Summer, the fabric of our lives…

I smell Coppertone, baby oil, cocoa butter, and the sweet syrupy scent of sno-cones mingled with the smokey aroma of burning mosquito repellant coils wafting through night air. I taste ice cold watermelon, freshly squeezed lemonade, and salty ocean water. I feel the hot summer sun prickling my skin, the slight sting that quickly becomes incessant itching from pesky mosquito bites. I can still feel those cool breezes blowing from large box fans, and sand gritty in my hair, on my skin and beneath my fingernails. I hear the pounding of ocean waves, the soft rumble of boat motors, the whirl of a fisherman’s reel being cast far into blue waters. I see the heat radiating from sidewalks, sun-kissed bodies in tiny swim suits, melting ice cream dripping from cones that are anxious to be licked, fireflies lighting up summer nights, and shimmering moonlit waters. So many reminders of summertime are indelible in my mind.

A strange gloominess washes over me as I realize school begins next week. I’m not sure this odd sadness is explainable, perhaps it’s that Pavlovian urge that keeps me yearning for those summer memories will never end. Call me Peter Pan, yet instead of never wanting to grow up, I simply long for continual summers. I will admit that around the second week into the school year this woeful longing subsides and suddenly I’m all about fall sweaters and crossing my fingers for a drastic drop in temperature.

This has been a fast and furious summer, one that has been non-stop and I wonder if my constant travel is too much. 

June was spent in the Texas sun. I kicked off the summer at the beach with good friends. The guys permitted me to join them air boat fishing through the back channels and inlets of the Gulf. It was hotter than blue blazes, but oh, so fun, and I did manage to catch the largest fish! I will never take Steve’s and my couple friends for granted as they continue to so graciously include me. The wives are among my dearest friends and their sweet husbands, well, they have become my brothers from other mothers. I hope they will never tire of me being that third wheel, as their friendships enhance my life in countless ways.

Lake LBJ was next in my summer travels. Our 12th Boswell summer trip to Log Country Cove will forever be a favorite summer trip for all of us. Our family has morphed over the span of these twelve years. The absence of Steve and his mom, Evelyn, has caused our family number to shrink, however, the grandchildren have not only caused our family to grow in number, but also in size. Incredibly, Dylan, the first of our nine grandchildren, is now every inch a 16 year old. Oh how quickly time flies. We have hundreds of pictures and memories of all of those fun summer days, and I am blessed by each and every summer we have spent together.

Log Country Cove 2015

2012

2011

2010

2009

In July, I retreated to the cool country. My first stop, Santa Fe. Here a small group of friends spent a few days in one of my favorite cities. We shopped the International Folk Art Festival, ate delicious food and simply enjoyed time away. One evening our group of five joined a group of six other women (one being a friend of both groups). This evening became one of those unique times when we found ourselves standing on holy ground. A rare evening of women coming together and without intention, shared our experiences and our faith, and allowed God to weave his presence into the fabric our lives. We all left feeling we were bound by a gentle woven bond. We were all thankful God had brought us together on this lovely summer night. I have no doubt God will enable our paths to cross in very meaningful ways in the future. Exciting stuff!

I made a quick trip back home to spend a really sweet night at Hill Country Hyatt Resort with a group of good friends. Our friendships initially formed because we were all moms of daughters who had gone to high school together. Let me back up a little. Last winter, our daughters invited their moms to attend a spiritual retreat. God blessed us that week-end as mothers and daughters shared our hearts. Through our vulnerability each of us allowed ourselves to be woven into a special blanket of sisterhood, one so rare, and so precious. It was this week-end that resulted in this summer reunion. Doubling the fun, the girls all decided to bring their children. Wild? Yes! Crazy commotion? Absolutely! Our small number now totaled forty. Oh how quickly we can multiply! I left feeling so blessed that God molded and shaped our daughters into women of remarkable faith, and enabled them to become incredible mothers to each of our many, many grandchildren.

