Posts Tagged father

& then there were two

December 20, 2009 at 10:11 am · Filed under Uncategorized ·Tagged , , ,

Grandparents, that is. Maggie & Sadie now have more living great-grandparents than grandparents. Tom’s daddy died at 10pm on Thursday, Dec 10th. Bobby, Daddy & I flew up to Ohio on Friday, the visitation (or “calling hours,” as it’s called in the North) was Sunday, and the Mass was Monday. Tom, Jennifer, & the girls were booking it for South Carolina by Monday night. They were gone for a total of 13 days & 12 nights, which in baby-world, is an eternity.

It feels very surreal, this parentloss. Aren’t we a little young to be doing this? Aren’t you supposed to make it to your 40’s or 50’s before your parents die? We can’t seem to make it to 30 in our family.

Things feel a little more normal less traumatic now that we’re home again. We’re all back to work (well, those of us who have jobs) & determinedly embracing the Christmas spirit. Listen to some Christmas carols, damn it. Pass the effing eggnog.

The sheer chaos of the last week did bring about a breakthrough on a personal level for Jen, Sue & me. Ya’ll may recall that I was raised in a somewhat cultish conservative religious environment, and one of the biggest deals is women wearing pants (fondly referred to as devil britches). Like, it’s a BIG DEAL — bigger than wearing makeup or cutting your hair or painting your fingernails.  As of last week, my sisters and I, ages 31, 26, and 22, had never ever wore pants in front of either of our parents. We’ve grown up, gotten married, bought houses, & birthed children (one of us, anyway), and we have never been caught without PAC, which is sister-speak for “Parent-Approved Clothing.” I have actually seen my father’s vehicle in my own driveway and driven away from my own house and hidden in a nearby parking lot until he left. Yes, I have.

Then there was the time just a few months ago that Sue & I were having dinner with Bobby, his mom, & his sister, and our internal PAC radar started beeping as Daddy drove by. And without an explanation, Sue and I get up from the dinner table and run, literally RUN, to our bedrooms to change into skirts. Bobby’s mom and sister were confused. I can’t imagine why.

Anyway, back to last week. Tom & Jennifer are calling with updates on his daddy, Bobby’s grandfather is in the hospital ICU again, Sue’s in the midst of her final exams, I’m freaking out at work waiting for “the” call from Ohio, and then Bobby falls down the stairs. He calls me gasping for air and I freak out (some more) and race home to find him lying in the kitchen floor with the dogs sniffing his face & his butt concernedly. He’s completely convinced that he’s punctured a lung because he spit up blood after he fell. Because a punctured lung is all we need right now.

So I get him off the floor & into the car & take him to the hospital, where his mom (who happens to be working) is worried that he’s cracked a rib or two (turns out his just pulled some muscles, but it hurt like a bitch. Oh, and the spitting up blood thing? He bit his damn tongue when he fell. Drama queen.). So I’m sitting there pulling our insurance information (because that’s when we still HAD medical insurance) & trying to help Bobby & answering inquiries from work about when I’ll be back & then Daddy calls & announces that he’ll be there in two-point-five minutes.

And suddenly, my focus shifts from my job and Bobby and Tom’s dad to “Holy shit. I have on pants. And my father is coming here.”  Commence the mother of all freakouts. I actually seriously considered leaving Bobby at the hospital and going home to change. I berated myself for not carrying a spare skirt in my car. I tried to talk to Bobby about it, and he just moaned in pain and cussed and was no help at all. So I just sat there. I mean, what’s a girl to do? And for the first time in almost 32 years, I wore pants in front of my father. And ya’ll know what?!? He didn’t even blink. What the hell is that about?!

Then Jennifer wore pants in front of him in Ohio, and he didn’t blink. And then I wore pants in front of him yesterday, and he didn’t blink. Jennifer finally asked him what the deal was — like, what the hell, dude, we race around like idiots for 31, 26, & 22 yrs respectively and you’re not even reacting? And he told us that it was “between us and our husbands” and it was none of his business as long as we still respected him by not wearing pants in HIS house.

