Today is my mama’s 73rd birthday. Last year, when we were in the middle of battling her cancer, we tried to celebrate her 72nd birthday with a family dinner. The details are a little vague because we were so overwhelmed by what we were dealing with. We asked her how she’d like to spend her day and she tried to muster up a little enthusiasm, but it required so much energy — energy she didn’t have.
I remember we got sliced brisket, fried okra, coleslaw, and the trimmings from a local barbecue place that we’d frequented for years. My sister and my girl both made desserts. I can’t remember what my sister made, but my girl made an “Orange Slice Cake” that Mama had asked for.
We really hoped Mama would be able to enjoy the day, but I think her illness had progressed much further than any of us realized at the time. She was tired and the radiation treatments she received in May had fried her tastebuds. It didn’t help that the barbecue place we’d always enjoyed seemed to be slipping, with the brisket being half fat — and I’m not exaggerating. It was terrible. If we hadn’t been so worn out from everything else, one of us would have taken that styrofoam box of fat back and demanded a refund. The cake my girl made was delicious, but it was a very rich and heavy cake — more suited to a wintertime dinner than a summertime birthday party.
After the so-so birthday dinner and cake, my sister started feeling poorly and within about thirty minutes, she was shaking with chills and fever. Her symptoms were so frightening I, along with her kiddos, took her to the urgent care center while my guy and girl stayed with Mama. I can’t remember what the final diagnosis was, but meds were prescribed and she began to feel better. By the time we got back to our mama’s house, it was late and time for everyone to call it a night. I remember being sad that it was more than likely our mama’s last birthday with us.
Today, on the anniversary of that day, I’m sad. I miss my mama and I miss the sound of her voice (my sister and I chuckled about that earlier – that we missed her voice, except for when she was nagging us about something she thought we needed to do or not do). I have her voice on a recording from my voicemail and every so often I will listen to her say, “I was just calling to see what you’re up to. I love you.”
Like I said, I’m sad. But I’m also happy, too. Because today is my mama’s first birthday in heaven with the Lord. And she is with her mama and daddy, whom she has missed since they passed away in the mid 1980s’. I like to think they are enjoying a family dinner with the best food (it is heaven, after all) and lots of good conversation and love.
Happy birthday, Mama. I expect being healthy and surrounded by love is the best birthday gift of all. I love you.
This is really just a token post to say I am still around, I am still high and dry, and I will be posting something more interesting (and better written) soon. A quick run down of what’s up:
I’m grateful that the cooler head of my husband prevailed — if my less collected self had her way a few days ago, I would have been sleeping on an air mattress at my mother’s house in less than optimal conditions. The house is in renovation mode (nothing fancy, just repairing and replacing things that should have been repaired or replaced twenty years ago to prepare it for sale), so it’s virtually empty and not super comfortable. Because my husband is not a panicky kind of guy, I’ve waited out the Brazos River Flood of 2016 in the much more pleasant setting of my home sweet home. Thank you, Boo!
For the last few days, my most precious things have been packed in the back of my car. Not things of material value, but things that can’t be replaced: my wedding album, my daughter’s baby album, the cross stitch stocking that I’m determined to finish before Christmas (I’ve only been working on it for twenty years…)
The rest of my precious things (aka “photos”) have been moved to high shelves in my house.
I am ready to go at a moment’s notice if we get the alert that water is crossing the highway and headed our way. All I have to do is grab the chihuahua and drive. My girl will grab the cats and my guy will grab his golden retriever and we are OUT OF HERE.
I am hopeful that it will not come to that, though.
But I am heartbroken for all the people I know and love who have been displaced by the insane amount of water that has flooded the lands surrounding the Brazos River. Here is a drone video of some of the surrounding area: Jones Creek Flood – Marco Echartea, Videographer We are on the opposite side of the highway from what is shown in the video, and are in pretty good shape right now. The fact that it rained for about 30 minutes earlier this afternoon does not make any of us happy, though.
I am thankful that so many people in the community are pulling together and helping each other out. God is good.
And I’m off to take care of some things. I’ll be back in touch soon.
Tomorrow we face another first — our first Mother’s Day without our mama. I went out to the cemetery earlier this afternoon to put some flowers on her grave. I almost didn’t go, because I had a difficult time deciding what to put out that wouldn’t look cheap or tacky. Since we live in another town, fresh flowers seem such a waste. I wanted to find some “silk” flowers that would stay pretty for a while until I can get up there again to put out some more.