The Mothers

The Daughters

The Grand Children

The Group Multiplied

A quick turn around and Lucy and I headed back to the mountains, this time Colorado. First stop, Creede where I spent a really sweet time with the Boswell sisters, and Tom. Bonnie and Tom have a gorgeous home on the Rio Grande River, surrounded by the beautiful Colorado mountains. I’m thankful Bonnie and Bos continue to embrace me and call me their sister. Each time I am with them, I feel and sense Steve’s presence. Perhaps it’s the tone of a subtle remark, the twinkle in an eye, the simple shrug of a shoulder…these are all small nuances that only siblings share. This is only one of the many reasons I so cherish this sweet bond of sisterhood.

Lucy and I said our good-byes and headed to Breckenridge. I had rented a house for two weeks and was delighted to have the Meabon family join me.

I wrote an entire blog about this trip and all the wonderful, funny things that happened during my time with Harper and Harris. Why I never finished this writing…I decided I didn't want to be that grandmother going on and on about her adorable, overly intelligent, incredibly funny offspring. I have to say, my favorite part of these two weeks was waking each morning to have the youngest of my grandchildren curled up in the curves of my body, still half asleep, not yet driven by youth’s endless energy. All three of us simply reveled in those pre-dawn moments. There is nothing finer, nothing more worthy, than these sweet, priceless moments in quiet stillness.

I ended my summer with a Thelma and Louise quick trip to Las Vegas with a good friend. We laughed, sweated a lot and lost a little money, but the fun and laughter was well worth all else. Nothing can top memories made from laughter with a good friend…Thanks, Carolyn!

Thelma & Louise 

As I read over what I have just written the thing that stands out most in my mind isn’t all the places I’ve been these past three months, it is the precious moments that have been forever woven into the fabric of my life. 

Monday morning, school zone warnings will again be flashing. Those blinking lights have had a little reprieve these past three months of summer, they were given a much needed rest from their responsibility. I will drive more slowly as I pass through school crossings, but I hope each time my foot lifts from the accelerator, I will pause and give thanks for this past summer and for all the summers that have helped to create the intricate, rich and lovely fabric of my life.

For what it’s worth,

Janet

Genesis 8:22  “As long as the earth remains, there will be springtime and harvest, cold and heat, winter and summer, day and night.”

A kick in the kimono...

Tuesday, June 7th, 8:30 a.m. Sitting on the back porch with a cup of morning coffee, having my quiet time. 

Still in my nightgown, I write in my journal: “These days have been so long, unending. I continue to relive Steve’s last days. The reel plays over and over in my mind, while I try to stop it, the images and memories of those final days crowd my thoughts. Oh Lord, help me get through these next few days. Enable me to occupy my time with something other than my self…”

The phone rings, Brooke has just dropped the children at Vacation Bible School and is on her way home. Her day is full, she is leaving for Houston around noon. Jared is out of town, but will fly to Houston to meet her. Harper has her annual appointment at Texas Children’s Hospital. The doctors will decide if further surgery on her little tummy will be scheduled for the fall. I can hear a bit of tension in my sweet daughter’s voice, but her words are concern for me and the sorrow we are each processing in learning to live life without Steve. 

We both cry easily these last few weeks when memories of Steve fill our thoughts. They are such precious memories. We laugh often at Steve’s wonderful sense of humor, we smile when we think of his concern and care for each of us, and we tear up over his gentle love, the memory of his hugs, his simple presence.

So, Brooke is checking on me this morning, making sure I’m okay, knowing she will be busy the next few days. Mid sentence I heard Brooke, “Oh no…” I hear the crunching of metal and my heart stands still. “Mom, I just had a wreck. I’m okay, gotta go.” The phone goes dead. 

Knowing she will need my help, I quickly dress and head for the door. Brooke calls to tell me, yes she needs me and gives me her location, again reinforcing everyone is fine, but her car is a mess.

