Happy Birthday Becky

Becca,

Today would have been your Grandma Becky's 43rd birthday. Last year on this day I wrote a post dedicated to her. You were still growing in your mommy's tummy at the time, a thought more than a reality. When I go back and read that post I feel the sadness that I have always felt this time of year. This year is different, this year we have you. Yes, I am sad, but my sadness is less sharp. Thank you for that, baby girl. You have brought us so much joy and given my heart some peace. I am looking forward to watching you grow up, of sharing all your milestones, and teaching you about your Grandma and what an amazing woman she was!

______________________________________

A few pictures of the birthday girl through the years

1973-age 2

Jr Prom 1988

1990- at the hospital with Mommy (Ashley)

Christmas 1996 with Aunt Laurie

__________________________________________

Happy Birthday Becky. I love you and miss you. You would be so very proud of your girls and your beautiful grandbaby. Rest in peace my friend.

In Which I share my second worst birthday experience ever...and you laugh at me.

It's my birthday today and Facebook has exploded with messages from all my friends and family. Times like this are a big part of why I LOVE social media (and Facebook in particular). It's a party right here on my computer screen! Which is all the party I need, really. One of my cyber friends left this message: "Happy Birthday! Go out there & do something crazy... *<|:-)". This one made me laugh out loud, because I tried this once and it did NOT end well! Would you like to hear about it? Sure you would, I promise it will make you laugh!

"My 39th Birthday Adventure" or "The Reason Why I Hate Bicycles"

It all started out innocently enough. We wanted to get in shape and so for the hubby's birthday we decided to purchase bicycles. This was in the spring of our 39th year (well, he had just turned 39 and I would in August. But "the spring of our 39th year" is such a cool phrase I had to use it. Dramatic license you know.) and we were looking for ways to get out of the house (1st mistake) and spend some time together. So, we bought bikes. Everything was fine at first. We rode around the neighborhood in the evenings, huffing and puffing all along the way. Like I said, fine.

Now, fast forward to August. I am looking around at my life and I think, "I want to do something different this year! I want to make a change!" (2nd mistake). And what better day to roll out this change in my life than my birthday? But what did I want to do? After much thought I decided I wanted to go on a nature walk. Notice I said walk. A nice, sedate, slow, leisurely walk. I am not really certain how it happened, but somewhere in the planning of this walk it turned into a bike ride. (3rd mistake, if you are counting. I am) I do remember joking with friends that I thought the sweet hubby might be trying to kill me and that if I didn't show up for work on Monday they needed to call the cops. But I was joking. Really. 

My birthday dawns bright and clear (and HOT) and we are up early. We load up the bikes in the back of the truck and head out into the middle of nowhere to this lovely little state park. We unload our bikes and start out. Once again, things are looking good, all is well. I am winded, of course, but having the time of my life. It was great, right up until the moment it wasn't. See, there was this rather steep downhill slope (drop off may be a better description) and I was tired and not paying attention (4th mistake). The hubby was in front and he navigated it fine but knew I would have trouble. He tried to stop me but it was way too late for that. My bike was already committed to this death encouraging feat of madness. I say my bike because my brain had already seen how this could end and tried to put the brakes on. But the bike was having none of that! So, down the hill we go, end over end. Thank goodness this was there to break my fall...

 

 ....and my arm. Yep, you read that right. My arm. Snapped it about an inch above the elbow. So, here I am laying on the ground in the woods in the middle of nowhere with a broken arm. And I am not moving! (5th mistake) The hubby tried to get me up, but I was adamant that I was not moving until help arrived. One problem with my plan, spotty cell service. That meant that hubby had to leave me laying there while he trekked back up the path in search of service and help. Once he had called 911 I made him call my mom because she worked for the local Sheriff's department and I was afraid someone else would call her and tell her that her only child was laying in the woods injured. Not news I wanted her to get from anyone else! Once that was done I just lay there thinking of how crazy this whole thing was and what a great Facebook post it would make. No kidding, I really did. We will blame it on the shock.

