Spring Flinging; No Bitterness Lingering.

I've spent the better part of the day clearing, cleaning, and organizing. Slowly, I'm digging through the muck of winter and changing over to Spring. It's freeing, almost, being able to let go of "too smalls" or the "too bigs" or even the "too uglys". The more I clean though, the more there is to do. It really is an endless cycle. Honestly, I can't wait for our annual Yard Sale, coming up on May 1. Finally I'll have the use of two closets that have been taken over by unwanted stuff. If I wasn't so selfish and greedy, I'd just donate it all to charity. Of course, that's where most of it will end up after all is said and done, but I'd like to have some kind of return on investment.

I've been setting up an office in one of our spare rooms in the basement, reclaiming it from the boys. It's so nice to have a place to gather the four corners of my life, campaign, church, mom's group, and neighborhood association.

In the process, I've also been digging through old picture frames. Keep this, chuck that, hang this...pause, who's that handsome man in that photo embracing that fabulously young and rather skinny girl? Oh yeah, it's my Dad. I love that picture, taken just months before Neil and I relocated to Maryland. All was well then. No one was sick or hurting. That picture now hangs on the wall next to my desk, along with a montage of old and new friends, early pics of Neil and me, and even my Dad's first magazine cover. I feel surrounded by love and good memories.

I have to say that for the better part of two years, I've been hiding my Dad. Anything and everything that reminded me of him, I placed inside a box. It was just too painful to look at. And even today, as I glanced upon his face, tears would fall, but it felt different...peaceful. I smiled. I chuckled to myself as I remembered that very day at my sister's house. Maybe the bitter times have passed and I can now remember him for who he was...my Dad, who once again hangs on my wall, greeting me as I pass by, reminding me that I'm his little girl. I truly think he would be proud.

Standing By Strangers

Every once in a while, someone posts a comment on my Dad's blog.  Normally though they're just spam, but today I got a post that literally broke my heart.  I've been thinking about Dad a lot lately, being reminded of him in the whispers of life, but this was more of a slap in the face (and not in a bad way).  We're coming up on two years, you know?  That just seems unbelievable.  I honestly think that the more time passes, the more I miss him, the harder it is to imagine he's gone.  Maybe I never really dealt.  Maybe I just avoided and put off the pain.  Either way, a loss is a loss is a loss.

Here's what Jeanette wrote to me on the his blog:

"You probably weren't thinking this blog would ever get checked again but I wanted to say thanks to you, your mother, and your father for sharing your journey. My father was diagnosed with terminal kidney cancer 4 days ago and I'm learning everything I can, everywhere I can.  Some people prefer ignorance.  For myself, if this disease is going to take my father, I am going to know every last stinking detail about it and read every story I can.  Your father was a special man.  God Bless all of you.  Jeanette"

And here is what I felt compelled to write to her.  I hope you, as my friends and confidantes, will keep Jeanette and her father in your prayers.  It is not an experience I would wish on anyone. 

Jeanette,

I’d like to say that I can’t imagine the horror you must be feeling right now, but I still vividly remember the day my Dad told me he had cancer.  I was at lunch with a pseudo-friend, someone I knew but wouldn’t necessarily lean on.  Seeing as my Dad rarely called, I simply had to answer.  I could tell immediately that something was wrong.  Dad certainly tried to cover his pain and confusion with a few light hearted jokes and heavy sarcasm, but it wasn’t working.  At first we had no idea how serious it was.  They didn’t even know what type of cancer he had, but they were thinking it might have been lung. 

He went to see the radiologist on the same day my husband and I were scheduled to find out the sex of our baby.  I can’t tell you how surreal it was to walk into the Radiology Department knowing that I was getting good news and he was getting bad.  A few hours later, he called to tell me that it was Stage 4 Renal Cell Cancer.  I didn’t even know what a renal cell was, much less that it would take my Dad away from me.

Dad lived for just over three years post diagnosis, and I was there was the last 5 weeks.  If you’d like you can go to my blog, www.hillsofchaos.blogspot.com, click on Dad under the Tags, and follow along my journey.  I didn’t even start blogging until that February 08, just a couple months before he passed, but I chronicled my time with him up until the end.  I don’t know if it will bring your solace or not. 

I would also suggest befriending Manual Lopez on Facebook.  He is a warrior in this great battle and was a good friend of my Dad’s though they never actually met.  There is a great network of people out there waiting to support you and your Dad.  Please let me know if you need anything.

Hillary

Sometimes we're called to embrace strangers, to stand together, to support one another, to lift one another up.  Who needs you today?  Who could use a hug?  Or a prayer?  Or a hot cup of coffee?  

Couldn't Resist: Thought Of My Dad

From a friend of my dads, William, who is fighting cancer and is ademantly opposed to Obamacare. Just so you know, if my dad were still around, he’d be ademantly opposed as well. I honestly could not imagine what his last weeks/days would have been under this plan. Would some panel of government paid hack doctors have told my stepmom and I to just say goodbye and been done with it? His battle would have looked much different and ended much earlier if the government was in charge of his care. It’s our duty to not only protect ourselves, but to protect our parents and grandparents from being told when and how they should die. My dad, David Foster, died with dignity, surrounded by people who loved him and supported him. His life, his battle continues today in the war on cancer. People still read his blog entries, and in them, they find hope, encouragement, and even humor that inspires them to keep fighting.




Now it’s our turn to fight. The Democrats are preparing a nuclear option that will literally stampede right over our opinions and desires. We need to let them know that the consequence of this action will be the end of their reign of power. Though I would love for that to happen, the end of the reign, not the nuclear option, I’m not willing to stake my kid’s and grandparents quality of life on it. Are you?

Avoidance

I know, I know. I sucked at updating the blog last week, but I have a really good excuse. Ready for this one: I didn't feel like it. There, see, that's a really good excuse. It's not like I didn't try. Several times I sat down, started typing, and was completely distracted by the ball thrown at my face or the buzz of the dryer. Honestly I wanted to blog about what's been going on, especially about the one year anniversary of my dad's death, but I just couldn't (or wouldn't). Maybe the time thing really was an issue, but that's probably due more to the fact that I packed my schedule so full of heres and theres that I really didn't stop. I was like the Energizer bunny on crack. Only the busyness only made me busy. It's funny how that works. We think if we stay busy we won't have to deal with what's really going on, but that never works, does it? Or at least not successfully. It's just a band aid. Just because I didn't blog about it, doesn't mean I didn't think about it. Boy, did I think about my Dad. That's practically all I thought about.

I had an interview with a counselor this week who had lost her mom 3 years ago to breast cancer. When she told me I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes. I'm sure, for a moment, she thought I was looney (or entirely too empathetic). When I told her that my dad had passed a year ago, she got it. We spent a good hour after the interview talking about our lost parents. It was the first time in a while that I had talked about the day he died. Recounting the events of that day, step by step, was more therapeutic than painful. God cornered me. He's sneaky like that. But I'm glad He did. I needed to talk about it, and it felt better doing it with a complete stranger who could understand where I was coming from.

This is a busy time of year for me. I'm gearing up for camp, spring cleaning, and watching my schedule fill up fast. On May 1st, I'm having Owen screened for public pre-K. We don't exactly qualify since you either have to be low income or have a significant delay, but we're trying anyways. If they have space, they'll take him. It would be nice because it's 5 half days a week and would be at the same school he'll be attending for kindergarten. I'm so hoping he gets in, but we'll just have to wait and see.

On May 20th, I'm going in to have a small, dry patch on my hip examined by the dermatologist. I'd like to rule out cancer. So if you think about it, please pray for me. After what I've been through with my dad, I'm not taking any chances.