Arriving, I see for myself that she is fine, but visibly shaken. Waiting on the tow truck takes forever and while we wait my strong daughter begins to cry. Why this week, which already holds such a dark space in our minds? Why this day, when she needs to drive her daughter to Houston to see if surgery is necessary? The tears come, they fall freely from both of us as we stand on the curb and cry.

I make the quick decision to drive her to Houston. Brooke is in no shape to travel with a 3 and 4 year old after this morning of turmoil. I drop Brooke home and hurry home to shower and throw a few things in a bag and by noon we are headed out the door.

Wednesday, July 8th, 8:30 a.m. Twenty-four hours after writing in my journal, asking God to walk me through the next hours, I find myself in a hotel in the Medical Center of Houston waiting for the kids to get back from Harper’s appointments.

Dancing Cows at TCH a much talked about highlight. A much needed snooze on the way to Houston.
Backseat fun with the 3 H's!

All that fills my mind is that God is steadfast, he takes care of our every need in the most intricate ways imaginable. No, I don’t think God caused Brooke to wreck her car, but I do think that God uses situations for our good. I know that in the last 24 hours I have been doing exactly what I needed to be doing. I needed to become less self-absorbed and I needed to focus on the blessings of my life. 

God has a way of kicking me in the kimono and telling me to snap out of it. Steve, if he were still alive, would have been the first person to pile Brooke and kids into our car and head to Houston. Steve, would be sitting by Harper’s side right now, listening to the specialists and giving them his opinions concerning his granddaughter. Steve, would be smiling because I have spent this time taking care of our children, instead of thinking of our final hours together.

One of my father’s favorite poems resonates in my ears as I write this entry, it is written by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, “A Psalm of Life.”

Life is real! Life is earnest!

And the grave is not its goal;

Dust thou are, to dust thou returnest,

Was not spoken of the soul.

Let us then be up and doing,

With a heart for any fate;

Still achieving, still pursuing,

Learn to labor and to wait.”   

So I write and I wait for the kids to return and tell me what decisions have been made concerning Harper. I am thankful Brooke is okay after yesterday’s debacle. I am grateful for her precious family. I am blessed that they live in San Antonio and that I am able to be a part of their lives on a daily basis. I stand in awe that what I thought would be a very sad second anniversary of Steve’s death has turned into two days that are so full that my head is spinning.

Tomorrow, I set off on a long adventure. Santa Fe is first on my agenda followed by a trip to the cool temperatures of the Colorado mountains. “Let us then be up and doing…”

My life is full, my life is good, my life is blessed!

For what it’s worth,

Janet

Jeremiah 29:11 “For I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord. They are plans for good and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope.

My junk drawer…

I needed a pair of scissors to snip off a tag. Standing in my kitchen, I reached in a drawer located right beneath my now rarely used home phone and answering machine. This is a drawer, that I hope all of you have in your home, one that is easily accessible, yet sort of tucked away, a miscellaneous drawer that stores the stuff you need right at your finger tips. Stuff that is seldom used.

I moved into this house 16 months ago and I believe I have cleaned out this mess at least three times to date. No matter how often I organize my junk drawer, it continues to fill with things I might not be quite sure where to store. These are items I think need to be held on to, lost items that I have searched my house high and low for…stuff. No matter how hard I try to keep this space organized, compartmentalized, uncluttered, it is my sundry selection, and a sure place for necessary items to become lost and forgotten.

Reaching for that pair of scissors, I opened this kitchen catch-all and found not one, but five pairs of scissors. Now these weren’t simply small unassuming scissors, nor were they a real variety of scissors. I accumulated five pairs of large scissors. Each pair had different colored handles, green for fruits and veggies, black for paper items, orange for cutting chicken…and so on. Instead of being in their proper places, they ended up in my junk drawer. I started digging a little deeper, forgetting about the tag I needed to snip. 

