As you well know, I have to put words to my feelings, mostly for my benefit (and for my husband). I need to be able to describe how I feel so I can understand and cope. I had a strange experience tonight. I was in a coliseum full of people. As I looked around, all I could see was a different me in a strange place full of strange people. I did not recognize anyone but those I sat with. If I had a mirror, I would have seen a stranger. I realized that I have been seeing the world differently. Your first thought may be, "of course because things are different." Again, I need to be able to describe those feelings. I realized that I have never known the world without Mike. You see, he was my older brother. There was no life, for me, before Mike. There are a few of us in our family who probably feel the same way. And I can remember some looks on Laura's face that would make you believe there was no life, for her, before Mike, either (like the first time I met her and she glowed in his presence!). Suddenly, I am in a foreign land. I am learning a new language in this strange place. My thoughts, routes, interactions, body language, diet, and habits are all changing. My responses are changing. I don't remember applying for a passport to this land.
Fortunately, I chose to accept Jesus as my Lord and Saviour as a young girl. Do you know what He reminded me of with this new "foreign land" revelation? That I AM in a foreign land. I am not home, yet. I do not define myself by this world or by who or what is in it, but by who I am in Him. Isn't He sweet to come along side me and gently remind me of this? I am not supposed to feel "at home" in this world. I am just passing through. "I am the way, the truth, and the light," says the Lord. That's my passport. My passport to eternal life with Him, with Mike, and all the Saints that have gone before us.
The roller coaster continues. Just when I am feeling down and having these hard, seemingly sad revelations, He pushes (and pulls) me up out of that valley and reveals HIS mountain. I am glad He wants me on the mountain. I like the mountains!
Rhonda
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Things that make you go hmmmm....
My Granddaddy is 93 (soon to be 94). Mike was 39 when he died. Flip the numbers. Hmmmm.
Granddaddy survived both Pacific and European Tours in World War II. He has survived Rheumatic fever, tuberculosis, heart problems, and numerous other ailments.
Mike was blessed (and cursed) to survive his first wreck. He spent 2 months in the hospital. When he was able to get out of a wheelchair and walk on his own, he went full throttle for the next 19 years. For some reason, 39 years was his number. Why not 93? Why not 40? I want answers. I am past the anger part, I think. Maybe not. I just miss him. I want to call him and tell him some good news I got but...
The very thing that almost took his life 19 years ago, did so this time. Hmmmm.
I spend a lot of time in thought. Even in that place between dream, sleep, and awake, I am thinking. All the time, I am thinking about Mike. The hospital. Christmas. The wreck. His truck. The ventilator. Hunter. Laura. Injuries. Pain. The 2 worst phone calls, ever. Hmmmm.
What's he doing up there anyway? Why can't he still be Dad, and Bro', and Son, and Mike, and Michael, and Miichael (yes, two Is, for Julie's southern drawl)? Hmmmm.
Granddaddy survived both Pacific and European Tours in World War II. He has survived Rheumatic fever, tuberculosis, heart problems, and numerous other ailments.
Mike was blessed (and cursed) to survive his first wreck. He spent 2 months in the hospital. When he was able to get out of a wheelchair and walk on his own, he went full throttle for the next 19 years. For some reason, 39 years was his number. Why not 93? Why not 40? I want answers. I am past the anger part, I think. Maybe not. I just miss him. I want to call him and tell him some good news I got but...
The very thing that almost took his life 19 years ago, did so this time. Hmmmm.
I spend a lot of time in thought. Even in that place between dream, sleep, and awake, I am thinking. All the time, I am thinking about Mike. The hospital. Christmas. The wreck. His truck. The ventilator. Hunter. Laura. Injuries. Pain. The 2 worst phone calls, ever. Hmmmm.
What's he doing up there anyway? Why can't he still be Dad, and Bro', and Son, and Mike, and Michael, and Miichael (yes, two Is, for Julie's southern drawl)? Hmmmm.
What happens to one of us, happens to all of us. I read this in reference to the shootings at Fort Hood. When one is lost, we all lose. The brokeness of the world overwhelms me. Mike made this world a little better for a lot of people. Why is he not here? Hmmmm.
Questions without answers. The "hmmmms" of the world leave us empty, longing, hurting, searching.
My faith has not waivered. My "hmmmms" are human. Contemplation, not condemnation.
Hmmmm.