AJ had a great suggestion and I ran with it. Mama was a very patriotic person, and he suggested I put some American flags on her grave. I was able to find some red silk roses and some red, white, and blue silk hydrangeas, as well as seven small American flags — one for each of us, and one for Mama. I thought arranging them like so would help make up for the current lack of a headstone. That’s something we are hoping to remedy in the not-too-distant future.
Mama loved her country, and she loved her some red, white, and blue!
I want to share a couple of photos of Mama from her sixteenth year, in 1959. Wasn’t she a cutie?
Mama, around 1959. She was sixteen years old.I always thought she looked like Elizabeth Taylor, but prettier.
There was another lady at the cemetery while I was there, and we ended up visiting for a few moments. Her mother passed away several years ago, but she said it never really gets any easier. I can believe that. You might get busy and your busyness keeps you from thinking about your sadness. But some little something will remind you, and the next thing you know, you’re blinking back a tear, or three.
My mind sometimes goes in weird directions, and a few days ago I thought of Mama and the teal dress we chose for her burial. You can see from the photo below it was originally purchased for a happier occasion. I keep thinking about how weird it would have been — we were out shopping for wedding things, having a great time together. How strange it would have been, to see into the future for a split second and know that this beautiful teal dress being purchased for a wedding celebration is also the dress that will be chosen for her burial almost twenty-four years later.
I’m glad she saved the dress. I always thought she looked so pretty in it, even though blues and variations of blue were not her favorite colors. She knew I loved blue and I think that may have swayed her decision to buy the dress. Or at least I like to think so.
Happy Mother’s Day, Mama. I wouldn’t wish for any other mama and I miss you very much. See you in heaven someday!
It’s the early hours of the morning and I should be in bed. I don’t know why I’ve had such a difficult time going to bed lately. It’s as if my mind gets revved up right about the time I should be going to sleep. Well, tonight it’s going to have to get revved down because in a few hours my day is going to get cranking and not stop for quite a few hours.
I promised a shutter client that I would come put some temporary shades in her windows to provide some privacy until her shutters come in. After that, I’ve got to go meet with a client who ordered blinds from me a year or so ago. We didn’t do anything on his french doors, and he’d like to look at cellular shade options.
When I finish that, I’ve got to meet with someone at 1:00 pm to conduct an interview for an article I’m writing for Image magazine. And then I’ve got to book it home to write the article, because the deadline for submission is May 15!
Saturday, I’m hoping to make it up to Alvin to put flowers on my mama’s grave, since we’ll be meeting my in-laws for Mothers Day lunch on Sunday. My sister and I are going to decorate Mama’s grave for the Fourth of July next month. Mama wouldn’t be happy with the current political state of the nation, but one thing’s for sure: she was always a patriotic American.
So you get two posts today! Or maybe more — there’s still daylight left before we leave the fourth behind.
This election mess has people crosseyed in their passion regarding #nevertrump and #neverhillary. It startles me to see family members and close friends so angry with each other over personal conviction regarding the sacredness of one’s vote. I’m trying very hard to steer clear of conversations that will provoke debate. Debate? That’s the wrong word. Barroom brawling is probably a more precise description of what threatens to break out as a result of opinion. Thank heavens for the internet, which puts a bit of distance between the opponents.
Chatting with a family member online, we agreed that whatever happens in November, ultimately our trust has to be in the Lord. No matter what happens in DC, God is who will see us through the times ahead. She gave me permission to share the following, which I think is so true:
Elections are important and they have consequences for supporters and dissenters alike, but our best hope of righting the ship is in how we live.
Our best hope of righting the ship is in how we live…
So we seek to truly live according to His word and in the process the ship begins to turn…
As much as I miss my mama, I can’t help but think that God in His mercy took her home last August before the political mess became so… messy.
My mother was a passionate conservative, a proud Republican. She watched the news with her father when she was a teenager, as well as baseball and Gorgeous George, the wrestler. She didn’t carry her interest in baseball or wrestling into adulthood, but she always watched the news, and before her health declined, she was very active in the Republican political scene in her community.
As I’ve gone through the things at her house, I’ve discovered dozens of elephants, many adored in red, white and blue enamel. Lapel pins, earrings, buttons, stickers – you name it, I’ve found it. She loved Ronald Reagan and the Bushes. We will not get into debates about whether they were good or not — she also believed in Ronald Reagan’s Eleventh Commandment:
Thou shalt not speak ill of any fellow Republican.