And then Bobby & Tom, who are both fine with their wives wearing pants, laughed their asses off. I swear to God, I was born into a family of freakin’ crazies.

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quote of the day

November 28, 2009 at 10:35 am · Filed under Uncategorized ·Tagged ,

Setting: Thanksgiving day, late in the evening.

Me: So Daddy, Bobby & I haven’t seen you much lately.
My father: I’ve been busy.
Me: But you find the time to go to Jennifer’s? [who lives 0.5 miles from me]
My father: She has babies.

After taking a moment to collect myself, I told him that if he had really put some thought into coming up with the absolute WORST thing to say to me, that would be it.

Dear God,
I was wondering if it would be possible for me to exchange one father (specifically Marty) for one mother (specifically Denise). I know that this is probably a policy violation, but was hoping that You could manage to make an exception just this once. I feel that Marty could really liven up the streets of gold with his dry wit and expertly timed verbal daggers, while Denise’s cheerful laugh and expert mothering/grandmothering skills would greatly improve things down here. I feel that if You would be willing to make this trade, You and I both would be quite pleased with the results.
Just think about it and let me know.
Thanks,
Sarah

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one less suitcase in my father baggage

June 28, 2009 at 8:55 pm · Filed under Uncategorized ·Tagged , , ,

Thursday night, my dad randomly dropped by around dinnertime. I invited him to stay (whoa, *shocker*), and he did (whoa, even bigger *shocker*). Bobby was working late, so Daddy, Sue and I had dinner together. And honestly, it was the most pleasant time we’ve spent in the same space in a really long time. He was in a quiet, but agreeable mood, and Sue was on an upswing, which means that she had plenty of words to fill any empty spaces. No one brought up any of the sticky or uncomfortable topics — by unspoken agreement, we all seemed to be steering clear of anything that would bring down the evening.

The highlight, in my opinion? This interaction:

Daddy [in a deep SC low-country* drawl]: Sarah, ya know what? You remindin’ me of yo mama mo ever day. I mean, I used to say that Jennifer reminded me of her the most, but just in the last year, you really actin’ mo and mo like her.
And then he laughed… a snicker that implied that this comparison wasn’t entirely a compliment.
Sue: Yep, I agree. The cooking and the yard work. And other stuff…
And she laughs too. And then they look at each other, and then they both laugh.
Me: So for some reason, it feels like I’m being insulted? What’re ya’ll laughing about?
Daddy & Sue: Oh… nothing.
Me [in my sassiest voice]: Well, I’m flattered, regardless of how ya’ll meant it. Humph.

And the conversation left me with a warm, comforted feeling. People, the people who were closest to her, can see my mother in me. There’s no higher compliment.

I can absolutely observe a marked improvement in the relationship that I have with my father. During the last two years, and even in the last two months, we’ve made more progress than during my entire first 30 years. Many variables have contributed — change in circumstances being the most obvious. My mother, who had always served as the mouthpiece and buffer between my father and me, died, leaving Daddy and me to fumble through a harsh, new reality. We’ve also changed — Daddy has settled into his bachelorhood, although he’d be reluctant to admit it. And I’ve become more vocal, more jaded, and more thoughtful than the little girl I was before Mama was rediagnosed.

While Daddy and I were having this conversation last month, I knew it was a breakthrough in our relationship. Even as we were talking, I could feel the importance and impact of our words chipping the rough edges off our relationship, slowly and gradually allowing a new, more mature shape to emerge.

I know that there are many more battles ahead for us, as we continue to go through Mama’s possessions, and as he makes plans to remarry. His and my personalities are fundamentally built to clash, especially over a subject as emotionally charged as the loss of a mother & wife.

But for now, today, I’m going to enjoy thinking of Daddy without the anger, frustration, and bitterness that’s accompanied him in my head for as long as I can remember.  So right now, me & my Daddy?… We’re aight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

* What exactly is a “SC low-country drawl,” you ask? Well, here in South Carolina, we have the upstate and then we have the low-country. There’s a part in the middle too, but Clemson fans don’t make a habit of acknowledging it quite as much since it houses the armpit of the South (Univ of SC — heehee, flame away, all Gamecockies out there!)

