the story of kids,chaos, mothering challenges and sometimes chocolate
Friday, October 31, 2014
it wasn't supposed to be this way but...: Because I knew you...Skip Waters.
it wasn't supposed to be this way but...: Because I knew you...Skip Waters.: I've heard it said That people come into our lives for a reason Bringing something we must learn And we are led To those who help us...
Because I knew you...Skip Waters.
I've heard it said
That people come into our lives for a reason
Bringing something we must learn
And we are led
To those who help us most to grow
If we let them
And we help them in return
Well, I don't know if I believe that's true
But I know I'm who I am today
Because I knew you...
I have heard the lyrics to this song one hundred times and they mean more to me now...since the passing of Skip Waters.
Very simply put, he was a magical person. He is THAT person that some never get the privilege of knowing. I am so blessed that I did.
Skip was the Chief Meteorologist for 32 years at WCTI TV in Eastern North Carolina. Thirty two years at any job is a feat...but it was not the length of tenure that mattered here...it is what he DID with those 32 years.
One night, after most of the eight to fivers had left the building, Skip was at the copier. We were chatting. Our personal connection was swimming. And, YMCA's. I told Skip that if I ever won the lottery, I would build a big swimming and diving center at the high school where my kids attended and everyone, regardless of age or income, could learn to swim for free.
Skip was in. He would retire and be the teacher. We laughed, who wouldn't want to take swimming lessons from a guy whose last name was WATERS? We had a name, Waters Waves. We loved it.
Shortly after our we developed our business, (ha ha) I asked him a question. "Skip, on a daily basis, I get asked how you know all the streets in all the towns all over the viewing area, how do you know this stuff? What is the secret?
He laughed and said, "there is no secret."
"When I came to work here, my mom gave me two pieces of advice...Be the first one at work and the last to leave and act like you are busy when you are there...if you are not busy...create something to make you busy and NEVER go to work on the same streets and Never leave work on the same streets as the day before. Even though I thought I knew it all, I was smart enough to listen to my mom. I drove the streets and looked at them through the eyes of weather...were there hills to create flooding, big trees that could lose limbs and go through roofs, I looked at how the trees were shaped to know how the wind blew, I looked at mold on houses and where siding was torn off, I looked at side streets that couldn't handle water. And, my dogs like to ride in the car."
I remember seeing Skip leaving the Christmas parade last year on Emerald Isle. I knew the route for departure. I saw Skip on the other side of the departure route, going up and down streets. I knew what he was doing.
Thirty one years in the business and still mastering his trade. He never stopped.
And in that single moment, I changed. I had a chance to re invent myself in my early 50's. A blessing. And if he was going to continue to learn and grow and master his trade, so was I . Skip made me step it up.
It doesn't matter what your resume says, or what your GPA was or what certifications you have, if you do not have passion, wrapped in commitment, you really just have a job, not a career.
A few years ago, I went out on a limb and asked my boss if the boy scouts could watch a news broadcast. He kindly said yes. The boys would come in, watch the news and leave. Those were the arrangements.
Instead, they came in, watched the news, had the chance to ask a few questions and then Skip came around the corner, took the boys to his desk, showed them his weather computer, gave them a book, signed each book and had his picture taken with each boy and their parents. He wasn't asked, but he did. Above and beyond.
I have had people say to me, "I am crying, I am so sad and I felt like I knew him."
You did. When you sat there in your t-shirt and underwear, without makeup, he was there with you. When he did the weather, in that calming voice, he was really speaking to you and only you. When you were making dinner and signing agendas, he was there, in your kitchen with you. When you were in your nightgown, laying in bed, he was there. He was speaking to you.
And when you left your house and strolled through the Seafood or the Mumfest, he was there.
Always happy, always smiling. Always taking a chance to meet and speak to someone new. And it was innate. Skip knew no other way. It didn't matter what his ratings were, he was never going to quit. He was so passionate. He was so committed. Not just to his career, but he was committed to others.
