finding happiness in everything

Posts tagged ‘motherhood’

Apples to Apples


She called me the other day to tell me that she had gone to her first cousin’s nursery.  As I mentioned in a previous article she loves flowers. It’s something that gives her peace, tranquility, and gives her a productive way to pass time. She was really excited about the availability of herbs there. She exclaimed happily, “there’s Rosemary, mint of all kinds, cooking herbs like basil and Sage – bushes and trees. Your heart will be happy when you see everything.”  Before I realized it we had been talking over the phone for over 20 minutes! The best part was that she could hear me. It was a two-way conversation. 🙂 She and I have not had very many two-way conversations in the last couple years. Her hearing has been slowly leaving her for the last 15 years. And over the last couple years it’s been so bad when she calls, she just tells me something, can’t hear my response, then she’ll just hang up when she’s finished talking. 

She’s in her eighties now.  She and I had a very rocky relationship for the first 20-25 years of my life. On my side it was a love/but-don’t-want-to-be-near-you thing from time to time & on her’s it was a love/frustration thing.  I’m quickly approaching my 40th birthday in a few days & maybe this is why I’ve chosen to write about her.  It’s therapy for me. It’s an understanding of who I was as well as who I am now.  I don’t think that 40 is old, but I’ve always thought of it as a halfway point in life. Now that I’m here, I realize how awesome she is and I was never able to see that before.

Edna Hensley

Mom, me and my brother – around 1980

By age 40 she had already lived a very eventful, energetic, entertaining and absolutely amazing life.  She taught herself to play guitar when she was about 10 years old by watching the older gentleman in town play. She was fiercely independent and generally self-taught in just about everything. She had worked on the farm, went out with her sisters, was a waitress at Blue Circle, and sewed at Standard Knitting Mill. She had a couple of short-lived marriages, experienced living independently, and enjoyed attention as an entertainer. She met Dad in a club (he was the entertaining musician of the night) & joined up with his talent to hit the road as an entertainer. She recorded in Nashville and was courted there by some big-time small names.  She used her resources & connections to boost & mold Dad’s career. When she realized some of the contractual deals he had made in the music industry, she took over and became his manager of sorts. She started negotiating his deals.  With her resources, resilience, and intellect they made a lucrative living.

She married  for the rest of her life, for better or for worse, in 1968. She was 33 years old. She had always wanted children but for some reason biologically could not bear any herself. She prayed and she had almost the entire city praying with her – that she would have children. And one day, in 1976, her prayers were answered.

There was a phone call from a lady that they knew on the south side of town. This lady said if you still want a child you can have my youngest, but you have to come and get him right now.  Dad went to pick up the ugliest baby boy in the world, who would become my brother. (If you ever read this dude, you know I love your ugly face.) They had him for several weeks when they received another phone call from another lady. This lady said to them, I’ve heard that you wanted a baby and I’m on my way to the XXXXXX Home for Children with both of mine. To make a long story short, this is where I come into the picture.  There’s an argument over whether I was two-and-a-half or three months old at the time, regardless I was a baby. I was a pretty sick baby, so she leaned toward my experienced Aunt Evlou to help for the first few nights.

At 40 years old she adopted my brother and I. At a point in her life when other people would be considering retirement, taking it easy, trying to finalize how they want to enjoy the empty nest years, she became a parent. I never gave it much thought in previous years, but now that I am approaching that very same age I realize what a heroic feat that was!

At this point in my life, I am very close to the empty nest years. I cannot image chasing a little one around and changing diapers at this age! Most of mine have moved away and I only have one teenager left at home (on a daily basis) – who will leave me soon I’m sure. I am considering the future, and how I would love to retire one day. I’m dreaming about buying an RV and traveling, or purchasing the boat my husband wants and sailing up & down the coast for a few years. I’m considering how I want to rearrange the rooms in the house and could create an office and workout/hobby room in those empty spaces. My Mom was considering how to convert a music studio into a nursery and buying formula, diapers, while seeking parental advice. I wake up in the middle of the night to text messages asking me for gas money; she woke up in the middle of the night to check on two infants breathing.

To be continued…

 

I’m not like her, am I?