Anyway. The upper and lower parts of our state have quite different dialects — I’m not sure that it would be detectable to a non-Southern ear, but to us, it’s quite apparent. My father is from the low-country, down around Charleston (which they say “Chaawl-ston” (no R. Never, ever an R). Although his 30-something years in the upstate have diluted his low-country dialect quite a bit, it’s still very much there.

When I was young, for example, he used to tell me that if I didn’t behave, it was “gonna be kady-bahda-do” (translation: I was going to get my tail spanked if I didn’t straighten up).  Wasn’t until I got older that I realized what he was actually saying… Katy Bar the Door. Ahhhh, you see?  Yeah, I know, probably not. If you have an undeniable curiousity about the origin of this charming little phrase, click here for a witty little NY Times article.

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Making my way thru a murky morning

June 5, 2009 at 11:03 am · Filed under Uncategorized ·Tagged , ,

I woke up this morning feeling the weight of sheer dread sitting on my chest. Headed out to the front porch with my (decaf, just in case I’m impregnated) coffee to think. By the time Bobby got home from his breakfast meeting, I had worked myself up into a mental hissy-fit. As soon as Bobby stepped on the porch, I started crying and telling him that he doesn’t listen to me. He was bumfuzzled and, to his credit, he sat down calmly and told me to talk to him instead of getting defensive and sassy.

So I cried. I told him the whole story, about how I felt like Mama’s slipping away from me, and nobody understands. I told him that I felt very alone and sad. And he listened quietly, and then told me that I needed to call Daddy and tell him what I had just said, word for word. Bobby said that even though Daddy is undeniably difficult, it was unfair to not even give him the opportunity to understand, and to just assume the worst. I quickly (and ungraciously) replied that I had been giving Daddy chances my entire life, and he had never failed to exhibit his antisocial tendencies. Bobby agreed, but said that recently Daddy had been making an effort (here’s the example that he referenced), and I needed to acknowledge that.

Blah. Sometimes Bobby’s so freakin’…. right.

So I called Daddy. I told him the whole thing — that moving Mama’s clothes was a gigantic deal to me, and I needed to do it in my own way, and I wanted to be alone so that I could grieve. At first he was all snippy and hateful and kept saying “ok, ok, ok” impatiently, as if the entire conversation was inconveniencing him. But as soon as I said the magic G-word, his entire persona changed. “Aaaahhh,” he said, “I see. This is a part of your GRIEVING PROCESS.” (He always talks about THE GRIEVING PROCESS like it’s in all-caps.)

You see, Daddy doesn’t understand emotions like loss and heartbreak. What he does understand, however, is anything with a nice, neat label. If I told him I just didn’t want him there, he would assume I had some anti-father ulterior motive. But if I frame it with labels and keywords, he responds like a charm… kinda like a search engine, or an alien robot. It’s weird.

So the resolution: He asked if I could come next week when I can have the house to myself, so that I can GRIEVE. This is the first time since Mama died that he’s willingly opened the house to me without a chaperon. Of course, he concluded the conversation with “Now, remember, everything in that house belongs to me, so you need to ask me before you take anything.” That’s my father — couldn’t let it pass without slipping at least one of those comments in there.

After talking to Daddy, I read the comments that y’all left on last night’s post…  as always, reading your words makes me feel comforted, less alone. And Ginny, if you’re reading, thank you for the text this morning… it made me cry. And Bree, thank you so, so much for the quilt idea. I’m going to do it — I’ve already talked to Jennifer about having quilts made for all three sisters. Just the idea of wrapping up in a quilt made of my mother’s clothes, or sleeping with that quilt across my feet is incredibly comforting to me. Thank you so very, very much.

