Having a Man as Your Son...

It was 35, yes that’s what I said 35 years ago today, that I was introduced to motherhood.  I was a mere 23 year old youngster who thought I was fully capable and totally knowledgeable of becoming the perfect mother--holy moly was I young and oh how much I had to learn.

So it was that John Brenton Swallow became my son.  He was a perfect baby in every way.  Beautiful, good, never cried, slept through the night...well in 35 years, that’s what I have chosen to remember.  What I also remember is thinking that with every milestone Brent made, my thoughts, my paradigms, my imaginings for his future and the possibilities of his distinction grew.

I have come to realize that most of us, as parents, start out thinking our children have all the potential in the world to become whom ever they may be or we wish them to be.  Some of them have natural tendencies that lead them to fame and glory and others, because of their genetics or amazing upbringing (that would be parenting), turn out to be an inspiration to humanity.  These tiny humans are filled with promise, possibilities and capability and as a parent, you believe that your child has the potential to do it all.  You also may believe, as I once did, that you hold the keys to molding your child into the person they are “meant to be”!

If this were the case, if I had anything to do with the amazing human being that Brent has become, it would be a miracle.  At 23 years old, I found myself in a heap of tears when I put my own mother on a plane back home after she had spent a week helping jump start us.  The doors of that plane shut and I held that little bundle in my arms and thought...I have no clue what to do!

Well, Brent was a tough little nut and he survived in spite of my many foibles.  Thankfully, we had a neighbor living across the street that was several years ahead of me.  Janice Henry was raising with three children of her own and she quickly became not only my good friend but my very own Dr. Spock.  Whenever there were issues...constant crying, rashes, temperature, colds, constipation...Janice was my go to.  Every mom needs a mom just a bit older and more experienced than she is to walk her through every stage of motherhood.  That is my profound piece of wisdom for today!

So Brent grew in spite of me.  He was a bright and eager learner.  He was curious and loved to discover.   Brent loved for me to read to him.  He would sit for minutes at a time while I read “The Monster at the End of this Book”, “Thingumajig Book of Manners”, or “Never Talk to Strangers”...you know all the children’s classics.  Brent was so exceptional that before I could turn the page he could recite from memory what the next lines would be!  Amazing, he was Mensa!

By the time Brent was a little over a 20 months old, Brooke came along.  It took some adjusting for Brent not to be the only one being doted on and coddled.  He tried several maneuvers to do his sister in.  The first chance was when I was feeding Brooke.  She had only a diaper on and Brent lovingly came up, looked me in the eye and began gently rubbing his baby sisters tummy.  Oh, the bond has been made!  I was so proud.  I smiled down at my precious boy and Brent, eyes still locked on mine, ever so gently took a chunk of his sister’s tummy and pinched it as hard as a little 20 month old fingers could.  Suffice it to say, that was the last time he tried that trick.  Incident #2, Brent was sitting beside his sister “reading”.  Brooke was propped up in one of those canvas bouncy chairs and suddenly there was a loud thud and howling coming from Brooke.  Guiltily Brent admitted that he had hit her on the head with his book because “she wouldn’t read to me Mommy.”  Fortunately, they soon found themselves to be great playmates and to this day have an extremely close brother and sister relationship.

The kids were 2 and 3 years old, and we joined Midland Country Club.  To this day you will hear both of my children complaining about how I drug them to the pool every day of the summer - how they baked in the hot West Texas sun, were made to play and swim forever, to jump off the high diving board (those were the good old days) over and over...whah, whah. Perhaps because it was the only place in town where all their friends (and okay I’ll admit it mine too) were to be found.  I will regretfully admit that sunscreen was not my top priority...I told you at the beginning I was a very young mother and I, now, realize that I might have found other summer activities to occupy their time instead of burning them out hanging out by the pool every day.  However, even today on a warm day, you will often find Brent by some body of water...whether it’s swimming or lounging, so I must not have done too much damage with his “water issues”.

Brent was either in 1^st or 2^nd grade when he became very enthralled with the Death Penalty.  I have no idea where his questions stemmed from but he wanted full explanations of why and how this could happen.  I tried my best to give very non-bias answers, explaining in 1^st grade language what and how the criminal justice system worked--not an easy task for discussion.  Brent quickly determined that he was adamantly against the Death Penalty and he loved to discuss and argue his opinion with anyone who would listen.   I believe this is where hard wiring comes into play.  I have found that we parents really can take little credit for who our children turn out to become.  I have come to realize that children come with a great deal of wiring, they are who they are and it is up to us as their parents to try to tap into all of their strengths, their gifts, their interests and encourage and support them to the best of our ability.  To this day, Brent remains passionate about a multitude of issues and concerns and continues to give his opinions.  They are wise and considerate and always tolerant of others.

