Roller Coasters

I never liked roller coasters.  

However, more than 50 years ago I really enjoyed a  log flume ride.  We were at a Huffingham family outing at Six Flags Over Georgia.  I was quite surprised that I liked it.  

So surprised that I decided to ride the roller coaster at Lake Winnepesukah in North Georgia later that summer.  It wasn't near as much fun.

Fast forward - November 1982 - My children and I were just a few months into life as a single-parent family.  My dad suggested that a great way to celebrate Renee's 8th  and Becca's 11th birthdays would be a weekend trip to Disney World.  I was diligently endeavoring to ensure that my children were having a good life.  And daddy encouraged us to go on Space Mountain.

 I decided to be brave. 

That's my last experience with a roller coaster.   I asked my children how they feel about roller coasters - almost forty years later.     Becca is ambivalent; Renee still hates them; Tray remembers that he hated that experience but admits that he now finds them lots of fun.

And all these roller coaster memories are making me think of what our family is currently experiencing   - some sort of a roller coaster-like experience with our mother. 

For the most part, she lies still, sometimes sleeping, sometimes with her eyes just gazing into the wherever.  She takes a small bite of whatever food is offered.  She sips some water.  She knows us - at least she seems to.

Sometimes her eyes are piercing.  I can imagine that she is saying "It's your fault that I am here in this bed".  Well, yeah it is.  And truth be told that's part of my angst.  

No Paula it's not your fault.  She has been declining.  She is 99 years old.  Her body is giving out. And besides that - this is a joint decision - you didn't make it without your siblings.  

I found her Five Wishes this week.  "Let me die a normal death".

Thank you, Lord.  This is what our mother wants.

And why does it feel like a roller coaster???  Because sometimes it almost seems like she could get out of that bed.  Her heart and lungs are still working.

How long does it take a person to die?  I ask.  This is too hard.  I'm too tired.  I'm not sure about my siblings but I can tell you I am really at a point. . . 

And so I reach out to a dear friend and complain about the roller coaster ride and this is her response

Remember Who is in control of that roller coaster.

 And then I look for an answer in Scripture.  That's what our mother would suggest anyway. 

If there's one thing she taught me.. .   As a little girl, I asked her if everything she said was in her Bible.

I google "scriptures about waiting".

Lamentations 3:25-26 "The Lord is good to those whose hope is in him, to the one who seeks him; it is good to wait quietly for the salvation of the Lord". 

Who wants to wait?  Who wants to be quiet?

I learned that I don't like to ride a roller coaster so I've never even dreamed to get on one. It's my choice

This experience with our mother is not really my choice - except - I do understand that it is my choice to wait.

Today is the one-year anniversary of my children's father's passing.  As I reflected on that this morning, I remembered his favorite scripture:

 "Those who wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength.  They shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint" (Isaiah 40:31).

Good to remember that it’s important to wait – and to know that the Lord is going to renew my strength! 

I'm still not going to get on a roller coaster.

Getting through the Getting Throughs

 "Everything just seems so rote".

Those were my words to a friend this morning.

Each day I visit Westminister Woods where my 99-year-old mother has been a resident for almost three years.  By now she is in a private room.  She sleeps most of the time.  Someone from Hospice checks on her each day and the nurses and CNAs there are very good to ensure that she is comfortable.

She is neither hungry nor thirsty as well as we can understand.  She will sometime sip a small bit of water.

When I go, I touch her face and she usually opens her eyes.  I wipe her face and neck with a washcloth and then apply Avon moisturizer - the same face cream she has used for as long as any of us can remember.

Our family believes that's one of the reasons she has such nice skin (even at 99).

There's a little packet of moistener for her lips that is by her bed.  I hope she can taste the lemon when I press it across her lips.

This takes about an hour of my day and that includes driving there, and checking in - yes I'm vaccinated; no I haven't been in contact with anyone who tested positive and my temp is no more than 98.6 - inquiring at the nurses' station - any change?  what meds have been given???, the face-washing and skin softener routine and then just sitting quietly - by the bed for a few minutes before driving away.

It's so ROTE

And yet - sometimes just when I least expect it - something happens that makes me smile.

