Thank goodness for the girls.

Where would I be without female companionship?

Every day my lunch buddies lift my spirits as we gather strength to teach our afternoon classes. We laugh and gripe and celebrate and cry together. At Mom's funeral I called them my "lunch table therapy group," and they are just that: great therapy! I'm so thankful for these amazing women.

If my schedule allows it, I get to play bunco with a crazy group of women once a month. It's funny how these bunco nights tend to occur just when I need them the most. I had a mini breakdown this afternoon, but a night of great food and fellowship did me a world of good. What a blessing these girls are!

In the fall I get to hang out with my fave football buddy. She and I laugh and chat and gab all the way to Austin and back. We don't manage to get together that often in the off-season, but I wouldn't trade our football trips for anything. And of course, she's there anytime I need her. When Daddy died back in 1993, she drove to Tyler to take care of me as I tried to take care of my mom. When Mom died, she met us at the funeral home to help us make all those decisions and was by my side through it all. She's priceless, that one.

Because of my football fanaticism and my a/v duties, I'm blessed with some great guy friends, too. But there's no substitute for some old-fashioned "girl time" to keep me afloat.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Facts of life.

We missed worshipping at Heritage today because of this:

Facts of Life star and current Survivor contestant Lisa Whelchel was speaking at a church in Flower Mound, and we knew we had to be there!

Ryan, of course, is the world's greatest Survivor fan. He has met one Survivor (Coby Archa), and he didn't want to miss the chance to meet another—and this time, she's a "current" Survivor, competing on the season still airing.

Katie is a huge Facts of Life fan and was just as excited to see Lisa. As children of the ’80s, Brett and I were looking forward to seeing "Blair" in person, too!

We arrived a little early, so we met her before the 11 a.m. service started. She was so gracious with everyone, even when our foursome threatened to monopolize her time.

Ryan had wanted to know what she thought of Survivor host Jeff Probst but didn't get to ask her. When Brett stepped up for a photo, he asked. She said he was great—cusses like a sailor off-camera, but great!

After posing for photos, it was time for the worship service. Since the worship tradition we're accustomed to is acapella, it's always interesting to experience worshipping with a choir and special music performances. As an A/V geek, it's also fun to watch how other folks handle song lyrics, announcements and graphics. Nifty. (I did feel myself leaning forward in my pew when the lyrics were a line or two behind the choir, however. You can take the girl out of the sound booth, but...)

Anyway, after the songs, it was time for Lisa. Senior pastor Dr. John Allen interviewed her, and her responses were insightful, funny and inspirational.

She told the story of her first visit to church when she was just 10 years old, and it was in that testimony that we discovered she has something in common with Ryan: a love for donuts! She and a friend had visited a church down the street from her house, and she was stunned to discover that they had donuts and orange juice there every Sunday! Those donuts, not to mention the love and acceptance she felt every time she visited, kept her coming back.

She also talked about something I struggle with, what she called an addiction to approval. She discussed this all-consuming obsession she has with making sure people like her. (Hey! I resemble that remark!) She confessed that she had tried to tell herself other people's opinions didn't matter, but it was her acceptance of God's love that has finally helped her deal with this lifelong spirit-crusher.

We were thrilled to hear her talk quite a bit about her Survivor experiences. The episode that aired just a week and a half ago featured Lisa making a big move: revealing one contestant's secret, a secret she promised she'd keep. She admitted that she's always been a big "gamer." Even when playing Monopoly with her kids, she was in it to win it. But when playing Survivor, she realized she's not playing little metal dogs and thimbles; she's playing actual people with feelings! On the island, it wasn't just about winning but about these relationships, these friendships.

She said that on the island, she struggled quite a bit with being a good Christian example on one hand while being a savvy game-player on the other. She knew that Survivors had to lie, deceive and betray in the game, and she thought she could separate those behaviors from her Christian walk. Watching this season, it's easy to see how much she has struggled with this dichotomy, so it was interesting to hear her discuss it in person all these months after filming.

By the time her days on Survivor had ended, she was so emotionally fragile that she needed some time out of the public eye to recover, she said. Now she is reliving a lot of those rough times each Wednesday night as new episodes air. She also struggles with the feedback she has received. As an approval-seeker, she said she has had a hard time avoiding the message boards and blog posts that denounce her as a hypocrite or say she's too soft for the game. Her children have told her to stay away from the online trolls, reminding her that "blog" stands for "basement-living opinion giver." (Funny!) Still, she admitted that she has a hard time avoiding those negative comments and an even harder time not taking them to heart.

On the drive to Flower Mound, Brett joked that her talk would pretty much be, "You take the good. You take the bad. You take them both, and there you have the facts of life." Turns out, that WAS part of her talk! She even sang those lyrics! (Day. Made.)