I know that she would be heartbroken by the condition of our nation, the travesty that our government has become – both sides guilty without question. I ran across the following obituary, which I think explains it pretty well:
My mama is never far from my mind these days. Even though I’ve been busy with usual day-to-day responsibilities, more days than not I spend a few minutes thinking “this time last year, we were in the waiting room at MD Anderson” or “this time last year, we were about to start radiation treatments,” or “this time last year, I was living with Mama in Alvin…”
It’s hard to believe in only three months it will be a year since Mama passed away and we laid her to rest under the beautiful old oak tree at the Confederate Cemetery in Alvin. Of course, it’s just her physical body lying there. We know where she really is. We know she’s with Jesus.
When I think back to last August — how the expected was still very unexpected — I am so grateful for Mama’s planning. I think it was around the time of her first battle with melanoma, probably four years ago, that she started thinking about preparations for the inevitable journey that we all face at the end of our time on earth. I am the daughter who usually sticks her head in the sand about things like this. I can’t help but also be grateful that my sister, Angie, handles “things like this” so much better than I do. (I owe you big time, Little Sister!)
Whenever Mama tried to talk to me about it, I emphatically insisted on changing the subject. Poor Mama! It was important to her to have a “nice” funeral — she did not want to be cremated. She pointed out how much respect the living paid the dead in the Bible. She couldn’t reconcile cremation with the traditions of the early church, and did not want us to have to resort to that because a traditional funeral was too expensive. I have to assume my sister helped her coordinate the information needed to purchase a $10,000 life insurance policy for burial expenses when the time came. Mama paid the monthly premium faithfully to make sure we wouldn’t have to worry about anything.
During the last few months of her life, she started making known the specifics that she wanted for her last “party.” It sounds strange, but to us it is a party, a celebration of eternal life through the saving grace of Jesus Christ. Don’t get me wrong — we cried plenty, but there is comfort in knowing we will see her again.
The Christmas before she found out her cancer had come back, she faxed me her Christmas list. She asked for two specific songs: “I’d Rather Have Jesus” by George Beverly Shea and “There’s Just Something About That Name” by Danny Gaither. I was able to find the first, but could not find the second. I gave her the one I could find on Christmas Eve and then discovered she’d asked for them because she wanted those songs played at her funeral! I fussed at her about that, asking for funeral music as a Christmas gift! My silly mama.
From the time she was diagnosed the first week of April, until she passed away the first week of August, she kept hoping and praying that she would get well, but she also faced the fact that might not be God’s plan for her. So my sister brought her computer over and they looked at caskets and flowers and headstones online. It was during their conversations that she let it be known she would really like a mahogany casket, and that she wanted her full name, “Norma Jean Swearingen Swan” on her headstone. My niece was paying attention, because when it came time to choose a casket piece from the florist, I could not remember what my mama’s favorite flower was. My niece quickly offered that Mama said she loved lilies. Mama mentioned that there was an available spot near her friends at the Confederate Cemetery and my sweet husband took care of securing the spot under the beautiful oak tree.
When you lose a loved one, it’s amazing how quickly everything happens. You’re standing in a hospital room at 4:35 am being told your mama is gone, and before the end of the day, you’re talking to a funeral director and trying to deal with how far $10,000 will go in between close encounters with a soggy Kleenex. It’s painful and messy, but much less so than if you had to make these decisions all the while wondering how to pay for everything.
The precious funeral director took such excellent care of us. My sister brought the paperwork from the life insurance policy to the funeral home and with the ease of a couple of signatures, signed it over to them. The funeral home kept a tally of how much everything cost and deducted it from the value of the policy. We looked at caskets, and in the course of the conversation, mentioned that Mama really wanted a mahogany casket. The funeral director asked us if we’d looked online. We were both a bit shocked by that, but she smiled gently and said, “You can get what she wanted for half the price if you order it online. But you need to do it tonight so the truck will be able to deliver it from Dallas in time.” I cannot say how much we appreciated this kind soul who basically took money out of her own pocket so that we could honor our mama’s wishes. When all was said and done, they returned a balance to us which we set aside for Mama’s headstone.
