Yea. The Unfair is in town.

I haven't looked over the "stages" of grief recently. I learned them at some point in psychology classes and know there are like five (?), and that one of them is anger.  I don't know where it falls in the "stages" lineup. I haven't reviewed them on purpose -- because I am rebelling. To prove that somebody is wrong. A lot of things are wrong.

This world is full of kids. Grocery store, mall, restaurants, the news. Kids being yelled at, hit, beaten, killed, tortured, insanely and cruelly neglected ... and I have to go to a cemetery to visit my grandson. The one who would have been cuddled, and snuggled, and bathed, and lovingly disciplined by his parents, and educated - academically, spiritually, and in the ways that our families were raised.... learning how to be a good boy, a good man, a good friend, and a great father.

Unfair.

There.  Now someone can read the blog and go "Oh good ... she's reached "that stage".

Wrong.

June July August October

June, July, August, October

The dry erase calendar in the hall.  I’m not always prompt changing it on the first day of every month, but usually within the first 2 or 3 days I’ve erased the last month’s dates, activities, appointments, and silly notes someone may have left and I fill in Month, Numbers for the days, and already planned events.

By the end of the first week of September time had become irrelevant. I never wrote on the calendar – not the whole month. And now it’s October and I’m not too keen on filling it in either.

We spent 39 weeks of the last year – beginning in January – blissfully waiting for Bryant Cole Brown to arrive and show his sweet face and fill our homes with the absolute joy of a little boy. Our first grandchild, Meghan’s (Aunt Mina’s) first nephew, Molly’s and Brad’s first child. 

Every ultrasound showed a stretching, moving, showing off, making faces baby boy. My goodness by June we could almost tell who he would favor and that he had really long legs. We went to two weddings that month, I worked in the yard a lot, and thought about Bryant joining me one day out there. 

I bought a red “Radio Flyer” wagon and assembled it myself. It was for me and Bryant and became a symbol of the little boy who would spend afternoons with Jojo and play in the dirt, then get a bath, then cuddle on the porch swing. I smiled a lot. Molly posted weekly pictures of her growing little tummy. No contest – she’s the cutest pregnant lady I’ve ever seen in my life.

In July Meghan and Molly would come over on Saturdays and float around in the pool. While they were here Molly wore sunscreen or a long shirt to protect Bryant from the sun. She ate a lot of animal crackers and fruit, and drank water … I never saw her eat anything that was not good for the baby – her every action was for his well-being and protection. It was a mother’s (my) delight to watch her as a woman/future mommy – smiling, showing us when Bryant was moving around, acting silly with her sister playing different kinds of music to see what Bryant “liked” best. We figured out it was his daddy’s Old Country … George Jones, Oak Ridge Boys, Merle Haggard … and of course George Strait. Bryant even got to go to a George Strait concert!

In July we invited the families over for a big shower for Bryant. All blue Welcome Baby, and Bryant banners. SO many gifts for that sweet boy – specifically chosen for HIM because of who he is and because his parents are loved by us all.

July and August I went pretty much crazy purchasing baby boy things - in person and online. I think the UPS guy was getting tired of the long drive out here, but most things I had delivered to Molly and Brad’s. She loved getting home from work to find a box on the porch with a new outfit or a surprise for their soon-to-arrive son. 

Bryant’s room was complete and his wardrobe was ready for a variety of sizes – we assumed he would grow pretty fast and even joked that we might have to cut the feet out of some long onesies if his legs were too long for them. Stacks of diapers filled the closet, a basket of bibs and blankets sat on the changing table, books and stuffed toys were arranged; Jojo even finished the monogrammed quilt I had promised.

August – About the middle of the month I had a jolt of exhilaration combined with an emotion I can’t describe when I looked at the picture of Bryant on my refrigerator. I burst into happy tears and posted on facebook that in just ONE month I would be able to kiss that sweet face as much as I wanted to.

School started on the 25^th. Bryant brought me a Sonic gift card for my first week of coffee and a box of Moon Pies. Boy do I love that kid! Of course, being the over-the-top excited Jojo, I informed my students of the impending announcement and told them if I got a phone call I would be bolting from the room and they’d be left alone. Some seemed to be disturbingly eager for that day.