Brent had a love of drawing from a very young age.  He would sit for hours at his little table in his room and go through reams of paper, his imagination flowing and his little fingers filling pages with his art.  Fifth grade found Brent not only drawing but writing.  His teacher, Mrs. Montgomery, was fond of having her students journal and write creatively...wherever their curious minds took them at the age of 10.  Brent found his love for writing essays such as “Santa’s Deadly Day”, illustrations and all.  This was the story of a rather psycho Santa coming down children’s chimneys and killing the entire family with a chainsaw, oh my...  There were many other gruesome stories that followed, for some reason I never worried that this was weird or unusual.  Instead I kept “Santa’s Deadly Day” as I found it so…”clever”!  Today if your child wrote a paper like that, he would be expelled as the next David Berkowitz.  Remember, the "Son of Sam”?  Thankfully we said good-bye to those writing days, adiós Steven King.

Brent always kept us on our toes.  Mischievous and testing, yes, but he also always wanted to please us.  He was obedient, to a degree, and respectful.  Brent has always been able to walk into a room and light it up.  He makes people laugh without intention and will listen to anyone pour their heart out with all of his attention.  Brent has more lifelong friends than any one I know.  He is unassuming, thoughtful and loving.  

Can you tell I have an amazing son?  A son I will forever be proud of because of his caring, his truthfulness, his integrity, his loyalty and his character.   A son who has stood by me when life has been most difficult.  Brent has remained rock solid by my side whether he was 15 years old or 35 years old.  I am blessed to be the mom of one of the finest men I know and I love him dearly.

Happy 35^th Birthday Brent!

I love you with all my heart,

Ma

“Motherhood is about raising and celebrating the child you have, not the child you thought you would have. It's about understanding that he is exactly the person he is supposed to be. And that, if you're lucky, he just might be the teacher who turns you into the person you are supposed to be.” 

― Joan Ryan, The Water Giver: The Story of a Mother, a Son, and Their Second Chance

You never know...

I woke up today and decided it was time for a project.  I had picked up an old Red Flyer wagon that a neighbor had discarded months ago.  I had long wished I hadn't thrown my own children's little red wagon away so many years ago.  This one is rusted and pitiful, but with a little work it can be good as new and today was going to be it's first day of reconstruction.

I found how to instructions online and headed to Hobby Lobby.  This was my "fatal mistake".  The Lobby is a treasure trove of finds, so it is well worth moseying up and down the isles.  I was in the upholstery isle when I found it!  It was perfect, this great fabric that would look fabulous on anything I wanted to have reupholstered!  Upholster what?  Who knew, but that fabric was perfect...and it was 30% off, add to that the Lobby phone app gives you an additional 40% off...that's 70% off...I needed this fabric!  I Googled how much fabric I needed to cover certain types of chairs, maybe two?!?  I decided I needed about ten yards to be safe.

I pulled that bolt from the wall, hauled it to the counter and the little, very, very old lady slowly, very slowly measured out 6 7/8's yards of fabric.  Not enough.  She told me I could check the 2 other Lobby's to see if they carried the fabric and she would hold my fabric until 6:00 p.m.  Off I went.

I was on a mission.  Had no reason for the fabric.  Had nothing in particular to cover.  Loved it.  Wanted it.  Was going to hunt it down.  So I drove about 10 miles through horrible traffic to another Lobby way out on Hwy. 281.  Dead end, no fabric.  Back in the car, it was now noon, my stomach was hungry.  I spotted a Jamba Juice in the far corner of the massive parking mall.  Of course it was right across from a Starbucks so there were no parking places anywhere near...suddenly, break lights, a parking spot!

I backed up.  Huh oh...there it was, the dreaded crunch, metal against metal...breaks hit, I slid the car into park, cut the motor, got out and the entire back left portion of my car looked like Edward Scissorhand had run his fingernails across it.  

I looked up and there was this poor young man driving one of those little mule vehicles that tends to the garden areas of the open malls.  Louis, the driver was humble and sorrowful.  I was quick to admit fault as I had been backing up when I shouldn't have, but here came his boss.  I told him exactly what happened and then repeated it to the mall security…"police lights" flashing!  One and a half hours later all "reports" had been filed and we were on our way.  Did I mention that Louis's vehicle was without blemish?