Seriously, she talked about how we all have these good parts and bad, and even as we struggle to overcome the evil within us, God loves all of us. He sees our whole selves and loves us anyway. She admitted that she spent much of her life trying to do the right things to get closer to God, but He is already with us and in us. Now she gets the concept of grace. She wants others to know that nothing you do can make God love you less and nothing can make God love you more. He LOVES us.

Thank you, Lisa, for reminding us of that and for using your time on Survivor to spread that message. And even though you don't need our approval, you've got it!

Luv ya, Blue.

Tonight was a big one for the high school where I teach (as opposed to Ryan and Katie's school) because our football team had its playoff game. Since I spent my Friday nights watching the kids' team play, I didn't get to see my students on the field much this fall. I was excited to get to watch them. Plus, this first-round game was in Cowboys Stadium, giving us the rare chance to visit Jerry World, that shrine to overindulgence.

 Of course, I was obliged to overindulge. Ultimate Nachos? Yes, please!

 Katie went along to keep me company, bless her heart.

Sadly, our guys couldn't pull out a win, losing 31-28. But it was exciting, and as we like to say at BHS, we won halftime.

Thanks for a great season, Raiders.

Time to smell the cheese.

Oh, Bear, I've got so many chores I have to finish.
It's like someone grabbed my head and gave a squeeeeeze... really hard!

We were digging into a wheel of gouda last night when this song, "Take Time to Smell the Cheese," came to mind. It's from our family favorite Disney Channel series, Bear in the Big Blue House.


Really, how can you not love a song that advises, "Everything is bettah when you smell the feta"?

B in the BBH premiered while I was on maternity leave with Katie, and the show still reminds me of those precious days with my itty-bitty baby Katie and 1-year-old Ryan. As the kids got a little older, they became full-fledged Bear fans, and we had Bear shoes, Bear backpacks, Bear birthday cakes, you name it.

On long road trips, Bear came along, both as a stuffed animal and as a cassette. Whenever I picture our holiday drives to Arkansas, the soundtrack for those memories is Bear. "Brush Brush Bree," "Look at You Now" and "The Bear Cha-Cha-Cha" kept us company as we traversed those country hills. At home, Bear songs were our "spoonful of sugar" as we did chores: "Come on, everybody, let's clean up the house!"

It'd been a long time since I'd thought about those old songs, so when Katie grabbed some cheese out of the fridge, I was a little surprised to hear Bear and his pal Tutter singing in my head. Thanks to YouTube, the pair were soon singing on my laptop, too.

There I was, fresh off a long day of giving finals, grading papers, and stressing over who had or had not turned in all their work, and I was singing along with an orange bear and a blue mouse!

There's nothing here that can't wait until tomorrow;
A little rest will put your mind at ease!

Yep, I definitely needed to take time to smell the cheese.

Dreaming of Pi.

I'm not much for big action-adventure flicks, but I can't wait for Life of Pi. We read the Yann Martel novel for our book club years ago, and I really enjoyed it. But the visual spectacle of the Ang Lee film? WOW.

The trailer is stunning.

It's crazy how rarely I actually see movies in the theater anymore. In fact, it's hard to recall going to the theater for a film that's not animated, about a superhero, or about an animated superhero. We'll see if I can manage to get to the local multiplex to take in this technicolor marvel.

13 days of gratitude.

Many of my Facebook friends are making daily gratitude posts. I haven't followed suit this time around, but I love the idea. It's been life-affirming to see so many counting their blessings online.

While most of my friends' posts are serious, listing real blessings like the special people in their lives, I can't help but think of the more trivial niceties that make everyday life so peachy. As Robert Earl says, "It's the little things!"

So here on this 13th day of November, 13 of those little things that make me happy:

1. sweatshirts 
2. Dixon Ticonderoga pencils
3. Maxwell, the Geico pig 
4. pumpkin spice K-cups
5. Longhorn Network on U-verse
6. videos of runway models falling down (evil, I know) 
7. pajama bottoms
8. that drumroll at the beginning of "The Eyes of Texas"
9. my heated throw that makes chilly evenings like this one so cozy
10. the new Pentatonix Christmas EP
11. green apple candy corn
12. photos of cats wearing clothes (especially UT hoodies)

(Wait for it...)

Not my ChaCha, but man,
if I don't love that face!
(From the Co-op's
Facebook page)

And last but not least...

    13. photos of any animal in a costume

The little pink leggings? The sleepy Elmo 
that looks like it's eating the puppy?
I can't take it!  HAHAHAHAHA!
(Help me.)

For the birds.

What do Angry Birds gummies have to do with Texas football? And why in the world would I try to honor the memory of a Texas legend with fruit snacks?

The answers are over on SpellTexas.org.

(Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know this is a cheap post. But with this NaBloPoMo thing, I'm trying to post every day, see, and since I actually DID post something over there, I'm wanting credit for it over here.)

Helpful hint.

