Death – what good can come from it? There’s a question without an answer. And while I know that as an in-law I don’t really have a right to an opinion on the matter, I can say this: it wasn’t easy watching dementia overtake someone I had known and respected for nearly 20 years.

Don’t worry; you aren’t going to get a dissertation on what I think about it because I know you don’t want to hear it. What you will hear, though, is that this is the second time I’ve stood face to face with the reaper in five months, and there are some lessons you can learn from death. It doesn’t change anything about the situation, but it can change your perspective on life. For example:

It reminds you to live. There are some who are homebound or confined in facilities that would consider the ability to go out in the world, get aggravated like hell by people with attitudes, and work until their brain is fried a great privilege.  It’s easy to assume that simple things like going to work, caring for your home and family, and being able to come and go as you please are our rights, until illness or injury take them away. “We know that God works all things for good” (Romans 8:28) is something we too often forget, and yet we’d be better off mentally and spiritually if we decided to seek the benefit instead of complain. Even if the “why” eludes you, it can always be filed away as life experience that may give you something useful for later. Or it could be as simple as humility rubbing off rough edges that are hurting you more than you realize.

You learn who the people you know really are. If the application of pressure bleeds out character, then death is the ultimate test of exactly who does and doesn’t have the capacity to behave like a civilized human being. You learn who is awesome and who epically sucks in your life when you grieve. The good news is that more seem to fall on the good side than the bad, and that’s comforting. And the better news is that you know exactly where lines need to be redrawn in your life, and you can adjust accordingly. I know my “give a crap” radar has been reset in the past week.

You also learn who you really are. This may be news to you, but everybody grieves differently. While you’re used to  weeping and wailing, the truth is that there are lots of ways people react to loss, and sometimes you can surprise yourself. Case in point: I feel like the world has kicked me in the ***, and I want to kick back. I haven’t shed any public tears, but now I know why everything has pissed me off since my father-in-law’s health started the rapid decline last spring. It’s helped me to gain perspective on how I’m seeing the world, and I’m taking steps to find ways to reclaim a better balance in my mind.

I also learned that I can eat through the apocalypse.  I really have to pay attention to my eating habits right now.

You appreciate the smaller things. Like being able to actually work all of your assigned hours for the week, clean up your house, take time to enjoy recreation and hobbies, and talking about something other than illness, death, and dying. Your world collapses in the wake of a death, and the expansion back to normal can give you a new appreciation for the beauty of an ordinary day.

Your sense for what’s important is sharpened. Or rather, your tolerance for crap is gone. Suddenly, gossip, idle chatter, created drama and self-inflicted suffering strikes you as offensive. And you might just say so, from time to time.

No, grief isn’t pleasant, but it’s unavoidable and will come to us all. We live in community and as such, we will have to deal with loss and grief throughout our lives. There’s no escaping it. If you feel safe, enjoy the deception while you can. The reaper can come at any time, and takes who he pleases.

 It’s not pleasant, but at least you aren’t alone, and the realizations from it can give you insight. No, it doesn’t change things, and you can never get back what you lost. But at least you can strengthen what you have, and remember to live better, one day at a time.

That’s all today. Take care and have a good rest of the week.

Bye!

Rick's father passed away early yesterday morning. Many of you know that my father-in-law has struggled with dementia for many years, and the inevitable end has come. 

Rick and I haven't talked much about it, but the truth is that his has been a difficult journey. I've had two great aunts pass away from dementia when I was younger, but this was, by far, the most difficult one yet. He seemed to rally after the surgery for his subderma hematoma two months ago, but that didn't last. In a matter of a couple weeks, things fell apart and it's been a freefall spiral since. And he struggled. It was difficult to bear witness to. I'm no stranger to death, but this was, by far, the hardest one to witness yet. I know the reason we didn't talk about it to others much is because it's hard to put it into words. There just don't seem to be words in the English language to describe how horrible it's been to see this happen to his father. It's not that we didn't want others to know. It's that we chose to stay quiet instead of struggling with language and semantics that failed us. 