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I spoke too soon

June 4, 2009 at 10:34 pm · Filed under Uncategorized ·Tagged , , , , , ,

Should have known that I was tempting fate by sounding all calm and zen in the previous post.

Some background: I have this habit of picturing things in my head, whether it’s the perfect gift or the perfect wedding or the perfect event. I map out “The Way It Should Be According To Sarah.” And I’ll spend an insane number of hours trying to create my vision, no matter how insignificant to everyone but me.

So I’ve been picturing the packing up of Mama’s clothes with great reverence. My mother placed those items in the drawers, she hung those clothes in the closet. With her own hands. It’s one of the few things (maybe the only thing) that’s still EXACTLY as she left it. And once it’s moved, that will be that — almost like another, smaller death, another door closed & sealed permanently. I know it has to be done, but I want to fully acknowledge the emotional impact. I don’t know if that even makes sense?…

I purposefully chose to go Friday (tomorrow) instead of Saturday (which was the “deadline” imposed by my dear father) for no other reason than Daddy’s working on Friday. I don’t want him there. I don’t want him watching me, talking to me about her things, acting like he cares when he’s the one who’s insisting that Mama be removed from the house. You know that funny way that people treat you after a loss?… they kinda watch you out of the corner of their eyes like they’re waiting for you to freak out? He does that — he watches me, waiting for me to cry. Because he’s so emotionally deficient, he absorbs emotion, studies it, examines it and tried to make it his own. I feel wooden and defiant around him, like I don’t want him to see what I’m really thinking. It’s a ridiculous power struggle that probably makes absolutely no sense to anyone else. I just wanted to have the house to myself, so that I could cry and talk to Mama and be myself without worrying about having an audience.

And guess what? Yep, that’s right… he took the fucking day off. He explained to Jennifer that he was “worried” about me because I don’t come to the house that often, so he didn’t feel like I needed to be there by myself. And the truly fucked up thing is that he actually BELIEVES this reason. In his conscious mind, he is telling himself that he took the day off to “help Sarah.” Subconsciously, he’s terrified — absolutely scared shitless — that something will be out of his control, that I’ll take something of Mama’s out of the house without his knowledge, that I’ll steal my mother’s belongings from him. And don’t misunderstand — Mama’s belongings mean NOTHING to him personally. But if he senses that an item’s important to me and/or my sisters, the value of said item increases instantly. He has a pervasive mistrust of everyone, especially me. In his mind, every action, every decision made by others revolves around him — he’s that important.

Believe it or not, I’ve tried — really, really tried — to not let my anxiety about removing Mama’s belongings manifest itself as anger toward Daddy. It’s so easy to be angry at him… he just lends himself to it.  Susanna said it well this evening — Daddy is a permanent obstacle blocking the easiest path. He makes everything harder, more difficult, more complicated.

And if I ask him if I can have some time to myself tomorrow, it’ll be like waving a red flag in front of a bull. The paranoia will strike, telling him that I’m up to something, that I’m hiding something from him. Because obviously everything revolves around him.

I know I’m building this up in my mind. I know that I’m making it bigger than it should be. I just feel so anxious, almost panicked. I’m worried that I’m going to lose another piece of Mama tomorrow, that I’m going to wake up Saturday morning and feel even more lost, if that’s even possible. Right now, I know that I can go into her room and feel her — although I rarely do, I know it’s an option. But one day, sooner rather than later, I’m going to realize that I don’t remember her smell and I can’t hear her laugh. And that frightens me.

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much more than mere clothes

June 1, 2009 at 4:49 pm · Filed under Uncategorized ·Tagged , , ,

Several weeks ago, my dad called me and asked me to clean out my mom’s clothes. I didn’t. So he started calling regularly… telling me that the “knowledge” that her clothes were still hanging in her closet was holding him back, and he NEEDS Jennifer & me to move them. He finally gave me a deadline — this Saturday, Jun 6th. He said that if we didn’t move them, he would. With visions of him pitching my beloved mother’s clothes into a dumpster, I *very* reluctantly agreed.