In a world of electronic gadgets, skyping interviews and instagram accounts, it was the personal connection that made Skip a legend. The smiles, the photos, the shaking of hands. Personal connection. Knowing the streets and the trees on the streets where people lived made a difference. He looked you in the eye and shook your hand. Personal connection was the key.
There are very few people who have this innate passion and commitment for what they do. Skip "loved what he did and did what he loved." I don't know very many people like this.
And the most refreshing thing about Skip to me was, he knew he was privileged. He knew he had a great career, in a fabulous part of the state with viewers that adored him and he didn't take it for granted. Instead, he appreciated every aspect and worked harder and harder everyday, every broadcast. He appreciated what he had created. He was blessed and appreciative. Humble. He knew that he "did what he loved and loved what he did" and he cherished every moment.
I loved that about him.
Yesterday, when I was leaving work, there were people constructing a shrine...and I heard a petite elderly lady say..."Skip made me want to learn about weather and at my age, to keep learning is a good thing."
Skip, I think it is safe to say, we knew you were magical and we knew that our lives were better because we knew you.
That people come into our lives for a reason
Bringing something we must learn
And we are led
To those who help us most to grow
If we let them
And we help them in return
Well, I don't know if I believe that's true
But I know I'm who I am today
Because I knew you...
I have heard the lyrics to this song one hundred times and they mean more to me now...since the passing of Skip Waters.Very simply put, he was a magical person. He is THAT person that some never get the privilege of knowing. I am so blessed that I did.
Skip was the Chief Meteorologist for 32 years at WCTI TV in Eastern North Carolina. Thirty two years at any job is a feat...but it was not the length of tenure that mattered here...it is what he DID with those 32 years.
One night, after most of the eight to fivers had left the building, Skip was at the copier. We were chatting. Our personal connection was swimming. And, YMCA's. I told Skip that if I ever won the lottery, I would build a big swimming and diving center at the high school where my kids attended and everyone, regardless of age or income, could learn to swim for free.
Skip was in. He would retire and be the teacher. We laughed, who wouldn't want to take swimming lessons from a guy whose last name was WATERS? We had a name, Waters Waves. We loved it.
Shortly after our we developed our business, (ha ha) I asked him a question. "Skip, on a daily basis, I get asked how you know all the streets in all the towns all over the viewing area, how do you know this stuff? What is the secret?
He laughed and said, "there is no secret."
"When I came to work here, my mom gave me two pieces of advice...Be the first one at work and the last to leave and act like you are busy when you are there...if you are not busy...create something to make you busy and NEVER go to work on the same streets and Never leave work on the same streets as the day before. Even though I thought I knew it all, I was smart enough to listen to my mom. I drove the streets and looked at them through the eyes of weather...were there hills to create flooding, big trees that could lose limbs and go through roofs, I looked at how the trees were shaped to know how the wind blew, I looked at mold on houses and where siding was torn off, I looked at side streets that couldn't handle water. And, my dogs like to ride in the car."
I remember seeing Skip leaving the Christmas parade last year on Emerald Isle. I knew the route for departure. I saw Skip on the other side of the departure route, going up and down streets. I knew what he was doing.
Thirty one years in the business and still mastering his trade. He never stopped.
And in that single moment, I changed. I had a chance to re invent myself in my early 50's. A blessing. And if he was going to continue to learn and grow and master his trade, so was I . Skip made me step it up.
It doesn't matter what your resume says, or what your GPA was or what certifications you have, if you do not have passion, wrapped in commitment, you really just have a job, not a career.
A few years ago, I went out on a limb and asked my boss if the boy scouts could watch a news broadcast. He kindly said yes. The boys would come in, watch the news and leave. Those were the arrangements.
Instead, they came in, watched the news, had the chance to ask a few questions and then Skip came around the corner, took the boys to his desk, showed them his weather computer, gave them a book, signed each book and had his picture taken with each boy and their parents. He wasn't asked, but he did. Above and beyond.
I have had people say to me, "I am crying, I am so sad and I felt like I knew him."