It took a while, but an ambulance finally arrived with a lovely entourage of "lookie-loo's" who stood around and asked questions and made sympathetic noises (their mistake!). At least they did until they realized that they would have to help the paramedics haul my fat butt back up the hill. That shut them all up pretty quick! By this time my arm had started to swell and it was incredibly painful to move. I have to give credit to the paramedic, she was wonderful. I am sure she was cussing me in her mind the entire time, but she was nothing but sweet. She propped my arm up as best she could and they got me on a backboard and hauled me out of there (me apologizing the whole way for being stupid AND fat). Once in the ambulance she was able to give me some pain meds to try to make me comfortable for the very long and bumpy ride back to the hospital. I should add here that my sweet hubby was my rock through out it all. He took wonderful care of me, all the while apologizing for not protecting me from myself. 

For the whole ride (between 40 and 50 miles that felt like 1000) my arm was sticking out from my body at an odd angle, stuck that way from pain and swelling. Let me tell you, I felt every single bump on that road! Once we arrived at the hospital I got even better pain meds and things become a bit more blurry. I do remember the xray because the tech was a jerk of the first order who was not the least concerned with my pain level and I had to go back and see him again because when the nurse cut off my bra (always a fun thing to do, especially on your birthday) she left it under me and the small metal ring on the strap showed up in the xray, causing the doctor to ask me if I had ever been shot (apparently it looked like a bullet?!?). So, 2 visits to the xray tech (with my hubby fuming not so quietly about my treatment) later they finally said "Yep, it's broke", wrapped it up and put it in a sling, gave me meds and the number to a few orthopedic surgeons and sent me home. 

Almost 2 weeks later I had surgery to place a plate in my arm so that the bone would heal straight and then I spent another 3 weeks or so at home until I was able to drive myself to work. 

That's me in my recliner/bed that I slept in for most of my recovery. I was not able to lay flat for the longest time! If you look close, you can see my CPAP machine set up on the side, between my sonic cup and my fan. And my poor hubby had to help me in and out at all hours of the day and night, since the handle for the reclining part is on the right hand side of the chair! And before you ask let me tell you that my bike is parked in my carport, exactly where my husband placed it when he brought it home that day. It has not moved 1 inch in 3 years and if it ever does than it will be because someone else moved it! My bicycling days are DONE! 

Thus ends my story of my ill-advised, ill-fated 39th birthday. And hopefully explains why my butt will be parked on my couch for the remainder of the day while I watch movies and check Facebook for birthday wishes. It just seems safer that way. 

 

Happy Birthday Becky

taken in 1999 at our class reunion, the last time I saw you.

Today would have been your 42nd birthday. Lord, I miss you. I can't believe it's been almost 12 years since you left us. I still remember the phone call we received the night you died. We had just returned from a birthday dinner (for me) with some friends. When I listened to the answering machine and heard Daryl's voice, I knew something was wrong. I called him and after he gave me the news I told him that he would have to tell James. I couldn't do it. You were my friend, but you were his family. And honestly, I wouldn't have been coherent. I laid in his lap and cried and cried. The poor man couldn't really grieve for you himself, he was so overwhelmed by my tears.

The next day I went to the house to see Daryl and the girls. I will never forget little Laurie (only 5 years old) telling me "My mommy died". All I could say was "I know baby" and sit on the couch cuddling her and Ashley and watching a movie or cartoon with them. It broke my heart all over again, but I think I was past the tears (for the moment).

James and I went to see the accident sight that evening and found your Dad and Cindy there (with Finley, I think) all I remember is looking at the spot and thinking how senseless it was. One moment of inattention and your life was over. Later I went with your aunt to see the car. I will never forget that. I am grateful that James wasn't with me, that is a memory no one really needs.

Oh, I miss you so much. I think of you almost daily. Your beautiful smile, your laugh, your unfailing love for your family and friends. So many times over the years I have wanted to talk to you, to gain your insight into my precious husband who was like a brother to you. I want you to be here, to see your girls and the incredible women they have grown into. Ashley is gonna have a baby, a little girl. Her name is Rebecca Leigh. I love it, but I hope they won't want me to call her Becky. I'm not sure I can. (And look at me, borrowing worries from the future!) Laurie is in college. Where did the time go?? Your girls are wonderful, Daryl really did a great job raising them. I know you are proud of them all.