I found operating manuals for items I seldom use. I found receipts for things I no longer own. I dug deeper, finding scotch tape, okay, that’s appropriate, but then I found seven pairs of reading glasses, a broken plastic top to a set of small screwdrivers that I use all the time. This broken top, cracked and unusable, has never made the trash cut and has made the move into three of my four home junk drawers. I found Sharpee pens (5), ballpoint pens (7), a variety of notepads (4), sticky notes in multiple colors (8), USB cable cords (4), (I have no idea what these cords plug into, and a box of matches (I never use matches). The list grows, but I think you get the picture.

I became incredulous, unable to comprehend how this drawer magically became a magnet for so much clutter. 

So, after I took this picture, because I knew there was blog entry forming in the back of my mind, I began to clean out this poor, bulging drawer. I grabbed a trash can and threw away all the litter that had accumulated. I made a pile of things that were important enough to be stored and properly filed. I found small containers for working pens and stray rubber bands and I placed each pair of scissors in their proper drawer.

Some nagging little thought took root in my mind while looking at the mess before me. The thought grew quickly as I realized the disorderly drawer mirrored my life, my heart, my mind and my soul. 

How many times have I cleaned out the clutter that worms its way into my thoughts? How often do I collect junk that should have been tossed long ago, broken plastic tops and broken feelings and memories that no longer hold any use? When will I let go of all my accumulated scissors, the painful moments that cut into my thoughts, hurtful, stabbing situations that need to find a proper place in the closet of my heart? 

Can I choose to file away operating manuals necessary for experiences that might later instruct or help me share my life experiences with someone else? Can I sort out which pair of reading glasses help me look at life with greater perspective, a finer acuity to tolerance, to what is important, of value? Am I able to toss the stuff that has caused my life to budge unnecessarily? Matches, that fuel feelings that can only cause pain, can I toss them forever? Can I begin to compartmentalize my thoughts, desires, goals, achievements so that I am able to open the drawer of my life and easily see what is needed at a particular moment?

I believe my faith enables me to call on a God that is orderly. One who is wise, loving and understands exactly how to organize, to orchestrate, to assimilate my past, present and future. I pray that I can allow Him to clean out the clutter within me and know that with Him, because of Him, my life can have a place for everything and know that everything is in its proper place.

Two hours later, I snip off the tag, restore the scissors to their proper place and shut my drawer with a satisfaction that my junk is now in order, clean, neat and tidy. I felt a bit lighter, cleaner, more defined.

For what it’s worth, 

Janet

Psalm 51:10  “Create in me a clean heart, O God. Renew a right spirit within me.”

23 months..but who’s counting???

I swore I would no longer write about this deep sadness, this bone aching hurt, this vacant absence that is like an elephant in my life…but, never say never, right???

I have questions, many questions…Every spring, will I forever replay the beginning of the end of the life of the man who made my life so incredible? Every May, will that memory of Steve’s terrible fall in our garage replay in slow motion in my mind? Every June, will I find myself remembering so vividly Steve needing help to bathe, to dress, to walk? Every July, will I be reminded of Steve’s horrendous seizures that left him unable to walk, to talk, to move, and that inevitably lead to his death?

More questions fill my mind. Will I always doubt that I could have done more? Will I continually question that I should have been more aware? That I could have been better? The questions grow, they loom, they paralyze me.

Since May, I have been acutely aware of this wave building within me. It was this time two years ago that, although we, or maybe it was just I, that didn’t comprehend the end of Steve’s life was so near. Steve’s fall in the garage that Sunday morning in May marked the beginning of the end. I suppose his brain tumor was growing so aggressively, so quickly, so horrendously that it was unfathomable. 

I vividly remember walking down the hall of our home that Sunday morning when I heard Steve’s frantic call for help. I had begged Steve not to venture out into the yard that morning. I knew that he was too weak, that his faculties were failing, but he admonished me. He told me to stop treating him as though he were incapable, that he was still able to accomplish things. I remember being feeling ashamed, feeling mad, thinking, okay…go ahead, be hard-headed…I give up. I went do dress for church and Steve went to the back yard. My patience was growing thin. I imagine his patience was even thinner. Just minutes later, walking down the hall, dressed for church, I heard my name, being frantically called…over and over. 