You did. When you sat there in your t-shirt and underwear, without makeup, he was there with you. When he did the weather, in that calming voice, he was really speaking to you and only you. When you were making dinner and signing agendas, he was there, in your kitchen with you. When you were in your nightgown, laying in bed, he was there. He was speaking to you.
And when you left your house and strolled through the Seafood or the Mumfest, he was there.
Always happy, always smiling. Always taking a chance to meet and speak to someone new. And it was innate. Skip knew no other way. It didn't matter what his ratings were, he was never going to quit. He was so passionate. He was so committed. Not just to his career, but he was committed to others.
In a world of electronic gadgets, skyping interviews and instagram accounts, it was the personal connection that made Skip a legend. The smiles, the photos, the shaking of hands. Personal connection. Knowing the streets and the trees on the streets where people lived made a difference. He looked you in the eye and shook your hand. Personal connection was the key.
There are very few people who have this innate passion and commitment for what they do. Skip "loved what he did and did what he loved." I don't know very many people like this.
And the most refreshing thing about Skip to me was, he knew he was privileged. He knew he had a great career, in a fabulous part of the state with viewers that adored him and he didn't take it for granted. Instead, he appreciated every aspect and worked harder and harder everyday, every broadcast. He appreciated what he had created. He was blessed and appreciative. Humble. He knew that he "did what he loved and loved what he did" and he cherished every moment.
I loved that about him.
Yesterday, when I was leaving work, there were people constructing a shrine...and I heard a petite elderly lady say..."Skip made me want to learn about weather and at my age, to keep learning is a good thing."
Skip, I think it is safe to say, we knew you were magical and we knew that our lives were better because we knew you.
Thursday, September 25, 2014
it wasn't supposed to be this way but...: Hut one, Hut two, Hike! The love of Football!
it wasn't supposed to be this way but...: Hut one, Hut two, Hike! The love of Football!: Sunday evening, I found myself in downtown Charlotte, along with Franklin, Walker and Addie. The kids were attending their "first Ste...
Hut one, Hut two, Hike! The love of Football!
Sunday evening, I found myself in downtown Charlotte, along with Franklin, Walker and Addie. The kids were attending their "first Steeler game." In our family, it was like a Baptism.
But as I posted our black and gold garb on Facebook, I felt a little dirty. For two weeks, the nation was horrified with the NFL. Many were announcing their deflection from football.
I cannot do it. I cannot leave football. It is more than a game to me.
When I was young, long before the Steelers were the six time Super Bowl Champs, they were the chumps.
I would ask my dad for something and he would respond, "as soon as this quarter is over." When you are young, fifteen minutes is eternal. When it is "fifteen minutes in football land", it is eternal.
So one day, Crazy Russell said, "sit down and learn this. It is about math, you need all the help you can. It is about 10 yards and getting 10 yards as fast as you can. You know football, and you will get a boyfriend." I didn't get a boyfriend out of it but I did get more.
I can still hear the sound of the oven door opening with a pot roast or pork roast being slid into the oven. When you heard that sound, it meant one thing...We were going to church and the roast was for halftime.
Football Sunday, and the Steelers became about family. And food. Let's not forget the food. Where were we going to watch the game and what were we eating. We would track on over to my mamaw's...TV's upstairs and down.
After Terry Bradshaw showed up in Pittsburgh, things really changed. We wore Steeler shirts, knew the players and the numbers and my Uncle Bernard bought season tickets to the games. Was it wrong that we secretly prayed that other family members would get sick so your turn to go would come faster?
And, after a Super Bowl win, we didn't have school. We got the day off. How cool was that?
And then I became a Mountaineer. About the time they started to win. Again, game day became, "who was I going with, what was I wearing and what were we doing afterward." It was an event.
It was about belonging to something, routing for victory, and memories.
As I grew older and graduated from college, my football Saturday's were at some one's house or they at mine routing on the WVU Mountaineers.
And Sundays, The Steelers.
In between those two days were phone calls. I would call my mamaw or my mom during the games, my uncle, whomever, and we would discuss plays, coaches and players. Football was one thing that made us closer and a reason to talk.