I was in church this morning and the offertory was  Just as I am.  If you have ever been to a Billy Graham Crusade you might recognize that song as an invitation hymn (the song that is sung when a person is invited to come forward and pray the prayer of salvation)

That's one of my mother's favorite hymns.  

As a teenager when she was in a church service and that song was sung mother left her seat to make a profession of faith in Christ.  Some time ago she told me that when she hears it she wants to "get saved" all over again.  If you are unsure what that means -- it's another way of saying one has accepted Christ

Most of our friends know and appreciate what I am saying when I say "ours is a family of faith".  We fully believe that our mother is going to be "absent from the body, but present with the Lord"  (II Corinthians 5:8) and our loved ones who are already there.  We also so appreciate the life that Earl and Iva Huffingham gave us - through their lives - in which they loved God first, each other, and then us - and the rest of their world.  

As I listened to that old hymn this morning, I smiled.   I have so many wonderful memories.  I think God blessed me through that song this morning and I am most grateful that even though life seems to be a "going through the motions experience" there are small things that help me (and my family) get through what we are going through.  

May your life have enough sunshine

                                                             To make you appreciate the shadows

  

No words are necessary

The days are long - and someday I know - they will seem short.

When we knew that daddy was dying we talked.  The morning he died he said to our mother - 

Is there anything we need to talk about???

This is different.  My mother's aging process has caused great times of confusion.  Her hearing has been compromised for many years.  I've been talking with her via a whiteboard for a long time.

There's no way to white-wash it.  This is a difficult experience.  

I'm the pollyanna of our family - I always think it's going to work out for the best.  At least those are the words that I can get out of my mouth.  This in no means eradicates the fact that when it comes to losing one's mother - even the one that I had sort of lost a long time ago - at least I feel like I lost her as a friend - I digress...

One might ask - how am I coping???

One thing I do is every now and then I take a brief walk - where I enjoy ---

I know this blog does not include sound effects.  'sorry about that - the sound of the water helps me.

So do some of my memories - 

It was the summer of 1977.  I had read a few books by Joyce Landorf and recently purchased Mourning Song.  My mother and I both read it while I was recuperating from a caesarian section delivery of my youngest child, Tray.

Just six weeks later her aunt, Lila Mercer Newton, passed away and she told me how reading that book had prepared her for that homegoing.  My mother's mother, Pauline Mercer Nesmith died at age 69 six years prior.

As I began to realize that mother was on her way to Heaven - a year or more ago - my first copy long gone - I ordered another.  By the time this one was published, Landorf had remarried and experienced breast cancer herself.  She had written Mourning Song after she had experienced loss - a baby, a beloved grandfather, and her mother.  The re-print of her book includes letters and discussions she had with others who had suffered great loss as well as her reactions to the truth that she had the same diagnosis. I've since learned that Joyce Landorf Heatherly went to be with the Lord in 2021.

As my mother nears the end of her time on this earth and goes to be with the Savior she has loved and served since she was 15 years old I've been wondering. .  .

What is she thinking about?  I wish she could communicate but try as she might she just can't.

I'm fortunate - I have the words she's put on paper.  I also have memories of the words she's said to me.

I am almost 75 years old.  My mother lost her mother when she was not yet 50.

In her book, Landorf Heatherley lovingly remembers what her mother wanted her to learn as she suffered and then died.  This statement has remained with me -  

"I have spent your life endeavoring to teach you how to live.  Now I am going to show you how to die".

I look back on the things my mother endeavored to teach me.  She tried sewing and made an effort at cooking.  She even tried gardening.  I do know how to cook. 

She did not teach me how to die and more than that to "let her die".

She did teach me (and my siblings)

"Trust in the Lord with all your heart; In all your ways acknowledge Him and He shall direct your path" (Proverbs 3:5).

And so I'm choosing to believe - that's what she's thinking about.

No words are necessary.

 

 

I feel like I know her

A man in a blue shirt with a bright smile walked into our mother’s room.  She just knew it was Robert (my sister, Cindy’s husband). 

“Robert”, mother began and then could only say “the foot of the bed”. Mother always has a little project for him.

 It was not Robert, but instead our Hospice Chaplain.

