Anxious Anticipation...

Lately two of my most frequently asked questions have been, “How are you doing?” and “Are you apprehensive about the upcoming holidays?”

My answer to the first is usually, “I’m okay.”  Do you know how many ways there are to say that word?  The answer to question #2 however, is throwing me for a loop.  I think I’m finding that apprehension, like anticipation, is in the waiting.  Sometimes it seems like the expectation of an anticipated incident can be worse than the actual experience.  Once the dreaded experience has passed, you realize what you worried about wasn’t nearly as bad as you had anticipated.

Let me give you a few of my life examples and see if you agree with me.  I think I was in the 9^th grade when I had to give an oral report.  My father, an attorney, was big on emoting.  He had helped me with this English assignment, I remember I was in Mrs. B. Smith’s class (once, when she sneezed her wiglet flew off her head into the trash can, but that’s an entirely different story.)  My father had drilled me on the importance of speaking enthusiastically and enunciating each spoken syllable...now let me remind you that in the 60’s no one in the 9^th grade gets up in front of their classmates and enunciates and merrily chirps there way through their oral report...no one.  I, being the obedient child I usually was, did as my father directed and was humiliated by the roars of laughter.  To this day, I have a deadly fear of anxiously anticipating speaking in public.  My voice will shake, my palms sweat and I become a freaky wreck.  However, I am able to speak publicly, spur of the moment or off the cuff, here I find it as natural as breathing.  It’s the anxiety of planning ahead to determine what I’m going to say that gives me the heebie-jeebies.

Here’s an example of anxious anticipation everyone can relate to, moving.  I have really only “adult moved” four times in my life and every time I dreaded moving day as if I had bacterial meningitis.  For months before each move I would walk the floors of my home thinking, how am I going to get all of this in boxes?  When am I going to find the time?  The next phase was accruing boxes and packing materials and finally packing away my junk, all the while trembling at the thought of moving day.   

The actual moving day was a breeze compared to what went on before and after “The Day.”  Again, anxious anticipation was worse than the event.

In October, 2008 Steve and I took an incredible trip to Croatia and Austria.  It was one of our favorite vacations and we had a wonderful time.  It was on this trip, that Steve mentioned he was unable to stay involved in a book.  He read only magazine articles during that trip, so unusual for him.  We always worked crossword puzzles together, it was this trip that Steve simply couldn’t figure out the puzzle clues and tossing them aside, they were no longer fun.  I remember we got lost several times as we drove through Europe.  Steve always the navigator and I the driver, had difficulty reading the maps, this was uncommon for him, but we laughed about our misadventures.

Croatia October 2008

Coming home, over the next several weeks I saw a grave mental decline in Steve.  As I watched him worsen I silently moved through a thousand horrible scenarios.  What if Steve had Alzheimer’s disease?  A brain tumor?    

I watched silently as Steve slipped down a long dark rabbit hole.  My anxious anticipation grew large and overwhelming.  Steve and I were one, joined at the hip, we depended on one another greatly...what was I going to do if there were something really wrong with my larger-than-life-husband?  These were long days and sleepless nights.  I spent hours praying, asking God for wisdom, guidance, direction.  I was lost and blanketed in disquietude.  When we finally found the culprit, Glioblastoma Multi-forma, Stage 4, I thought my worst nightmare had indeed come true.  

What was to happen to us next?  My anxious anticipation continued with each stage that we traveled throughout the now 5 years.  My worst nightmare did come true.  Steve battled long and hard, with such grace and dignity.  He never wavered in his battle, never asked why, never anticipated what might be, he enabled us to live through each difficult phase of his cancer thinking, “Well, we got through that, not so bad”…and we would move on to the next phase.  Steve simply accepted what was to be and lived to teach us all how to die with dignity.

Now I am faced with the question, “Am I anxiously anticipating the upcoming holidays?”  My answer, “Yes.”  My hope, my prayer is that the apprehension of what is to come will be greater than living through the actual holiday without Steve.

I have found most of my overwhelming moments come when least expected.  When talking to the cable man, or in a conversation in the middle of a cocktail party, or when singing a lullaby to one of our grand children.  It is those tender personal moments, when the floor is swept out from under my feet and I find myself with no place to stand.  There is no anxious anticipation during these waves of emotions, no they come like a riptide and sweep me away.

So my goal is to be thankful this Thanksgiving for all the joy Steve brought to my life and to our children’s lives.  To be thankful I knew and loved this man and that he loved me with all he had to give.  He blessed my life and made my world a better place to live.

I’ll get through Thanksgiving, then I’ll think about Christmas.  Until then, I’ll do my best not to allow anxious anticipation to creep in and take away my joy.  And ask me tomorrow and  I will tell you all, “I’m Okay!”