Next time you find yourself facing a marathon grading day and you'd like a caffeine boost, instead of thinking what a nice treat the Gingerbread Latte creamer would be, take just a moment to check the expiration date on that creamer.

That second or two will prevent you from wasting an hour or more that you could've spent grading. It will also spare you from severe stomach discomfort, not to mention the mental anguish that comes from realizing you've made a stupid, stupid mistake.

Back to grading...

Hook 'em, Ryan!

Today, for the first time in ages, Ryan was able to go to the Texas game with me. Since the game was an 11 a.m. kickoff, we drove to Austin Friday night.

First stop this morning: Krispy Kreme!
Our donut connoisseur decided he has
been spoiled by Shipley's. The KKs got
a big MEH from the expert.

After we parked at the Bullock, we
spelled Texas and headed straight
to the stadium. No tailgating today!
(Another reason why early games stink.)

Hook 'em!

We had so much fun! Katie attended the West Virginia game on her birthday, and now Ryan has had his turn in DKR for a game. It's always good to hang out with the kids, but it's extra special when we can have some one-on-one time, too.

My children, my friends.

At school not long ago, I was passing through main hall when I caught a glimpse of one of our counselors coming into the building, her daughter in tow. Since it was almost Halloween, her daughter was dressed in costume, ready for our child development class' "Pumpkin Parade."

My first thought? Adorable!

My second thought? It was just a few weeks ago that MY daughter was coming to school with me for that parade!

Of course, it's been more like 11 years since Katie was in preschool, but I can remember so well those Thursday mornings when I would get to bring her with me to work. Soon after first period began, a child development student would come to take my baby girl to the preschool, where she would wow her teachers and elicit plenty of AWWWWWs.

Before Katie's stint, Ryan was a preschool regular. In those days, each trimester's "preschool" consisted of six or so Thursdays spent in classroom activities with a few special events (like a Christmas party or pep rally) sprinkled in. It was great fun for them, and it was an excellent learning opportunity for the high school kids in that child development class.

But mostly, it was an excuse for me to bring my babies to work. As a working mom, my daytime hours with the kids were at a premium from August through May. Those Thursday mornings were bonus moments for us. And oh, how I loved to show the kids off to my teacher friends and students! Dressed in their cutest outfits, Ryan and Katie both got plenty of attention as we made our morning rounds to drop off my lunch in the lounge or check my mailbox.

I can't lie; I really miss those days. I miss having preschoolers with matching Bear in the Big Blue House backpacks. I miss the Crayola scribbled take-home papers. I miss those bright faces recalling the fun things they had done in class. I even miss the juice stains that always ended up on those cute outfits. I miss it all; that's why the sight of my colleague's daughter brought tears to my eyes.

But only for a minute.

Now that Ryan and Katie are in high school themselves, Brett and I constantly marvel at them. They are funny, sweet, smart, cool, crazy, loving people, and we genuinely enjoy being around them.

When the kids were much younger, they'd sometimes ask if we were friends. I would always insist that no, I'm MOM! That's my role, my job. But now that they're older, I truly interact with the kids the same way I would with friends. What a blessing to carry on a conversation with them, to talk about the day's highs and lows, to share our joys and disappointments, not to mention our favorite TV shows.

Of course, I'm determined to avoid being the "cool mom" who thinks she and her kids are peers. I know that Brett and I must be parents first, friends second, that there's a definite line that must delineate our roles.

But man, is it great to not just love our kids but really LIKE 'em, too.

So long, marching season.

While our football team struggled, our band had a stellar year. I'm so proud of Ryan and Katie's hard work.



So that's a wrap on the 2012 edition of Friday Night Lights.
It was fun while it lasted!


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

RIP DKR.

Today was a sad one for Longhorn Nation. Legendary football coach Darrell K Royal died, leaving the burnt orange faithful in mourning and reflection.

This tribute from the Longhorn Network does a great job of eulogizing DKR:




Hook 'em, DKR.

The undercurrent.

It seems ridiculous to even state it outright, but these last 11 weeks have been incredibly difficult.

The beginning of a new school year always brings upheaval as we all adjust to our new routine (and even after 12 years with school-aged kids, it IS always new, isn't it?). Marching season means a whole 'nother level of stress with all the added practices, performances and Friday night games.

But this year, we've had that PLUS a broken foot, a bad back, a hospital visit, several stretches of illness, you name it. It has all taken a toll on us.

Of course, we're managing just fine. In fact, Brett just posted a Facebook status that praised Ryan and Katie for the way they have risen above these difficulties. They're resilient, tough and determined, and we're so proud to call them ours.

But there's that undercurrent.

As I drove to San Antonio Saturday, I had plenty of old-fashioned quiet time. It was so good to have the time alone to process the events of the last few months. I tried to avoid the more maudlin thoughts (not good to melt down while driving, after all), but then, the oddest sights would pull me under.

The San Marcos River sign. Texas State. The old Oak Lodge.

