50 Years

Golden anniversary. Why do they call 50 years of marriage "golden"?" I never even gave it a thought until this year, these past couple of weeks as we approach our 50th anniversary. We met on July 1, 1966 at Jacksonville Beach. It wasn't a "normal" meeting or meeting place. There are a lot of interesting and funny stories associated with our meeting and dating. On July 1, 1967 we were married at Normandy Baptist Temple (now West Jacksonville Baptist Church). At the time, as a 20 year old girl, I couldn't fathom how quickly 50 years would pass. The first year of marriage was unusual in several ways. Honeymoon, new home, two weeks reserve duty for Johnny, his new job in Georgia, two weeks caring for my mother after surgery, move to Milledgeville, Ga., new church, no friends, pregnancy, birth of our son, all within 10 months. Homesickness, making new friends, learning to cook and care for a home and husband, entertaining Queen style. Learning patience. Changing expectations. Seven years passed quickly with Christy and Julie added to the family. Lifelong friendships formed. Then another move to Tallahassee, FL. Kids starting school, family fun, travel, lots of different hats, close friendships old and new, employment, kids finishing school. Families of friends falling apart and grieving over them, hardships, disappointments, but always faith and commitment. Watching little ones become adults, seeing parents growing older, weddings, grandchildren, caring for parents, saying goodbye to loved ones, all the while learning to find the good, to be thankful, to laugh at ourselves and each other kindly. By the time we reach the milestone of 50, the memories have become golden. We have forgiven each other and ourselves. We have honored our promise to have and hold in sickness and health. We celebrate God's goodness to us. We tell our stories with laughter. Our memories are shared so we can help each other remember. 50 years of hard work, tears, joy, laughter, faith, love, together

. Golden.

Honoring a Life Well Lived

Just a week ago Sunday, I wrote about my niece's 98 year old mother-in-law. Her name was Edith Dearing Johnston. She was born in Athens, Georgia, the oldest of 5 children. She outlived both her brothers, both her sisters, her husband and her youngest son. She lost him to cancer on April 2, 2013. She was survived by his widow and his son, her only grandchild. She was also survived by her older son and his wife.

Edith graduated from the University of Georgia with a degree in education as a math major, and another degree in library science. She did this during a time when not many women went to college. She married Fred E. Johnston and had her two sons. Her younger son, Fred Jr.,  contracted polio when he was only nine months old. He was the youngest Polio poster child in the state of Georgia. He lived most of his childhood at Warm Springs, Georgia where he received therapy and rehabilitation. During his childhood, Edith and Fred traveled to Warm Springs every weekend if it wasn't raining. They couldn't go if it rained because their other son had to stay outside to avoid contamination. Eventually Fred, Jr. was able to come home and finish school at Decatur High School. He graduated from Georgia State University and Atlanta Law School.

Edith retired from the State of Georgia as a Librarian. She was very talented and had many interests. She made beautiful porcelain dolls and painted in oils. She kept track of her investments, paid her own bills, read the Atlanta Journal every day, watched every Braves game and was a great golf fan. She enjoyed traveling with Pat, eating out and LOVED The Varsity. Her memory was incredible. She never forgot a name or face and her sense of humor was intact until the end.

Sadly, Edith was not properly honored in death. Her other son and his wife made the funeral "arrangements" . My niece Pat was not included. There was no obituary in the Atlanta Journal or even on the funeral home website. Edith had requested an Episcopal priest and ceremony. This did not happen. The retired minister who was sent by the funeral home had never met her and did not have any information about her. The service was graveside and lasted exactly 5 minutes. The only people in attendance other than Edith's son and his wife were Pat's friends and family. Edith's niece from Florida would not have known Edith had died if Pat had not called her. She and her husband drove up just for the service. People were not given the opportunity to pay their respects. There was no visitation. I never knew you could get a "used" vault, but obviously you can. I helped Pat make arrangements for Fred's funeral. There was a huge visitation, a beautiful funeral and a graveside service. I helped Pat make her own mother's pre-arrangements.  I buried both my parents. I know how a loved one should be honored; how a life should be celebrated. It broke my heart that any son would have so little respect and love for his mother that he would just throw her out almost like garbage.