Life has moved on, as it does. We have learned to live without you in our days. But we carry you forever in our hearts. You are so deeply loved and missed.

______________________________________________________

To my reader,

I'm sorry if this post confused you. You probably have no idea who Becky was or why she was important to me (unless you know me in real life). Becky was my husband's cousin and also my best friend growing up. She was killed in a car accident in 1999 and her death effected me so deeply. Even more so than the deaths of my step dad (who I wrote about this week) and my grandmother (who I write about often). I attribute this to the fact that we were the same age, and because we were family I just assumed that she would always be here. Sort of an extension of my marriage, the 3 of us would grow old together. She wasn't supposed to leave me. Which is an unfair and totally selfish statement since she left behind her 2 girls, who lost so much more than I did. 

Anyway, this week is always a tough one for me, with dad's birthday and Becky's basically back to back. But the week is done now and I am using this post as a way of wrapping it up and moving on. For a while anyway. 

If you made it all the way to the end here, do me a favor. Leave a comment for me and then go hug someone you love. Call a friend you haven't seen in a while. Make some dinner plans. Don't waste a single second. Make sure the people who matter know it. Do it now.

on this day in 1913....

A difficult, opinionated, stubborn old man was born.

Okay, I doubt he was born that way. But it sure seemed like he must have been when I met him. Of course, I didn't meet him until 1977, and by then his status as a "mean old man" was firmly established. By now you are wondering who in the world I am talking about. Let me introduce you to my step dad, Ken Wilson.

Looks a little like Buford T. Justice, doesn't he? This picture is from way before I was born, sometime in the 50's or 60's I'm guessing (someone who knows cars could probably tell us).

Today would have been his 100th birthday. He passed away in 2003, just a few weeks shy of his 90th. Honestly, I thought he would live forever, just out of sheer orneriness. I suppose I am making him sound terrible. He wasn't, he was just tough. He had to be. He lived through the Great Depression, he worked in many different professions and built many successful businesses over the course of his life, and he was married multiple times. By the time he got to me he had already raised 5 children.

 That's my mom and Ken on their wedding day, April 1, 1977. You read that right, April Fool's Day. I always thought it was kind of funny, since most folks thought he was her dad, not her husband. There was 30+ years difference in their ages, after all. So, we had to forgive the confusion. Heck, his oldest son was 6 years older than my mom.

Daddy really was tough, and growing up there were times when I hated him. I know that my older step siblings felt much the same way as he had turbulent relationships with each of them. In fact, I only met my oldest step sister at his funeral. I had given his eulogy and after the service she came up, introduced herself and said "I'm glad he was a good father to you". While I stood there in shock she disappeared into the small crowd and I never saw her again. I wish I could have told her that in his last years he regretted some of his choices, that he tried to make amends with the children he had contact with. I wish I could have told her to look back, find the good things and hang on to them and let the rest go. Let the bad stuff die with him. That's what I did. After all, he was just a man. And he did the best he could.

taken sometime in the late 70's

I have truly made a conscious choice to focus on the gifts that he left me. Like my relationship with my mom. Daddy drilled it into my head that one day it would just be me and her (he was off by one, not taking my sweet hubby into account) and that I would have to be there for her. He made sure I respected her. He made sure I was always aware and grateful for her presence in my life. I am sure this was because he missed his own mother greatly, though he never spoke of her to me.

The other great gift he left me was a spirit of stubbornness. I definitely inherited that trait in full measure and it has served me well through the years. During the tough times in marriage (we all have those, right?) when I could have run for the hills, I stuck it out. I refused to give up. When a job was tough, I was tougher. For years I worked in a local pharmacy (my first pharmacy job) with a horrible pharmacist who basically ran off every other tech who worked there. I went home crying night after night. But I needed that job, and I determined that he would NOT run me off. That job was the springboard I used to get to the job I have held for the last 17 years. (And yes, I stayed in that old job  for 5 years, but he left before I did. And that fact does make me smile.)