Each glimpse—the place where Mom learned to swim, the college where Jim and Nancy became Jim and Nancy, my parents' honeymoon hotel—caught me off-guard.

Oh.

Of course, it's always there, this grief. Sometimes it's just sadness, sometimes it's anger, and sometimes, as Thanksgiving approaches, it's flat-out dread. Every time it surfaces, I vacillate between suppressing it and letting it wash over me. But even when it's in the background, there's no denying its presence.

There's a phrase from our grief recovery class that has stuck with me since our dear friend Tim died: "Lean into the grief." It's good advice, really. Fighting the emotions doesn't promote healing and only delays acceptance.

But how do I lean in without giving in? My fear is that the undercurrent will become the undertow, pulling me under, making breathing impossible, rendering me dysfunctional. I can't afford a breakdown, and while they're remarkably indulgent, my family needs me to, you know, FUNCTION.

So I pray for peace. I thank my husband and kids for their grace. And when I think I'm failing at this whole stress-management thing, I try to cut myself some slack. But more than ever, I remind myself that the trick is not to fight the undercurrent but to just keep swimming.

Elsewhere.

Even though this blog is home to my NaBloPoMo efforts, you won't find all of my posts here. Lately I've been devoting much of my picture posting (and rerouting my football-crazed posts) to SpellTexas.org.

For 5+ years now, we've been spelling Texas as a good luck ritual before most Longhorn football games. The SpellTexas blog gives all of those spellings a home and gives me a place to rant and rave while leaving See-Dub focused more on our family life.

Because of this weekend's band contest, I haven't created much new material here, but head on over THERE to see what spelling Texas has to do with a big bronze beaver.

Band, band, band.

Today I'm taking a break from reliving our summer vacation. It's all band, all the time 'round here.

Today is the BOA Super Regional in San Antonio. The kids left school at 5 this morning, and I followed close behind. It's been a full day, but it's exciting to see our kids succeed!












(I did manage to slip away this afternoon to watch the Horns win. Fun!)

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Farewell to a friend.

Between classes, I got the news. Big Tex is gone.

My initial reaction? "Nooooo!" Then I saw the photos, the website slideshow that began with that familiar face, ended with an iron skeleton and had lots of flames in the middle.

And I was so very sad.

Oh, there are already plenty of good jokes ("The food's not the only thing 'fried' at this year's fair!" and "Big Tex was packin' heat!"), and yes, it's just a statue, a big ol' prop. But as an icon, Big Tex is so much more, and I'll miss him.

Since my college days, Big Tex has been our North Star, the focal point of 25+ Texas-ou gamedays. Those October Saturdays have always begun with breakfast at the Fletcher's corny dog stand in Tex's shadow. Just six days ago I posted this photo:

The caption: "Nothing like breakfast with an old friend."

And he was just that: a familiar face with a friendly (albeit slightly creepy) smile to welcome us back to the hallowed Fair Park. His jaunty wave and well-known "Howdy, folks" greeting signaled autumn as much as pumpkins and changing leaves.

Forget Reggie Jackson; Big Tex was the REAL Mr. October.

Of course, it didn't take long for me to associate today's loss with my mom. Gone for eight weeks now, my mother LOVED all things Texas, from historical places like San Jacinto and the Alamo to traditional icons like armadillos, cowboys and yes, Big Tex.

There are certain traveling rituals that we McCoys always observed, such as spotting the Tower and Capitol as we drove into Austin, looking for the Goodyear blimp in its hangar on our way to Houston, and walking straight to Big Tex when we visited the State Fair.

When I was a little girl, Mama and Daddy made sure we used our Columbus Day holiday as a "fair day," making the two-hour drive from Tyler most years to watch the cow-milking demonstrations, grab samples in the Food and Fiber building, peruse the car show, see all the ribbon-winning arts and crafts. Saying howdy to Big Tex was a given.

Meeting up with my parents at TX-ou 1989

For ou weekends throughout my college years, I would drive from Austin to the fair and meet up with my folks, who had driven in from Tyler. Our meeting place was always Big Tex's left boot. (Everybody says they'll meet at Big Tex, so it was Mom's idea to be specific!)

Big Tex's legs showed up in many a photo!

Fair officials promise Tex will be back next year, and I know he can be rebuilt, but watching the footage of him burn was strangely painful. To play the shrink here, I can see that my sadness is yet another manifestation of my grief. Even though I know Big Tex's demise would've made Mom sad, I still wish I could talk to her about the fire, exchange a few "Did you see that?" moments. As we bemoaned Tex's loss, she would help me remember the times we shared near that left boot.

But most likely, the greater reason for my angst is the reminder that nothing is permanent, not even a giant cowboy who wears a 75-gallon hat.

Progress.

Wednesdays are still difficult.

Mom died on a Wednesday morning. On more than one occasion I've found myself swimming in a particularly deep sea of grief, wondering what brought on that particular fit of sadness. Then I realize: "Oh. It's WEDNESDAY."