We finished the first week of school with no Bryant, but he seemed to be getting ready to show his sweet self to us very soon. Monday the 2^nd of September was Labor Day. The “perfect” day to “labor” … no Bryant. People would ask and I’d say “any day now!” Molly was adorable, but with swollen feet and hands and a big ole boy twisting around, she was ready for Bryant to be in her arms, not in her tummy.

“Any day now” turned out to be anything but “any day”. I finished the school day the 4^th of September – a Thursday – extremely tired for some reason. I dragged myself out of the school with a bag on my shoulder. I guess I looked like it had been a rough day – Mrs. Hood (the school secretary and a sweet friend) told me, “Have a good evening” and I hollered back, “I’m going home to eat ice cream!” I hoisted myself into the hot Jeep and turned on the AC. While I sat there for a minute waiting for it to cool down Lisa (Brad’s mother) called. She asked if I was still at the school and when I told her I was in the parking lot she said she was going to run by. I waited in the cool, not particularly thinking about anything – and certainly not expecting the news I was about to receive.

Lisa arrived, said hello, reached out for a hug and said, “They can’t find a heartbeat.” Time stopped. I remember saying several times, “One WEEK! – There was just ONE MORE WEEK!” 

The events after that are the comings and goings, the seeing Molly and Brad sitting on their sofa in the dark living room holding hands, all the bags on the hearth waiting for the joyous “it’s time” drive to the hospital. A diaper bag with Bryant monogrammed on it in the blue that matched the colors of his nursery, a pillow, a car seat, Molly’s bag of snacks and necessities for a short hospital stay. And there they sat – holding hands in a room with no lights on and I don’t know if it was really as dark as I imagine because it was only 4:30 in the afternoon, but to me the memory is darkness. 

I sat down beside Molly and wrapped my arms around her, reached over and put a hand on Brad’s knee and I don’t know that I even said anything. I do remember Molly smiled and said, “It’ll be ok.” and I thought I’d never met anybody like her in my whole life. She said a couple more things, “God knows….” I’m not sure what she was thinking that God knew at that time, but I didn’t spend any time pondering it either. I just remember her saying it.

I went outside and made a few phone calls. I’m not a big “phone person” – I usually text, so a couple people I called knew something was wrong the minute they heard my voice. I don’t know that I said much except, “we’ve lost our baby.”

I came home, met Meghan here, threw some things in a bag, got on comfy pants and a long sleeved shirt (Somehow I remembered that I’m always cold in a hospital), and I took off my watch. 

It wasn’t a mindless gesture. I took it off. Time didn’t mean anything. It hardly has meant anything for a month – nor have I worn a watch for a month. I don’t want to put one on…Just like I don’t want to write October on the calendar. 

I'm sure I’ve overanalyzed it - I want time to have ended on September 4^th. If time had not continued past that day, Bryant would be here. 

I know time has elapsed. I know that on September 5^th a beautiful, perfect, little boy was delivered – without a heartbeat. I know that we cried. Everybody cried. I still cry. Friends came and cried with us. Family ...  

Thank God for family. Thank God for the special friend who came with her camera and took priceless photos that we would not have if she hadn’t arrived. And she stayed and remained inconspicuous as she captured the only moments that would ever exist of mother, daddy, their firstborn son.

Thank God for Aunt Mina who stayed with her sister the entire time – who watched Molly’s pain and strength while exhibiting her OWN strength merely with her presence – who watched her brother-in-law experience the worst heartbreak of his lifetime as he adoringly held his son who had no earthly life left in his little perfect body.

And my memories – a few are vague, but some are so clear it’s as if they can play out right in front of me at any time:

The moment Brad walked in the room the nursing staff had set aside for us, crying with pain upon pain beyond pain. Telling Kevin and me that we could go in.