I knew I needed to get home and call my insurance company, but that fabric...I still had one more Lobby to check out.  I know, you would think...but, no that fabric, I was on a mission.  So back into town I went. The third Lobby, no fabric.  Oh well, I would just have to make 6 7/8 yards work on one chair, that would be plenty for something.   

Back I went to the original Lobby.  The very old sewing department lady had told me she would hold my fabric until 6 p.m. remember?  I had put my name on it.  Nope, no fabric, my heart raced as I stormed to the isle where I had first seen the my fabric.  Ahhh, there it was.  I grabbed that roll, paid for it and walked out the door with purpose.  Mission accomplished.

It wasn't until I got back in my car driving home that I replayed the events of the day.  Louis came to my mind.  His words began to linger within me.  As we sat together for 1 1/2 hours waiting, for nothing, we visited.  Louis was 33 years old.  He had 3 small children.  His mother had died a month before.  He felt terrible that he had "ruined" my day, he told me with watery eyes.  I looked Louis in the eyes and held out my hand.  I introduced myself and told him I was much older than he was and he needed to listen to me.  I told him accidents happen and this was a simple accident.  No one was hurt and the harm done could be fixed. He asked me why I had two baby car seats in the back of my car?  I explained I had grandchildren.  He put his head in his hands and thanked God there were no grandchildren with me.  I assured Louis that I was fine and that I was thankful that we had this opportunity to meet.  He was a gentle man and it had been a pleasure to spend time with him.  He smiled shyly.

Do I wish this incident hadn't happened?  Of course, it will be a hassle to get the car fixed, get a rental and pay for the deductible.  Am I thankful I had an opportunity to meet and spend time with a self-effacing and humble man, yes Louis was my gift today.

Hebrews 13:2 "Remember to welcome strangers, because some who have done this have welcomed angels without knowing it."

I have a pearl necklace…

I was reminded of my pearl necklace today as I was cleaning the lint from my clothes dryer.  As I pulled the small amount of fuzzy gray matter from the lent screen the thought of my beautiful pearl necklace came to mind and I smiled and then I laughed and then I came to sit down and write. 

My pearl necklace has become a very long one.  It can loop around my neck several times and still drape as gracefully as it should.  I should tell you that each pearl on this strand is perfect in its own right.  Steve selected each perfectly round smooth pearl and laid it carefully in front of me as I nodded in agreement with him. It was then strung into this amazing piece that I love to wear and often share.

I’ll begin with the lint pearl.  The first time Steve came to visit me in Midland I was pulling a load of clothes out of my dryer.  Without thinking, Steve casually pulled my lint drawer open with tug and out it came, so full of lint someone might have thought it was a small furry animal.  Pearl #1:  “Janet, do you ever clean out the lint?  Don’t you know that you should clean the lint, every time you dry your clothes?  Dryer lint is a major cause of house fires, please promise me you will never put in another load without first checking your lint screen.”  My strand of pearls began.

Many of my pearls were a fiery iridescent.  They dealt with changing the batteries on smoke alarms every year, carbon monoxide detectors in every home of each child, fire ladders in every upstairs bedroom and never leaving the house with the clothes dryer on.

Other pearls were a bit more significant.  They were greater in density, meaning they were made with a greater amount of calcium carbonate.  They were my safety pearls.  Lynn and Brooke were also given replicas of these pearls:  “Don’t drive down Orsinger  Road, it’s unsafe” (we soon renamed it Ted Bundy Lane).  “Be careful when you get out of the car in a big parking lot, you never know who might be waiting.”  There were quite a few “Ted Bundyish” pearls particularly for the girls.  

There were many driving pearls.  These were tolerated but not always among my favorites:  “Janet, you drive too aggressively, slow down, you didn’t look before changing lanes.”  Now as I’m driving, I love thinking of those pearls as they make me laugh because I know how very much love went into every one of them.

Some of the pearls Steve gave me, well I think they might never have quite made it on my strand.  I’ll call them my baroque pearls:  "Metamucil really taste good, once you get use to it, you should drink it first thing in the morning...it's a regulation thing." or “Don’t park in a parking lot where shopping carts can roll down and ding your car or where another car could ding your car.” then there was "Women and birthdays--why?  Men don't even know how old we are, nor do we care!" (That one was repeated monthly.)  “Always watch the checkers at the grocery store, inevitably they scan an item and it’s always an overcharge.”  Here's a pearl I never even considered:  “Why would you buy that?   Where in the world are you going to put it?” and last, but not least the dreaded pearl...“Janet, money lessons are a good thing, try to pay attention for just a little longer...Janet have I lost you?  I have lost you, haven’t I?”