But now that we're six Wednesdays removed from that dark day, I can tell I'm no longer marking the weeks. In fact, we noted the one-month mark the weekend before last. Besides a fleeting meltdown, the 22nd passed without too much fanfare. (It really helped that we were in Austin for our great niece's seventh birthday party that day. What joy she and her sisters bring us all!)

Just tonight I finally cleaned up my little "grief workstation" in our living room. Our corner table by the couch had become "Thank-You Note Central" over the last month. I had stacks of cards, the memory book from the funeral home, envelopes with return addresses I needed to keep, floral cards, you name it, all piled up. For the longest time, I just couldn't put any of it away, but lately, that stack was getting on my nerves. It felt good to finally bundle it all up and move it to my office, where it now sits atop financial papers and other funeral-related junk I don't want to deal with. Yet.

The waves still wash over me from time to time, in some cases every bit as intense, even if they're not as frequent.

Last Friday was our school's homecoming, and the mom of one of my former students was on campus for the big pep rally. It just so happens that Mary was my mom's nurse at the nursing home, and I had not seen her since Mom died. As soon as the pep rally was over, I walked across the gym floor to try to find her.

She found me first. After a big hug, she just said, "She's in a better place." I tried to convey my gratitude, my profound thanks for her kindness, the grace she showed Mom in those last months of her life. But all I could do was cry. Sweet Mary just hugged me, offering her condolences. Through my tears I had a hard time navigating past all the kids and parents and pom-poms and mums to get back to my classroom.

Another wave hit as we sat in church Sunday. The praise and worship songs often get me, as well as just sitting in our usual spot up front. (Mom sat up there with us for so long; I still half expect to see her scooting up the aisle with that walker of hers.) But this time the grief hit during communion time. When I saw that tray full of grape juice, I remembered the countless times I'd helped Mom disguise her barely touched cup. Mom HATED grape juice, so when the "fruit of the vine" was passed each Sunday morning, she would take the world's tiniest sip before returning her cup to the tray. Since no one would be able to tell she had drunk out of that cup, she would always put her cup inside of my empty one to spare her fellow worshippers from her germs! Even though Mom had not been to church for months when she died, now that she's really gone, her absence is palpable.

In spite of those all-out tearfests, I can tell my grief is morphing, that healing is happening. I can feel my strength returning, even though I'm most definitely still off-kilter. (I know, I know: Who could tell?) Now that it's been more than a month since our last encounter with dementia, I no longer flinch when the phone rings; a voicemail notification on my phone no longer instills panic. That's progress, too.

But even as I heal, three of my friends are facing crises of their own with THEIR mothers. One lost her mom today. Another moved her mom to hospice care this afternoon. A third is watching her mother fight for her life. Of course, I ache for them. They're my friends, and it's awful to see them in pain.

But THIS pain, this specific loss. Oh, man.

Because I've traveled this road so recently, I feel like I should be overflowing with words of wisdom, a verbal salve to soothe their pain. Instead, I don't know what to say at all, mostly because I know too well just how extensive that pain can be. I know that they have just boarded a roller coaster that will take them from joy for the one who has fought the good fight all the way to despair for the massive void that person has left here on earth.

Of course, it's not all grief all the time around here. School, work, football and band have kept us busy, thank goodness. I look forward to getting back to our regular blog programming soon, including the big vacation recap. (Next up: Magic Kingdom!) But for now, this space offers cheap therapy, and I'm certain to be venting here in the months to come, especially as the holidays approach.

To our loved ones: THANK YOU. Thanks for your prayers, your kindess, your grace. Please keep us in your prayers as we struggle to emerge from the depths. And please, please pray for my friends who find themselves facing their own "Wednesdays."

Counting.

After doing dialysis in the hospital on Monday, Aug. 20, Mom moved into the hospice facility. Because of her many health challenges and the way she had started to refuse medical treatment, we decided it was time to stop dialysis treatments. That means her first missed treatment would've been Wednesday, Aug. 22. Even though I knew stopping dialysis was the right thing to do, I was in a near panic about how we would respond if Mom realized she was not getting her treatment as usual. In spite of everything, I knew I would not be able to look my mom in the eye and tell her she couldn't have the dialysis upon which her life depended. Mom died early Wednesday morning before that first missed treatment.

That's just one of the blessings that came with the circumstances of Mom's passing. We're still hurting; we're still unbearably sad that she's gone. But we can't deny that the process could've been much worse than what we're now enduring.