So, we honored Edith by going to dinner (those who came for Pat) after the graveside service and telling stories about her; shedding tears; sharing laughter. I honor her by writing this little piece. I will honor her by helping Pat make sure that Edith's wishes are carried out according to her will. I will honor her by encouraging others to make their own arrangements in advance so that this doesn't happen to anyone else. I will make my own arrangements, have my will in place and have my advanced directives. I will be sure that someone has POA long before it is needed. I will do these things while I am "young" and in somewhat "sound" mind. God bless you Edith. You were loved and you will be missed.

What Makes A Family?

A few weeks ago, a frail little 98 year old woman pointed her finger at me and clearly said, "When I die, write a book." Yesterday she died. Her name was Edith. This will not be "the book", but it will be a brief account of what led to her death. She was 98, you say. She was frail. Until June 24, she lived alone in her own home. She took care of her personal hygiene and meals.  Her mind was clear and sharp. Her memory was excellent. That day, a Sunday, she went outside to get her Atlanta Journal and fell. The paper boy called 911. She was taken by ambulance to the hospital. Her neighbor called her daughter-in-law, Pat. Pat called her surviving son. She had no broken bones and no head injury. She was bruised and sore from the fall. She had fallen the week before. Her daughter-in-law took her to the ER and when there were no broken bones or other injuries, she was released. She was then taken to her personal orthopedist, who confirmed that she had no injuries. On that Sunday, June 24, when the hospital physician learned that she had fallen twice in a week, he admitted her to the hospital for observation. On July 5, she was sent to a nursing home. She was told that she would just have rehab until she was strong enough to go home. She did not want to be in the nursing home, but her son signed all the paperwork and she thought she had to be there. So what happened, if she had no injuries and no illness prior to entering the nursing home? Well, first she had a urinary tract infection, for which she was given antibiotics. Then she began to lose her appetite. She began to resist drinking because it would make her go to the bathroom. I witnessed the fact that the night shift did not respond to calls to change her and in fact argued about whose turn it was. She asked Pat to contact her attorney. She asked that he come to see her, which he did and she let him know that she wanted out and she wanted her finances taken care of. But, then she caught a highly contagious infection known as C-Diff. This runs rampant in nursing homes tending to the elderly. It causes diarrhea and dehydration.  It can be fatal. She was put in isolation, which meant she could not leave her room to go to therapy or have her meals in the dining area. It meant that her roommate was moved out and she was alone in her room and in her bed most of the time.  It meant that anyone who came to her room had to wear mask, gown and gloves. It meant that her unappetizing food was delivered in Styrofoam and was often cold. She gradually ate less and less. Pat visited twice a day and often left to get her any food or drink that she was interested in. With the virulent infection and strong antibiotics, her appetite lessened. Pat asked the nurse practitioner if Edith should go to the hospital and that she was afraid Edith was going to die. The nurse checked to see if Edith was dehydrated. Yes, she was dehydrated and received several IV units of fluid. No, they did not send her to the hospital as the nurse said she was "no where near dying". Each day she became weaker and ate less. She was initially furious, frustrated and fighting to recover and get back to her home where she could watch her beloved Braves baseball and golf; where she paid her own bills and kept track of her investments. Did I mention that she wore hearing aids because she was extremely hard of hearing?  She did not have them at the nursing home and many times could not understand what was being said to her. The less she ate and drank, the weaker she became. Pat was working with an attorney to get guardianship, so that she could put Edith in the hospital, get her well and get her back into her home, with live-in nurse care. Sadly, she did not live to be examined by the court-appointed physician. Every day she would ask when she would be examined. August 21 did not get here fast enough.

I cared for both my parents in my home, during hospital visits and through Hospice. They were loved and cared for and their wishes were honored. This precious woman had a loving daughter-in-law, who gave her the same care and attention she gave to her own mother. Pat's husband, Edith's younger son, passed away four months ago. Pat was married to Fred for 42 years. Since the death of Edith's husband 30 years ago, Pat took Edith to every doctor appointment, eye appointment, dental appointment, and hospital visit. She also filled, picked up and delivered all of Edith's prescriptions and kept all of Edith's medical information. This situation should have never built into such a tragedy. Edith could have recovered her strength in her own home, with nursing care and live-in assistance, where she would have eaten what she was accustomed to and not caught the deadly infection.

I tell this story with deep sadness at the loss of an intelligent, sharp-witted, interesting southern lady. Yes, she might have died anyway, in her own home, in her own bed. That was her right. Sadly, she died alone and feeling forsaken by all but her trusted daughter-in-law.