Two days before Steve died we had a good day.  Bonnie was with us, we had finished dinner and Steve was lying on the sofa.  We were talking and laughing about some of these bits of "wisdom" that I had chosen to ignore over the years.  Steve, chuckled telling Bonnie, "Janet simply has a different view of life than I do."  I laughed back and asked, "Just what is my view and how is it so different from yours?'  Words were difficult for Steve now so he simply smiled, his eyes twinkled and he said, "My philosophy is sound and yours...is yours."  That being a pearl of its own, I went to him and wrapped myself around him.  I looked up at him and asked, "But you do so love me, don't you?"  Holding me gently he nodded and whispered, "More than anything."  "I love you more"  I said and I held him in my arms as tears ran down my face onto his chest.

The most valuable pearls I share readily and with great love because I feel there is such wisdom behind their luster they are called nacreous pearls.  I never take credit for picking these gemstones out because these are all hand picked by Steve and I love each one:  

“Unmet expectations in others will always disappoint you.”  

"Life is a lot like The Seinfeld series, if you pay attention every life relates to that episode somehow, some way."

“There is no condemnation of character, nor reason for feeling disappointed in a child’s behavior.  Rules are guidelines, if broken, follow through and consequences are certain to happen, but always with love."

“If you wake up in the middle of the night, you might as well go to the bathroom then.  Otherwise you will just wake up and have to go again later.”

Here’s one of my favorite pearls.  I have shared it with so many single younger friends, as have Brent and Brooke.  It is easy to pass by as it seems translucent, but it is really worth looking at:  “You either breakup or you get married.”

"I'll rub your foot if you rub mine."

“The ‘Black Book’ is the only way to handle financial issues with older children and teenagers.”  Explanation, instead of arguing over allowances, the need to buy clothes, money for entertainment...Steve set up a ledger book.  Each child had a generous allowance, the money was recorded in the Black Book.  If money was unspent by the end of the year Steve would add generous interest as incentive to save.  If consequences occurred (Brooke buying a European magazine for a Young Life trip and spending $10.50 on it without a second thought)...then amounts were deducted from the book.  It worked so well when Brooke went to college she didn’t want a checking account, she asked to have the Black Book method.

“Never let a time go by when you are speaking to your child that you don’t tell them that you love them, you are proud of them, you think they are amazing--never, no matter how old they become.”

“Always return phone calls.”

"It's always important to validate another's feelings, even if you disagree with them, they are still feelings and deserve to be acknowledged." 

“As your children grow into adults, they have choices.  They may choose to come visit us or they may choose to do something else.  It is up to us to make each visit special so they will always look forward to the time they spend with us.”

“Never buy anything you can’t afford.  Never owe credit.”  

“Never set the stage for your adult children to feel conflicted about visiting you.  They have many choices to make, family members to visit, vacations to take.  Always let them know that whenever they can come to see you...it is always the perfect time.”

“You should always have something you dream of owning, but never allow yourself to own it because once you buy it, your dream is gone.”

On dying:  "If I have never done anything well, I am going to make sure I die well."  That is the truest pearl I own.

My very favorite pearl, the mother of pearl, lies deep within the strand and stands out with a unique luster and translucence among all the others:  “Janet, you have made my life happier than I could have ever imagined.  What would I have done if I had never found you?”

I told you my strand is long and each pearl is unequalled.  As I rub my fingers around them I can feel the care and love Steve has for me and for his family as he was a giver. He was our caretaker and my pearls are a precious treasure that I can always share.

I have many more marvelous pearls on my strand, these were just a few that caught my eye today.  As I clasp them around my neck, they hold such value, they are irreplaceable and they lay right next to my heart.  

Here, borrow them if you wish, they are worth wearing.

On Being One...

I am no longer a couple.  No longer are there two of us, nor can I say, "both of us" or "ours".  I am now one.  I cannot classify myself as single, no that’s not me.  Single was me at age 38 after my divorce, then I was able to say I was a single person.  It wasn’t easy but it somehow seemed easier than saying “I’m divorced”.  Now is it easier for me to say, “I’m by myself” or “I’m alone” than call myself a widow?  I suppose I knew, but never realized there was such pain in being one.