Among the many blessings:

1. Two moves in 13 months. The big, big clean-out was in April 2011 when Mom moved from her "regular" apartment to a much smaller one in a retirement center. We donated many of her possessions then. Mom didn't understand why she couldn't take everything to her new place, but she was still delighted when items like her sewing machine and washer/dryer found new homes among friends. What we didn't move or give away came home with us until we could sort through it all. We were THIS CLOSE to finishing that project when we had to move Mom to a nursing home at the beginning of this May. With that move, everything else she owned was either donated or stored in our garage. As we packed and sorted and gave the stuff away, I couldn't decide if that process was easier or harder than it would've been after Mom's death. Now that we're faced with full-time grieving, I'm thankful that we're not having to empty an apartment now, too. (The garage, on the other hand... Not sure when I'll have the strength to face those boxes!)
2. Financial prep. Because Mom was living in a nursing home, we had consulted a law office to organize Mom's finances for the long haul. Even though we didn't complete that process before Mom died, dealing with her business matters has been simpler than it would've been because we had taken those preliminary steps.
3. Our trips. Our 11-day road trip to Florida in July fit neatly in that brief respite between hospital stays and lawyer appointments. Then Brett and I were able to escape to Las Vegas for four days for his classic gaming convention. Mom went in the hospital two days after we returned. Considering the stress we'd all been under, those vacations were desperately needed, and I'm so thankful we were able to enjoy those together. The amazing friends who visited Mom in the nursing home in our absence also provided a timely reminder: They've got our backs!
4. Cool breezes. The morning Mom died, it was an unseasonable 64 degrees, and then at the graveside service, the breeze kept us cool. I never would've guessed an August morning could be so pleasant.
5. Harsh words. Mom's dementia caused massive changes in her personality. Some of the things she said and did were hurtful—awful, horrible stuff! We knew that wasn't her true self speaking to us, but it was hard to let those awful words roll off our backs. My fear? The bad memories would stick, would cloud my life's worth of memories of my sweet and loving Mom. During the months when the dementia was at its worst, I kept trying to picture those words as if they were written in sand, but it felt like they were in concrete. After she died, it took maybe 24 hours for memories of my REAL Mom to overtake those from the last few confused, angry, paranoid years. The change was almost simultaneous for Brett and me. While it is comforting to return to those wonderful memories and discard the rotten ones, the flood of those recollections intensifies our loss. Still, it's reassuring that we can again recall my real Mom, the true, sweet, loving woman that she was.
6. Our last family visit. When the ambulance took Mom from the hospital to hospice, I drove home to pick up Brett and the kids. All four of us got to Mom's room after she was already tucked in and comfy. We knew she had been sedated for the ambulance ride, but we were still surprised to find her in such a good mood. Our last few visits had been so unpleasant; her confusion and pain led her to look right through Ryan and Katie or to not be able to carry on a conversation with us. But on that Monday evening, she was so glad to see the kids. She even told them how nice they looked! We all got to give her a kiss goodbye. Precious.
7. Tuesday visit. I left work mid-afternoon Tuesday to drop by hospice. Mom was sleeping soundly. Her nurse said she had been really active late Monday night, so she had been sedated. That afternoon I stayed about an hour but never could wake Mom. I'm sad she didn't wake up that day, but I'm so glad I got to visit her. We had been told that after stopping dialysis, she could live another week or two. Brett and the kids had planned to go with me to visit her on Wednesday, but she died that morning before we could go. My Tuesday visit gave me a private moment to just sit there and watch her breathe.
8. Book club. After my hospice trip Tuesday, I went back to school to work for a while and then joined some of my colleagues at our book club. Because of our circumstances, I really didn't think I'd be able to attend, but it worked out that I could go, and boy, am I glad! As usual, we talked books, ate good food, and laughed, laughed, laughed. When Wednesday morning came and I was plunged into our new world of grief, I realized what a blessing all that laughter and time spent with dear friends had been.
9. My hair! The stress of Mom's dementia was taking a toll on all of us. In the last few months, that stress was causing me to lose my hair—lots of it! Every morning in the shower, gobs of hair just fell out of my head. Within a few days of Mom's passing, in spite of my sadness and multiple breakdowns through each day, my hair loss seemed to have subsided. Go figure.
10. Start of school. What a crazy time of year to be faced with a crisis, right? We've have had some rough school starts lately (remember the fire?), but this one? Wow. Still, I have to admit that it felt good to be able to teach on day 1. The distraction has been welcome; it's good to be busy. Even though I started the year without the preparation I would've preferred, my students and coworkers have been gracious. 
11. Love. Speaking of grace, we have no doubt that we are blessed with amazing friends and family. I can't even... The words don't... Just WOW. Thank you. Really.

A good friend sent me a card, on which she wrote, "Grief is very hard work." That's so true! There is nothing about losing my mommy that has been easy, but all of these blessings have certainly cushioned the blow, lightened our load, given us reason to be thankful.

Grieving 2.0.

With the loss of my mom, I'm struck by how much grieving has changed in the social networking age.

When my father died in 1993, we spread the word via phone calls, newspaper obituaries, and church bulletins. Responses to our sad news came through in-person visits (both at home and at the visitation and funeral), phone calls, flower and food deliveries, and sympathy cards.