Rhonda
Sunday, November 1, 2009
The Power of a Handkerchief
I love to write. Not because I am profound or a great writer but because I love words. I love how words come together to speak to us in so many different ways. I love word origins and history. When they join to make phrases, sentences, and sayings, they light a spark I can't explain. I love how there are so many ways to say the same thing. And the source/sender of the writing or words have a big impact on the receiver. Some prefer eloquent, poetic expressions. Some prefer straight to the point. Take the following example. One of my favorite sayings from my husband is "it is what it is." It took a couple of years of being married to him to understand and accept the importance and profundity of this statement. It was too simple, for my brain. Surely there is more to it than that. That great, precursor to the English language, Latin, has a similar saying, res ipsa loquitor, translated, the thing speaks for itself. Both say the same thing. The latter is often used in the field of law. My husband would not make a good lawyer because he would probably say, "It is what it is, judge," versus an eloquent counselor who says, "your honor, the thing speaks for itself." Both say the same thing but the sender and receiver need to speak and hear it a certain way.
I write all this to preface this entry. I have not written for a couple of weeks, hoping that the events of today would strike some profound, new thoughts, feelings, or enlightenment. Today was All Saints Day and recognized in the church by those that have gone before us. I went to two services, today, that graciously recognized Mike. With that, I share the following:
Have you ever pondered the power of a handkerchief? It's a thin, square of cloth, flimsy in appearance. It can be pretty and dainty and fit neatly in a purse or plain and simple and fit in a pocket. Some are a little bigger and used as bandannas. They are strong enough to contain the unmentionables from our nose, just thick enough to absorb the tears from our eyes, the right size to conceal a sobbing face , tough enough to withstand the tight squeeze of an anxious hand, durable enough to bind wounds, and tightly woven to withstand the years of washing. My Dad always carries a handkerchief, so does my husband. There is something very comforting in that little cloth. A simple thing, really. Just knowing it is available if any of the above occurs is a source of comfort. It kind of reminds me of Jesus. Now, I am not saying Jesus catches my snot, but He would if I needed Him to. He is not above it. That's why He gave somebody the brains to create that little cloth. Thank you, Jesus, for the handkerchief.
The next entry is not my own. While I was looking for or hoping to receive some powerful message, it stared right back at me from the church bulletin. There is no need to re-invent the wheel. Someone else already wrote, so eloquently, what I wanted to say. So here it goes...
As written in the Morris Chapel United Methodist Church Hymnal, November 1, 2009, All Saints Day, A Service of Remembrance, Recited by the Congregation
"A Prayer for All Saints"
Ever-living God,
this day revives in us memories of loved ones who are no more.
What happiness we shared when they walked among us.
What joy, when loving, and being loved, we lived our lives together.
There memory is a blessing forever.
Months or years may have passed, and still we feel near to them.
Our hearts yearn for them.
Though the bitter grief has softened, a duller pain abides;
for the place where once they stood is empty now.
The links of life are broken, but the links of love and longing cannot break.
Their souls are bound up in ours forever.
We see them now with the eye of memory,
their faults forgotten, their virtues grow larger.
So does goodness live, and weakness fade from sight.
We remember them with gratitude and bless their names.
There memory is a blessing forever.
And we remember, as well the members
who but yesterday were part of our congregation and community.
To all who cared for us and labored for all people, we pay tribute.
May we prove worthy of carrying on the tradition of our faith,
for now the task is ours.
Their souls are bound up in ours forever.
We give you thanks that they now live and reign with you.
As a great crowd of witnesses,
they surround us with their blessings,
and offer you hymns of prayers and thanksgiving.
They are alive forevermore.
Amen
It is what it is. I can't improve on it or the day anymore than that. This is how the Lord spoke to me.
Missing Mike,
Rhonda
I write all this to preface this entry. I have not written for a couple of weeks, hoping that the events of today would strike some profound, new thoughts, feelings, or enlightenment. Today was All Saints Day and recognized in the church by those that have gone before us. I went to two services, today, that graciously recognized Mike. With that, I share the following:
Have you ever pondered the power of a handkerchief? It's a thin, square of cloth, flimsy in appearance. It can be pretty and dainty and fit neatly in a purse or plain and simple and fit in a pocket. Some are a little bigger and used as bandannas. They are strong enough to contain the unmentionables from our nose, just thick enough to absorb the tears from our eyes, the right size to conceal a sobbing face , tough enough to withstand the tight squeeze of an anxious hand, durable enough to bind wounds, and tightly woven to withstand the years of washing. My Dad always carries a handkerchief, so does my husband. There is something very comforting in that little cloth. A simple thing, really. Just knowing it is available if any of the above occurs is a source of comfort. It kind of reminds me of Jesus. Now, I am not saying Jesus catches my snot, but He would if I needed Him to. He is not above it. That's why He gave somebody the brains to create that little cloth. Thank you, Jesus, for the handkerchief.