Walking in to find my daughter holding the most beautiful little baby boy wrapped in a blanket with a blue crocheted cap provided by the hospital…and she was smiling. Smiling. And I leaned down to see that perfect face, and touch little hands, and longed to hold my daughter like a mother wants to hold her child when the child has been hurt … and Molly said, “It’s hard not to smile when he’s so perfect.”  And still she smiled. And showed us his big feet. And little fingers. And the little Brad Brown dent in his chin. And I said, “I could hold him forever.” And Kevin cried, and teased like he and Molly always do. And we stayed awhile then left for Lisa and Stan to have their moment.

I never did hold him – I wouldn’t have wanted to. It would have been a moment stolen from his parents who would have a short enough time with him as it was.

I went back to the family room and I cried. And cried. And I cried. For the pain my children (Brad is my child – I always say, “I love that boy”) were going through, for the loss of our baby boy and the never-to-be times with him that we had looked forward to. For Kevin – who was already Pappy and had loved seeing his baby girl as a mother. I cried for myself – just because that’s how humans work I suppose. Not that it was ever about me … I just hurt and some of the tears came from my own grief.

Prayer – I’m not even sure who all came and prayed with us and I’m sorry I can’t remember that. I just know that there was prayer covering the day and thank God for it too because otherwise I probably would have melted into the floor and never cared to return.

Going back in to the hospital room a second time to see Bradley holding Bryant in the rocking chair. He didn’t even look up. It would probably have been physically impossible for him to take his eyes off his son’s face at that time. Just the way it should have been.

The day getting later – people coming in to give hugs and as much comfort as possible (there was no such thing at that time).

Seeing Bryant after a change of clothes – in his monogrammed “Bryant” cap – his face still soft and beautiful. Perfect. Peaceful. While all around him was desperate hurt and excruciating heartbreak that he would never have to know. 

Our own family gathering together for a photo – the only picture we’ll ever have of the six of us.

Leaving the room again. Returning. I would have stayed every second but other people needed their time; Molly and Brad needed time alone with their baby.

The walk into the room that I knew would be the last time I saw Bryant. Molly lovingly cradling that sweet little body like a mother holds her cherished child. Bradley standing close by – empty.

Saying goodbye – and leaving my baby, who is an adult, in the care of her adoring, strong, courageous, and compassionate husband. He wouldn’t leave her side – I had no doubt, but she was my baby right then, and it was hard to walk out that door.

And coming home. To Jojo’s and Pappy’s house – knowing that Bryant would never play here.

A month has passed. A funeral has taken place. Friends have sent cards, notes, facebook messages. I have been to visit Bryant’s grave several times taking balloons and notes and little things that make me think of him. I have spent a lot of time with Molly. Some "it's ok" days, some sad days.

It’s October. The calendar is still empty. So is my heart. So are Molly’s and Brad’s arms. So is the nursery - decorated all tan and blue – calm, peaceful colors – and prepared over the summer with such love and eagerness for the new life that would rest and grow there.

It’s October – time hasn’t stopped.

But in September, it did.

It's a National Law ...

I love teaching 7th grade. There's just something ... a combination of child and zoo animal with hormonal issues? ... about them. They make me laugh -- which is important; and I have found I can make them laugh too. And lest you think we just sit around smoking cigars, writing comedy routines and rolling in the floor, while we're doing all this laughing -- we are also learning. It isn't just funny for the sake of being funny ... it's funny that is derived from a comment someone makes, someone else's response, or misunderstanding, or facial expression.

Example: One year I had to be out every few weeks to attend workshops by the District. After three absences one student pointed out, in class, "Mrs. Murphree, you sure have been gone a lot." To which I replied, with no facial expression, "Yes, and if you've noticed my absences coincide with the full moon. I think it's time to share with you that I am a werewolf." What I expected was a room of students laughing and saying I'm crazy ... what I got was silent stares .... and one brave soul in the back of the room...."ReALLY?" ....

It's a good thing I was stunned enough to keep my thoughts to myself, but another student saved me by spinning around in her seat and setting him straight. "Are you KIDDING! She's being SARCASTIC! Gaaaa!" I appreciated her appreciation of my appreciation of sarcasm. And for the record, contrary to the belief of many educators, I feel there iS a place for (lighthearted) sarcasm in the classroom. I teach language arts ... how will these students be future successful authors, playwrites, newspaper moguls, street entertainers without the sarcasm foundation laid in their 7th grade class when Mrs. Murphree has them totally convinced it is a National Law enacted in the 1800's that all schools must serve hamburgers on Friday. They are destined for failure if not informed about the Amendments added throughout the years allowing the addition of cheese, or the controversial legal battles over the substitution of chicken for beef.