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Noticing the changes that occur in all of us as we grow older is chilling. It’s a reminder that this life is not forever. It can also give a subtle reminder to enjoy each day as though it were our last.

My mother was always very happy while she was working in her flowers. My grand mother was the same. I also very much enjoy all the time I get to spend outdoors and my flowers make me happy too. Isn’t it funny how we become so much like those who raised us? Some say that they are nothing like their parental figures, but if taking an honest look, we all become like them in some ways.

There was a day when I would cringe and possibly fight someone if they said, “You sound like your mother.” I was very young then. I have a birthday fast approaching and will be nearing the mid-point in my life. These years, especially the last 4-5,  have been my pinnacle period where I have been happy, satisfied, loved, content and enjoying the day-to-day. I have also come to understand my mother in ways that I never thought possible. So now that I can see her with different eyes, I feel it a compliment if someone compares us.

Here she and dad are a few months before they adopted my brother and I

Here she and dad are a few months before they adopted my brother and I

 

 

There are stories that aren’t appropriate to hear when you are young that fall on your ears as you mature. Your parents had a life before you. Their personalities and previous life experiences might impress you if you take time to listen.

My mother was a beautiful young lady that turned heads everywhere she went. She had an appeal about her that attracted many people. She was also very forthright and spoke her mind. She was called blunt, uncaring, hard, and mean. She was a savvy business woman that knew what she wanted; this drive and desire overflowed into all she touched. She was obsessed with continued learning and was enthralled by conversion with someone well educated. She was firm yet loving and she was stern yet compassionate. She had some less desirable traits as well, but don’t we all?

The thing I admired her most for was taking me in. She was 40 years old that year, in 1976. I was just a few months old.

To be continued….

When “Good Enough” Just Has To Do


When the kids were in school, I thought keeping the house in order and clean was pretty easy since we’ve moved back home. Then summer vacation rolled around and each of the three boys were seemingly always running in three different directions. They were not home much, thus the house keeping part of life remained pretty simple. I missed them. I wished they’d hang out at home at least a little so I could see them. The cat even missed them…until they came home & fashioned him a skirt!
image

In the last couple of weeks the boys have not been running as much though, so they have been home a lot. Although I’ve been happy to share time with them, the house is a terrible mess. I continue my regimen though, trying to clean each room once a day. Not every room actually gets touched though due to the driving around errands that they, my husband, or my parents send me on.

A few days ago, I took an observatory look around to assess the status of the house and determined that something had to give.

  • The laundry room was surprisingly “good enough” but the cleaned clothes had not been folded and put away, still hanging out in club Fold Me (a basket) and the un-mated socks were laying on the folding table mocking me.
  • The living room had become the Music Den.
    image

Two electric guitars were propped against the big picture window, an acoustic guitar was propped by the couch (as though it was watching TV), and an amplifier had become a new type of coffee table holding a drink, book, and several picks. Head phones were strung out on the couch and the TV and DVR remotes were missing. The wah-wah pedal was strategically placed so that any unsuspecting visitor would break their neck.

  • My bathroom shower/tub needed a super good scrubbing 😦 The toilet paper roll was missing and in its place a card board roller stared back at me as if to say “the boys have been here…drip dry lady!”
  • The boys’ bathroom had a rather large yellow puddle in the floor near the toilet and their sink was covered in toothpaste. (At least they are brushing their teeth…sigh*)
  • The kitchen…was a casualty of war. It being the most consistently frequented room had suffered the most damage. The trash can was over flowing, the floor had tea, sugar, and other unidentifiable droplets of liquid on the floor. Bread crumbs and jelly covered the table, the toaster was plugged in sitting on the table, and a phone charger dangled from the wall. The counter and both sides of the sink were full of dirty dishes and several cooking pots had a strange crusted substance clinging to them. Upon opening the microwave, I discovered splattered dry goo. Every coffee cup was dirty and the 2 loaves of bread I had bought the evening before were reduced to simply 2 end pieces that only starving people eat.
  • The front porch had become the new home of the long forgotten dirty shoes that no one wanted to clean off and the dog was strangely clinging to the door step rug.