We assured him that if our mother thought he was Robert that was a good thing.

Cindy and I were delighted to have contact with anyone from Hospice because we had some questions.

As it happened, he was delighted to have contact with us.  He wanted to know about our mother. 

So for the next hour, we told him stories – of when we were little, traveling with them to various Gideon conventions, being with mother when she prayed for a parking space, and even begging for a little brother.  

Later I was remembering the afternoon which although the chaplain’s visit had been very dear, was painful.  This is not a fun time. 

 And then I walked past my dining room table. 

I looked at the scrapbooks, photographs, and some of mother’s drawings and remembered that earlier that day I had re-read some of the love notes mother got for one of her birthdays.

My mother was a real note writer.  So when she was approaching one of her birthdays (well into her 80's), I put together a scrapbook - named it "I've a Warm Heart" and ask for people to send a love note to her.  On that birthday I handed her the scrapbook and suggested that she watch as daddy and I planted a crepe myrtle in my front yard.

She liked it so much that she later drew it.  And every year I impatiently wait for the pink blooms to cover it.  Mine is slower than others.

Your mother is a remarkable woman", the Hospice Chaplain had said

"I feel like I know her". 

I  thought back to something I have often said:

 “I wish everyone could have a mother like  I do”.  

But I’m certainly not willing to let anyone have her.  (Except, of course. Cindy and Lester).

May your life have enough sunshine

To make you appreciate the shadows

My mother's hands

 I have become obsessed with my mother's hands and particularly her fingernails.

Strange I think because she's never been one to have professional manicures.  She kept her nails short and wore no polish for most of our lives.

I do know that almost 80 years ago (August 5, 1942) she did have red nails.  Her nails are painted now.  Not red - but some polish and they are long.  I trimmed them but I'm no manicurist.

I kept wondering why this is so important to me.

And then I remembered.  Years ago mother told my sister, Cindy, and me that she didn't want us to take care of her personal needs when she was no longer able to.  She wanted us to come to see her - and "do her nails".

And so because there appears to be nothing I need to do for her now -- I guess I've zoomed in on her nails.  Now don't get me wrong - they really did need attention.  Thankfully, my cousin, Evalyn Campbell was with me and she used the light on her phone to help as I clipped.  They look better - but certainly not as nice as in the photo below.

These hands are those of hers and her four sisters.  I'm pretty sure the hand with the painted nails is  Aunt Carolyn's.  The one with no ring is Aunt Thelma - the photo was taken just before she passed.  

Mother has told me that when our grandma Nesmith was about to go to Heaven, Cindy sat with her and talked with her about her hands - and how they had cared for so many over the years.

Like their mother, Iva Pauline Mercer Nesmith, our mother, and her sisters have used their hands to care for others as well.  

A couple of years after daddy passed mother saw a notice about an art class at Mandarin Presbyterian Church.  She had done some acrylic painting in the 80's.  This was simpler - colored pencils.  So she found a friend who wanted to go to the class - and off she went.  For the next five years, she could often be seen with a drawing pad and a box of pencils.  I now have several binders that hold some of her work.  

On the left is my favorite.

However, to the right is the one    that I think aptly describes Iva Louise Nesmith Huffingham as our mother.  Far from her best and yet the four of us believe that it's her greatest contribution as our mother. Even when I see her lying in the bed sleeping her way into Heaven I have no doubt but that she is praying for us.  

I remembered a quote that sang the praises of a mother who offered wealth and riches and ended "but I had a mother who read to me".  I'd like to change the last line -- "we had a mother who prayed for us".   We are indeed blessed!

And we thank you for praying  - for her - and for us!

May your life have enough sunshine

                                                             To make you appreciate the shadows

Chicken and rice???

Earl and Iva Huffingham both were guilty.  

They encouraged people by satisfying the pallet.

"How about a little bowl of grits?"

Those words were my daddy's answer when I was sad.

I was continuing to process the realization that my mother's life on this earth is fleeting.  I had a little meltdown.  The ingredients for the supper that I had planned were on the kitchen counter.   I was too tired to read the directions much less cook the meal 

I opened the pantry door.    I heard my daddy's voice.