In the olden days (the 1970's) we could purchase a Coca-Cola from the machine right outside the cafeteria to have with our requisite hamburger meal, french fries (really fried), and a big peanut butter cookie). I'm planning to write up a legal-looking document which states that all schools are required by law to serve hamburgers and cheeseburgers on Fridays forevermore, as long as we both shall live amen. Schools cited for nonconformist behavior may be charged a hefty fine which will result in budget cuts, leading to a full diet of gruel for all students and staff.

Oh, by the way -- I usually bring my own lunch on Friday. None of this applies to me. :)

But now I see

Monday morning I got the phone call that my Granny had passed away. She was 91 years old and more than ready to go, her body and mind tired. I teared up, but smiled at the same time because I thought about all the family and friends she was seeing - and I imagined her and my Papa together again. I know the Bible says there is no marriage in heaven ... still, I know they are together, no matter the 'relationship' in their heavenly state.

I really didn't have any sorrowful reaction throughout the day. The girls and I looked through some photo albums and all found a special picture of her to put on our facebook pages. Of course looking at pictures resulted in some amusing memories of times spent with Granny & Papa and we laughed a lot as we talked about them. They always cherished time with family and were joyful, loving, fun people.

Last night after everybody had gone to bed, I remembered the first time I went to sit with Granny when she was in the hospital in Tyler several months ago. It was when I truly accepted that she was not going to 'live' ... not because they told us she was dying ... but because I acknowledged that her life was over even if all her reasons for being in the hospital could be taken care of. She was not ever going to pick peaches or work in her garden, run to the store, hem a dress, bake biscuits, walk to the mailbox or hold another great-great-grandchild. Those things were her life. I'd known for a long time that she wasn't able to do much - but she was here. I’m not naïve, but the full comprehension that being 'here' isn't ‘living’ became unquestionable when I saw her frailness up close in a hospital gown with tubes and times of incoherence. I thought about how much she would hate that someone had to feed her, her hair wasn't fixed, and she had 'cracklins' in her eyes. That afternoon as I sat with her while she slept, I cried – she wouldn’t have cared and I knew she couldn’t see me.

Last night I also remembered something my uncle told me one day when we saw each other at the hospital ... She was asleep. He had his hand on her shoulder and bent down to kiss her. She opened her eyes a second and smiled, then nodded back off. He stood back up and for some reason said, "She never got to go get her new glasses. She was so excited about those glasses."

When that seemingly trivial piece of a conversation came to mind late last night ... I cried. I really cried. Since Monday my sisters and I have talked and remembered some fun times with our grandparents; I’ve talked to Mom a few times in the last few days about plans and all … but since Granny died, there have been no tears … until I think about that pair of glasses sitting on a shelf at a doctor's office - waiting for her. She was excited about them and never got to use them here – and when I think of that, I cry.

While preparing to visit with family and go through the funeral service tomorrow, I have wondered about the glasses story – why that affected me. I’m still not exactly sure – but tonight as we left the funeral home and I looked back one last time at Granny – I heard the song in my head … the song that has been her favorite hymn for many, many years. I know it doesn’t matter that she didn’t get the glasses. She doesn’t need them now. Her vision is perfect.

Be Thou my Vision, O Lord of my heart;
Naught be all else to me, save that Thou art
Thou my best Thought, by day or by night,
Waking or sleeping, Thy presence my light.

Be Thou my Wisdom, and Thou my true Word;
I ever with Thee and Thou with me, Lord;
Thou my great Father, I Thy true son;
Thou in me dwelling, and I with Thee one.

Be Thou my battle Shield, Sword for the fight;
Be Thou my Dignity, Thou my Delight;
Thou my soul's Shelter, Thou my high Tower:
Raise Thou me heavenward, O Power of my power.

Riches I heed not, nor man's empty praise,
Thou mine Inheritance, now and always:
Thou and Thou only, first in my heart,
High King of heaven, my Treasure Thou art.