The next entry is not my own. While I was looking for or hoping to receive some powerful message, it stared right back at me from the church bulletin. There is no need to re-invent the wheel. Someone else already wrote, so eloquently, what I wanted to say. So here it goes...
As written in the Morris Chapel United Methodist Church Hymnal, November 1, 2009, All Saints Day, A Service of Remembrance, Recited by the Congregation
"A Prayer for All Saints"
Ever-living God,
this day revives in us memories of loved ones who are no more.
What happiness we shared when they walked among us.
What joy, when loving, and being loved, we lived our lives together.
There memory is a blessing forever.
Months or years may have passed, and still we feel near to them.
Our hearts yearn for them.
Though the bitter grief has softened, a duller pain abides;
for the place where once they stood is empty now.
The links of life are broken, but the links of love and longing cannot break.
Their souls are bound up in ours forever.
We see them now with the eye of memory,
their faults forgotten, their virtues grow larger.
So does goodness live, and weakness fade from sight.
We remember them with gratitude and bless their names.
There memory is a blessing forever.
And we remember, as well the members
who but yesterday were part of our congregation and community.
To all who cared for us and labored for all people, we pay tribute.
May we prove worthy of carrying on the tradition of our faith,
for now the task is ours.
Their souls are bound up in ours forever.
We give you thanks that they now live and reign with you.
As a great crowd of witnesses,
they surround us with their blessings,
and offer you hymns of prayers and thanksgiving.
They are alive forevermore.
Amen
It is what it is. I can't improve on it or the day anymore than that. This is how the Lord spoke to me.
Missing Mike,
Rhonda
Monday, October 19, 2009
The lighter side of random thoughts.
I don't recall Mom asking if Mike was wearing clean underwear.
Mom and Dad will have to come to me to talk. Who am I gonna talk to about Mom and Dad?
Hunter turns 13 in 2 years. I sooooo wanted to be a fly on the wall watching Mike get his!
Mike and I will not get to play Jesse and Maude Phillips! Very disappointing!
What does normal mean, anyway?
It took Mike's death to realize he is the sane one!
A peanut butter and jelly sandwich tastes much better after it has been thrown against a refrigerator.
Some of this will only be funny to a few. I apologize for that. Maybe those stories will be told another time.
Happy Birthday, Dad!
Mom and Dad will have to come to me to talk. Who am I gonna talk to about Mom and Dad?
Hunter turns 13 in 2 years. I sooooo wanted to be a fly on the wall watching Mike get his!
Mike and I will not get to play Jesse and Maude Phillips! Very disappointing!
What does normal mean, anyway?
It took Mike's death to realize he is the sane one!
A peanut butter and jelly sandwich tastes much better after it has been thrown against a refrigerator.
Some of this will only be funny to a few. I apologize for that. Maybe those stories will be told another time.
Happy Birthday, Dad!
Sunday, October 4, 2009
I am sorry to tell you but...
You have been diagnosed with grief. Grief is almost like having a disease. Some debilitating, have-to-learn-how-to-live-with, for the rest of your life, disease. Something like diabetes, or high blood pressure. You will have to modify your lifestyle to accommodate it. Some days you will have everything under control, then your sugar or blood pressure or feelings go way too high or way too low and you find yourself in an emergency state of needing rescue. How could Mike let this happen? How could God let this happen?
How can I have this disease process? After all, grief is a process, right? A life-long process. Am I a manic? Some days I have energy like a Rat Terrier and other days I feel like an old hound dog. My eyes and tail sag. I just assume lie in bed or on the front porch. It shows up without warning signs. I am emotional for no real reason. I have no energy even on days off. Then, I go to work like the Rat Terrier on a major caffeine high and no one can keep up with me. Explain this to me.
I have spent the past 15 years in some form of emergency and critical care. No one or no thing has prepared me for this response. It is beyond my comprehension and education. It is a life education. I would not have picked this as an elective in college. No thanks. But here I am learning on a moment by moment basis the whole awful, terrible, roller coaster process.