I married a man who could care less about football. He doesn't know a "holding in the backfield call" but he loves food. He knows he is guaranteed a great meal on Sundays when the Steelers are televised. And he loves watching my son sit there with me cheering and stumping, celebrating or cussing.
I do feel like the entire lineup listens to me from my home, telepathically, and I also feel a personal connection to them.
And maybe that is where the sting came from.
I hate the Ravens. If you are a true Steeler fan, you are supposed to. I understand though, that those Ravens fans feel the same about their players as I do mine.
The scene in the elevator was sad. Sad. Sad all the way around.
But instantly, a nation went crazy. The head of the NFL should resign, Mr. Rice was out of a job and endorsements, Mrs. Rice was the topic on every talk show and people couldn't quit talking about it.
Is it because we scream and yell and wear their numbers on our backs that make us feel personally let down or repulsed when they make poor decisions?
Why is it that the mayor of DC can get caught with a prostitute while smoking crack in a hotel room and nobody calls for resignation and later, runs again and wins?
The former Governor of SC disappears to Argentina to see his young lover but tells the people of SC that he was hiking on the Appalachian Trail and everyone goes about their business? Later, he gives a press conference that humiliated him but he runs again and almost wins?
Why do other people and their actions get dismissed but athletes do not?
People leave season tickets in their wills. Nobody ever leaves tickets to the next gubernatorial debate in their wills. Why is that?
Athletes endorse anything and everything. Do we really believe that they use Head and Shoulders?
Why aren't politician endorsing products? Aren't they credible? Why don't we believe the people we elect but believe the athletes that can jump high and fast? Is it because we are in awe of their abilities?
Somebody saw the tape from the elevator. That was there job. They came into work everyday and watched the tape from elevators in the morning. Most likely, it was the first thing they did. Somebody saw the tape. Somebody say the incident with Mr. Rice. Somebody saw it and somebody didn't tell. And that was their job. I wonder why they didn't tell?
Joe Paterno went to his grave without seeing anything, but was told about something, and all hell broke lose.
As a nation, we forgive those who represent us in government, on our tax paying dimes but athletes, it is the other way around. Personally, I feel like we should be more harsh with our leaders and those who are elected to be our voices.
I can not give up on football. Next weekend, the NFL will bring out the pink. Love the Pink. Love the support of Breast Cancer Awareness. Love the monies that players have raised for their causes. Love the good. There is good.
Love the memories that football has brought to my home. Love my son looking at me Sunday night and saying, "this is best night of my life", immediately following a complete pass from Ben.
I love that my family gets up on Sunday and discusses the "football menu" and comes together to cheer. I love that sometimes we are furious with calls and lazy runs and filled with disappointments. But, just like in life, we get up and go back and do it again the next Sunday.
It is okay that people speak out and show their discontent with players and poor decisions. They should. It is America. And we all have the right. We need to understand that it is a right because of freedom, not because we "own" the right because they play football. And we should teach children, good lessons and bad. That will help them learn.
But, I am not giving up on football. Maybe it is a bit selfish, but football has given me too much. I am not willing to let it go. In three weeks, I am going to Morgantown with three of my best friends to celebrate friendships over 30 years, all centered around football.
For forty years I have been watching and cheering on men with shoulder pads and helmets.
I have seen hundreds of players, some stand out, some do not. Most went on to do other things, some did not. But quite a few, went on stand for and stand up for many fabulous causes. Autism, Childhood Cancer, Literacy, just to name a few. Too many men, along with their wives, have done too many great things to make me get rid of my terrible towel.
Doesn't matter what you do for a living, be the best person you can be to yourself and others at all times.
It is Thursday night. Game night.
But as I posted our black and gold garb on Facebook, I felt a little dirty. For two weeks, the nation was horrified with the NFL. Many were announcing their deflection from football.
I cannot do it. I cannot leave football. It is more than a game to me.
When I was young, long before the Steelers were the six time Super Bowl Champs, they were the chumps.I would ask my dad for something and he would respond, "as soon as this quarter is over." When you are young, fifteen minutes is eternal. When it is "fifteen minutes in football land", it is eternal.