Rick is struggling, of course, and especially just five months after we lost Oliver - but all things given, I think what he's experiencing is normal. It's been a shock to both of us, but especially to him because this is his father. He is coping, through. He's making it, and he has a lot of support. Nobody can give him back his father or his baby bird, but he's not alone, and he knows it. We're getting by with a lot of help from our family and friends, and again words fail to express our gratitude at the overwhelming abundance of support we've already been given. 

The obituary is posted at http://www.legacy.com/obituaries/thestate/obituary.aspx?n=john-richard-moorer-dick&pid=172022723&fhid=6243 . We'll have the visitation and memorial service tomorrow (I don't look forward to that). And then, life goes on. It doesn't seem fair or right, but as they said in Game of Thrones: whatever rages in here, most of the world is going on as usual out there. The world keeps turning and we turn with it, minus one important person. But we will adjust and find our new normal. We really don't have a choice, do we? One journey is over, but it continues for the rest of us, and so we shall continue. One day at a time. That's how life is made. 

Thanks to all for your words of encouragement and support. I'll be back with my regular shenanagins next week. 

Happy Friday to you, and I hope that you're able to have a good weekend. 

Bye!

The number one reason I hear people give for avoiding the faith is usually a question: how can a good and loving God allow so many bad things to happen in the world? They know there’s no answer to that question, and I suspect it’s used to trap Christians into trying to explain the unexplainable.

I could tell you that there’s plenty of beauty in the world too. I could tell you that all the evil you see is the result of the devil’s work in this world, and because of God’s grace to let us have free will, we bring it on ourselves with our sinful nature. I could tell you that there’s a perfect Kingdom waiting for us beyond this life, and our joy will be complete when we navigate the mines and pitfalls of this world. I could tell you it’s a test of character, a test of faith, or a test of will. I could tell you that it’s to strengthen you for blessings to come. There’s a grain of truth in all of these things, but you’d still call crap on me because it’s not really an answer. So let me smash this stereotype right now: Christians don’t get it, either, and the truth is that we’re just as puzzled about it as you are.

Several years ago, I went to a funeral for a friend’s mother and the hymn of choice was “When Peace Flows Like a River.” People were swaying and waving their hands, saying “oh yes, Lord, it is well with my soul!” and I thought you people are full of crap. Just minutes before, my friend greeted me with tears in her eyes and told me how devastated she was over this sudden loss. Death, I thought, is not well with my soul, and I’m not ok with it. In fact, I’ve never once met a person who really and truly had a “whatever you want is alright with me, Lord” mentality. For all the faith I’ve seen, I’ve heard plenty of whining and tears and “why?” Nobody’s that well adjusted that just anything is alright and they’ll roll along as if it’s no more than picking apples at the grocery store. I’m sure that song has the best of intentions on how we should be, but nobody’s well with anything that happens. At least I’m bold enough to admit it. I have plenty of problems with plenty of things in this world, and I’m not afraid to admit it: to God, to myself, and to others. I don’t know why people of faith believe they have to hide their pain behind false piety.

I’m a Christian just like the others, but I can tell you that the pain of the world has no answer that will satisfy the soul. Some things just don’t make sense, and there’s no way to wrap our heads around it. Anybody that tells you they have the answer to this riddle is lying.

Ollie’s Story

 On June 24, 2010, Rick brought home a precious green and yellow parakeet from the school he works at. The vice-principal found the little fellow in the outside courtyard, completely exhausted, hungry, and confused. None of Rick’s co-workers knew what to do with the little fellow, and nobody was stepping up to claim the loss. Rick felt sorry for the bird sitting alone in the school all night and weekend, so he brought him home, believing that we and our two parrots, Zack and Chloe, would be good for him.

Before too long, that parakeet was our third bird. We named him Oliver, and he eventually opened up and became a great companion bird. Plus, he sang beautifully. I’d never heard anything like it! We took him to the vet for a “well check,” and the vet told us that he was less than six months old, and the singing was probably from being in close contact with a canary during his early days.

Ollie was great. He got along with our parrots well and was an outstanding companion. Family and friends adored him and loved hearing his songs and watching him bounce around his cage. The only issue was that he seemed to be camera shy. I only have a couple of videos of those beautiful songs, and a handful of pictures. More often than not, I’d get a picture of the wall because Ollie would jump away just as I took his picture.

