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I conducted a poetry workshop within my classroom today. It was successful, as lessons go,—my students were so engaged that they didn’t even want to go to band—they wanted to continue to write. Tonight, I found myself watching Oprah on TIVO—and I found myself encompassed in my very own poetry workshop lesson of the day. Oh, a victim of my own instruction—trying to make sense of something so utterly “Senseless”
Senseless

How many will join our ranks?

I am sitting

At home

Watching Oprah and learning of a man

Named Ken Granda

Father of three

Shot

In the hallway of Virginia Tech

Needless….senseless.

I knew something was wrong

He didn’t call me back

He was brilliant

How is his wife?

Children?

Three children…

He was a wonderful father..

Hearts are broken

Children without a father

What do we do?

It is surreal…

We can’t move forward…

We can’t make arrangements

We can move forward until

They release

The body

Release the body

“Our sense of grief can not be compared to your own…”

No, it can not.

Grief

Can not be compared….

I will admit that the recent happenings at Virginia Tech have aggravated my feelings in this area. You see, a former student lost his life a few years ago to the fact that firearms were readily available to him. Now, we find ourselves reading about a college student with a semi-automatic handgun who had the capability of killing over 30 young people in one fell swoop — in a heartbeat the lives of the Virginia Tech students and families will never be the same-innocence has been stolen from them. Security is gone. I can’t imagine the pain that the parents of these children must endure—it is truly senseless. The loss of my husband was great, but I comprehend and acknowledge that the loss of a child is the greatest loss of all.
I am unwavering in my stance regarding guns. There are very FEW absolutes in my life—this happens to be the ONE that is steadfast. Is this harsh–perhaps, but I will not waver—I will not back down—nor would I ever stand in the way of your “right” to own a gun, especially for hunting (though I have zero tolerance for semi-automatic anything). But if I am aware one is present in your home, my child would NOT be allowed to visit you. See, I am under no illusion that my child, who is capable of conquering any extremely complicated video game, could figure out how to open a “locked” gun cabinet if he so desired and curiosity; well, it is within every child’s nature.

At the end of the day, I believe in the potential of life from conception to death—it is a part of who I am. I can’t explain it any better than to tell you that—ALL life has promise. It doesn’t end at conception and it certainly doesn’t end with making horrific decisions. Do I KNOW that at moments in time, this doesn’t make sense, YES, but I still am willing to hold true to the fact that life is precious no matter what—and guns—seem to only accelerate the ability to take it away.

This I know for sure.

Don and I never played the “popular in the school district” game and sometimes our kids suffered; however, in the past, Don was actually here to “oversee” the kids sporting activities. When my youngest son received word of the baseball team he was to be on this summer, I took exception with the fact that he seemed to be on a team coached by someone outside our community. As a single mother, I was hoping that he would be on a team coached by a role-model from our own community with which he could “connect”. Selfishly, I wanted to be able to car-pool with parents I knew well and be able to count on their support.
As always, I took things into my own hands and emailed the head of the youth league my concerns. As I was reading his response, my 11-year-old was looking over my shoulder and asked “Mom, why are you emailing Mr. L?”. I told him and, of course, he was APPALED. He said to me “Mom, we will deal with the hand we are dealt. I DO NOT want any special treatment.” So, I sent another email to Mr. L (who, most likely, thinks I am a nut case by now) that we would simply stay with the original team my son was assigned to.

The next day I received the team roster. Though I do not know the coach, the son of our “spiritual development pastor” at our church was on the team (my son already has great admiration for this man) and also the father of another man who was friends with my husband.

WHEN WILL I LEARN? When will I “GET” that God is truly in control of our lives and those of our children? I long to, one day, have the faith of my 11-year-old son and embrace the “hand I have been dealt”.