There is so much more to tell you, but right now, my eyes are closing as I type. Tomorrow is another day.

Oh and I've gone through and labeled most of my posts. So for those of you visiting from my dad's blog, you can filter out all the blogs where I talk about my dad.

A Few (More) Good Men

It's nice to say that I haven't had any major battles lately in the war on poor customer service. Maybe that's because I've been dealing with smaller businesses over the Internet. I'm thinking I might be changing my ways a little. Before I was all about where ever I could get whatever I needed at the cheapest price, but I think that mentality (across America and not just with me) has gotten us where we are today...in a society that rewards poor customer service. We keep patronizing stores like Walmart because their prices are better. I'm starting to find that it may be worth it to spend a little more and support those willing to go out on a limb for my business. Small businesses are the heart of the American dream, and I feel like their slowly dying away. Now you won't find me boycotting Walmart or Target just for being mega stores that came in and took over. Nope, I blame the fall of the small businesses on us as consumers. It's our choice where to spend our money. That's capitalism, but I think I'm done rewarding poor behavior. It's like giving candy to a child pitching a fit because she wants candy. Hence the fact that I've thrown myself into this war.

A couple highlights for today:

1. I heart CFA. I'm telling you. I rarely have a bad experience around these cow-loving peeps. They are kid friendly and I just love that they say "my pleasure." Of course it sucks when I want to stop in and get a sweet tea on my way to church and they're closed, but I don't need the sugar anyways. Today, Michelle and I were grabbing a bite to eat (and a bit of work done) while we let the kids play. The operator, Chris, sees me heading for the counter for refills armed with a baby and intercepts me. He takes the cups, fills them up, and delivers them to our table. Now that is customer service. (This was at the new John Hopkins Rd. CFA in Laurel).

2. Say what you will about HMO's, but I love Kaiser Permanente. I called today to schedule Madison & Blake's next check-ups. The woman bent over backwards to make sure they had back-to-back appointments with the same doctor. She was kind, polite, and knowledgeable. I've never had any real issues with Kaiser. And with our government trying to force socialized health care down our throats, it's nice to be reminded that it's not all bad.

That's all I got for today. I'll let you know if anything else pops up.

Tomorrow marks the one year anniversary of my dad's death. Please know that my blog time tomorrow will be reserved for him. I appreciate your prayers and thoughts during this time. It's been difficult, and I'm still working through it all...even a year later.

Things that Make You Go Hmmm

As I sit here hoping Madison hits the hay before midnight, I'm thinking what I should blog about today. I'm still processing from this past weekend, and seeing as my last blog was so entirely deep, I thought I would stay a bit surfacy today. I totally inherited my dad's defense mechanisms. Stay away from the deep, vulnerable crap...it will always get you into trouble.

I hired a housekeeper. Yes, I know I am a stay-at-home mom and should be able to handle the three kids, the never ending laundry (especially with the new addition of cloth diapers), the greasy, grimy build up on anything and everything the boys touch, and so on and so forth. But I can't, so think what you will. She only comes once a month to take care of the deep cleaning I can never tackle. Heck she cleaned stuff on Monday I haven't cleaned in my life. My house must have been a disaster area too because she didn't even make it to the basement. It took her 8 hours to get through the first two floors. How embarrassing. If I didn't feel like a failure before...man! But that's besides the point. It felt good to walk around after she left and see the clean. Normally I just feel like I'm buried in a sea of muck...probably because I am.

When I picked the name for my blog, I did a little word play with my name. If only I had known how prophetic I was when it came to the "hills" of chaos. Life is chaotic, especially with two rambunctious boys, one needy little (yet completely adorable) girl, a fabulous and sometimes grey hair-creating husband, and all the other things I shove into my priority list. Sometimes I'm going up hill and feel like I'm never going to make it to the top, much like the little engine that could. Other times, like on housekeeper days, it's more on the down hill (or a downward spiral, not sure sometimes) slope when you feel accomplishment and excitement. I think I'd like to find the place where the chaos is a bit more organized. Of course that would require me to learn how to be organized and stick to it. It's funny how I'm really good at organizing other people's crap, but when it comes to my own, I have no idea where to start. Maybe I should hire a housekeeper for my life, a lifekeeper. Although I think I just described Jesus' role in my life.

Speaking of Jesus, I did have a quiet time this morning, if you could call it that. My goal was to get up at 6:30, take a shower, get some coffee and have my quiet time all before the boys woke up around 8:00ish. Good news is that I was up at 6:30. Bad news - so were the boys. Thanks to Neil I did get a shower. Afterwards, I came down to Owen and Blake chowing down on some corn pops (don't judge). I thought I'd sneak off and have a quick quiet time while they were eating. I opened my five minute devo book and successfully read it. I even got in a little bit of journaling before Blake started to wonder where I'd gone. He's in this whiny, insistent phase that is just about the drive me up a wall or off a cliff. So once he finds me, he is not about to let me go. I had to stop and just laugh at myself trying to journal around him or even at one point on top of him. Yeah, like that was a real intimate time. Oh well, five minutes is still five minutes.

Of course I didn't get to work out today. I wasn't really expecting to, but it would be nice to be able to get in a moderate butt kicker at least three times a week. Lately I'm getting in one maybe two days at the gym. Problem is that I have to get an appointment for Madison, and I am fully at the mercy of their schedule. Sometimes I grab a 30 min slot b/c that is all that is available. You should see me try to cram a meaningful workout into 30 minutes including traveling upstairs to the locker room and changing. It's really quite a hoot. And then there are the kids themselves. If they're sick, forget it. If Madison has to eat when I come in for my 30 minute time block, forget it. Yesterday I had to skip out because I thought Owen was coming down with something. Tomorrow I have a short 30 min. time slot which I'm hoping I can extend a little if someone else cancels. (But I also have a play date at 10 and a 30% off coupon to use at Old Navy). I'm not sure if I'll have the van on Thursday so I didn't make an appt, and on Friday I have an entire hour and a half. Woo hoo. I actually think I'm going to work out with the my friend, Amanda. I love having a buddy. Hopefully she'll kick my butt into shape.

Time for me to hit the hay. Remember it's your job to keep me writing everyday. Thanks Manuel for always being supportive. It's encouraging to know you still read my blog. For those of you who wonder who this Manuel is, he was an avid reader of my dad's blog who became one of his good friends as well. He's also fighting the cancer battle, so if you get a chance lift him and his family up in prayer. In a lot of ways, I feel like he's looking out for me now that Dad's gone.

Time to hit the hay. Here's hoping the kids sleep til at least 7:30 in the morning. Oh & the pictures are just for show. They were taken today. Blake woke up crying from his nap about 40 minutes after her went down. He climbed up into my lap and dozed back off for an hour. Needless to say I didn't accomplish much during naptime today.

A Retreat from the Chaos

Allow me to preface this by saying (more like demanding) that I am still NOT a grown-up. This past weekend I retreated from the chaos of my everyday life. That's right folks, I went on a Women's Retreat with 270 other ladies from my church. I don't go on many women's retreats. In fact, I've only been on one that I can remember and that was through my old church back in Atlanta (oh how I miss Spring in GA, but that's beside the point), and that was a disaster. In my mind retreats such as this are more for the grown-ups, the mature women of faith in the church that sit around crying, singing hymns, and talking in Christianese.

Now granted I may be 30 and married with three wonderful children, but I am certainly no grown-up. But for some strange reason I felt compelled to go and drug my friend Katy along with me. Maybe it was because it offered me an excuse to get away from my lovely yet draining boys. Or maybe I'm a little tired of being the rebel. Or maybe, just maybe, God had an all together different reason. Either way I just knew I was supposed to be there. And it was only as I was returning home that I truly grasped why (at least in it's entirety).