So one day, Crazy Russell said, "sit down and learn this. It is about math, you need all the help you can. It is about 10 yards and getting 10 yards as fast as you can. You know football, and you will get a boyfriend." I didn't get a boyfriend out of it but I did get more.
I can still hear the sound of the oven door opening with a pot roast or pork roast being slid into the oven. When you heard that sound, it meant one thing...We were going to church and the roast was for halftime.
Football Sunday, and the Steelers became about family. And food. Let's not forget the food. Where were we going to watch the game and what were we eating. We would track on over to my mamaw's...TV's upstairs and down.
After Terry Bradshaw showed up in Pittsburgh, things really changed. We wore Steeler shirts, knew the players and the numbers and my Uncle Bernard bought season tickets to the games. Was it wrong that we secretly prayed that other family members would get sick so your turn to go would come faster?
And, after a Super Bowl win, we didn't have school. We got the day off. How cool was that?
And then I became a Mountaineer. About the time they started to win. Again, game day became, "who was I going with, what was I wearing and what were we doing afterward." It was an event.
It was about belonging to something, routing for victory, and memories.
As I grew older and graduated from college, my football Saturday's were at some one's house or they at mine routing on the WVU Mountaineers.
And Sundays, The Steelers.
In between those two days were phone calls. I would call my mamaw or my mom during the games, my uncle, whomever, and we would discuss plays, coaches and players. Football was one thing that made us closer and a reason to talk.
I married a man who could care less about football. He doesn't know a "holding in the backfield call" but he loves food. He knows he is guaranteed a great meal on Sundays when the Steelers are televised. And he loves watching my son sit there with me cheering and stumping, celebrating or cussing.
I do feel like the entire lineup listens to me from my home, telepathically, and I also feel a personal connection to them.
And maybe that is where the sting came from.
I hate the Ravens. If you are a true Steeler fan, you are supposed to. I understand though, that those Ravens fans feel the same about their players as I do mine.
The scene in the elevator was sad. Sad. Sad all the way around.
But instantly, a nation went crazy. The head of the NFL should resign, Mr. Rice was out of a job and endorsements, Mrs. Rice was the topic on every talk show and people couldn't quit talking about it.
Is it because we scream and yell and wear their numbers on our backs that make us feel personally let down or repulsed when they make poor decisions?
Why is it that the mayor of DC can get caught with a prostitute while smoking crack in a hotel room and nobody calls for resignation and later, runs again and wins?
The former Governor of SC disappears to Argentina to see his young lover but tells the people of SC that he was hiking on the Appalachian Trail and everyone goes about their business? Later, he gives a press conference that humiliated him but he runs again and almost wins?
Why do other people and their actions get dismissed but athletes do not?
People leave season tickets in their wills. Nobody ever leaves tickets to the next gubernatorial debate in their wills. Why is that?
Athletes endorse anything and everything. Do we really believe that they use Head and Shoulders?
Why aren't politician endorsing products? Aren't they credible? Why don't we believe the people we elect but believe the athletes that can jump high and fast? Is it because we are in awe of their abilities?
Somebody saw the tape from the elevator. That was there job. They came into work everyday and watched the tape from elevators in the morning. Most likely, it was the first thing they did. Somebody saw the tape. Somebody say the incident with Mr. Rice. Somebody saw it and somebody didn't tell. And that was their job. I wonder why they didn't tell?
Joe Paterno went to his grave without seeing anything, but was told about something, and all hell broke lose.
As a nation, we forgive those who represent us in government, on our tax paying dimes but athletes, it is the other way around. Personally, I feel like we should be more harsh with our leaders and those who are elected to be our voices.
I can not give up on football. Next weekend, the NFL will bring out the pink. Love the Pink. Love the support of Breast Cancer Awareness. Love the monies that players have raised for their causes. Love the good. There is good.
Love the memories that football has brought to my home. Love my son looking at me Sunday night and saying, "this is best night of my life", immediately following a complete pass from Ben.
I love that my family gets up on Sunday and discusses the "football menu" and comes together to cheer. I love that sometimes we are furious with calls and lazy runs and filled with disappointments. But, just like in life, we get up and go back and do it again the next Sunday.