In October 2013, I noticed that Ollie seemed to be gimpy on his left leg. Zack had just recovered from an upper respiratory infection, and I wondered if Ollie had fallen and banged his foot one day when I wasn’t around. Zack and Chloe had both done this, and were usually fine anywhere from a few minutes to a day later. A couple of days later, I was alarmed when I noticed that Ollie stumbled and was trying to avoid use of that leg altogether. I called the vet. Our regular vet wasn’t available, but another one in the practice took a look at him. He diagnosed Ollie with a kidney infection and said the infection had caused nerve inflammation that was affecting that leg. He gave Ollie a shot and some antibiotics and told me that the infection would clear up in a couple of weeks, but the nerve inflammation could take as much as six months to heal.

Ollie seemed to improve, but after Thanksgiving, I noticed that he was having trouble perching. Now his right leg seemed to be bothering him. I took him back to the vet. I asked for our regular vet, but he was tied up in emergency surgery. Another vet with the practice came in and said she thought the inflammation had spread, and maybe the infection didn’t clear up completely. She gave Ollie another anti-inflammatory shot and more antibiotics. The vet that saw Ollie the first time came in briefly and agreed with this assessment. They asked that Ollie come in two weeks later for a follow up. Ollie had perked up some by the follow up, but still had trouble moving. At this time, I had put him in a smaller cage and set it up with a large “corner perch” and other flat areas instead of perches so he could get around better.  Rick took Ollie to the vet that time, and his regular vet came in for that visit. He said that a tumor was a possibility, but he doubted it because that’s more common in older birds, and Ollie was only three and a half. He said he could do an X-Ray to know for sure. Rick and I talked about it and decided against it. Ollie was stressed out from all the vet visits, and Rick had just been through a two month ordeal with a tooth infection and root canal that had to be redone. Christmas was upon us, and frankly I was overwhelmed – so much that I came down with the flu on New Year’s Eve, even though I had a flu shot. Plus, I just wasn’t sure if I could handle what that X-Ray might reveal. It had been a very stressful time between work issues and Rick’s tooth problems, and frankly I just couldn’t take anymore.

I think you’ve figured out what happened by now. Ollie never recovered and in fact, he continued to deteriorate. On February 27, 2014, Rick and I took him to see his regular vet one more time. The vet found a large tumor on the base of Ollie’s spine. He as absolutely shocked. “He’s so young! I just don’t understand,” I remember the vet saying. And that was the end. There pretty much wasn’t a question. I told Ollie that we loved him and would see him on the other side (I always say this when dealing with death), and he was put to sleep.

I honestly believed he would recover, and it makes no sense to me why an innocent parakeet suffered like that. Ollie never hurt anybody or did anything wrong. We rescued him and intended to give him a long, full life. Why weren’t we allowed the time to do that? I don’t know.  It didn’t make any sense to me on February 27, 2014, and it still doesn’t today. I can’t tell you why Ollie died, especially in such an awful, painful way. But he did, and I’m left with no choice but to accept the loss as one of life unexplainable and move on.

Canyon View

Later that day, after we cleaned up and stored away Ollie’s things, I logged on to my computer to check on a few things for my writing. As my background screen came up, a strange thing occurred to me: it was a picture I had taken at The Grand Canyon exactly one year ago that very day.

I see that picture almost everyday, but it really struck me that evening: both because of the irony of going from a magnificent experience to something that absolutely sucked in 365 days, and because I actually stopped to remember the moment I took that picture. Visiting The Grand Canyon was one of those paradigm-shifting experiences that really caused me to look at things differently. Pictures really don’t do it justice, because it’s incomprehensible unless you experience it – and it is something that you experience with your whole being. I remember  looking at the red rock, blue sky, and sunshine and thinking: This is reality. This is as close as I’ll get to seeing the world like God sees it. That was the world as God created it, before people came along and started carving out our little places in the crevices. That is how the universe really exists. It’s not the 19 inch screen we’re limited to in our day to day living. It’s the unlimited panorama of everything.