I have to share a very honest moment I had last week. I had a major low. I just plain hurt. I missed Mike. I cried uncontrollable tears, down to the tips of my toes. I swear they cried. I felt it with every ounce of my being. Then, I decided I needed to do something different. Something I have not been able to do. I decided to look at the video played during Mike's memorial celebration (yeah, right. What celebration?). A little more info...I am on another travel nursing assignment in Asheville, NC. I brought the dvd with me in case I decided to finally look at pictures of Mike. After all, I have only, briefly been able to look at him. And only once have I seen the video displayed during the visitation. I have not even seen the video played during the memorial celebration. So, I thought I grabbed one from home to bring with me to Asheville. It's about 1am in the morning. I have cried with no relief. I load this dvd onto my computer. And what pops up? Something from my husband's rescue squad. I grabbed from the very place I had left one of the dvds but I grabbed the wrong one. So, by myself, in the wee hours of the morning, in between the tears, I had to laugh. It was classic, Mike. Something always happens. Something a little wrong or misadventure. But, obviously, a little right. Maybe I did not need to see that right then. Maybe I needed to laugh. Whatever it was, it needed to be.
I have no explanation for Mike's wreck. None. I have no explanation for his death. But it needed to be. Grandaddy made the statement that Mike was tired. So, I guess, God took him to eternal rest and relaxation. I have no explanation for my new disease. None. But I am learning to cope. Moment by moment. Hour by hour. Day by day. It is a lifelong process. Patience. Grace. Understanding. I miss you, Mikey. But I am learning to live with your absence. It is a process. A disease of sorts. So it was a blessing to have you in my life. Absence of a good thing leads to a disease. Hmmmmm.
Until next time,
Love,
Rhonda
How can I have this disease process? After all, grief is a process, right? A life-long process. Am I a manic? Some days I have energy like a Rat Terrier and other days I feel like an old hound dog. My eyes and tail sag. I just assume lie in bed or on the front porch. It shows up without warning signs. I am emotional for no real reason. I have no energy even on days off. Then, I go to work like the Rat Terrier on a major caffeine high and no one can keep up with me. Explain this to me.
I have spent the past 15 years in some form of emergency and critical care. No one or no thing has prepared me for this response. It is beyond my comprehension and education. It is a life education. I would not have picked this as an elective in college. No thanks. But here I am learning on a moment by moment basis the whole awful, terrible, roller coaster process.
I have to share a very honest moment I had last week. I had a major low. I just plain hurt. I missed Mike. I cried uncontrollable tears, down to the tips of my toes. I swear they cried. I felt it with every ounce of my being. Then, I decided I needed to do something different. Something I have not been able to do. I decided to look at the video played during Mike's memorial celebration (yeah, right. What celebration?). A little more info...I am on another travel nursing assignment in Asheville, NC. I brought the dvd with me in case I decided to finally look at pictures of Mike. After all, I have only, briefly been able to look at him. And only once have I seen the video displayed during the visitation. I have not even seen the video played during the memorial celebration. So, I thought I grabbed one from home to bring with me to Asheville. It's about 1am in the morning. I have cried with no relief. I load this dvd onto my computer. And what pops up? Something from my husband's rescue squad. I grabbed from the very place I had left one of the dvds but I grabbed the wrong one. So, by myself, in the wee hours of the morning, in between the tears, I had to laugh. It was classic, Mike. Something always happens. Something a little wrong or misadventure. But, obviously, a little right. Maybe I did not need to see that right then. Maybe I needed to laugh. Whatever it was, it needed to be.
I have no explanation for Mike's wreck. None. I have no explanation for his death. But it needed to be. Grandaddy made the statement that Mike was tired. So, I guess, God took him to eternal rest and relaxation. I have no explanation for my new disease. None. But I am learning to cope. Moment by moment. Hour by hour. Day by day. It is a lifelong process. Patience. Grace. Understanding. I miss you, Mikey. But I am learning to live with your absence. It is a process. A disease of sorts. So it was a blessing to have you in my life. Absence of a good thing leads to a disease. Hmmmmm.
Until next time,
Love,
Rhonda
Friday, September 18, 2009
Random Thoughts
The following are some of my random thoughts, lately.
There is a whole new meaning to storing up treasures in heaven.
Is it wrong to be anxious for Christ to return ASAP?
I have lost a part of me, my flesh and blood. The closest connection.
One more day. One more chance. One more...no longer cliche'.
Ackerpersaingogicky. Only a few will understand that.
Freebird.
There is a whole new meaning to storing up treasures in heaven.
Is it wrong to be anxious for Christ to return ASAP?
I have lost a part of me, my flesh and blood. The closest connection.
One more day. One more chance. One more...no longer cliche'.
Ackerpersaingogicky. Only a few will understand that.
Freebird.
The following are comments from some of Mike's family.
I can hear his voice in my head and feel his hug around my arms. These are senses I hope to never forget. He will be in my heart and my thoughts forever! I will be happy for the day when we are all reunited. I love you Michael and I wish so much we would have had more time together then just short visits here and there.