But this time around, I made a few calls, sent a couple of texts, and WHOOSH! The news flew from person to person in no time. The response was instant and inundating. I held off posting the news on Facebook until most of the family and close friends had been notified, but the texts started coming in right away. They continued steadily throughout the day. Once the news was on Facebook, more than 100 people sent their condolences via comments and wall posts.

Of course, the old school methods were used, too, but the digital response was so much quicker than what we experienced 19 years ago. It was welcome—oh, so welcome!—but overwhelming. Instead of hearing from loved ones over the course of a week or two, we heard from all kinds of folks from all over the country within hours.

Is this 2012 version better? Easier? The jury's still out. But now, as then, the expressions of love and concern from all over have been such a blessing to us in our sorrow.

Ebb and flow.

Here's the eulogy for my mother that I gave at her funeral yesterday.

That old line about imagining your audience in their underwear doesn't work for me. Instead, I'm imagining you're all 17 or 18 years old. I get nervous speaking to my peers, but talking to high school seniors? I can handle that!

I’m anxious to talk to you about my mother, but first, please indulge me for just a minute. Throughout Mom’s various hospitalizations and especially as her dementia escalated, we have been overwhelmed with support. Brett, Ryan, Katie and I have been blessed abundantly by some unsung heroes, many who are in this room today.

• When Mom could no longer drive, we put out a call for help. And we got it! Mom had a loyal fleet of drivers who made sure she got to dialysis or church or even to her beloved Cotton Patch Café.
• When we had to move Mom to a nursing home this spring, we feared that would doom our summer vacation, but some more heroes volunteered to visit Mom, checking on her throughout our much-needed 11 days away from home. And that’s in addition to all the friends who visited her at other times, too.
• When we felt like we were mired in one impossible situation or another, many of you were our sounding boards. You listened to us when we needed to vent, you cried with us as we mourned our losses, you prayed for us when we could no longer find the words.

Thank you all.

I knew this part might be really hard to get through without losing composure, so I wanted to go ahead and just rip off the Band-Aid. I just couldn’t stand up here without acknowledging the heroes who have shown us Christ’s love through their love for my mom.

If I look at them right now, I’m sure to lose it, but I have to say thanks to Ryan and Katie. Their Memaw loved them to the moon and back, and they returned that love to her. But they also gave plenty of their own blood, sweat and tears as we dealt with hospital stays and apartment clean-outs. They were so patient and kind with their Memaw—and with their cranky and tired, Mom, too! So thank you, Ryan and Katie. Your dad and I are so very proud of you.

Of course, if you’re on Facebook you’ve probably seen me go on and on about my ridiculously amazing partner, Brett. This man exemplifies “for better or for worse.” I haven’t even seen pictures of my mom’s colon, but Brett has! He’s been on colonoscopy duty! What a model of selflessness and strength he is.

So as I’ve been saying all week, I may be an only child, but I have never been alone. All of you here have shown so much love to my mother. May God bless you for your generosity and kindness.

OK! So…

I have this image of my mother from years ago that has followed me into adulthood. It’s early morning, and as I walk across the living room toward the kitchen, I can see her clearly, her head and shoulders framed by the pass-through kitchen window, as she washes dishes in the sink. The water’s running, but over the splashing, I can hear her singing:

(Now. Before I go all American Idol on you, let me just say that my students learn to tolerate my singing in class fairly quickly. They survive my warbling; so will you!) Anyway, my mom would sing:

There’s within my heart a melody;

Jesus whispers sweet and low,

‘Fear not, I am with thee, peace be still’

In all of life’s ebb and flow.

What a perfect song for my mother! You see, Mom’s life was all about “ebb and flow”—highs and lows, ups and downs.

•  Early in my parents’ marriage, they moved several times, all while my mom continued to work on her education degree. She often joked that her college transcript looked more like a passport, littered with credits from numerous campuses. It wasn’t easy for her to earn her bachelor’s degree when each move meant new course requirements, but she did it. Ebb and flow.

• Teaching was not Mom’s job; it was her ministry. Therefore, she was never off-duty! Mom was constantly making manipulatives or retooling her lesson plans. She used to love long road trips because those gave her time in the passenger seat to trim all of her laminated materials as we drove along. She worked hard, but she loved it. As a kindergarten teacher, she spent her days corralling 5-year-olds. If you’ve spent much time with ONE 5-year-old, you know how quickly your fortunes can change as that child vacillates between happy and sad, or from content to bored. Take that uncertainty and multiply it by 20, 21, 22, and you have an idea how a kindergarten teacher’s environment changes through the day. Mom was a master of riding those emotional waves, of capitalizing on her young pupils’ energy and passion to create enthusiastic learners. Ebb and flow.