The only thing about that view is that my eyes weren’t good enough to see into the valleys and crevices in that rock. I saw the Colorado River as a small, green blip at the bottom of one of those areas, and I only saw it because a sign with a telescope posted showed me where to look, and it was still small. I know that’s a huge river that carved out the very canyon I stood at the top of, but from where I stood at the top, I would have missed it if it weren’t pointed out specifically. And people rafting that river certainly couldn’t see me standing up there, looking down at them. The rock over their head blocked that view.

Human view is limited. Even if we try to step back and see the big picture, there’s no way we can see into all the valleys and pits way down there, and we certainly can’t see the sky well when we’re in one of them. Our vision is one way, and our minds can’t comprehend how it all works together for God’s greater good. I can’t tell you why Ollie died. I can’t tell you why I lost three friends to cancer during an 18 month period of time a few years ago. I can’t tell you why I lost two great aunts to dementia, and now my father-in-law has fallen prey to it. I can’t tell you why people get sick, or why the good suffer just as much or even more than the bad, or why things with apparently good intentions fall flat, or friends betray you, or people aggravate you, or why it just doesn’t work out. There are plenty of things I’ve seen and experienced that to this day, I cannot figure out what good came of it. Maybe I will understand one day, or maybe that reason will never come. All I know is that life isn’t fair, and that Eccleasiastes 9:11 is absolutely right: time and chance happen to us all.

Living with Questions

Being a Christian doesn’t protect you from the dark places; it simply gives you the courage to live with the questions, and the faith to trust that the answers are out there and will work together for good in the end (Romans 8:28). This also isn’t an instantaneous thing, but rather a process that we must work through. It’s perfectly natural to feel anger and grief over our losses and struggles, and there’s no shortcut to dealing with them. We must work through our emotions and take the time we need to come to terms with the questions that plague us.

I don’t believe God is happy when we suffer. Rather, I believe He suffers with us and doesn’t expect us to take it gracefully. Remember that He gave us our emotions so we would know when things aren’t right, and to not feel them means we didn’t obey that all important commandment from Jesus to love. The pain means that you did love, and that is always a right thing to do. These are the times when it’s imperative to have a relationship with the Lord. Believe me, He can take it. He can take your anger, your frustration, your fear, and your sadness. Rant, rave, and rage at him. You can’t hurt Him, but He can heal you if you’re honest with Him and yourself. This is a time when it’s fine to talk and talk and talk –  and then listen for your comfort, in whatever small ways it can be offered. You might be surprised where you find it, too.

I know the outpouring of sympathy when Ollie died touched me as much as his loss. The outpouring of sympathy both from friends in person, online, and even strangers shocked me. It’s usually in tragedy that we bond, and common ground is found in comfort. You may not find the answers, but you could find many other gifts in your suffering that you never expected.

It’s not an answer, but it’s something. Thanks be to God.

There are some phrases in widespread, common use that seem to be universal hot buttons to piss people off. Really, I don’t understand how it became commonplace for people to say things that erode the very respect that relationships are built on, and yet I hear people say it – and complain about having these things said to them – frequently. 

Certainly, we should always be honest and authentic in our dealings with people, but discernment is an absolute necessity in our dealings with ALL people. Just because it flies through your brain doesn’t mean it needs to fly out of your mouth, and in fact there are many times when it’s best to keep that thought in your head and fake it till you make it with your words (or silence, depending on the situation). For example, here are some phrases you should eliminate (or at least, drastically reduce) in your vocabulary that will garner more respect, motivate people to cooperate and work well with you, and make you appear more intelligent and savvy:

1.   “Whatever.” Nothing coveys the ignorant-inconsiderate-jerk trifecta like this one word phrase. You have the entire English language at your disposal and that’s all you’ve got? If it is, then it’s time to recognize the uncomfortable fact that sometimes, the best course of action is to gracefully back away and let silence be golden. And if you refuse to exercise the right to remain silent, then a simple “I hope that works out for you and wish you luck” is much more dignified than throwing out something that makes you look like a cross between an immature tween and a person that’s learning English as a second language -  and isn’t quite getting it.