August 4, 2012

My youngest daughter, Julie, on her wedding day, surrounded by both nieces, her sister, her sister-in-law, the groom's niece and Julie's best friend. It was a perfect day.

July 1, 1967

Going to the reception

Just married at Normandy Baptist Temple

Escaping to the getaway car

Luke Harrison Grant

My sweet youngest grandson at 9 months

The "Sandwich" Generation

My generation has always been known as the "baby boomers"...those conceived and born during and just after World War II. Now we're becoming known by another name...the sandwich generation. For a number of years, we have cared for our children, grandchildren and parents. To most, it is a blessing to have that opportunity. I love having my adult children visit. I adore spending time with my beautiful grandchildren. If necessary I would take care of any of them at any time. For the last four years, I've had the primary responsibility for my mother, who is now nearly 87 years old. As an only child, I accept this responsibility and do it to the best of my ability. Prior to my father's death in 2006 from bladder cancer, he had that responsibility. He drove her everywhere, prepared her medications, did all the yard work and much of the housework and laundry. He paid all the bills and made all the decisions. I didn't know how much responsibility he had until he became ill and they moved in with us. He did all this while enduring two major open heart surgeries in 10 years and going through radiation treatments. His final physical act was to move them into our home to make sure that she would be well provided for. Most of the time, she is appreciative. When she isn't, I remind myself and my husband that one day we will probably be old and we will need care. I pray that we are able to care for ourselves and each other, but if not, I pray that we will be kind and thankful. Most of all I pray that we will keep our sense of humor.

An OLD Poem

“A friend loves at all times.”
Have you heard that before?
Maybe you think it’s just too much a chore
To love someone who lets you down.
Did you know a real friend doesn’t keep score?
A friend sees the things acquaintances don’t see.
A friend looks inside for what her friend can be.
She’ll always forgive when most would walk away.
Bound, heart to heart, a friend sets you free.

Five on the Stairs

Sean, Camryn, Jared, Asia and Jace

Missouri Born - Southern Bred

The southern girl is a state of mind, not always born and bred.
Her history and southern roots are deep inside her head.
She may be from Missouri, but her mama taught her well.
She felt that Mason-Dixon Line; she’s a genuine southern belle
When she was just a little girl, “up north” was a foreign place
And Yankee was the boogie man; a name that meant disgrace.
She’ll call her father “Daddy” until the day she dies.
You’ll hear “yes Sir” and “no, Ma’am”.
She makes grits and pe-can pies.
She fixes cornbread dressin’ without a recipe
“You taste it and you mix it ‘til it’s the right consistency”.
She was taught to be a lady and mind her manners too.
Her southern hospitality will always welcome you.
She knows when a thing is tacky; to be common is a vice.
The superlative is “darlin’”; beware of “idn’t that nice?”.
A southern girl seems fragile, but covers don’t make books.
She has iron will and nerves of steel…much stronger than she looks.
She learned “the south will rise again", but she shines a better light.
She’ll cherish the good, discard the bad; know who, how, when to fight.
November 19, 1983
For my mama.

Letting Go

Today I’m letting go of yesterday that haunts me.
Today I’m letting go of friends and loves I’ve lost.
Today I’m letting go of worn-out dreams that taunt me.
Today I’m letting go old bridges, burned or crossed.
My heart had long been hidden by walls and camouflage,
but pain still came, unbidden, and joy was a mirage.
Denial was a way of life whose baggage weighed me down.
Behind my mask, my soul was rife with deep, still pools that drown.
But open windows bring in light, and light makes good things grow.
So goodbye mask, and walls, and night, for today I’m letting go.

Mondays

Monday is my least favorite day of the week. I love my weekends, as most of us do. Sunday evening I begin preparing myself for Monday. I used to dread it. I used to be "down" on Monday. Dragging myself into work, usually with a headache..barely surviving the day and LIVING for 5:00 to go home and start preparing myself for Tuesday. Does it sound like I hate my job? I don't. I actually love it and love my coworkers. So why do I dread going to work on Monday? I've pondered that for some time now. A verse keeps coming to mind, "THIS is the day the Lord has made, we will rejoice and be glad in it." Wishing for another time, another day, another place, another person, another life causes me to miss the opportunity I have today. In the words of Drs. Minnerth and Meier..."happiness is a choice". Being happy with today is a choice. Being happy on Monday is a choice. Looking for the opportunity God has for me today is where my focus needs to be, especially on Monday.