Daddy was opinionated and obnoxious at times, so sure that his way was the only way. And I'm not sure he ever really understood this strange child he inherited when he married my mother. But in the end, we were a family. We took care of each other. And that is really all that matters.

Ken Wilson was an ornery, stubborn, and sometimes cantankerous old man. He was also a good man. He helped make me into the woman that I am today, for better or worse. And I miss him. 

my hubby, me, and Dad on my birthday in 1999. Not the greatest picture, but still one of my favorites.

Happy 100th birthday Daddy. Thank you for everything. I hope you have found peace.

Birthday wishes

Today is my nephew Clark's birthday. He is 14. Clark is not his real name. I picked it, not quite at random, because I didn't want to use his real name. Clark came into our family through adoption from a state child welfare agency. And though it is unlikely that his biological family would ever read my little blog, why risk it? The last thing I want to do is to create any problems for my sister and brother in-law.

Anyway, today is his birthday. They don't live near me, so I won't be participating in any birthday celebrations, that makes me kind of sad. I miss a lot, not being closer. But that's life, and not really what I wanted to focus on here.

What I want to tell you about, what I wish I could tell Clark, are my wishes, dreams, and prayers for his life.

Clark makes life very difficult in his home. He does this with intention. Yes, I know he is a teenage boy and they are by definition difficult at times. But this is more than that. This is tied more to his past and his feelings of self worth. In short, Clark has a hard time accepting love and guidance because he feels unworthy. So he creates situations where he gets in trouble. He is stubborn and willful, and refuses to listen and follow instruction. It is a constant battle that leaves his parents drained and frustrated. How can they reach him? How can they make him accept their presence, their love?

Oh, how I wish I could make Clark see, really see, how valuable he truly is. How important he is to our family. And how much he is loved. That he is worthy of that love. I want to dig down deep into the darkest places of his heart and root out those feelings of being "less". I want to open his eyes and force him to accept that this is not a mistake, he is not a mistake. He is family. He is ours. Now and forever.

I chose the name Clark in the beginning because I was thinking about Clark Kent. You know, Superman's alter ego, the quiet, mild mannered reporter. There isn't much resemblance between my Clark and that description of our fictional Mr. Kent. But there is one thing that they have in common, my dear nephew and Mr. Kent. Under the disguise of everyday life they are both hiding incredible strength and potential to change the world.  The difference is Mr. Kent knows it, my Clark hasn't realized it yet. But he will.

I have faith that he will. Faith in my sister and brother in-law, that they will find the way to reach him. Faith in God, that he is working in Clark's heart, clearing away the darkness and planting seeds of love and healing. And I have faith in Clark. That he will find that inner Superman.

Image source

I don't know when/if Clark will ever read this, that's up to his parents. But if you ever do read my humble words Clark, please know that I love you. And no matter what you may think of yourself, I believe in you. Happy Birthday, Superman,

Happy Birthday Sarah!!!!

Image source

Happy Birthday to my beautiful niece Sarah! Today's post is dedicated to you. I'm kind of sad about this, to be honest. Your birthday reminds me of how little we know about each other. You are 12 years old today. And I don't think we have shared more than 12 whole sentences between us in your whole life.

Did you know I have a picture hanging in my home of you as a toddler hugging a pooh bear? I love that picture (and not just because I love Winnie the Pooh). I love the sweetness of it, and the fact that you look so much like your mom at that age!

I remember when I got the news of your birth, how excited I was.

I haven't been able to be a real part of your life, due to life's crazy twists and turns. But I have tried to keep up with you and your brother as you have grown. I hope you know that I love you. Even though I barely know you, I do. That's the neat thing about being family. The heart loves, even without the mind's direct knowledge. It just loves.

So, as you go about your day today, accepting birthday wishes and eating cake (please tell me there will be cake???) remember that there is someone far away in a tiny town in Texas who is thinking of you, praying for you, wishing you a beautiful day, and most of all, loving you.

Happy Birthday beautiful!

Image source

P.S. I see from your FB page that you are a Dr. Who fan. I love Dr. Who too!! ;-)