High King of heaven, my victory won,
May I reach heaven's joys, O bright heaven's Sun!
Heart of my own heart, whatever befall,
Still be my Vision, O Ruler of all.

Heads or Tails

Everybody wants to win. Not just in sports or board games or business deals -- but in the stuff of life like health, relationships, jobs ...

I'm not talking about good guy/bad guy people. (We do think that way -- even if we shouldn't -- that some people deserve to have their prayers answered and some ... well, not so much) -- I'm talking about where all involved are seeking God's plan & will -- a bunch of Christian people praying for opposing outcomes. Somebody gets a yes, and somebody gets a no.

Example: I pray for my kids to be safe when they're driving (and for the people around them to not be idiots). But ... if another mother somewhere else is praying the same thing, and our kids end up having a tragic wreck, then one of us had our prayer answered -- and one didn't. A winner... a loser? One would say, "God answered my prayer - my child is alive", and the other would say, "I prayed for his safety and this is what happened."

I picked up a book to read on vacation - light fiction by a Christian author. It's a relationship story and the people in the book are all Christians. They pray, read their Bible, apply verses to every situation they must deal with, and they make an effort to be a light around non-Christians. Previously, two of the characters were in a relationship but circumstances changed that and now they've moved on to other phases in their lives. They are pursuing careers in different parts of the country, they both have met someone else (key point: the 'someone elses' are also Christians) but even while falling in love with the new person they do not forget their former relationship - nor one another. In spite of the past, they 'know' God has brought them to this place for a reason and believe that His will involves the new love they have found. The verse used throughout the story is Jeremiah 29:11 -- "I know the plans ..."

Ok -- the OTHER people -- they are also Christians -- they are truly in love with the respective main characters of the book. They also have prayed for God to show them the person who will be their 'forever'. Like I said, it's light fiction - I expect I know how it ends -- I'm just not sure how it will get there. But I do know that two people will 'win' and two people will 'lose'. And usually when we consider these things, we only think about the protagonists. We're cheering them on -- "yea....hang in there ... keep praying ... love conquers all ..."

Not me; I'm reading this going - Hey -- but these two secondary characters (who are not acquainted)... they're Christians too! They've prayed for the same things - they are honoring God in their choices, opening their hearts to a person they trust, considering futures ...that aren't going to happen. They're both going to end up getting dumped and hurt - but the book will have a 'happy ending'...?

I know - it's fiction, but it could be real life. So ... who wins and who loses? If the book was written from the perspective of the second set of characters, it would be a stinky book -- they would be raised in good church-going families, pray and read their Bibles and meet these wonderful like-minded partners believing that this was God answering their prayers ... then they'd get their hearts broken while the other two rode off into the sunset to live happily ever after.

Yeah, you can say that they will go on to find happiness or whatever, but the point is ... someone is saying "Yea Me! God answered my prayers" and everybody is going, "That's so awesome how God answers prayers" (the winner) -- and in the meantime, the other person who wanted the job, or the car, or the girl ... they're thinking, "What the hay...? I've been told to pray. I trusted that this was the plan. God did not answer my prayer!" (the loser).

There is no conclusion to this drivel. Just observations that I will not add now because they sound trite and irreverent ... the sorts of things I ponder when I see good people repeatedly disappointed and made to feel like God isn't listening...like they're the loser.

~jm

Home

I know why they call it the circle of life....it's definitely not a flat line.

This summer has been composed of various 'stage of life' events/moments that just prove this is a bumpy ride from start to finish; and while there may be a few scenic pullovers, at some point you have to load back up in the car and get back on the road again. And eventually, the trip ends and you go home.

* Our sweet Molly is engaged to be married to her precious boyfriend of over three years. There is not one unhappy person about this proposal! Our family loves Brad like he is already one of our own. We love his family! He is committed, loving, honest, determined, hard-working, and fun .... he and Molly complement one another well, and I have no doubt they will be wonderful partners for life.