I feel sick every time I think about it. My stomach turns, and I suddenly feel an overwhelming urge to sleep for days or eat chocolate until I puke or both. I’ve only opened her closet twice since she died… when you open the louvered doors, the smell of her comes wafting out and fills the air, and the missing is so sharp that it physically punches.

I guess I’ll just try to put my mind in neutral as much as possible. I don’t really know if that’s possible, but I don’t know what else to do. And I’ve been known to use alcohol or medication (love Ativan) to take the edge off, but because I still don’t know the pregnancy verdict, that isn’t an option.

So Friday, Jun 5th is the day. Jen’s had fairly severe pregnancy-related nausea, vomiting, & headaches lately, so I’m already telling myself that I can do this by myself just in case she can’t go.

I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.

Fuck.

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The right place for right now

May 4, 2009 at 12:42 pm · Filed under Uncategorized ·Tagged , ,

Last week, my father dropped by our house and asked me to step out on the porch so we could talk privately. His opening question was “So Sarah, what about your childhood and me did you not like?”  Um, what? My immediate response was “Did someone tell you to ask me this? Are you reading another self-help book? Are you seeing a therapist? Where is this coming from?” When I let him get a word in edgewise, he explained that he’s been thinking about this conversation from a few weeks ago. Seriously?!? So he was actually listening?!?

So, back to the question: what did I not like about him & my childhood? I took a few minutes to sift through my thoughts, but the answer was pretty quickly summed up in one word — FEAR. I explained to him that fear had ruled my childhood — fear of him, fear of The Church, fear of The Church’s leader, and ultimately, fear of the picture they had painted of a frightening, temperamental, vindictive God. He nodded and listened quietly. When I was done, he said “Sarah, your daddy didn’t know what he was doing. Your daddy was wrong.” As I listened, I knew that after 31 years, we had reached new ground in our relationship… is it just me, or did that sound suspiciously like an apology from my father, the non-apologizer?

Then he continued: “Sarah, I know it’s hard, but I want you to try to separate me and The Church. I didn’t know what I was doing, and I made some mistakes raising you, but The Church is right and you need to believe that.”  And, for the first time in 31 years, I responded honestly: “No, I CAN’T separate you and The Church. And The Church is right for you, not for me. Maybe things will change one day, but right now, I can’t be a part of The Church.”

And then he nodded. No argument, no accusations, no pushing or coercion of any kind. I told him about my talk with Dr. McK. About how Dr. McK had never acted like I was a lesser person because I’m a female. That he’s never even once treated me like I’m stupid or disrespectful for questioning things. And that it’s refreshing and just what was needed at just the right time.

I’ve never, ever, not even once stood up to my father about The Church. This is the first time in 31 years. It may seem like a very small thing to others, but to me, it feels groundbreaking… a really big freakin’ deal. I said no. Go me.

And yesterday, after much, MUCH deliberation, Bobby and I joined the church we’ve been attending during the morning service. My stomach was in knots, but I know that it was the right thing. During the opening hymn, Bobby reached for my hand and whispered “This is it, sweetie, this is the right place for us.” And he’s right… for now at least, it’s the right place for us.

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puzzle therapy

April 4, 2009 at 5:46 pm · Filed under Uncategorized ·Tagged , ,

Yep, bloggy slacker, that’s me. I had an excuse at first… my laptop power cord broke, and I was stranded without the internet for 1.5 weeks, which was highly annoying. During that 1.5 wks, I (of course) had ridiculous amounts of things to write about, but couldn’t.  By the time my replacement cord arrived, however, the thought stream had dried up and I was completely obsessed with sudoku and crossword puzzles.

So blogging? I’m a slug. But ask me for a 6-letter word for “careless shepherdess,” and I’m your girl.

What’s been going on for the last few weeks? Let’s see….  I’ve continued volunteering at the Museum. I agreed to join not one, but TWO committees (I know, jump back), and attended my first meetings for both. I’ve also attended not one, but TWO Sunday School classes. Social Sarah is thriving, I tell you. There’s been the occasional backlash from my inner introvert, but since I’ve already committed to several events/meetings/etc, Social Sarah is still prevailing.