Happy Thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving 2008–13 days after Steve's Brain Surgery

“The Lord is my strength and shield. I trust him with all my heart. He helps me, and my heart is filled with joy. I burst out in songs of thanksgiving.”  Psalms 28:7

Cleaning out...

I’ve been cleaning out my house and I’m here to say this is no fun.

It all started about 9-10 months ago.  Brooke came to me and told me she and Jared were thinking of moving.  They wanted to find a home and settle in permanently before the kids started school.  

Backing up almost 5 years  when Steve first became sick, we very quickly began discussing  that once I was alone I did not want to live in our home.  We built this home together and have lived here since 2002.  It was such a fun adventure and we enjoyed planning every inch of it and watching it grow into our home.  I knew once I was to live alone, I would want something very different.  This wonderful home has too many memories of us.  

So Steve, being Steve, began his quest to find me the perfect house.  After about 6 months of Steve wanting to look, needing to look, I finally put my foot down and said no.  We were going to spend his remaining time living life, not worrying about what I would do once he was gone.  He finally relented, but he would continue to broach the subject whenever possible.

Then Brooke and Jared came along with their idea to move.  Their initial thoughts were to make their move in 2 years, give or take.  One morning on one of my walks about 2 months before Steve died, it hit me, I had the perfect plan.  I came home and told Steve of my decision, I would buy Jared and Brooke’s house once they moved.  It was perfect, everything Steve wanted for me, smaller, less upkeep, 4 bedrooms (that he was adamant about), one story, gated neighborhood and we both loved their home!  Done, everyone was happy.

Little did we realize that the Meabon’s perfect house would come along so quickly.  They closed on their new home November 1^st and therefore I bought their/my new home on that day.  Holy moly, that was quick...now I own two homes.

So after I calmed down a bit, I decided to take my time.  I will remodel their home to make it more me.  I am not going to put my house on the market until later, after the holidays, after my trip to Israel...later.

In the mean time, one evening Brent was sitting in the kitchen, innocently looking ceiling to floor, wall to wall, shaking his head and flatly with little to no emotion, said, “What are you going to do with all your stuff?  I mean Mom, you have stuff everywhere.”  Steve had been saying this to me forever and I always thought it was humorous, but for some reason when Brent said it, I started to hyperventilate.  What was I going to do with all this stuff?

The day he left, I went straight to HEB and started grabbing boxes.  I vowed I would begin packing a few boxes each day until I moved.  Thus my daunting task has begun.

There are areas that feel good to purge.  My pantry, full of serving pieces I never use.  My closet...heaps of clothes that were decades old, yet I could never get rid of.  I kept thinking, “Oh, they were so cute, surely they will come back in style again?”  Gone!  

Knick knacks, or rather, treasures, or as Steve called it my junk, that I’ve hauled around with me for way too long...out!  Purging feels like a great weight loss program, that’s working.

There have been areas of the house that I have gone to with great trepidation.  I boxed up all our framed photos.  Oh, incredible memories came flooding back as I looked into Steve’s eyes.  I smiled back at his spellbinding smile. The tears came as I wrapped each frame carefully and placed it in the special boxes labeled  ”Important.”  

I went into an upstairs closet and lining several shelves were all of our travel books.  Fodor’s from France, Croatia, Austria, Greece, Italy... stacks of books from Maine, California, upstate New York, Bryce Canyon...we had traveled.  I stood staring longingly at all of those shelves of books and tears poured out of me like a broken spigot as I touched each book and smiled through my tears.  

The books were dog-eared from handling.  Steve was big on referring to Fodor’s for the best restaurants, hotels, things to do and see.  I had written in the margin of many of the books, commenting on what we loved, simply liked or felt like was a waste of time.  Steve’s handwriting was there on many of the pages.  He was the one to plan our trips ahead of time.  He would read through these books for hours before we would go on trips, making reservations, plotting our course, determining our routes.  

What is one to do with mounds of travel books?  Books of places you have been with the person you most wanted to go with...and now, well now I’m left with this painful stack of books.  So I scooped them up, grabbed a glass of wine, and I spent the evening flipping through the pages of each of book.  It was a private, intimate time and it was difficult, but once I had looked through each book I laid it carefully in the trash bin and at the end of the night, I shut the lid.

I think I may be through cleaning out for a while, my bones feel too dry and I have time.

“For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven...

    a time to seek, and a time to lose;

a time to keep, and a time to throw away…”  Ecclesiastes 3:1-6

Sometimes for your birthday you get exactly what you need...

Brooke took Harper to Target and allowed her to pick out whatever she wanted to give me for my birthday.

Brent came in Saturday for the weekend.  Brooke & Jared got a babysitter and the four of us had grown-up dinner Saturday night.  Sunday morning Brent and I met the Meabon family for breakfast and Harper proudly presented me with my birthday gift.