This I KNOW for sure…

My 11-year-old son and I love to watch movies together. We watch all kinds of movies, but have noticed that in many of the movies we watch together a parent dies. This could have been the way it was in movies we watch before, but we seem to be more keenly aware of this plot line now. With all we have been through you might think this to be horribly difficult to watch, but it really isn’t. Instead, it has opened dialogue between my son and me and has, in fact, assisted the healing process.
This weekend we watched the movie DUMA. DUMA was listed on my brother, Evan’s website as his favorite movie of the year. Now, Evan usually likes those artsy movies where, when I leave, I am left wondering what it was all about. Even with that in mind, we decided to take a chance and give this movie a try since it was about a South African boy who befriends a cheetah (who doesn’t fall in love with a cheetah cub). I am so glad that we did.

This is a lovely movie about friendship and the legacy of a father as the boy, Xan, goes on a journey to return his beloved cheetah back to its rightful home. The scenery is breathtaking and will make you want to hop on the nearest jet to South Africa to experience the “wild”. There are many poignant quotations in the movie, but one that really stands out is when Xan tells his new friend, Ripkuna, that his father died. Ripkuna articulates, “People go when they are ready to go, not when you are. We are all just travelers on the same river, grandparents, parents, sons and daughters. We all have our time on the river. We do what we can before we disappear”. How true.

Another moving scene is at the end of the movie when Xan expresses that his father will live on within him. At this point my son looked over at me and said, “That’s where dad lives on—in me.” Yes, yes he does.

This I know for sure.

Life circumstances certainly change us. For 25 years I shared life with someone. We went through wonderful times and dark ones. We supported each other through health and sickness. There wasn’t anything I couldn’t tell him or share with him and then our lives were forever changed in an instant. I preface my recounting of the events of the past 48 hours with this information because I believe it will shed light on my actions.

This weekend I found a lump on my breast. Now, I am usually a quick-to-react person, but for some reason I didn’t wish to borrow trouble and made an appointment with my doctor for Monday afternoon. I chose NOT to share this information with anyone except a close friend (who happens to have a nursing background) and my mother (because I needed some family medical history).

Following my visit with Dr. Walton a mammogram and ultrasound was ordered for first thing Tuesday morning. At the time, I was unsure if this was because she knew I was anxious or because she had serious health concerns. It is interesting the thoughts that went through my mind during this personal crisis.

That evening I mentally put my life in order. I knew my will was incomplete and needed to be filed. I even thought through how I would want to handle a crisis if, in fact, I heard the “c” word the next day. What surprised me was how pragmatic I became. My life became a laundry list of “things to do”. When it came down to it, my biggest concern was with my children. I never once shed a tear.

I spent the better part of the evening in a prayer-like state. I scoured scripture that might provide strength. John 14:1 Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid. I had that—peace, yet I still didn’t want to burden anyone else until I knew for sure what was going on. At first this seemed a selfless act, as I found later, that was not the case.

Following the tests on Tuesday morning, I went home and waited. It was storming outside – appropriate, I thought. Several hours later the physician’s assistant called with the outcome of the tests.

“The results are negative. There is no mass; it is most likely an enlarged lymph node.” I heard her say with a confidence that calmed me.

“Could you repeat that,” I replied and she obliged. As I hung up the phone, a great sense of relief engulfed me—then the tears started. Why now? I thought.

Now, I was able to share with friends and family the happenings of the past 48 hours. They were not exactly elated that I had not told them. One friend even said that I had robbed her of the opportunity to support me. How fortunate I am to have such love in my life.

I lived a lifetime these past 48 hours. I learned that I could face life situations alone (though I am never totally alone) and still derive strength from my faith. I learned that though I can go through crisis alone, there is no need to. God has placed a wonderful, support system in my life for a reason. I learned a great deal about myself and my ability to find peace in the midst of a pending storm.

48 hours can change your life—just ask me. It can also define it.

This I know for sure.

I am an avid reader. I enjoy every aspect of reading and especially enjoy the way what I read affects what and how I write. I pride myself on viewing the world through a writer’s eye—not that I am an accomplished writer, but I have this egocentric need for validation in this area. This fact was significant in my decision to begin to blog. 