We went to Virginia to visit the grandparents this past weekend. I acted more like myself than I ever have around my grandparents…. I think it was a bit disconcerting for them. At the dinner table, I randomly mentioned that I’ve been country-commandmentsthinking of murdering my father, and then went into a full discussion of the best methods of making it appear natural. (Sidenote: if I stabbed him with an icicle, the murder weapon would melt. Ingenious, yes?) My grandmother was appalled, my grandfather consulted the “Country Commandments” and informed me that #5 specifically addressed this issue, and the uncle and cousins seemed open to the idea… Uncle Rocky’s never liked Daddy, so it wasn’t such a stretch for him.

And for those of you who think I’m serious, I’M NOT. I’m not going to kill my father, although it would be a vast improvement. Just saying. Which brings me to this past Saturday. We left Virginia after lunch with the grandparents, and headed home. After 5ish hours in the car as the Maggie-Entertainer, I pretty much just wanted pajamas and the sofa. Changed into pj’s, gave Bobby a brief synopsis of the weekend, and settled on the sofa with a glass of wine. And Daddy calls. I haven’t talked to him in weeks… he hasn’t called me, I haven’t call him, and it’s been nice. I wouldn’t have answered, but was already halfway through glass #1, and, strangely, thought that answering was the best choice.

Bad decision. Fast-forward 1 hour, and I’m sitting in the bathroom floor, crying on the phone with Daddy with an empty bottle of wine. I don’t remember most of the conversation, but I do remember saying “You can have another wife, but I’ll never have another mother.” I don’t think he knew I was imbibing — he’s just clueless like that. So after I finally hung up, I cried and puked. Bobby yelled at me for puking into the trash can instead of the toilet, and I told him to shut up and go back to bed, because “it’s my fucking bathroom and I can puke wherever I want.”  Good times were had by all.

Sunday, Bobby and I skipped church (don’t think that I would have been a great addition to the worship service) and watched movies all day. Daddy called, but I didn’t answer. He also called on Monday and Tuesday. Didn’t answer. Wednesday, I talked to Dr Jerry about the Saturday night breakdown, and the whole big crappy father-mess. He says I have three options:

  1. I can talk to Daddy about my father issues by myself (based on our history, this isn’t recommended).
  2. I can talk to Daddy about my father issues with Dr Jerry.
  3. I can not do anything, and Dr Jerry and I can just still be having the same conversation this time next year.

Wednesday night, Daddy called again and I answered. He made casual chit-chat, then brought up the possible grandparent visit in two weeks. (Basically, Jennifer and I invited the grandparents down so we can take Grandma to Townville and pick her brain… we have no idea where lots of Mama’s stuff came from, and Grandma will hopefully have some idea). Conversation ensues as follows:

Daddy: So do you know if they’re coming down for sure?

Me: I don’t know. I hope so, but we probably won’t know for sure until the week before.

Daddy: Well, I mean, if you don’t mind, could you please check with me before you schedule things in Townville?

[Insert long pause here, while I process that fact that he really just suggested that I don't have a right to invite Grandma to help go through her only daughter's things.]

Me: Daddy, I’m not sure what you mean. Grandma & Grandpa haven’t been down since Mama died, and Jen & I would really like to have her input about Mama’s stuff.

Daddy: I understand what you’re saying, but anything to do with Townville needs to go through me. I mean, I’m not trying to get into it with you, Sarah… I’m just trying to communicate. All the stuff in this house — it belongs to me.

Me: Huh. Well, I’m not sure if you’re implying that we would take something from the house without your permission, or that we’re not welcome in the house without your permission, but either way, I’m can’t believe that you would say that to me.

Daddy: Now, Sarah, I’m just trying to communicate. I’m trying to cultivate the relationship between you and me because, I mean, we didn’t talk while you were growing up. Mama was the go-between for us. And now that she’s gone, I feel like I need to cultivate our relationship.