I'll go to the fluff before I reach the depth. The weekend was great. Katy and I loaded up Joyce's car. Yeah, we couldn't take our own cars because our husband's needed them to tote around the rest of our kids. We strapped in the babies, plugged in the GPS, and headed towards Rocky Gap (beautiful place by the way). Madison and Beckah were the only babies in a room filled with estrogen. I felt like I should have started a waiting list of people wanting to hold Madison. It was great cause Lord knows none of them would have been swooning over my two boys. It's amazing how they start crawling and suddenly people want nothing to do with them. But what a blessing to have people so willing to take your child so you can cut your meat with both hands or take notes from a heart-wrenching talk. We were placed at tables, "randomly assigned," and it was with those 9 women that I would live life for just about 36 hours. We were a mixed brood to say the least. Katy & Michelle were with me, and oddly enough (though completely God-appointed) my friends Melissa and Natalie were with us too. And then there were two of the speaker's friends from Galox, VA and a couple women just a few years my senior from Grace. After each teaching time we would break off into various places around the resort for a table talk.

At the end of the first table talk, Heidi asked if anyone wanted to share something on their hearts. Before I knew I was blurting out one of my deepest struggles. You see, one year ago this week I left Maryland and traveled 10 hours with two small boys to Augusta, GA to be with my dad. Four weeks later he died from a three year battle with renal cell cancer. Lately I've been struggling with death. I'm a Christ-follower and believe that when I die I will go to heaven, but when I think of the end of this life, my body literally shakes in fear. Several times over the last couple of months, I've doubted if what I believe is what I really believe. Would I have this fear if it were? I shared this fear with these women, some friends and some strangers, and asked for their prayer and support. Over the rest of the weekend God began to reveal to me why I've been plagued and haunted by these thoughts.

I don't think it's a coincidence that these things start to surface around the year anniversary of my dad's death. When I first came home from Georgia, the day after the Memorial service, I was fine, confident of my father's place in eternity and experiencing peace that surpasses understanding. As time went on though, I began to avoid him and things that reminded me of him, not because I didn't want to remember my dad, but because it was too painful. When I close my eyes and try to picture him, all I see is his lifeless body. I can't seem to get back to a time when he was just my daddy. When "Be Thou My Vision" (the song that he walked me down the aisle to at my wedding and the same song we processed to at his funeral) comes on the radio, I quickly turn the channel. I feel like I am haunted by those 4 weeks. Don't get my wrong, I'm glad I went. I'm glad I was there, but I don't think I've ever really dealt with it all. For weeks people close to him called me a hero. They couldn't understand how I could do what I did. Heck, I don't even understand it. But be assured that I was no hero. I did what I was called to do for that time, and it was the hardest thing I've ever done. When I got home, all I wanted to do was be home, and that was easy to do since I could jump right into my life and be a wife and mom again. I figured I had plenty of time to flush through all this junk piling up in my heart, but then one thing after another piled itself on top, burying the pain deeper and deeper.

Two weeks after I got home, I found out I was pregnant, which prompted us to put the house on the market. No one thought that house would sell in 24 days, but it did. So I'm doing camp, buying and selling a home, moving, and being pregnant all at the same time. There just wasn't time to process. When we were settled in our new home and camp was over, life filled in the empty spaces adding to the layers. Honestly I think these paralysing fears are simply my body, mind and soul telling me (screaming in fact) that I have to dig it back up and deal with it once and for all. If I don't I will never be able to close my eyes and see the dad I loved and not just a body free from it's soul.

Through this process, I've made a commitment to myself to blog everyday, even if it's has nothing to do with David Foster. Blogging is therapeutic for me and helps me to process through all the crap inside my head. Things run through this head of mine all the time, and I think to myself, 'I should write about that." Then I forget or get too busy and I find it's been a week since I last posted. By that point my mind is so filled with mumbo jumbo I have no earthly idea what to write about, so I don't. Poor excuse I know. For those of you who read often, keep me accountable to my blog. Email me if I'm not living up to my commitment. I need that accountability. While you're at it, ask me if I've spent time with the Lord or logged my food for the day or told my kids that I love them. Man how I need accountability and prayer. Sometimes I feel like I'm drowning in my own chaos. There is only One who can pull me out of the mud & mire and place my feet on the Rock.

So How'd It Go, Hills?

I realize my last post was over 2 weeks ago. I think that is by far the longest I've gone without writing, and I always regret not writing. There were so many times during my trek down south that I wanted to write, but the circumstances just weren't conducive. So I thought I'd just write when I got back. It was almost as if the moment I hit my driveway at 3 am in the morning last Sunday that I was literally catapulted into real life and it hasn't slowed down since. Entering my third trimester of this pregnancy, I constantly find myself barely making it to 5 pm when my dear husband graces the front door of this home. And then it's time to make dinner, clean the kitchen, and get some laundry done. By 8 pm, my feet are swollen and weary, and all I want to do is plop down on my couch, prop up my feet, and veg a bit before I rest my body for the night.

That's great, Hills, but how was the trip? It was okay. The drive down was difficult, and not because of the demanding voices coming from the back seats. It was my dad's birthday, Sept 22. It's always those special occasions that get to you, right? Well, it got to me and of course it has to hit me as I'm driving down I-85 alone, pregnant with two toddlers. For a while I let myself dwell on Dad, still trying to get past those last few weeks, then I harnessed it all back in and focused on getting us safely to Augusta.

For the most part, the week seemed like a scheduled visit with family, almost like a typical holiday. I visited with Sherry, my step mom, my lil sister, and Neil's parents in Augusta before heading to Warner Robins to see my grandparents, my mom, my aunt, uncle, and cousin's wife and new daughter. It was good to see everyone. Heck, I even got to see my aunt's (who lives in VA) new husband as he was passing through town on his way back home. As I drove back to Augusta, I stopped briefly in Milledgeville when Neil and I went to college, met, and fell in love. I guess I was feeling nostalgic.

If you've ever traveled back roads in Georgia, you'll know that it's difficult to get cell service. I was in a dead zone for nearly an hour and a half. In that time period, I managed to rack up 6 voicemails and several missed calls, one of which was from my sister (who I was talking to when I lost coverage). When I called back, I found out that my dad's sisters and my own sister would not be able to make the internment due to the gas shortage. Now I have to be honest, with the exception of my sister, I have to say I wasn't all that sad. Actually I was relieved. Now I didn't have to deal with all the drama I wrote about in my last post. I was also relieved to hear that Sherry was still planning to move forward with the service, since I had traveled all this way and wouldn't really be able to come back. So Saturday came, and Sherry, Alex (my lil sis), and I made out way to Magnolia Cemetery, a place I'd been many times with my dad over the years. It's an ancient place, county owned, and completely sold out. But my dad spent so much time there, continuously exploring it's history, writing about it's people, and getting to know the caretaker. They made a place just for him underneath a young magnolia tree. Dad would have loved it. The service was short, simple, and sweet. Sherry's best friend's husband read from the Book of Prayer while Sherry placed the box in the ground. We said a prayer and that was it.

