorry about your dad, little buddy and you're right - you can do this."  And you did.  

When we were leaving, you sought out each nurse and the doctor to say "thank you and have a good evening."  And you made them all smile.  

When we were on the way home, you wanted Christmas music playing and you were singing the songs - echoing the lines in "Do You Hear What I Hear."  And you made me smile.

You have always been your own little person - from the very beginning.  

Your perspective on life has always been unique.

And I am so very sorry that now you have the added perspective of 

"If I can get through my dad dying, I can do this." 

However, with every day, I am constantly amazed at your growth.  You are the most fantastic little guy.  Your sense of humor, if one takes the time to listen to you, is developing into the most delightful thing.  Your dad would love it.  I do.  Your reliance on God, at just 11 years old, is amazing to me.  Your dad would love it.  I do.  Your tenacity to live your life on your terms is commendable.  Your dad would love it. I do.  You don't let many people hear it, but you have a great, pure singing voice.  Your dad would love it.  I do.  And even though you can't stand anything having to do with school, you are very intelligent - often times figuring out things before I even finish the directions.  Your dad would love that.  I do.  You are the best lego designer and builder - in actual legos and on the computer program of it - I really feel that you could grow up to be an engineer - if it weren't for that school thing.  Your dad did get to love seeing your designing and building skills and I still do love seeing it.  

Luke Edward, on this day - your 11th birthday, I just want to say that I am looking forward to seeing what all God is going to use you for in your lifetime!  

I'm enjoying watching as you grow and move forward in life each day!  

But right now, my son, I am enjoying and am proud of the 11 year old that you are!

I love you, Luke Edward!  I always have and I always will! 

Love, Mama