Running to the garage, I found Steve on the ground in a puddle of blood, unable to get up. Will I never forget the sight of Steve? Will I always remember the fear in his eyes? The picture of my precious husband lying helpless and battered.

In the weeks that followed, Steve looked like he had taken on both Mayweather and Pacquiao. In reality, Steve had taken on the mightiest contender, cancer at it’s finest. Steve was a prize fighter, and he fought his battle fiercely. The question I now ask myself, over and over is, was I the right person to be in his corner? Did I nurse his wounds as I should have? Did I encourage him for the rounds that were yet to come? I think Steve deserved much better than what I gave him those last few months. Now, 23 months later, I am left with such great remorse and sadness.

In church this past Sunday, singing “How Great Thou Art,” the words so tugged at my heart that tears began to fall out of my eyes. It was as if someone had pricked a tiny hole in my soul and tears flowed, slowly at first, then uncontrollably. The tears were there, lying just at the surface of my emotions, and once tapped, there was no stopping the flow. 

I came home to a beautiful, crisp sunny cool morning. I sat on my back porch, underneath blue skies and blowing fans and I cried…and I cried…and I cried. The deep sadness seeped out of every corner of my being. I ached and mourned the loss of Steve as if he had left me, not almost two years, but a mere hours before.  Where did this come from? How long have I been harboring this overwhelming grief?

My day continued. I went from sad to sadder. I cried, I ached, I replayed in slow motion every frame of every tortured moment from May through July 8th, I couldn’t stop this mental reel.

It is now Monday evening and this incredible pain is hanging heavy…so I write to try to relieve this ache ingrained within me.

Last night, I turned out my lights and as I lay in my bed I took my pillows and began placing them so that I might imagine being cradled with my head in Steve’s lap. Oh how I longed to feel his cool hands on my neck. How I hoped to hear his heartbeat so that I might be lulled to sleep. Twenty-three months…will I go through this routine the rest of my life?

On a normal day, I choose joy. I have a strong faith that enables me to, “Rejoice in the Lord…” to “Consider it all joy…” to know that God is “my joy and salvation…” So I claim these promises and I know this sorrow will dissipate. In these moments that cause me such deep sadness, I ask God to walk with me, to carry me through these valleys and to know, to really know, that Steve is in “His Father’s house, where there are many mansions…” and I know that he is waiting there for me to join him…someday. 

Several days ago I ran into Walgreens to grab a diet coke. The cashier was shelving and we quickly greeted one another as I passed by. Grabbing my coke, we both headed for the cash register. A few more polite exchanges were made before handing her my money. It was then this lovely Indian woman locked eyes with me. Her accent was heavy and her English formal. She told me she sensed something deep within me. She asked if she could share this feeling with me. My heart stopped for a moment as I nodded. “I can see that you are happy on the inside and it shines through you.” I am sure my face mirrored hers as her eyes sparkled and a beautiful smile spread across her face. “I am happy on the inside!” I replied. I thanked her for her kind words and left a little lighter, a little brighter.

I believe with all my heart that God put this kind woman in my path. His way of constantly reminding me that He is with me, that his light is shining through me. I may have moments of sadness, but thanks be to God, I am truly happy on the inside. I do not walk alone.

Tomorrow, I begin a summer of traveling. Yes, I may be running, but…I’m thankful I have the ability to run. I leave for the beach with friends, I spend time at the lake with family, and the later part of the summer in the mountains with friends and family. 

I must choose joy, I must choose life, I must choose to believe “that God is my refuge and strength, an ever present help in times of trouble.”

For what it’s worth,

Janet

John 8:12 

“Then Jesus again spoke to them, saying, "I am the Light of the world; he who follows Me will not walk in the darkness, but will have the Light of life."