I think I needed the simplicity of it all. I miss my dad so much. Sherry and I both would talk about how much he would have loved the politics of today, and how pissed off he'd be at the stupidity of those dorks in Congress. And when I think about the drama in the family, I know he'd be pretty pissed about that as well. Of course, if he were still here, it wouldn't be happening now would it? I feel bad for Sherry and Alex because I know what it's like to be cast out, intentionally or not, from the same family. Now I find myself in a situation I am forced to deal with, to make a decision, to stay stagnant or move forward. Now that Dad is gone, I could walk away from his family, and I could almost guarantee they would most likely not even notice. Sure, from time to time, my name may arise in a conversation or two, wondering what became of me, but I seriously doubt anyone would actually pick up a phone to ask. Seriously, before those fateful few weeks I was in GA, I hasn't spoken to most of them in years, and if I did, it was because I went to visit or called. Granted I do get Christmas cards from two of my aunts each year, and on the rare occasion I make it down to Florida to see my mom, I make the effort to see my Aunt Cathy, the only aunt to attend my wedding 7 years ago. But other than that, I feel like a complete outsider to that family, so it would be easy to just walk away...but would it be best? When I was fifteen or so, I chose to spend Thanksgiving with my Dad's family which always happens at my Aunt Helen's house. I think at that time, they were still living in Macon. Soon after that, they moved to TN. Anyways, I went there every third week in November until Neil and I moved up here (and then it just didn't make sense). If I didn't go, I would never have seen any of them. It's still not feasible for us to travel to TN for Thanksgiving, with all the other families we have to visit, so I'm not sure exactly what the solution is. Do I make an effort to have a relationship with Dad's family? Of course I will, because that's what I do, that's who I am. It's who I've always been. The question is how, and that I don't have an answer to right now.

So it seems my trip was more about dealing with family then it was about Dad. And maybe that's the way it was supposed to be. I'm pretty sure it's about 21 years overdue, and I now realize I need to deal with this junk that has build up inside of me, for my own good, for my own peace.

It's time to get ready to go to the Y for Owen's swim lessons. The first two times we went, he literally sat on the edge of the pool and cried. He'd tell me each time how he didn't want to go swimming, then he switched gears, and now he loves it. Next week, I'll be signing him up for pre-school 2 days a week, and if budget allows, I'd like to keep him in swimming lessons for one more session. He's growing up so fast.

A Long Trip...

Although this trip isn't nearly as long or turbulent as my last trip 5 months ago, it will still be both long and turbulent. I'm leaving tomorrow, with the boys, minus the husband, to drive down to Augusta, GA for the first time since my dad passed. Next Saturday, or this Saturday (depending on how you look at it), we will be burying my Dad's ashes in a plot in Magnolia Cemetery in Augusta.

I'm sure it will be a nice, simple service with a small crowd of family, but like my last departure, I have a few fears. One, I've done a good job of avoiding the topic as much as possible, surrounding myself with distractions, and I'm not sure it's going to be so easy being there. I was talking with Jo the other day on IM and she asked me if this trip will be good for me or just drudge up the past. My response? Both! Maybe drudging up the past is just what I need to bring some closure (as much as can be brought). Then again, maybe not. Who knows until I come out on the other side?

My second fear, and a valid one, is once again dealing with my family. I don't know if any of you remember this, but it was a fear when I left back in March and continues to be one now. Only this time, it's been perpetuated by my Dad's departure. Simply drama, and I'm not sure I'm in the mood for it. My aunt's will all be there for the service, as well as my sisters and my step-mom. All were at the memorial service, save one aunt. She chose not to come to what she described as a service not for people who loved Dad, but for people he barely knew. Well, I spent 4 weeks with these people he barely knew and all I can say is that they are wonderful strangers. I'm not going to air my family's dirty laundry, but let's just say that I'm not exactly looking forward to what may come (out of my mouth).

It is amazing to me how family members you rarely see can still have such an impact on your life. It seems like dysfunction is more the rule than the exception. We come to expect it, dread it, and regret it.

I'll keep you guys and myself updated through out what should be a fairly interesting and emotional week. I'm honestly looking forward to the process. The last trip brought me through a wild storm that left pieces of me lying all over the place, but I came out a stronger person because of the grace of God, and I happened to be carrying a little something extra (in my belly).
By the way, on a lighter note: Owen is fully potty trained (and tree, deck, and floor trained), but at least he's no longer pooping in his potty. Camp is on it's way to a second season with many new changes and exciting additions. Blake is climbing all over the place, loves the toilet (playing in it), the buttons on the TV, and anything in Mat's room (oh, did I tell you we have a tenant?). So Mat is Clare's boyfriend, soon to be fiance, soon to be husband who's staying in our basement and helping with our new mortgage until he goes off and gets hitched. He's great with the boys and even makes homemade Mac & Cheese. I'm thinking about trying to sabotage their relationship so we can keep him around longer.

Challenging the Status Quo

It's in our nature to both be different and belong. There is a battle within ourselves to stand out and fit in all at the same time. We don't want to conform, but we also don't want to be excluded. I believe this to be one of the most perplexing oxy morons ever, yet it's nestled at the center of our very beings. I think this battle within ourselves, drives us to conflict and harmony, ideas that wouldn't seem to coexist. But let me tell you something I've learned about conflict. It's not pretty, but it can be beautiful. Don't worry, I'll explain.

When I first became a Christian, I was an 18 year old freshman in college, and the biggest conflict in my life at that moment (and for the last 9 years) was with my dad. Almost right away, God placed this very conflict at the forefront of my heart and my mind. Since he was an alumni from my school and a noted writer, my professor asked my Dad to come speak to my English class (which I eventually was dropped from and ironically caused me to lose the Hope Scholarship, but that's beside the point). The night before the scheduled event, I couldn't sleep. This internal battle of bitterness and fear was raging inside of me, and I did the only thing I knew to do at the time. I prayed out loud in the middle of my dorm room (luckily my roommate was gone for the evening or that might have seemed odd). I cried out in frustration and pain to a God I'd barely known for a few months, but I cried out all the same, and the answer I got was forgiveness. So I sat down and did what still comes most naturally to me, I wrote a letter. In this letter, I poured out my heart, nine years of confusion, anger, and pain. I vividly remember wiping the tears from the sheets leaving a crinkled surface. In this letter, I told him how much I missed being his daughter. In this letter, I scolded him for leaving his family to pursue another relationship. In this letter, I chose to forgive him and to begin a new chapter in our relationship where I would stop expecting him to be the dad he clearly was not capable of being. In this letter, I put the past behind and decided to sprint towards the future.

I didn't get much response, though I waited impatiently. After a month or so, I asked Dad if he had read the letter. He said he had, thanked me writing it, and told me he loved me. There was not recognition of wrong or apology for the pain his decisions had caused. At first I could feel the bitterness resurfacing, but I continued to remind myself that love and forgiveness are both choices, and that I had made a choice to love him for who he was and not for who I wanted or expected him to be.

The next twelve year were both difficult and rewarding. But the battle remained, as I believe it does in all relationships involving conflict. When there is pain, hurt, anger, misunderstanding, and the biggest culprit of all, missed expectations, there is always a choice to be made. You can take the difficult road, the one requiring sweat and hard labor, humility and sacrifice, or the easy road (which never proves to be as easy as it seems) requiring avoidance, burning bridges, and a commitment to destruction of the relationship, a road that most likely affects all relationships in one's life.

Most people feel it's easier to avoid conflict, but I'd like to challenge the status quot on this topic. I believe God uses conflict to draw people, even unlikely couplings, together. Because I was willing to enter into battle, I enjoyed a beautiful relationship with my Dad before he died, and not just in the days leading up to the inevitable, but in the 12 years when I chose to put the relationship before the conflict.

But God didn't stop with my Dad. He continued to put conflict in my path for me to make friends with. My BFF, Jo, is a perfect example. Around the same time I was dealing with my dad, I was dealing with Jo. When we first met, let's just say the sparks flew and not in a good way, but through our commitment, not to each other, but our walks with the Lord, he blessed me with the most rewarding friendship I've ever enjoyed. We've been through the thick of it together, the muck of life, and now we're reaping the benefits. But if I had listened to my nature 12 years ago, I would not only be living in regret about my dad, I would lost with my friend. I'm not done yet.