Going to the grocery store is now a whole new experience.  Shopping for one is challenging.  Dated things expire more quickly than one person can use them.  Dairy products, orange juice, there’s always too much bread, why can’t I buy four pieces of bread like I can buy four pieces of fruit?   

Then there’s the background music that plays continually in HEB (San Antonio’s only grocery store--Really?!?!)  Songs like “Hello Again” by Neil Diamond or “You are the Sunshine of My Life” by Stevie Wonder.  Don’t they know their store is filled with widows and widowers walking through their aisles listening to every word of those beautiful songs?  Our hearts ache and rip just a little more with each note sung as we tighten the grip on our shopping carts and the food items blur through the tears slowly building in our eyes as we are driven to continue to walk up and down those long isles.

Dinner time...oh the dreaded sundown.  What does one cook for a person?  I have yet to solve this dilemma.  Do I cook?  Nah, too much trouble for one.  Do I eat take-out food, well sometimes, but that gets rather old?  Do I bring home extra food left over from lunch that I had with friends that day?  That’s the best so far.  Then there are those nights I simply open the frig and graze...for now this seems better than sitting at a table and having a meal by myself.

I have been so fortunate to have had many dinner invitations (this is NOT a plea for invitations, really!) with many of our (see I still can’t just call you my) couple friends.  Here’s the scenario, the three of us walk into a restaurant.  The host seats us at a tabletop for four, there are no three toppers.  The waiter comes up and usually looks at me and asks, “Will there be another joining us tonight?”  Knew it was coming.  The poor couple looks aghast and as I have learned to do, I place an entirely too large and uncomfortable smile on my face and quickly say, “No, just three thank you” with my voice squeaking two octaves higher than normal.  The waiter swiftly clears the fourth place setting and as Steve used to say, I know that waiter’s thinking, “Whoa, there’s a story here.”

That waiter would be right, there is a story here.  Steve always made me laugh when making that statement.  He would say it when a situation was a little unusual, or different from the norm, or when someone would say something quirky that caused you to wonder what in the world lead him to say such a thing?   It was then Steve’s eyes would grow large and round, his eyebrows would go up and with that dry, flat tone he would look straight at me and out would come…”Whoa, there’s a story here!”   

My story, is that I am one, alone not by choice but for reasons that will someday be made clear to me.  I can’t say I’m single because I’m not.  I still say "our home, our friends, our electric bill."  Once said I find myself backtracking, flustered, embarrassed saying, “I mean my home, my friends, my bills.”  There is no more ours, or is there?  

I find I still sleep on my side of our bed.  Steve’s side remains made, pillows in place and often I fill his side with whatever I’m reading or doing before going to sleep.  Turning out the lights right before going to sleep is the hardest part of the day for me.   It is here that I turn my thoughts to Steve.  Telling him I had wished for him that day.  That I wanted him with me when I played with our grandchildren.  It is in the dark when I tell him he was the best and I was so fortunate to have had him in my life.

Stop!  Rewind, strike through that last sentence.  You see, I decided soon after Steve’s death that I will never use the past tense when I speak of Steve.  I will always say I love Steve.  I will always feel he is the best husband in the world and that I am so blessed that I can love him all my life. I will always tell our children and grandchildren how proud he is of them and how much he loves them.  I want to always speak of Steve in the present, because of my faith Steve is simply on a different journey for now.  One day I know I will be with him again and it will be as if we had never parted.

So for now I am one.  I know there will be a time when I will grow more comfortable with that term.  I will learn to say my and mine instead of us and ours.  I am finding what it’s like to be one and while I have my moments...I also have my memories, a heart full of them.  Memories that will enable me to never be alone, memories that cause me to smile, to laugh out loud and to know that my life is full.  Memories that will and are enabling me to walk into the future knowing that being one is okay.  Knowing that in time I will find my way, my purpose in being one and I am waiting patiently for God to show me where that path will lead.

“The best remedy for those who are afraid, lonely or unhappy is to go outside, somewhere where they can be quite alone with the heavens, nature and God. Because only then does one feel that all is as it should be and that God wishes to see people happy, amidst the simple beauty of nature. As longs as this exists, and it certainly always will, I know that then there will always be comfort for every sorrow, whatever the circumstances may be. And I firmly believe that nature brings solace in all troubles.” 

― Anne Frank, The Diary of a Young Girl