It is okay that people speak out and show their discontent with players and poor decisions. They should. It is America. And we all have the right. We need to understand that it is a right because of freedom, not because we "own" the right because they play football. And we should teach children, good lessons and bad. That will help them learn.
But, I am not giving up on football. Maybe it is a bit selfish, but football has given me too much. I am not willing to let it go. In three weeks, I am going to Morgantown with three of my best friends to celebrate friendships over 30 years, all centered around football.
For forty years I have been watching and cheering on men with shoulder pads and helmets.
I have seen hundreds of players, some stand out, some do not. Most went on to do other things, some did not. But quite a few, went on stand for and stand up for many fabulous causes. Autism, Childhood Cancer, Literacy, just to name a few. Too many men, along with their wives, have done too many great things to make me get rid of my terrible towel.
Doesn't matter what you do for a living, be the best person you can be to yourself and others at all times.
It is Thursday night. Game night.
Friday, September 12, 2014
it wasn't supposed to be this way but...: For the Love of Sunflowers
it wasn't supposed to be this way but...: For the Love of Sunflowers: When I was a young girl, my sperm donor dad, planted the most majestic sunflowers ever. They were always on top row of his garden. Mammot...
Thursday, September 11, 2014
For the Love of Sunflowers
When I was a young girl, my sperm donor dad, planted the most majestic sunflowers ever.
They were always on top row of his garden. Mammoth. The peeked through the hill when you came around the corner. We used to ride our bikes on the path and we you came up the path, there they were. I loved them. I loved seeing them. My dad would always take my picture with me standing by a flower.
When the situation with the "button" was in full throttle, one day, in church, Pastor Ed spoke about seeds. I love to garden. Love it. Never really acknowledged the seed. I was more focused on the flower.
He spoke about the seed being hard and tough. But, as tough as it was, it had to break. It had to be buried beneath sunshine and water. The seed was planted underground and waited for sunshine and water to make it crack open the seed, literally break the seed and let the new growth sprout forward.
My daughter was with me that day in church. She held my hand during the sermon. I think she knew what was going to happen next.
I was as low as low could get. I was a broken as I could be. My family was broken. So was my son. Broken.
We left the church parking lot and bolted to my favorite Dollar General. I bought EVERY sunflower seed packet they at the Dollar General, any variety and 100 plastic cups. I got home, filled those cups with potting soil and put those seeds in the cups. And waited.
The wait seemed forever.
Walker took this picture. I became hopeful once again.
I planted sunflowers everywhere I could.
They smiled at me. They reminded me that broken things can yield beautiful things.
You just had to have hope.
And faith. And patience. And a Dollar General.
About a year ago, my friend got a promotion. A well deserved promotion. Some very loyal coworkers sent her a bouquet of sunflowers. They were lovely. She loved them. She showed them to me and asked me "do you think I can save the seeds?"
"Yes." But of course I took the opportunity to ask her for some seeds. She delivered the goods.
I planted them. They grew and they were amazing.
Over the Fourth of July weekend, the holiday weekend was greeted with a hurricane. It blew, rained, and howled. My sunflowers, my lovely sunflowers, from my friend's seeds, her sunflowers, got knocked over.
While I was lamenting over the sunflowers, she called me. "I just wanted to make sure that you are ok...I know it is bad your way."
"I am fine. I am just pissed. Your sunflowers got knocked over."
"My sunflowers?"
"yes, your seeds, remember?"
"You planted them?"
"Yes, I planted them, of course I planted them." "Let me send you a picture."
"Ok, are you crazy? You could lose your roof or have a tree fall down on your house and you are worried about sunflowers?"
Yep.
I did.
The next morning, I got up, and got the stalk back in the ground, secured it with a stake and sent her another picture. I was determined to keep these sunflowers, my friend's sunflowers, alive.
Today, I said "see you later" to her. She starts her big battle with cancer.