The year after I graduated college, I went to work for Camp All-American where I met a woman of character and strength. My boss, Tammy quickly became my mentor, and taught me about Jesus' way of dealing with conflict, a way I'd become accustomed to without even knowing it. In Matthew 18:15-17 Jesus says,

"If your brother sins against you,[b] go and show him his fault, just between the two of you. If he listens to you, you have won your brother over. 16But if he will not listen, take one or two others along, so that 'every matter may be established by the testimony of two or three witnesses.'[c] 17If he refuses to listen to them, tell it to the church; and if he refuses to listen even to the church, treat him as you would a pagan or a tax collector.
18"I tell you the truth, whatever you bind on earth will be[d]bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be[e] loosed in heaven.
19"Again, I tell you that if two of you on earth agree about anything you ask for, it will be done for you by my Father in heaven. 20For where two or three come together in my name, there am I with them."

Combining these statements with a passage in Ecclesiastes 4:12b, "A cord of three strands is not easily broken," I learned the beauty of conflict resolution. If we don't discuss the issues dividing our relationships, we miss out on the benefits of knowing and loving those people. I believe gossip is a symptom of a dying relationship, or a missed opportunity, or a conflict not resolved. Gossip leads us to slander those around us, most likely stemmed from some disagreement or misunderstanding. It's hurtful and painful and destructive, but worst of all, it denies both parties the opportunity for reconciliation, what Jesus so desired for his people.

I have to admit that I don't always practice what I preach, because my desire to be right, or noticed overpowers my desire to be reconciled...just ask my husband. But I'm thankful for the relationships in my life that I can look upon and know that without the beauty of conflict, they wouldn't exist. Sometimes a relationship that has been through fire is so much more sweeter than one without a grievance. I happen to find myself in the midst of a battle, one I am caught in the middle of, one where the participants have yet to figure out that they are in, a battle I'm afraid may end in bloodshed and not beauty. Of course I can see the potential, but can not force the hand of reconciliation. I can only encourage the parties involved to step into the ring on the same side and battle the true enemy who seeks to destroy.

I pray that we'll all challenge the status quot by getting in the fight, tearing down the walls, and seeking reconciliation.

Coming Full Circle...

I haven't written about my Dad in a while, and it's not because he's not on my mind. It's more because he's constantly on my mind, but life keeps intervening. Really, it's quite annoying. When I begin to think of my Dad, I push the thoughts out of my head and attempt to focus on the task at hand, like getting Owen to poo poo in the potty (still unsuccessful I might add.) While listening to 91.9, they'll frequently play some rendition of Be Thou My Vision to which my response is to quickly change the channel. If I'm unpacking a box and come across a picture, I'll allow a quick tear or two before I bury the picture in the stack and set that box aside to be gone through later. Let's just say that I normally have the chance to run and hide from my pain, and then I went to church on Sunday.

When I noticed the one word on the front of the bulletin, "Conflict," I didn't think much of it...another series on how we shouldn't go to bed angry or gossip about our friends. This should be good, and then T.J. introduced this video from North Point church in Alpharetta, GA. But this time it wouldn't be Andy Stanley, but some unknown girl speaking of some conflict she'd resolved in her life. You probably know where this is going at this point, but for those of you out there who need a little help...she was about to tell us about her father.

She began by telling us about what kind of man he was, his positive traits, something someone would say at a memorial service. I noticed the constant use of the word "was," and prepared myself for what was coming next. Her father was dead, died of cancer 3 1/2 years ago. Can you guess my reaction? Since I couldn't change the channel or leave the room, I allowed the tears to flow, and they didn't stop. She might as well have been telling my story with a few minor timeline and character changes, and she too had peace (though it came literally moments before he passed). Even through the pain, I was able to recognize the message. Now I realize that Tim's purpose in showing that video was to reveal a person in our lives we need to seek reconciliation with, but for me I sat there encouraged, grateful, relieved. My Dad is gone, for good gone, and that's hard enough to deal with. I'm so thankful that I'm not also stewing in regret, bitterness, and missed opportunities. I have peace, and am now inspired to write down my story...not so much for anyone else, but just for me, to see it come full circle.

Seven Years Ago Today...

Seven years ago today on a hot, August evening, a man waited at an adorned altar surrounded by his best friends and immediate family. As the auditorium door opened and "Come Thou Fount" began to play, a slew of women progressed down the aisle, but none of them were of this man's desire. And then, the music stopped, the door closed, then opened again, and new song began...an old hymn entitled "Be Thou My Vision." And then he saw her, lavished in white, accompanied by another man very close to her heart. This woman was about the become his wife.

This is the scene that plays over and over again in my mind of my wedding day...that very moment before Neil and I became one, the very moment my singlehood ended. I never looked back, not even once. And today, two and a half kids later, I realize how much more of my being belongs to this man. I couldn't imagine my life without him.

Sure, there are times when I would personally like to ring his neck and leave him out to dry, but what good would that do. Then I would only be half-whole. Neil is the kind of man who lives out his character on a daily basis, in the details of his life. He uses the talents and gifts that God has given to the maximum potential. A few weeks ago he changed out the faucets in a complete stranger's house, just because she needed it. For three years, he mowed not only our grass, but also our next door neighbor's because Ned wasn't able. This is just the kind of man Neil is, one of strength and subtle mercy.

God grabbed a hold of Neil's heart during his first year in college, a couple years before I met either of them (God or Neil). For a few years there, we ran in the same circle yet never really noticed each other. Well, I never really noticed him. Not sure exactly how I managed to turn his head, but once I did, I was the center of his affections, the apple of his eye (cheesy...yes, but appropriate).

Neil has always been my biggest fan, supporting me in every adventure, though we could both agree i don't tend to be the adventuresome one. Perhaps "venture" would have been a better word there. He supported me when I decided to leave my full time job, not sure of what was ahead. Of course we found out later that God had parenthood in mind. He supported me when I decided to become a Pampered Chef consultant, two months after our first child was born. And he supported me when I decided to start a day camp at Grace, knowing the toll it would take on our family. This is the kind of man Neil is, one who doesn't have to be at the center of everything. He stands with humble strength and allows me to use my God-given talents and gifts to their fullest potential.

He's a father of two energetic boys, who test the limits moment by moment, and yet he's still here. Not much for the infant phase, like most men, but you should see him roll around on the floor with his boys. It's inspiring (not to roll around with them, but still). Actually what you should see if him talking Owen through peeing on the potty. His patience and praise speak to Owen's three year old spirit in ways that I just can't. This is the type of man Neil is, a man equipped to be a father, and does so with grace and maturity (long way from his chin stud and scruffy gotee).

Though far from perfect, my Neil never ceases to amaze me in his creativity (as unique as it may be), his randomness, and his desire to live a life worthy of the respect he deserves.

Happy Anniversary Neil! May the next seven years be as fabulous as the first seven.

La La Land

Due to a stubborn seller who's living in "La La Land," we're officially back on the house hunting trail, which is fine by me. It's not like this house was our dream home, and it would have meant a ton of work, but it was a nice a price (at least what we were willing to pay for it). The poor house has been on the market for almost a year with no other offers. This guy finally gets an offer and refuses to budge much on his price. Apparently, he doesn't want to sell his house.