["Cultivate our relationship?" He's obviously been reading self-help books again because he SO didn't come up with that phrase on his own.]

Me: Daddy, our relationship is what it is. It’s always been this way, and I guess it always will be. It’s too late to cultivate.

And then I hung up and chanted “IhatehimIhatehimIhatehimIhatehim” for approximately 30 minutes. I really do detest him. Not even kidding. I have to work through this. The grudge, the bitterness, the anger at him is going to swallow me up if I don’t figure out a way to let it go. I don’t want to pass it on to my children. I know that it’s unhealthy — a grudge is like a cancer. I want to be indifferent to him. If he’s nice, great. If he’s hateful, great. I want to be totally unaffected by him. Is that even possible?

So you see why puzzles are so appealing right now. They’re nice and safe and predictable. They don’t make rude phone calls or come up in therapy and they sure don’t cause me to puke in the trashcan. All they ask is that I know a 3-letter word for “One Gershwin.” Ahh, finally….. a simple relationship.

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finding treasures

March 11, 2009 at 9:17 am · Filed under Uncategorized ·Tagged , , , ,

Jennifer forcefully invited me to go to Townville with her yesterday afternoon, and so I went with my face set into an expression of just plain grumpiness. She’s on a mission to start cleaning out the house room by room, drawer by drawer, with as little input from Daddy as possible. I think we’re both feeling that our time of free access to the house is limited (I mean, if YOU were Daddy’s new woman, would YOU want his girls coming in and ransacking the place? Yup, didn’t think so.)… and since we have no idea when he’s going to get a wild hair to remarry, now is the time that we should take advantage.

So off we went… Daddy was working a 12-hr shift so it was a prime opportunity. Yesterday’s project was going through a chest in the living room, a huge mahogany piece of furniture that Mama & Daddy inherited from his grandmother. For as long as I can remember, those drawers have been stuffed with the unknown — pictures, cards, checkbook registers, even a few table linens thrown in for good measure. I’ve never even dug below the first layer, much less to the bottom… so we put Maggie down for a nap, settled ourselves in the floor, and began.

We unearthed an insane number of pictures, mostly of Daddy as a little boy. And one of the drawers was crammed chock-full of art projects from our childhood… Mama had written the artist and the year on the back so we were able to easily sort it into my, Jen, & Sue’s respective piles.

(**Note to all mothers & mothers-to-be: writing the name & date on the back of mementos is an EXCELLENT thing.)

There were home-made Mother’s Day cards, handwritten weekly letters from our grandmother to our mother, and even a folder full of congratulatory cards from when I was born. There were baby books filled out to varying degrees… mine was almost complete, Jennifer’s was halfway done, and Sue… well, Sue didn’t have one. I guess Mama must have been overwhelmed by the time her 3rd little girl came along. There were little random scraps of paper where Mama had written little anecdotes and just stuffed them in the drawer… it was like a drawer-size scrapbook.

And I thought I would share my favorite thing. Now for those of you who don’t get my mom’s sense of humor, this may seem more irreverent than funny… but trust me, Jennifer and I almost peed on ourselves when we found it. It’s written in Mama’s neat little handwriting, and we calculated the year — she wrote this in 1985, so she would have been 28-yrs-old, Daddy was 31, and they would have been married for 9 wonderful (HA!) years.

John Martin [lastname], 31, husband of Denise B. [lastname], died Thursday of a long sickness (sick of everything — wife, kids, etc).

Born in Orange.burg, SC, he was the son of Lawrence M. and Frances L. [lastname]. He was an employee of the Mich.elin Tire Corporation and attended Grace Tabernacle, where he was Hitman #1 and substitute offering taker.

Surviving are his wife; parents; inlaws; daughters Sarah and Jennifer of the home; sister Gin [lastname] of Los Angeles; brothers Hugh [lastname] and Landy [lastname] of [lastname] Farms Inc; grandmother, Mrs. Gladys S. [lastname]; dog/niece, Peg [lastname]; and his Murray riding mower.