2.    “Do what you’ve got to do.” I don’t hear this one as much as I used to, but it’s still out there, and it’s a sin for the same reasons as “whatever.” More accurately, that’s redneck for “I don’t like what you’re doing and would move Heaven and Earth to stop you, but that would reveal me as a selfish jerk to the rest of the world and I don’t want to do that, so go on and get this over with so you can get back to doing things that make me happy.” It isn’t your job to like or even understand everything that other people do, so let go and accept that people have a right to lead their lives, do things, and make decisions that work best for them regardless of what you say, think, or need. Instead, say “I understand this is important to you.” Even if you don’t and you hope it blows up in their face, just fake it and at least acknowledge their right to live as they see fit.  Because I guarantee you’ve done things that made them go “Hmmm” in the past . Plus,  if you want people to stay interested in your life, then you have to at least act like you give a crap about them and their life, even if you don’t care about them any more than you care about the extra 40 minutes in a Martian day. 

3.   “That’s not my problem.” I stand back when people say this because it’s an open invitation for the universe to hit you with its best shot, and that’s a challenge it ALWAYS accepts. Sure, you aren’t responsible for every single thing that happens in the world, and there are some things that aren’t your business, but have some dignity in declining to accept responsibility that you feel isn’t yours. “I’m sorry I can’t help you with that” is much more gracious and doesn’t invite fate, the universe, the world, or whatever you wish to call it to deliver an entirely new batch of problems into your life. Fake sympathy for the other persons’ plight even if you don’t really feel it because you WILL be at the receiving end of this one day, and the measure you get will be the measure you’ve given. It happens to us all.

4.  “You don’t really want that,” or “Stop wasting your time on that and do this instead.” Excuse me, when did God appoint you to His position, because that’s what it looks like you’re playing at with either variation of this. You have no way of knowing what’s in other peoples’ hearts or what plans are in store for them, and they aren’t required to get your approval for it, either. People have a right to make their own decisions. You never know what might happen and statements like this may very well make a fool of you one day. Don’t take a chance. 

5.  “I told you so.” Even if you preface it with the I-hate-to-say-it-but clause, it’s still ridiculous because they already know. Demonstrate some maturity and don’t gloat over somebody’s failings, even if they asked for it and everybody knew it was foolishness from the start. As I said in the last statement, people have a right to make their own decisions and that means having the grace to let them make their own mistakes. Pray they’ve learned from the experience, and don’t gloat lest you wander into folly someday. Because none of us are as smart as we think we are. 
 
6.    “ I did that too, and let me tell you how I did it better.” Nobody likes a know-it-all or a show off, and a constant need to one-up people blinks “I’m insecure!” brighter than a digital billboard. You don’t have to be in the spotlight every minute of every day. Back down and let others have their day in the sun every now and then. Because we all know that nobody’s done everything under the sun, and there will always be people out there that have done it bigger, better and more recently than you have. Let go of the competition to always be #1 and learn to be happy with the life the Lord gave you.

7.   “If I were you, I’d …” Turn off anybody that prefaces a statement with this immediately, because it’s a clear sign that they don’t know what they’re talking about. Wisdom gives options. Experience shares insight. Ignorance says that if they were you, they’d go out and kick the world in the you-know-where, and that’s most often foolishness that would make a bigger mess of things if anybody were dumb enough to take this advice. Plus, they wouldn’t have the guts to actually do it, because some people are good at telling people to do things they wouldn’t dare do themselves.

8.     “You should make them do it.” Guess what? Scientists have found the center of the universe and it’s not you. That’s the fastest way to run a person out of your life. You don’t make anybody do anything they don’t want to do, and if you try to then trust me – you’re ego can’t handle what they really think about you. If you have to control someone every minute to “keep them in line,” then you’re trying to force them into a place or relationship where they don’t belong. Don’t beg people to be your friend or try to force them to your will. Pray for what Joyce Meyer refers to as “divine connections.” Those are friends and acquaintances that you get along with so well that you don’t want to change them because you appreciate how their uniqueness enriches your life. 