* Meghan's life-long dream of going to Africa has come true! In fact, she is there now - into her second week of mission work in Zambia which will be followed by a trip to Victoria Falls. There hasn't been a lot of communication, but the few reports we've heard have been good. I know she is having the adventure of a lifetime and is learning what God wants her to learn while she's in a place she has always wanted to visit. People have asked if I'm 'ok' ... Strangely, and uncharacteristically, I am very ok. I haven't been nervous at all about her traveling - or even about any decisions she may make based on this experience - whether they be to travel (mission-related or otherwise), or to mark this trip off her 'things I want to do' list and move on to the next goal.

* Hudson Wyatt Hamilton (not due until July) was born on May 29th. He has spent his short little life being cared for in the hospital NICU - gaining weight, his little body developing, and receiving all the attention he needs. Chelsey and Kenny are such good parents and have had a rough month dealing with the uncertainty that accompanies a child in the hospital. Hudson will go home soon and rest in his own little bed without tubes and monitors. He is beautiful and has gained to almost six pounds in that many weeks. Another reason for our family to be thankful and joyful!

* Granny Parsons has also spent most of the summer in and out of the hospital - and the nursing home. A variety of issues make this necessary, but the bottom line is - her little body is just tired. She enjoys company; and she talks, but it's hard to understand her; and sometimes she will do or say something that makes her seem like the person she was when I was a little girl. Those moments make me smile - but in a sad way because I know they're the past, and that in the near future the memories and pictures are what I'll have instead of the Granny I love so much.

It's an emotional portrayal of beginnings and endings...with Meghan and Molly's current status somewhere in the middle of the spectrum; one family member starting out in life, and the other whose full life is fading. Granny and Hudson are both in the hospital because of their ages and the necessity of medical assistance for their survival, but there is such a contrast to where they 'are' ....

One is the future of our family - one is our heritage.

For one, I made a little quilt - the other taught me how to quilt.

One gains weight daily - the other grows thin.

I love to hold one - I loved being held by the other.

One has yet to make his first memory -

the other holds a lifetime of memories in her heart.

To one I say, "Hang on little man. You'll be home soon!"

To the other I whisper, "Let go when you're ready Granny. You'll be home soon."

jlbm 7.11.11

Perspective

My job is to make students think. But the best teaching days are the days they make me think.

She's not an outgoing girl .. not one of those kids that makes their presence known at every opportunity. She's in a small class - all girls - loud, drama-filled 7th grade girls. I'm sure she gets overlooked in other classes because she doesn't demand attention - negative or otherwise. She's pretty -- not in a way that 7th grade boys will take notice of ... but pretty, like you know she has the potential to be beautiful when she is older. The smile is genuine, but almost retreats before it appears which makes her seem even shyer than she actually is. When she came back and stood by the desk before tardy bell, all she said was, "hi", and "have you had a good day?" I told her yes, it had been an ok day and asked about hers. She'd had an 'ok' day as well. It was more the body language than the audible words...I sensed there was something else -- maybe she needed to ask about a grade, or to go to the restroom... I stood, gave her a smile, and picked up the papers I would pass out when the tardy bell rang in another minute. She took a step back to let me by, then turned and asked, "Mrs. Murphree, would you like to read my paper for Language Arts?" I don't have her for that subject, but told her I would love to read her paper. She retrieved it from her notebook and handed it to me, already in its protective sleeve.

The writing prompt was "a time you learned to do something". The story was a twelve-year old girl's memory of learning to ride her bicycle. "I pedaled and held on. I tried to keep looking forward to watch where I was going, but I had to turn around and check. When I looked, I saw my mom had let go and I was riding all by myself!"

I've been thinking about perspective in the last few days. I see it one way -- and justifiably so. You see it another way because of how it affects you. Nobody is really 'wrong' -- we're all just standing at different points looking at the same thing -- but because of where we are our views are different.

Because she was given the assignment to write about something she had learned to do, the student recalled a moment from several years ago and described it on paper. She may not have thought about taking those first few yards of road by herself in a long time, but the prompt helped her recall it. She shared the details of that significant ride in a way that made me experience the freedom she felt ... but my perspective was different. I saw it from the other side. I could only empathize with the woman who had let go of the back of the bike.

jm
2.15.11