The service was beautiful and I’m pretty sure Mama was pleased with how we did things. The mahogany casket arrived on time, and we were invited to come see Mama the night before the funeral. The director had taken special care and even allowed my sister to come sit with her while she did Mama’s hair and makeup. It was really important to Angie that Mama’s makeup look the way we remembered it. As we stood there next to the casket, Angie said, “Mama, how do you like your new bed?” We both burst into laughter through our tears because we knew it was what she wanted and that she would be pleased. The flowers were beautiful, and we displayed photos that Mama loved in the foyer. The next day, during the service, the entire congregation joined together to sing the songs Mama had asked for, as well as Amazing Grace. It was the most beautiful funeral I think I’ve ever attended.
I’m so grateful that Mama made provision with the insurance policy, and that she made her wishes known so we, her daughters, her son-in-law, and her grandchildren, could honor her in a way that reflected who she really was at heart: a loving mother, grandmother, and most importantly a woman who’d rather have Jesus than anything.
Change is on the horizon for us. Our girl is planning on transferring to the University of Houston this fall. She could commute, but she wants the experience of living on her own, even if it’s in the slightly more protected environment of a dorm, rather than an apartment.
It’s so strange thinking of her being somewhere else, rather than down the hall from our room. I can remember going into her room at night when she was a little thing. I’d stand next to her crib, and later her bed, holding my breath so I could see the gentle rise and fall of her little back as she slept. When she was a toddler and a little older, she would sleep with us sometimes. I remember wrapping my arms around her and pulling her close to me, because I knew then that time passes quickly and opportunities to snuggle with my only child would eventually disappear.
Now she is a good three or four inches taller than me, and those opportunities have long passed. Sometimes when she walks past me, I grab her for a hug and hold on tight. She laughs and starts to pull away and I say, “I’m not done yet.” So she lets me hug her a little longer and for that split moment, I remember what it felt like to snuggle with my baby girl on those quiet nights years ago.
We have always loved our furry babies. In the 24 years that my husband and I have been married, we have never been without pets. Our babies have added so much joy and laughter to our family. It’s never easy when our journey together ends.
The photo above was taken about five years ago. I love it, though, because it’s such a perfect illustration of our dogs and their relationships with each other. Hurley Monroe, the golden, is my husband’s baby and this shows her laid-back, even tempered nature. She just goes with the flow and doesn’t let anything upset her. Sweetie, the chihuahua, is mine. She’s independent, and her pose in this photo shows that. What she doesn’t let on is that she’s actually very affectionate and loves attention, in spite of her independence. Sweetie will turn eleven in June, and Hurley will turn eleven in September. It’s hard to believe they’ve been part of our family for so many years.
The little girl lying across Hurley’s back, though. That little girl is who I hope to honor today. Evelyn May was Sweetie’s daughter, but her father was a Yorkshire Terrier. Evelyn inherited her mama’s big ears and soulful eyes. Her fur was this crazy long/short business – long yorkie hairs randomly popping up from shorter chihuahua-like hairs, and all yorkie markings. Her birth was a science lesson – our daughter watching her come into this world, and immediately wanting to keep her. We couldn’t say no to the roly-poly little pudge ball.
Sweetie was a good mama, and Hurley would fill in for her in a pinch. I can still see Evelyn rolling over on her back so Hurley could groom her if Sweetie wasn’t nearby. It was the craziest thing I’d ever seen. The pups truly seemed to love each other, playing with each other and on more than one occasion, I’d discover Evelyn using Hurley like a bed, and Hurley peacefully obliging.
My girl adored that spoiled little dog and they had the joy of each other’s love for almost nine years. A few weeks ago, though, Evelyn began to have some health problems and preliminary tests indicated an enlarged heart and issues with her spleen. If that weren’t bad enough, there were also indicators of cancer. We hoped, really hoped she would get better, even if to have her with us just a little longer, but when she couldn’t keep her food down, we knew our time with her was at an end.
I was incredibly proud when my girl made the hard, but right decision. She let her beloved Evelyn go. She was with her when she was born, and she loved her as she left this world. I don’t have any scriptural backup for it, but I just can’t help but think that our beloved pets are waiting for us in heaven. I’d like to think Evelyn and my Australian shepherd, Sydney, are waiting for us – running in a spring meadow with lots of other dogs waiting for their families, too.
For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life. For God did not send His Son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world through Him might be saved. JOHN 3:16-17
Lagnaippe: 1. Chiefly Southern Louisiana and Southeast Texas. A small gift with purchase to a customer, by way of compliment or for good measure; bonus. 2. a gratuity or tip. 3. an unexpected or indirect benefit.
For you, brethren, have been called to liberty; only do not use liberty as an opportunity for the flesh, but through love serve one another. -- Galatians 5:13
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