I took a deep breath, got wound up, fussed some, yelled a bit, and scattered the kids to their room. (Their rooms are another story all together. I won’t even describe those.)

I’ve decided summer is officially canceled at this point.

Let the cleaning begin!

Round & Round – PTSD


Over the last month I’ve noticed the flashbacks coming more often. There’s nothing that provokes them that I can determine. With the increased frequency, each scene becomes more vivid & even if there are variances in them, it’s always his last few hours alive that play over & over in my head.

There are so many emotions in those last hours…mine…his…the kids. Thoughts about what he said to each child, reactions to his words to them. “You’re making too much noise. Daddy loves you. Go to your room & be really quiet.” Why?

Why won’t it stop? It’s driving me mad 😦 Each flashback brings sadness, worry, pain, tears, anxiety & anger.

Why? It’s been 3 years & 9 months since it happened! Why do I remember it more vividly than giving birth to our children? Why?

I have no answers. All why’s? are rhetorical. No one can answer.

I hate PTSD. I hate these flashbacks. I hate not remembering good things & just his death.

I’m struggling again 😦 I think I need to go see the doctor. I haven’t talked to him about PTSD since January of 2012. I should be better…I should be over the traumatic event.

Those last few hours…I hear his voice more now. I can see him in my mind clearly. He wants my daddy to baptize him. He waited until the end & now he wants to be baptized. His arm hurts, so he keeps raising it above his head to stretch it out.

He cried. It’s the first time in 14 years I’ve seen him cry & it’s breathtakingly pitiful. He didn’t want his mother to leave. He’s tired & lays down to rest. Unaware of his bodily state, he urinated in the bed. He asks me to help him move to the couch, but doesn’t tell me he wet the bed. He was 50. That would have embarrassed him. He’s so very tired. He says he’s going to nap & I go answer the phone. He didn’t want me to.

“Let the damn phone ring”, he says. I explain that I must. It’s his daughters. They’ve been calling for over an hour. They’re worried. I need to give them an update. “Take the battery out of it Chrissy”, he pleads. But, I couldn’t resist. I just had to answer that phone. Stupid me!! After a few minutes on the phone I hear him…he’s gurgling 😦

Couldn’t breathe. The mass over his lungs burst. He was drowning in his own blood. Throw phone. Scream!!! Call 911. Idiot answers. The rest I’ve already written about before, so why rehash it?

Why remember it? Why can’t my mind rewrite the memory? I pray & God gives me peace. Jesus usually sends angles to rock me to sleep, but not tonight. I’m tormented.

I try to focus on how far God has brought us – the kids & I. We are blessed beyond measure, so why is this happening again? Why can’t I just hit ctrl-alt-delete & end task?
Why can’t I reboot? It’s stuck there…playing out in my head…over & over.

I’ve remarried. 3 years & 2 months after he died, I remarried. The kids are happy & thriving. I’m happy 98% of the time & then out of nowhere, BAM! It starts again.
Why?  I’m happy now, I remind myself. I’m safe. I’m secure. I’m loved. We’re all healthy.

I thought there were suppose to be triggers…identifiable triggers so I could avoid them. I don’t see a provocative pattern except night fall, bed time, alone with my thoughts while my new husband snores away.

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder is torture. Maybe it’s provoked by an underlying subconscious thought pattern I’m oblivious to. Maybe I’m one of the unlucky ones.

Maybe I’m all alone with this disorder. Maybe there’s just too many maybes 😦

I’ve prayed for so many of you, whether we’ve met or not. Please keep our family in your prayers as I fight through this struggle. Please 🙂 & ask the Lord to protect the children’s minds from such torment too. Theirs is a different scenario, but traumatic as well. They watched me attempt to save his life in front of them. They saw their daddy’s blood on my face as I blew into is chest in vain.

Oh Jesus, please take this from us 😦

PTSD is an evil monster of the mind!

Win 2 Round Trip Tickets to Fiji!


Win 2 Round Trip Tickets to Fiji!.

Win 2 airline tickets to Fiji #BulaFijiAirways #bucketlistpublications
I remember when Leslie’s blog was just getting off the ground. We should all be proud of her success, adventures, and congratulate her on her biggest & most rewarding adventure of all: Motherhood!

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