Anyways, on to more pressing matters, like where are we going to live come July 21. I'm actually fairly encouraged. After I went back and searched through hundreds of homes in the areas we want to live, I found 5 or 6 that we'd like to visit. So off we go tomorrow night to find ourselves a place to call home. Do you want to know the real reason why I'm encouraged? Neil and I were looking at the selected homes last night, and when we were done, he asked if I'd like to pray about this entire situation? So we did. Enough said for now.

On to something deeper. As you all know, there was a certain hallmark holiday last Sunday that was particularly difficult for me. Actually it wasn't so difficult until my MIL called to give Neil a special hallmark greeting. From that point on, I was pure mush. I literally sobbed through church. It got better once we got back to our house where we were joined by several friends to celebrate a birthday. Great distraction. See I had decided several weeks ago that I wouldn't celebrate the holiday on the actually holiday, as to attempt to avoid such emotions that drag me near to edge of insanity. At the same time, we choose to observe "Happy Neil Day" on Tuesday which I did by getting up and fixing him a traditional southern breakfast before sending him off to work. Seriously, it felt like I was more of a traditional housewife then the slacker I am. Maybe I should aim to do that once a week, or once a month, or every year on the Tuesday following the hallmark holiday I flat out ignore (kind of like St. Patrick's Day). We'll see how that goes.

On a lighter note, Owen is currently sitting in Neil's recliner (which I hope has a similar fate to Chandler's white dog statue on Friends) in his Thomas the Tank Engine underwear. Don't get all excited. I'm just praying he doesn't pee or poop before he messes up the chair. Oh wait, that might not be a bad idea. Neil couldn't blame me then, hmmm (except that he reads this blog, so no go). I told Owen a couple days ago while at Target buying a box of diapers that this was the last box I was buying so he better to learn to go to the potty. I'm mostly serious, so I hope he catches on so he doesn't have to run around naked, pooping all over the place. It would be quite embarrassing for me, and maybe a little for him. Great now he is sitting behind me on the couch. He's never peed on me before (I know, amazing isn't it?). Let's hope he doesn't decide to start now.

I'm off to get ready to go to camp, or at least work on camp. Three weeks from today, we'll be welcoming campers through the entrance of Grace Community Church. It seems like yesterday this venture was a simple dream, a vision, and now it's virtually reality. God is so good.

Struggling

Grief comes in waves. I know this because I experience it. Some days I go about my life and end up just fine. And other days, like today, I find it hard to think without the grief taking over. I've been thinking about my dad a lot lately, and today ventured over to his blog to see what was going on. Not that I expected to find a new post, but I miss connecting with his readers like I did those few weeks in Georgia. I'd like to keep it updated, but I don't honestly know what to say, so I asked them to fill me in. I received several emails from dad's faithful readers, and as I opened them, I allowed the pain to seep in and the tears to flow. I guess I just really miss him, and still can't believe that he's gone. I was there. I saw him lying lifeless in that hospital bed and I still can't seem to wrap my mind around the fact that my dad is gone. So tonight I am struggling to even regain my composure, not like I have to since I'm already snuggled down into bed.

A fellow Warrior, Manual, called Dad his muse and since his passing has struggled with the inspiration to write in his own blog (where he chronicles his battle with kidney cancer). I get that. I write because my dad flat out told me to. How can I betray that? And someday soon I hope to pursue a dream to become a professional writer, again because my dad told me to (or maybe it was that he gave me permission to.) Either way, I've found passion in writing, and I just wish my dad were here so I could say, "thank you." "Thank you for giving me a swift kick in the arse." I still remember it clear as day. He looked up at me from his bed and said, "You're good. If you want to write, then write. Stop piddling around." It seems like such common sense, right? But it wasn't the words that were spoken, but the man who was speaking them. It was the affirmation I needed. If David Foster thinks you have talent, then maybe, just maybe, you have a foundation to build on. And how much more does that mean when David Foster is your dad?

The more time that passes, the more I miss him. Is that really possible? I thought grief would fade in time. That doesn't seem to be the case. Of course, maybe time is not the issue. It could be a lack of dealing in reality. I've had my share of distractions lately. This is true. So for now, I'll just let the tears come when they choose, and in those moments, I'll write - for that is what he would have wanted me to do (except minus all the mushy stuff).

Thanks for tuning in and listening to my rants - which are more like therapy.

Could You Please Press the Pause Button?

Owen watches this show on Noggin called the "Upside Down Show." There is no use explaining it if you're not familiar with it, but just so you get the gist, it's interactive and the kids watching pretend they have a remote control and press the buttons they are told to press. Now, as a mom, I think it's a pretty ridiculous show, but Owen is infatuated with it and Blake is infatuated with Owen which leaves me a little time to talk to you guys. As I'm sitting here I'm thinking it'd be quite fabulous to have a remote control for my life, and at times like this, I really fell like just hitting the pause button...not forever, just long enough to have a full 24 hours to myself.

I'd start off my day with a nice cup of coffee and a bit of Fox & Friends. Then I'd head off to the gym for Pilate's, a nice lunch with a friend (who is also pressing the pause button), and finish off the afternoon (what would normally be nap time) at the spa for a massage, facial, and pedicure. For dinner, I'd meet Neil for a date at our favorite Italian restaurant, Pasta Plus, where we'd converse about non-kid, non-house topics. After dinner we'd retire home where there would be some nooky nooky, followed by a couple chick flicks while lounging on the couch. Of course, Neil wouldn't stick around for the chick flicks, so he'd be in the backroom watching MacGyver reruns on the Mac. I'd crawl into bed sometime around 11 (I know, late for me) where I'd sleep allergy free all night...until I heard a faint "mmmooommmmmmy" coming from somewhere inside the house. As I slowly began to regain consciousness, I'd realize that this sound was not faint at all, but was also accompanied by banging, stomping, and "I want a snack." I'd turn over to find Neil off to the gym, and my 24 hours over. Someone had pressed the play button. Oh well, at least I had the time I had, and now I'd ready to face whatever the day will bring.

No matter how great that all sounds, we all know what would inevitably happen. Eventually I'd start to miss the kids, and most of the conversations I'd have would revolve entirely around them or the new baby in my belly. It's just who we are as moms. Even when I get together with my friends here (& there are no kids around) we're telling stories about the preposterous things they did that day or what new and queasy feelings we're having in our pregnancies. Oh and the birth stories. Get a bunch of moms in a room and one pregnant lady, and you'll have the pleasure of hearing more birth stories than you'd ever have wished for. Don't worry, I'm not complaining, I'm the biggest culprit of all. Just making an observation.

My friend Angela asked me yesterday if the pregnancy has been a good distraction from the pain of losing my dad. To be honest, I feel like it's been more of a distraction than I'd like. Couple the pregnancy with selling the house, and I don't have time to think about paying the bills, much less dealing with the death of my dad. Sure, it hits me at times. The other day, "Be Thou My Vision" came on the radio. I just heard the beginning of it and quickly turned it off, but it was too late. My mind and heart had already traveled back to the memorial service. I fought back the tears, and luckily was interrupted by Owen's shenanigans in the car (which is another story I need to tell you). Don't get my wrong, I get that distraction is a natural coping mechanism that keeps us from dwelling on the negative, but is there such a thing as too much distraction? I don't know the answer, but it would seem to be true in my own life. I also know that God doesn't give me more than I can handle, with his strength of course. So with that said, do I really need to press the pause button? It would be nice though, wouldn't it?