Hum

Less than minutes later a bowl of girts ---

A few weeks ago I had an automobile accident that required an overnight stay in the hospital.  As I prepared to come home I had a little meltdown.  

I kept thinking - I wish my mother was going to be waiting at my home to offer me chicken and rice.

Of course that wasn't going to happen.  I had to settle for remembering the times she had done that - and I do...

Remember...

I'm doing a lot of that these days  - including the way my mother could always make things better.

Whether it was preparing something I liked to eat, brewing a cup of tea or making a suggestion of a way for me to change my circumstances or my attitude.  If I didn't want to go to school she often said "are you sick, tired or indifferent?" and sometimes the word indifferent worked.

"Walk away from the problem", she would say.

I'd like to walk away from this one - this sad time of farewell - but I know in my heart that it is soon to be her time.  And it's very strange for me - not having her to help me work through this.

I guess I'll have to make my own chicken and rice.  And yes I know what  my daddy's best solution was  

                                                             May your life have enough sunshine

                                                             To make you appreciate the shadows

Not pretty when you cry

Dear Mother,

Most of the time I spend with you these days - you are sleeping.

I remember when I was a teenager  - you thought sleeping was a waste of time.

And now it seems like such a normal thing.  Wait, how can this be normal?

Where's the person who knows the answer before the question has come out of my mouth?

And are you dreaming?  Are you remembering?  

That's what I'm doing - I'm remembering

One thing I remember is when daddy and you were taking me to college in 1965,  You were giving me advice and I guess laying down some rules.  Daddy piped in - "don't call too often" and then you said, "just once a day".

And then it was my time to talk and I said: "Whatever you do - don't cry when we get to the campus -- I mean after all  You are just not pretty when you cry".

Right - no one is pretty when they cry.

Maybe that's why I don't cry easily.

I digress. 

So while you are sleeping - peacefully, I am being thankful that you are my mother.

You were a good daughter.  I remember when our family moved in with grandma and granddaddy because her health was preventing her from being a good minister's wife.  I know that when it was time for grandma to go from here to there (as granddaddy liked to call it) you were there for both of your parents and your sisters.  As I wrote that last sentence I realized I did the same thing.  When you couldn't care for daddy without assistance, you moved in with me.  Daddy went to heaven from a room in my home and now I'm the one who is telling my siblings what's going on with you.

Your sisters value you and have always looked up to you. Ellie and Pauline Nesmith raised you to love and care for others and there are countless people who could tell the story of something you (and daddy -  but with your urging) did for them. The visit by Carolyn, Ann and Beth today is an example of the love you all share.

Cindy, Jonathan, Lester, and I all agree - you have been a good mother.  You taught us to appreciate our faith.  You taught us the value of Romans 8:28.  

Even now as I am almost home-bound because I don't have a vehicle I am continually relying on the fact that I truly believe that all things work together for good.  That's because you lived it and taught us to do that as well.

As Grandma Honey, you have been a supportive and caring grandmother.  All four of your children can point to a time in our children's lives that you were there for them - taking them on trips, encouraging them in their studies, and in some cases protecting them from harm.

And of course, you were a wonderful wife to our daddy.  Even when you didn't agree with him you still called him honey.

Now, let's see have I left anyone out.  Oh yes - you have been a good friend.  We all remember women who were dear to you at different times in our lives.  If I start naming them Id be sure to leave someoneout. Almost five years ago your oldest friend Margaret Woodson came for a visit.   And you've been a good friend to our friends -- especially our mates.

So let's talk about the crying deal.

Only God knows when you will be going to heaven.  As the book of Job says "Our days are determined by the Lord" (Job 14:5).  But when that happens...

Go ahead and cry - when you see Uncle Rudolph, Grandma and Granddaddy, Rich, daddy, Blakelie,  and Jonathan.  Somehow I think you know he's there although you never mention him.

    Because the bottom line is this  You're pretty no matter what!                                                 

NOTE:  My method of processing emotion is through words.  While we have engaged Vitas Hospice to help us at this time because our mother has become very agitated, we all believe that her life is in God's hands.  She is has been returned to her room at Westminster Woods.

                            May your life have enough sunshine

                            To make you appreciate the shadows