Catherine
When I think of Michael (I always called him Michael) I will never forget the way he always greeted me with a smile and a gentle, “Hey Aunt Libby, how are you?” then always a big hug.
Libby
I always called him Michael too or I guess I should say "Miiichael." He loved the way I said his name. He had a way of reading into your mind and just "getting you" when it seemed not many people always did. It didn't matter how long in between the visits were he welcomed us with big open arms and started just where we left off. I feel his presence so much more than I ever could have imagined. It's difficult for those left behind but his absolute joy now brings comfort. I love you Miiichael.
Julie
Where to start? Mike has always had such a special place in my heart. From the great big bear hugs, to the comforting words, "I Love you!" You could always feel the love that he shared just by being with him. I am gratetful that I got to be a part of his life. He always made you realize that there was always someone that was worse off than you! His Love fills the void in my heart. Love to Mike the big Teddy Bear in the Sky!
Renee
I miss Mike all the time. When I sit back and think about the same things that he and I have been through it is amazing how much alike we are. Everytime I go to clean his mom's house or we have a family get together I wish so much to have him greet me one more time with the powerful handshake that he used to always give me and the "Hey cuz" greeting he always met me with. Thankfully by the grace of God I will experience this again but he will be meeting me on the streets of gold!!! Until I see you again Cuz I Love You!!!
James
In thinking about Michael and his life, and all the loved ones who are left here wounded and wondering, I remembered a passage from one of my favorite authors, Maya Angelou.
In Letter to My Daughter, Angelou writes:
I find it very difficult to let a friend or beloved go into that country of no return. I answer the heroic question, “Death, where is thy sting?” with “It is here in heart, and my mind, and my memories.”
I am besieged with painful awe at the vacuum left by the dead. Where did she go? Where is he now? Are they, as the poet James William Johnson said, resting in the bosom of Jesus?...
I can find relief to the questions only when I can see that I am not obliged to know everything.
I remind myself that it is sufficient to know what I know and that what I know may not always be true. When I find myself filling with rage over the loss of a beloved, I try as soon as possible to remember that my concerns and questions should be focused on what I learned, or what I have left to learn, from my departed love.
What legacy was left which can help me in the art of living a good life?
Did I learn to be kinder, to be more patient and more generous, more loving, more ready to laugh and more easy to accept honest tears?
If I accept those legacies of my departed beloveds, I am able to say thank you to them for their love and thank you to God for their lives.
Thanks, Michael, for your smile, your laugh, your hugs. Thank you, God, for Michael.
Jeannie.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Absence stares you in the face
An empty easy chair. A certain empty seat at the table. A voicemail unanswered. A punchline with less laughter. A job unfilled. Empty shoes. A tractor with no rider. A picture with no life for comparison. A question with no answers. Staring at absence. Visualizing presence. Wishing for life.
I had no idea of the power of grief. The power of absence. The world without Mike. Everyday I wake up I am reminded as absence stares back at me. It glares, it penetrates. How can nothing look back at me and hurt so much? Isn't absence the opposite of presence? Nothing the opposite of something? Nothing can hurt me. Something can. But in this case, it is the opposite. If you are confused, welcome to my world.
I promised to post others' sentiments and memoirs of Mike. I am still collecting those. I wish to post more of that and less of me. I thank each of you for continuing to share this painful journey, however. For me, writing is a way to express and vent. I can write better than I can speak my feelings. My tongue is mute when it comes to speaking my feelings of this loss. If only I could silence the angst in my head. Relieve the angst in my body.
No one told me that grief manifests physically. Maybe they did. I don't remember. But I know it showed up. It stares at me. It cuts me. It hurts me.
On behalf of the entire Mike Watson Family, thank you for your continued prayers and support.
Love,
Rhonda
I had no idea of the power of grief. The power of absence. The world without Mike. Everyday I wake up I am reminded as absence stares back at me. It glares, it penetrates. How can nothing look back at me and hurt so much? Isn't absence the opposite of presence? Nothing the opposite of something? Nothing can hurt me. Something can. But in this case, it is the opposite. If you are confused, welcome to my world.
I promised to post others' sentiments and memoirs of Mike. I am still collecting those. I wish to post more of that and less of me. I thank each of you for continuing to share this painful journey, however. For me, writing is a way to express and vent. I can write better than I can speak my feelings. My tongue is mute when it comes to speaking my feelings of this loss. If only I could silence the angst in my head. Relieve the angst in my body.
No one told me that grief manifests physically. Maybe they did. I don't remember. But I know it showed up. It stares at me. It cuts me. It hurts me.
On behalf of the entire Mike Watson Family, thank you for your continued prayers and support.
Love,
Rhonda
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)