Funeral services at 3pm Friday at Bow.man South.ern Metho.dist Church. Burial to follow in the family plot. Farewell dinner for Denise at 6pm. Donations may be made to the wife in lieu of flowers.

I’m still chortling…  what a sassy lady my mama was!

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snow, a birthday, & an awkward moment

March 6, 2009 at 3:52 pm · Filed under Uncategorized ·Tagged , , ,

This week was Sue’s spring break… was so nice having her home. We sat and watched movies and sat and ate junk food and sat and played with Maggie. Was VERY productive, yes?

mar1-156Sunday, Bobby and I headed down to Charleston to pick her up. It started snowing on the way home… about an hour out, it was coming down so hard that we could barely see two feet in front of us. If you’re at all acquainted with South Carolina, you know that this is not typical EVER, much less on March 1st. No one could see the lines on the road, so all cars were driving in single file on the interstate… every few miles, someone would go flying off into the ditch or guardrail and the rest of us would just creep around them and keep driving. Sue pointed out that it was a bit like the apocalypse might be, which left us all with a very warm and fuzzy feeling.

On Monday, everyone was out of work/school cuz that’s what happens in SC when it even THINKS about snowing. So we got up and headed over to the local middle school, which has the only hill in town. We were all bundled up in our makeshift snowgear… Maggie had sandwich bags on her feet to snowproof her shoes, and we brought tupperware storage box lids and cooking spray to sled on. Classy. Sue tried and tried to make the tupperware box lid work to no avail, until our sledding neighbors finally took pity on us and let us borrow a real sled.

And of course, no SC snowday would be complete without a snowman. So we built a snow family… SnowDaddy, SnowMommy, SnowKiddo, and SnowDog. Bobby cooked a giant pot of spaphetti and we descended like locusts… it really was one of the nicest days we’ve had in a long time.

mar2-sue-1161mar2-sue-0501mar2-jen-032mar2-0392mar2-0971mar4-062

1: Flip-Flops + Snow = South Carolina
2: First snow in our little house
3: Help! I can’t put my arms down!
4: Maybe if I sit on it like this….
5: Snow family
6: Snowbaby Maggie… check out those rosy cheeks! :)

Then yesterday was Bobby’s 35th b-day… I remember when 35 seemed really, really, on-the-verge of-dying old. Now? Not so much. I think (at least I hope) he had a good day. We had family over, and I made Mama’s lasagna recipe for the first time… had a 6-layer fudge cake and caramel pie for dessert. Yum.

The one blemish of the week? None other than my father. He dropped by Bobby’s b-day dinner for 5 minutes last night on his way to work, and in that 5-minute span, managed to piss off and/or hurt the feelings of everyone there. Ok, maybe I’m exaggerating… I don’t think he offended Bobby’s family, although the drama he caused made them extremely uncomfortable. It was just our average family (mis)communication… Sue asked him to take her back to school (since he hasn’t taken a turn YET), he refused (no reason given), Jennifer questioned him, he got belligerent and angry, the room got quiet, everyone stared at their plate, and then he left without even eating or speaking to Bobby’s family.  I’m so glad that Bobby’s 35th birthday dinner could serve as a forum for my father’s personal anger/pride issues. Good times.

And then, after everyone left, Jen, Tom, Bobby & I talked about challenging Daddy to a duel. No, not with guns, although that might be more effective. Just a “family conference” where we basically announce that we’re no longer letting him wriggle out of his family obligations, etc. And while we talked, Sue sat with her fingers in her ears and rocked back and forth and chanted “I want to back to school tomorrow I want to go back to school tomorrow school tomorrow”….  I think maybe we stress her out or something?

So Jennifer drove Sue back to Charleston this morning. Was a good week… I just wish that we could have skipped over the father visit. There’s such a tension when he walks into the room — it’s like everyone’s shoulders knot up and we all just wait for him to leave. He was so nice and kind and loving during the few months after Mama died… I wish that we could have frozen him during that time period and kept him that way permanently.

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