It kicked my heart. A couple of times. I love her. And when I look at "her" sunflowers, I just want to smile. I have already plucked the heads and stashed the seeds. About the time her battle is winding down, the flowers should bloom next year.
My dear friend Joyce, one of my favorite people in the world, called me last week. We only discussed zinnias, sunflowers, gourds and pumpkins. We are obsessed. She too has had a three year battle with being sick. She is blossoming.
Last year Joyce could not even drive, this year she is Mary Mary.
Even my dear friend Shelia, a cancer warrior, planted sunflowers this year.
At the corner of a major intersection where I live, they always plant flowers in the summer. This year, I noticed they plowed the field and resowed. I knew, as soon as they started sprouting...they had planted the biggest field of sunflowers.
This week, they bloomed. The field is amazing.
My dear friend Candida, who was the broken of broken, posted a picture of her young daughter in the sunflower field. I swear there was halo in the picture. And I was like "damn, why didn't I think to call a photographer?" I took my fiend's lead. Again, once was broken and now my friend has the strength of a giant redwood.
I took my kids, all three of them to the field. A little photo op session.
It was the first time, in over three and half years, that my kids have had their picture taken together.
They stood there surrounded by sunflowers. I didn't really want to watch. Surprise. I want a fabulous surprise.
As my kids posed for the photographer, I got a little misty eyed. It was little over three years ago that all the madness started. It was a little over three years ago that I sat in church and listened to Pastor Ed. It was a little over three years ago that I started planting sunflowers like a crazy lady.
It was less than six months ago that I even knew where my oldest son even was.
During all those months, I just kept hearing Pastor Ed, "you have to break through the seed after the dirt and darkness and rain. You break open the seed. You have to be broken to sprout. And in sprouting, you grow and you become something beautiful."
I held on to the words for over three years and a couple hundred sunflower seeds. I just paid a photographer to photograph ALL of my children in a sunflower field. My oldest son was there, straight, sober, handsome and on a path...not a road to success...a path. One step at a time. But he was there.
Everyone who has ever endured cancer has told me it was like having two lives, one before, one after. Just like sunflowers. You start as a whole seed, tough. And then, you have to be broken to start anew. New growth, new strength. And while you blossom, you gravitate toward positive energy and sun. The whole time, you are giving to others, bees, birds and all those who pass by and think you are the "happy flower."
I hope my friend holds on to Pastor Ed's words as she begins her fight. My friend Joyce did and now she has a garden of hope and beauty.
I cannot wait to see my friend next year and her a bouquet of her happy sunflowers. She will most likely be bald and perhaps a little tired but I know she will be smiling. I know she will be sprouting and blossoming.
I know if my family can blossom, after all the weeds that ended up in our garden, anyone can.
They were always on top row of his garden. Mammoth. The peeked through the hill when you came around the corner. We used to ride our bikes on the path and we you came up the path, there they were. I loved them. I loved seeing them. My dad would always take my picture with me standing by a flower.
When the situation with the "button" was in full throttle, one day, in church, Pastor Ed spoke about seeds. I love to garden. Love it. Never really acknowledged the seed. I was more focused on the flower.He spoke about the seed being hard and tough. But, as tough as it was, it had to break. It had to be buried beneath sunshine and water. The seed was planted underground and waited for sunshine and water to make it crack open the seed, literally break the seed and let the new growth sprout forward.
My daughter was with me that day in church. She held my hand during the sermon. I think she knew what was going to happen next.
I was as low as low could get. I was a broken as I could be. My family was broken. So was my son. Broken.
We left the church parking lot and bolted to my favorite Dollar General. I bought EVERY sunflower seed packet they at the Dollar General, any variety and 100 plastic cups. I got home, filled those cups with potting soil and put those seeds in the cups. And waited.
The wait seemed forever.
Walker took this picture. I became hopeful once again.
I planted sunflowers everywhere I could.
They smiled at me. They reminded me that broken things can yield beautiful things.
You just had to have hope.
And faith. And patience. And a Dollar General.
About a year ago, my friend got a promotion. A well deserved promotion. Some very loyal coworkers sent her a bouquet of sunflowers. They were lovely. She loved them. She showed them to me and asked me "do you think I can save the seeds?"