9.     “I would NEVER do that/accept that/put up with that.” Never say never or the Lord will make you do it to show you who the boss really is. One never in your life that’s absolute: you never know what life has in store for you. Someday you could well be dining on crow while dealing with something that you thought you were too smart/special/good for. Life has a way of humbling us, and the “I would never” statements are a GPS on how to get that done. 

10.   Anything other than “I’m sorry for your loss” and “I’m praying for you and your family” at a visitation or funeral. Anything else sounds stupid and believe me, there’s nothing clever or inspirational you can say that will get through people in the depths of grief. The dumbest things I’ve ever heard have all been said at visitations and/or funerals because people try to justify death and offer comfort in religious platitudes. Folks, I’m Christian too, but this isn’t seminary or time to play preacher. I remember what C.S. Lewis wrote about death not being natural because human beings weren’t created to die and it’s the most painful consequence that we pay for sin. He’s absolutely right. There’s nothing right about death and there’s no way to wrap it up in pretty phrases or platitudes that makes it suck less. So give it up. Don’t engage in conversations with the bereaved if they try to start one, either. This isn’t the time or place to engage in theological discussions, discuss anything beyond condolences for the loss (no gossip or “what’s up with me” statements), and it certainly isn’t appropriate to leverage your personality or make a big impression. It’s a subdued occasion so dial it down, make an appearance, and for goodness sake, shut up.

Maybe you relate to some of this and are nodding, saying thank you for revealing it! Or maybe you see it as a calling out. I certainly don’t mean it that way, and I admit that I’m guilty of uttering some of these phrases. In fact, I  had to work at cutting the “whatever” and “I told you so” out of my vocabulary, and I get along with people so much better now that it’s gone. My point is not to say “shame on you.” It’s  to shed light on small things that chip away at trust and give guidance that I’ve learned in building bridges to cooperative relationships that last. It takes time and effort, but if modifying my vocabulary slightly will help with that, then it’s an effort worth making. I believe if you’ve read this far then you believe it’s a worthy effort, too.

That’s all today. Take care. I hope you have a Happy Friday tomorrow and a great weekend. 
 
Bye!

What’s wrong with this picture? To you, probably nothing. To me, a lot.  Now, finally, I’m going to tell you why I have a rather complex issue with red poinsettias. It’s a story that began on this very night 25 years ago. 

My grandmother died on December 6, 1987. Big whoop, I hear you say, everybody loses grandparents. I mean, Rick’s grandmother died on December 21, 2000 and he has no issues of this type, so what’s the deal? I’ll tell you what the deal is. First of all, Nana’s death was the first major loss I suffered in my life. Other elderly relatives had passed away, of course – great aunts and great uncles, but at age 12 this was my first brush with death taking somebody close to me. And I was close to my maternal grandparents. It wasn’t the “see you a few times a year and at the holidays” grandparents. They lived next door to us. My brother and I had no babysitter because we stayed with them if we weren’t at a friend’s house. We were close to Nana and Granddaddy and this was the first time I experienced the
death of somebody that was a regular part of my life. 

Those are things you deal with over time. Of course I still miss her (and Granddaddy, who died less than 2 years later), but by and large I have moved on from that. I realize the world has changed a lot and they’d be miserable in it now. I realize they’d want everybody to go on living, to be happy, and to have the best life we can until we meet again (but hopefully not too soon). I thought I had this covered and was good, until 5 years ago, when Rick and I moved in the home we built and he asked me to get some red poinsettias for the house. We finally have a nice house, he said, so let’s fix it up right. So off I went to dutifully get them and once I was at the store, I panicked. There they were, blood red and mocking me. I got a bit short winded. My heart raced. I couldn’t do it. I bought a white one instead. Rick looked at me funny. 

“It’s pretty,” he said, “but I thought you liked red. Didn’t they have any?”

“Yes they did, but I didn’t want it.”

“Why?”

I found myself face to face with an issue I thought was deal with. See, when Nana died, people sent red poinsettias. Lots of red poinsettias. Our house was full of them. Granddaddy’s house was full of them. And frankly, for years I couldn’t recall much about her funeral until I saw that huge rack of red poinsettias in my face
and all of a sudden, it came back to me. Obviously, I had blocked a lot of the painful memories of that bad Christmas and it all came back to me – and continued to, every time I saw red poinsettias. 