P.S. Totally off topic, but I feel compelled to share this story. For Blake's birthday, we got Owen a new booster seat so Blake could have Owen's old seat (& face forward). Most boosters are 40 lbs+, but we thought this would be great, so we didn't have to buy a $80 seat for Blake and then a booster seat for Owen next year. Basically the seat uses the car's seat belt, and let's just say Owen can reach the red button. I'm driving down Whiskey Bottom talking to Michelle on the phone, and I see something move out of the corner of my eye. I turn to find Owen standing next to my seat. Do the words "freak out" mean anything to you? I quickly hung up with Michelle and pulled the car over, put Owen back into his seat and thanked God we didn't wreck in the process. Luckily for me, I had a set of Bamboo spoons in the car from a recent Pampered Chef order. They make great spanky sticks. Needless to say, the rule is now, "don't press the red button." If you do, you automatically get a spank on the hand. I wish I could say that was the last time I caught Owen without his seat belt on, but I can say that the frequency of said events are diminishing. Yesterday, we had a full day of no seat spankings. Now that is victory. If only I could convince Neil to set the example instead of fighting with me to put on his own seat belt. Yes I said Neil, not Owen. He has this thing about seat belts...part of his stubborn streak. I don't think he gets how closely Owen watches him, even when it doesn't seem like it. Maybe you guys could start a campaign to get Neil to wear his seat belt.

A Sheep in Wolve's Clothing

Yes, I know that it's backwards, but there is a reason, though it may be just a little far fetched. The last month or so has been treacherous on my spirit. Actually, even before I went to Georgia, things had been confusing at best. Should we sell out house and buy another one here? Should Neil pump up his efforts to find a job down south? Should we have another kid or be happy with the two we have? I feel like our lives have been caught in a state of limbo with no solid direction. And then I was gone for a month, doing what I knew I was supposed to be doing, but it certainly didn't help much with the confusion and chaos I call my life's situation. Coming home not only brought an opportunity for a fresh start, it also brought me a transcendent peace. See, if I learned anything from my dad, it was that life is worth living, as short or as long as it may be.

Why does everything have to be decided today? God has a plan for my life, a good and wonderful plan, and I think it's about time I start trusting Him with that plan. Neil has a great job and there's no real urgency to move (here or there). Sure, I want to be closer to family, but like I've said hundreds of times before, I can't provide a job for Neil. Though the idea of me showing up at some company begging the CEO to consider my husband for a job does sound exhilarating, it may be just on the other side of sanity. All that said, I'm still not to the sheep yet.

Yesterday my friend, Katy, called to tell me that she's pregnant. Of course I'm happy for her, as they were trying to conceive their second child. Last night, she and her husband came over for a game night (which consisted of the guys shooting darts and Katy and I walking the kids around the neighborhood, but that's besides the point). Anyways, Katy gave me an extra test she obviously didn't need anymore. Jokingly I peed on the stick, and sat there in utter shock as the plus sign appeared on the results window. For those of you who don't know what a plus sign means on a pregnancy test...it means I'm pregnant. A few seconds later, I just started laughing. What else was there to do? I didn't stop for 20 or 30 minutes. I staggered up the stairs and just handed the test to Katy, whose jaw hit the floor (though I could tell she was ecstatic to have someone to be pregnant with). I then proceeded to hand the test to Neil along with "I was just joking around and..." He looked at the test, shrugged, and returned to his darts game. Later, i found out that he's okay with the whole situation. Personally, I think he would have been happy if I'd gotten pregnant a few days after leaving the hospital with Blake. Neither of us are fans of the infant stage, and want the kids to be close together so we can just get through it already.

My reaction? Still in shock. To think a few weeks ago I was debating even having another child. If it weren't for the fact that I wanted a girl, I probably wouldn't have considered it. Of course Neil did tell me when we got married that he doesn't produce female. So I can only hope, and this is my last chance. After this, Neil is getting himself fixed...with my blessing of course.

You'd think that this news would kick up the dust of uncertainty in my life, but oddly, I feel at peace. It's all going to be okay, crazy, but okay.

There is Such a Thing as Too Clean!

Staying Busy? That is my response to anyone who asks how I'm doing, and it's true. I'm staying busy. Almost every night is filled with engagements, friendly dinners, or a camp related meeting or event. It might be an excuse, but for now, it's mine. The last few days, in particular, have been centered around Grace Adventures Day Camp (the camp we're starting at my church). Yesterday camp and the church's children's ministry sponsored a Family Fun Day...a first for Grace Community Church. More than 400 people came to play on our beach (or volleyball sand pit), toss water balloons, kick soccer balls, bounce on the moon, eat hot dogs, and pet cattle (unexpected surprise as the church's neighbors have a dairy farm and the cows decided to come see what all the fuss was about.) It was a great day, except for the fact that the boys and I all ended up sunburned (yes, I am a stupid mom for not dousing my boys in sunscreen). I'd just like to give a shout out to Wes & Katy who took it upon themselves to watch the boys during the event, thus allowing me to focus on important tasks like helping little ones up onto the moon bounce and replenishing bags of chips. They ended up coming back to the house with us (Neil went kayaking and missed all the fun) for chinese takeout and cheap box wine.

So anyways, Friday night, I thought it might be a good idea to wash my jeans (since I'd been wearing them for a week straight). Thanks to my four weeks of no exercise, they are the only ones that comfortably fit me. When I went to put the clothes in the dryer Saturday morning, I found a little surprise in the washer...my cell phone. Yes, I washed my cell phone. You don't know true panic until you wash your cell phone the morning of a huge event. Literally, I'm thinking in my mind how I'm going to get to the T-Mobile store to get a new phone without interfering in the million tasks of my day. Luckily, I remembered that I still had my old phone in a box under the desk. Normally I sell them on ebay, but just had too much going on recently. So I plugged in my old phone to charge it up and went on about my business. Of course I lost about 50 numbers, so if you don't hear from me in a while, it's not because I don't love you, it's because I'm a loser who washed her phone. Who does that anyways? Except for my pastor, T.J., who did the same thing...only someone gave him an Iphone when he did it. Lucky Duck!

Although this may turn out to be a good thing. Why? Because I've been wanting a PDA, and since I'm not eligible for an upgrade on a phone until 2010 (cause I just got my waterlogged phone two months ago), I just bought a Palm PDA on ebay for super cheap. Now, since I'm now in the market for a new phone, maybe I could just kill two birds with one stone and get one of them combo phones. Huge step up for me, by the way. I normally only use my phone to talk. I don't even know how to text (which cost me .15 every time someone texts me, so please don't). Then I can resell the super cheap Palm on ebay for at least what I paid for it.

So I've been staying busy, but when the busyness stops, my mind returns to Augusta and my dad. Friday night, I was sitting on a bench outside the church waiting for Neil. Since I don't like to just sit and do nothing, I opened my phone and started scrolling through the phonebook looking for someone to call. It wasn't long before I saw Dad's number. For a split second, I thought I'd call Dad for a quick chat. Then I remembered...and tears welled up in my eyes and that all familiar lump began to form in the back of my throat. I tried to delete the number, but I couldn't. I just couldn't bring myself to do it. Instead I sat on the bench and cried; a good cry; a needed cry. I miss my dad, and I still can't seem to grasp the fact that he's gone. I was there and still can't wrap my brain around it. I can't imagine what it's like for my sisters and brother who weren't there; is it just as surreal for them?

I think we're all staying busy, Rebecca, Alex, Richie, Sherry, myself...because the busyness allows us to climb up out of the sadness and live our lives. I've never been so happy to have a long, unaccomplishable to-do list before in my life. It's a distraction from my heart ache and I welcome it...at least for now.

I'll be sending out evites today or tomorrow for a Pampered Chef catalog show in order to raise money for the American Cancer Society in Dad's memory (including my commission). If you'd like to receive an evite and I don't have your email addy, just let me know. My email is hills4neil@msn.com! Thanks!