Cinderella Hair-Do Head

Yep, my very own Cinderella with hair to style, just for me!  Sometimes you get exactly what you want and what you really need for your birthday.

Thank you Harper and Harris.

I love you,
Honey

59 and Still Counting…

Yep, today I became 59 years old.  Odd, I don’t feel any differently than I did a day ago, I don’t even think I feel any differently from what I felt a year ago, or have I forgotten?  I can’t remember.  

I look at my children now, 35 and 33 years old and I’m amazed that I could possibly have children in their mid-thirties.  I remember being in my mid-thirties like it was yesterday, or does it seem like another life ago?  I remember I was given a surprise 30^th birthday party and I got hit in the face with a cream pie by our church’s youth minister.  I was given a lovely surprise birthday roast when I turned 40 by all of my Midland friends. That was the same weekend Steve asked me to marry him...my best birthday of all!!

30th Birthday after the pie in the face

40th Birthday Roast

The telephone just rang, it was a recorded message asking me to participate in a survey for senior citizens, did they get the wrong number?  Am I really a senior citizen?  I don’t yet qualify for senior discounts at movie theaters.  I can’t sign up for Medicare yet.  I was able to get the shingles vaccine, but that’s because they changed the age last year from 60 to 50 years old.

Another birthday that stands out in my memory was my 10^th birthday.  I wanted nothing except a pair of royal blue stirrup stretch pants (leggings today) and the album of “The Sound of Music.”   I remember pulling those bright blue stretch pants over my boney birdlike legs, draping a towel over the back of my head and taking my record player into the backyard.  I plugged my little red portable turntable into an outside outlet, turned that volume up and stood spinning in large circles, arms wide, in the middle of the yard.  There I was, Maria von Trapp, a nun in towel, singing every word from “The Sound of Music” as if I were Julie Andrews on top of that Austrian mountain top.  I still remember all the words of those songs today.

Several nights ago I pulled my hair back in a clippy and had washed my face.  As I took the towel away from my face I was taken aback at the image staring back at me.  For a brief moment, as I stood there hair back, without make-up, looking at a very young Janet of about 8 or 9 years old.  I watched motionless for a moment staring at my young self as memories of myself as a child surged through me.  

Minnie Mama always gave me a Toni Perm...oh the smell!

I felt a certain sadness for a small awkward little girl that seemed too thin, too quiet, too bland for the world around her.  I felt a warmth for the formidable childhood memories this young girl had.  I pictured my bedroom, remembering the little printed flowered wallpaper and my puffy pink bedspread that I would burrow into.  I remembered being a little older, the wonderful memories of our family’s lake house grew vivid in my mind.  What fun summers we spent skiing, swimming and simply enjoying simple summers there.

7th grade with my sister, Barbara

Brent and Brooke also grew up spending summers at that same lake house.  My thoughts skipped decades as I remained still in front of my reflection.  A smile grew in my heart as I thought of teaching each of my children to waterski, of my father, their Papaw, taking them on bear hunts and following Indian trails and other great adventures through the piney woods Texas.  

Brent & Papaw

Thinking of my father, my mind traveled to the times I enjoyed with my parents in their older years at that lake home.  They were frailer then, our times together were more placid in those last years.  We would sit out on the large sloping front lawn and look out at the lake and talk about everything and nothing.  They are both gone now, as is that beloved lake spot.

I looked at my reflection and I came back to the present.  Where did those 59 years go?  Has my life been worthwhile?  Have I done anything of value or legacy?  I certainly can’t compare myself to someone like Mother Teresa, Gandhi, or Einstein as I would fail greatly as a person of worth and value in this life of mine.  So have I had a good life?  Have I evolved from that awkward, shy, child with little self-esteem, and if I have, how did I get where I am now?  Am I okay with this middle-aged woman staring back at me?

I don’t know if I have answers to all the questions that caught me so off guard that night, but what I do know is that I am good with who I am.  I like being 59 years old, I wouldn’t want to go back to 19 or 29 or 49 (I skipped 39 because that’s the year I met Steve).  I love that I have adult children of my own.  I am proud of them for who they are, for what they stand for, for the love that we all have for one another.  If I have done anything of value and worth in my entire life it has been giving birth to Brent and Brooke, they are my finest legacy.

Are there things I would have done differently if had the opportunity?  Of course, but maybe not...because each part of my life, whether good or bad, tragic or thrilling has caused me to become the person I am today.  While my life hasn’t been perfect, it’s been a good, an excellent life and I hope that, God permitting I will to continue to be able stand in my backyard with a towel draped down the back of my head and sing at the top of my lungs...

“Climb every mountain,
Ford every stream,
Follow every rainbow,
'Till you find your dream.

A dream that will need
All the love you can give,
Every day of your life
For as long as you live.”

Oh Julie, where are you when I need you?