But wait, that’s not all …

For three years, I let it go. Time, I decided, would heal, and it was just one thing. But two years ago, I went through some major life transitions and decided that while I was doing some life and spiritual “housecleaning, then it was time for me to do something about this too. My life was being rewritten, and I determined that if
I was going to change my life, then I was going to do it right and make the best of all things, and this was definitely a chink in my armor that I allowed for far too long. It was silly, really. I grew up. I have a good life. But it seemed there was a 12 year old inside me that was still hurting, and that had to be dealt with. I refused to be held captive to my past. That’s just stupid. So I had a brilliant idea. I hadn’t been to the cemetery where my grandparents were buried since their funerals. I needed to go out there, I thought, and pay my final respects. It was time to face their loss as an adult. I was driving by while running some work related errands, so I decided I’d make a quick stop and get this done. So one cold day two years ago, I made my first stop to the church cemetery in a very, very long time. I found their burial plots, took a deep breath, and …

 I had nothing. I mean, not one thing to say. I was looking around that cemetery and it hit me: These people are done with life and this world. They don’t belong here. Their labors are over and now they rest and are in glory. They don’t care. It’s not their problem and there’s no wisdom or help here (as it seems our church members
aren’t ones for epitaphs, and the ones they had weren’t *ahem* brilliant parting words). The world belongs to the living and it’s up to us to make things right and keep on going the best we can. 

So I dealt with it the best I could, and left feeling much better. The problem is, there were some side effects. I was no longer plagued with grief and bad memories. They were soon replaced with something more … bizarre. 

I left my grief at the cemetery, but the problem is that I picked up something that I didn’t realize followed me. Since that time, I’ve been plagued with recurring dreams of walking in a cemetery. I’m looking for my grandparent’s burial site, but I can’t find it because there aren’t any names on the tombstones. After wandering around for a while, I get pissed off, say “to hell with this, I’m leaving!” and wake up. It’s not often – maybe every few months, but it most recently happened night before last. I always wake up from that dream pissed off and frustrated. Seriously? Again? And after 2 years of searching for meaning, I finally decided its sole purpose is to mock me and make me mad. I mean, geeze. If paying my respects causes my mind to do wacky stuff like that, I might as well skip the trip to the cemetery, get a cheeseburger basket at the Fat Boys down the road, and do a drive-by wave at the graveyard! It’s easier, less trouble, and I get a good meal out of it, right?

Then I visualize myself driving by the cemetery with a French fry in my mouth waving and saying “hi guys, it’s all good!” as I zoom along Highway 1 with other people gawking at whatever-the-hell-I’m-doing and I laugh at my own insanity. So now, every time I see red poinsettias, I think of cheeseburgers, French fries and seeing how fast I can drive up Highway 1, and I shake my head at … myself.

 Well, my own crazy ideas are better than sad memories and anxiety attacks, I suppose. At least my distaste for red poinsettias has settled into a more dissociated issue, but I still buy poinsettias in other colors. I have an awesome blue one in our entry way with silver bows and glitter and a white one for the office. And since Rick
and I did want a red Christmas plant for the house, I got an amaryllis. And when a red poinsettia did show up in my home, I put it on the front porch. I only have to look at it when I come home from work now. Maybe raccoons will take it. No luck there yet but hey, they may want to decorate for Christmas. Maybe? Probably not. Even the wildlife knows better than to touch that one with a 10 foot pole, it seems.

So yea, I’ve got issues but at least I’ve tried to deal with them – even if it led to more madness that I bargained for.  Cheeseburgers and a drive by wave. Hrmph. That’s a heck of a way to solve a problem but if it works …

And by the way, the reason Rick doesn’t have an issue with poinsettias is because his grandmother that died at Christmas liked carnations, so the people that sent flowers sent carnations to her funeral (they also accepted donations to the church in lieu of flowers). No poinsettias there, even though her funeral was on December 23. Well played, I say. 

That’s all today. I hope you’ve enjoyed my bizarre yet true tale of dealing with grief, myself, and the madness of life during the holiday season. 

Bye!