"Yes." But of course I took the opportunity to ask her for some seeds. She delivered the goods.
I planted them. They grew and they were amazing.
Over the Fourth of July weekend, the holiday weekend was greeted with a hurricane. It blew, rained, and howled. My sunflowers, my lovely sunflowers, from my friend's seeds, her sunflowers, got knocked over.
While I was lamenting over the sunflowers, she called me. "I just wanted to make sure that you are ok...I know it is bad your way."
"I am fine. I am just pissed. Your sunflowers got knocked over."
"My sunflowers?"
"yes, your seeds, remember?"
"You planted them?"
"Yes, I planted them, of course I planted them." "Let me send you a picture."
"Ok, are you crazy? You could lose your roof or have a tree fall down on your house and you are worried about sunflowers?"
Yep.
I did.
The next morning, I got up, and got the stalk back in the ground, secured it with a stake and sent her another picture. I was determined to keep these sunflowers, my friend's sunflowers, alive.
Today, I said "see you later" to her. She starts her big battle with cancer.
It kicked my heart. A couple of times. I love her. And when I look at "her" sunflowers, I just want to smile. I have already plucked the heads and stashed the seeds. About the time her battle is winding down, the flowers should bloom next year.
My dear friend Joyce, one of my favorite people in the world, called me last week. We only discussed zinnias, sunflowers, gourds and pumpkins. We are obsessed. She too has had a three year battle with being sick. She is blossoming.
Last year Joyce could not even drive, this year she is Mary Mary.
Even my dear friend Shelia, a cancer warrior, planted sunflowers this year.
At the corner of a major intersection where I live, they always plant flowers in the summer. This year, I noticed they plowed the field and resowed. I knew, as soon as they started sprouting...they had planted the biggest field of sunflowers.
This week, they bloomed. The field is amazing.
My dear friend Candida, who was the broken of broken, posted a picture of her young daughter in the sunflower field. I swear there was halo in the picture. And I was like "damn, why didn't I think to call a photographer?" I took my fiend's lead. Again, once was broken and now my friend has the strength of a giant redwood.
I took my kids, all three of them to the field. A little photo op session.
It was the first time, in over three and half years, that my kids have had their picture taken together.
They stood there surrounded by sunflowers. I didn't really want to watch. Surprise. I want a fabulous surprise.
As my kids posed for the photographer, I got a little misty eyed. It was little over three years ago that all the madness started. It was a little over three years ago that I sat in church and listened to Pastor Ed. It was a little over three years ago that I started planting sunflowers like a crazy lady.
It was less than six months ago that I even knew where my oldest son even was.
During all those months, I just kept hearing Pastor Ed, "you have to break through the seed after the dirt and darkness and rain. You break open the seed. You have to be broken to sprout. And in sprouting, you grow and you become something beautiful."
I held on to the words for over three years and a couple hundred sunflower seeds. I just paid a photographer to photograph ALL of my children in a sunflower field. My oldest son was there, straight, sober, handsome and on a path...not a road to success...a path. One step at a time. But he was there.
Everyone who has ever endured cancer has told me it was like having two lives, one before, one after. Just like sunflowers. You start as a whole seed, tough. And then, you have to be broken to start anew. New growth, new strength. And while you blossom, you gravitate toward positive energy and sun. The whole time, you are giving to others, bees, birds and all those who pass by and think you are the "happy flower."
I hope my friend holds on to Pastor Ed's words as she begins her fight. My friend Joyce did and now she has a garden of hope and beauty.
I cannot wait to see my friend next year and her a bouquet of her happy sunflowers. She will most likely be bald and perhaps a little tired but I know she will be smiling. I know she will be sprouting and blossoming.
I know if my family can blossom, after all the weeds that ended up in our garden, anyone can.
it wasn't supposed to be this way but...: HOPE
it wasn't supposed to be this way but...: HOPE: Today when I got up, it was really just an ordinary day. I turned on the TODAY show and I was taken back 11 years ago like the rest of the...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)