•  To fully describe the incredible bond that was my parents’ marriage would take far more time than we have here today, but I have to mention that they both were excellent models of devotion. In Mom’s case, being married to someone with chronic health problems, she had to quickly find her “sea legs” that allowed her to adjust to the rough waters, the tempests that came with the territory. Late night ER runs, the midday scares, the constant threat of crisis, uncertain financial implications... It might’ve been easier for her to give in to the fear, to succumb to the “what ifs” related to my dad’s health, but Mom fought to keep disruptions to a minimum so all three of us could enjoy life to the fullest. And we did! Ebb and flow.

• As a widow at the young age of 49, Mom was forced to restructure every aspect of her existence: her finances, her social life, her daily routines. But she did it. Her grief did not steal her smile. Her sadness did not silence her song. Ebb and flow.

• Mom loved teaching kindergarten, but there was no job she loved more than being Ryan and Katie’s grandmother, their Memaw. If you look up the word “doting” in the dictionary, you ought to see her picture! Ryan and Katie, you don’t need me to tell you how much she loved you because you SAW her love for you—as did everyone else! About 10 years ago, Mom began to face her own physical challenges, and you know, she very rarely complained, but on the rare occasion that she did, it was often because she could no longer play with her grandkids like she wanted. Still, she adopted routines that kept her going. She lived with chronic pain, pain that slowed her down but did not tie her down. She fought to maintain her “whatever it takes” attitude, always careful to convey kindness to the health professionals who kept poking and prodding her. She was a model patient. Just this week her sister was telling me that Mom had such a good attitude in her dialysis unit that sometimes she was moved next to the more ornery patients so they could see what a good patient looks and sounds like. Ebb and flow.

Truly, through her life’s ebb and flow, Mom was able to “keep on the sunny side,” to smile through her pain, to keep singing. Just in the last few months I’ve met pharmacists and bank tellers and others who are quick to tell me how very sweet my mother was to them. But if you spent any time with my mother, you knew exactly where that sweetness came from. Her childhood wasn’t always rosy, and in spite of her PERFECT grandchildren—AHEM!—her life wasn’t always easy, but she placed her hope in her Lord, her savior:

Jesus, Jesus, Jesus,

Sweetest name I know.

Fills my every longing,

Keeps me singing as I go.

Both of my parents loved to sing. Daddy led singing in churches for years, and Mom was lucky enough to get to sing on the job, too. You know, when I sing in my senior English classes, I get some pretty weird looks, but in her classroom, Mom could sing with impunity. And she did! She sang instructions ("Clean up, clean up...") and she sang reminders of instructional concepts (like “days of the week *snap* *snap*"). After her adorable grandchildren were born, she sang nursery rhymes to them. But she really didn’t need an occasion to sing. Even when she was just tooling around her house, she would sing, sing, sing.

Mom died Wednesday morning, just two days after she was placed in hospice care, but as most of you know, we really began to lose her months ago. Dementia stole her personality, her sweet nature, and yes, her song. This person who looked and sounded like Mom said and did things that we knew were not coming from her true self. And wow, did that HURT! On top of that, we really missed her! We missed our conversations, we missed her smile, we missed that great laugh of hers. When she “slipped away” in her sleep early Wednesday morning, that was just the last formal step in what we’ve considered “the long goodbye.”

So on that morning, as we woke up to a world without her in it, we tried not to focus on where WE are now but instead on where SHE is. As another song says, “I can only imagine” what she did when she came into our Lord’s presence, what she’s doing now, face to face with Jesus. But you know, I have to think:

SHE    IS    SINGING.

And oh, I am so very, very thankful that because of Jesus, we can look forward to hearing her sweet voice again someday.

In loving memory...

from star-telegram.com

About my mom.

Over the last few weeks, Mom has been more combative and has refused treatment at the nursing home. Last week, in her confusion and agitation, she missed two dialysis treatments. She was hospitalized because of this, and even in the hospital, she continued to resist treatment. After talking to several doctors, we have decided to discontinue dialysis, and we have moved her to an inpatient hospice facility.

Mom says she wants dialysis, but she resists everything else. When anyone tries to treat her leg and foot wounds, she resists. When they try to give her insulin, she resists. And even when she's in the dialysis unit, she fights the nurses and does not cooperate unless sedated heavily. Because of the dementia, she is extremely paranoid. She doesn't trust her doctors, nurses or me, and this has led to her yelling, fighting and swatting at people trying to help her. One doctor said that Mom's resistance of treatment may be her subconscious way of telling us she's tired of all this.

When another doctor suggested stopping dialysis back in June, we couldn't even consider it, but now that she's fighting medical help, we feel like it's the right thing to do. But wow, are we struggling mightily with this decision! I can't stop flashing back to 1993 when Daddy stopped dialysis and what Mom said then about quality of life. Unbelievable that we're repeating that now.

Please pray for Mom's comfort and peace, and please pray especially for those of us who are struggling to imagine a world without her in it.