The Memorial Service

Sorry Robbie, I didn't forget...just stalling. Dad's memorial service was held at the Church of the Good Shepherd, an episcopal church, in Augusta on Monday, April 21 at 5:00 pm. It was actually much like a normal episcopal service, very liturgical. The family and clergy processed into the church to "Be Thou My Vision." As I said before, this was the same song Dad walked me down the aisle to just 7 short years ago. The chapel was filled to the brim with friends, colleagues, and family. This is what dad would have wanted to see...how many people were there, and I'm sure he would have taken note of who was and wasn't there. He would have been pleased...mostly. The rest is truly a blur. The minister spoke, the congregation sang, and I wept. Dad's ashes sat on the altar in a simple box, but I never saw them.

A few months before he died, Dad had asked Alan Faulkner, the chaplain for Dr. Schlaer, to speak at his funeral. So he did. I can't tell you what he said, but I remember it being very good, especially since Dad wasn't the most spiritual of men. As per one of his blog entries, Dad requested "Into the Woods My Master Went" to be sung. A very sweet woman by the name of Barbara sung it and did an excellent job.

Even though I sat with Sherry and Barbara (yes the same one that sang) the night before Dad died and picked out the scriptures to be read and songs to be sung, it's still a blur. The last hymn sung was "Joyful, Joyful, We Adore Thee." But I don't remember feeling joyful at all. The visitation followed which consisted of us standing in a receiving line which seemed like a mile long. I am so thankful to have been in Augusta the weeks prior to his death. Not only because I got to spend time with Dad, but also because I got to be part of their life there in Augusta. I would have never known any of the people in that line if I hadn't come, such great people too. It was assuring to me to know that Sherry has such a great support system.

After the visitation, family and friends gathered at my Dad's house. Dad would have loved that part; a hundred people or so all in one place talking about him. He might not have cared much about the service itself. It was the people, the stories, the memories that honored him the most.

Everyday Heros (and I'm not talking about the pop-culture tv series)

Merriam-Webster defines a hero as a mythological or legendary figure often of divine descent endowed with great strength or ability; an illustrious warrior; a man admired for his achievements and noble qualities; one that shows great courage.

For the purpose of today's rantings, I'd like to focus on the last definition of the word hero; one that shows great courage. And then I would like to suggest that unless your a flat out coward, we're all heroes at some point in time. When you face paralyzing fear and conquer it, you become a hero.

Why am I talking about heroes? I've heard this term recently used to describe myself in regards to the last month I spent with my dad. I don't feel like a hero, at least not in the sense of a mythological or legendary figure of divine decent (though my mom and dad might have argued that point) endowed with great strength or ability. Of course, I'd be flattered if they came out with a Hillary Pennington bobble head or a bust of my head, but you get my point. Honestly I believe that someone else in my situation and with the same opportunities (a fabulous mother-in-law willing to watch my kids day in and day out and a husband willing to let us go for an unknown period of time) would do the same thing. In fact, my sister Becca once said that Sherry and I must be the strongest people in the world because she didn't think she could do it. I think she could. Sure it would be scary at first, but she could have done it. Heck, she has three kids...she tackles her fears everyday. If she had to, she would have been there. I believe that. Same goes for my other two siblings. My circumstances simply allowed me to be able to drop everything and go to Augusta. And I have no regrets (I get that I keep saying that).

So sure, I'm a hero because I conquered my fears. When I left Maryland 5 weeks ago, I had three main fears: 1) seeing my dad in the state of weakness, 2) my dad dying without knowing the Lord, and 3) dealing with my family in general. Those fears could have kept me from going. In fact as I got in the car to drive away, tears welled up and a knot appeared in my throat. Literally, I was pushing through the fear (more like praying through it).

This brings me to the source of my heroism...the grace and strength of God. You had to know that was coming. There is no other way to explain it. How else could I sit in that hospital room day after day taking care of my dad whom I wasn't sure, at times, if he would live or die? And once it was clear that he was dying, I almost had to remove myself emotionally from the situation just so I could get through the day. Maybe that's why it still seems so surreal, almost like it didn't happen. Somehow I have to get past the last month, past the last year even, to a place where I can just remember my dad and not the frail shadow of himself. When I close my eyes, I still see him lying in the hospital bed, gone. Maybe this is the cost of heroism. Isn't there always a cost? If there wasn't, then why would it require courage?

Back to my sister, Becca, for a second. I called her the night after my dad's surgery, over a week before he passed, and told her I thought she should come. It wasn't looking good. She told me that she wasn't sure she wanted to see Dad in that state. She didn't want to remember him like that. Still, she came, both for herself and for him. I'm glad she did, because through out the day, he got better. Sue Estes, a family friend, came in and fixed him all up, a good shave, combed hair, brushed teeth. By the time Becca left, Dad was doing and looking ten times better then when she came. This was the last time she saw him. She conquered her fear and that makes her a hero in my book.

Do you see what I mean? We're all heroes, and so was my dad. So I salute you heroes, all of you. Don't let fear and trepidation keep you from being what you are called to be. "So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand." Isaiah 41:10

Enough said!

Why Not?

Sometimes it takes life's darkest circumstances to energize us enough to moved. Through this experience with my dad, I've discovered how much I love to write, despite a lack of confidence in my ability. However, I continue to come back to what I would write about. It's not like I have an expertise in any one area, but I do love to watch television. I appreciate a show with good writing, even if others would frown upon my choices (like One Tree Hill). Before going to Augusta five weeks ago, I wasn't prepared to put forth any effort to write. I simply thought that if I somehow got discovered, then so be it...I'd write. My dad's response to that? I can see him now, "Nothing comes that easily Hillary. Now get off your butt and make something happen." Okay, maybe he wouldn't use those exact words, but he'd say something to that affect and then follow with a long story about his own hardships of entry level mayhem. Dad was a successful and talented writer who worked hard to get where he was, and he never let a "no" get in his way. It's not like he majored in journalism, but in the end, he was doing exactly what he loved; playing, writing, and getting paid for it.

So what if I don't have any experience in writing scripts? So what if I don't live in LA (and have no desire to for that matter)? So what if I have two small children who demand every last ounce of sweat from my brow? Would David Foster have let any of that stop him from pursuing his dream? Nope, and he didn't. In fact, if I had thought of this earlier, he would have moved mountains (if he could) to help me make my dream come true. That's the kind of man he was. In college, I was an Outdoor Education major. I mentioned to Dad that I needed to get a tent, sleeping bag, and backpack for my backpacking class. He just made it happen (thank you, by the way, to whoever his contact was at Kelty). He offered to set me with a job on an Alaskan cruise ship for a summer, but I declined (stupid, stupid Hillary) claiming I was too busy. That last sentence has absolutely nothing to do with the purpose of today's blog, but I just thought of it and wanted to mention it. The point is that I don't want to live with regrets. I have none when it comes to my dad (except not taking that Alaska opp), but that doesn't mean I don't have any in general. There are plenty, and I don't want not writing (or at least trying) to to be one of them.

So what now? I don't know. Maybe I'll take a class or workshop on script writing for television. Man, now would be the time to have some contacts; somebody to guide me in the right direction. I've been searching google, which is normally so helpful, and haven't found much of anything. I know there are probably a million opportunities right here in my area. It's not like a live in the sticks. I just need to find them, but how? Not a rhetorical question, by the way. I'm not looking for a quick fix, though I wouldn't turn one down.

In the meantime, I'll continue to bless y'all with my inner ramblings. Who knows? Maybe I'll have an epiphany, a vision, some subject I'm passionate enough about to fill the pages of a book. Until then...