Though I enjoy the process of writing, I have come to the realization this practice of blogging has NOTHING to do with good writing and everything to do with searching for some meaning to what has happened in my life. With every stroke of the keyboard I find a new piece to the puzzle.

Words appear to have a universal connection. You see, pain is not exclusive to young widows. Working through life’s heartache is not limited to those who have lost a spouse.

So as I search for meaning through writing this blog, I drag the lot of you around with me. We climb to the heights of enlightenment and plunge to the depths of despair – collectively. I may not even know you, but we share the same journey to find meaning to the life we lead.

This I know for sure….

So how long can one keep up the charade of having it all together? How long can one pretend to know things for sure? Because tonight—-I don’t know much. I have little together and life seem to be in several stages of disarray. I am pulled in more directions than Gumby. Overwhelmed would be a gross understatement of how I feel as I sit here at my computer. It is in these times when I cry out—where I am the most vulnerable. 

Sometimes I cry out and all I hear—is silence. Sometimes I cry out and I have unbelievable support—that I am unable to acknowledge and sometimes I cry out and find the hand of the Father where it has been all along – steadying my walk caressing my face and calming my spirit. 

That “hand” can come in many forms. It can be a song, a poem, a phone call even a thought. It can be a friend stopping by on her way for a walk or an earthy father calling simply to say that he loves you. In order to experience the “hand of the Father” you must reach for it and embrace it. Action is required on your part.

I don’t know who Willerd A. Petterson is. I have actually never heard of him, but a fellow widower posted this beautiful poem on a website tonight and it became the “hand of the Father” in my life.

Slow Me Down, Lord

Slow me down, Lord
Ease the pounding of my heart
by the quieting of my mind.
Steady my hurried pace with a vision
of the eternal reach of time.
Give me, amid the confusion of the day,
the calmness of the everlasting hills.
Break the tensions of my nerves
and muscles with the soothing;
music of the singing streams
that live in my memory.
Help me to know the magical,
restoring power of sleep.
Teach me the art of taking
minute vacations—
of slowing down to look at a flower,
to chat with a friend,
to pat a dog,
to read a few lines from a good book.
Slow me down, Lord,
and inspire me to send my roots deep
into the soil of life’s enduring values
that I may grow toward the stars
of my greater destiny.

At a moment in time when there is little I know for sure, the one thing I DO know is that the hand of the Father waits to be clasped within mine.

This I know for sure….

I just watched Dateline and the special “Football Wives” (see: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/3032600/ ) Now, I am not usually condescending or even sarcastic (ok, I am sarcastic but…), PLEASE GIVE ME A BREAK. As I watched these women with their husbands, I found myself yelling at the television and thinking “WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM???” I know I come at this topic from a totally different viewpoint, but let me put things into perspective for you. LADIES, IS YOUR HUSBAND BREATHING IN AND OUT—IS HE LIEING IN BED WITH YOU IN THE EVENING???? THEN PLEASE STOP YOUR SNIVILING ABOUT A STINKING BALLGAME AND GROW UP!!!!

Now granted, I never had a husband who was so into sports that he had a room dedicated to the Fighting Illini—HOWEVER, I did have a husband, who like many in this report, worked hard during the week and was a fabulous father and husband, but when the Illini came on, he was lost in the moment. OK—for 2 to 3 hours a week he was unavailable to me—SO WHAT???? 

I found these women to be—well—whimpy. I would venture to guess, if the truth were told; these men, for the most part, take care of the kids while the wife ventures to the latest Talbot’s sale or Ann Taylor Loft promotion. These wives should be thanking their lucky stars that they #1 have husbands at all and #2 have husbands who OBVIOUSLY love and adore them. Have these ungrateful women give me a call. I am sure that within a few minutes I can put things into perspective for them. Do I sound a bit bitter—well of course I do, I would give my right arm to have my husband sitting in my living room—cheering on his sports team and paying little attention to me—knowing that within a few hours he would be sharing life with me again.

I guess my point is that LIFE IS SHORT. Make sure what you think is important—really is….

This I know for sure….