12/4/11
This all happened on 11/30/11.
This time of year, I don’t always stop by the pond after work. The sun is already below the treeline, and Elvis never eats much in the evenings. On this day though, I did swing by, just to chunk Elvis some bread and smoke a cig and have a nice break after work. I had an appointment at 6:00 to meet with some friends, and didn’t plan on staying but a few minutes.
I was on the dam side of the pond throwing bread to Elvis when I noticed movement on the other side of the pond. There are a lot of ducks migrating through there and I always look for movement around the edges of the pond, in case there are new visitors. There some kids on the bank over there looking at it, so I hollered over, “what are ya’ll lookin’ at?” The kids hollered back, “baby alligator!”
Of course, I’d love to get a picture of a baby alligator. Elvis was about done, so I hopped in the car and drove around to the other side. I passed three boys walking along the driveway and asked them if it really was a baby alligator, and they said they didn’t know. Took my camera out and walked as far out as I could without fighting the mud. I was looking through the display on the camera, and I honestly thought for a second it WAS a baby alligator or a snake. It was dark black, shiny, and wet, whatever it was.
Then it cried out, and the cry was so piercing and startling, I jumped back. The young nutria at the pond make sounds like this sometimes, and I thought I was seeing a nutria wrapped up in some trash. I asked the boys there if they’d help me get it loose. There was no way I could leave it there to die that way.
Went back to the car and grabbed my trash picker-upper, hoping it would give us some extra length to where the nutria was, and maybe we could use it to pull the trash away from it. One of the boys (Marc) volunteered to wade out and get it, something I was hesitant to do, cause I know how deep that mud is out there. Marc waded out without sinking and grabbed the black bag with the trash grabber. When he lifted up a piece of what I thought was trash, we all realized it was a backpack. At this point, I was still thinking, oh my gosh, how are we gonna unravel that nutria without getting bit?
Marc carried the backpack to the shore, and he cried out, “It’s a puppy!” As he drug it back to where we were standing, I saw little white feet and knew this was not a wild animal trapped in trash. But I still didn’t think there was any animal cruelty involved; I thought the dog had just wondered into the water and the backpack was just a piece of trash it got tangled in. A lot of strange things have been washed up there since the drought last summer; the tornado of 2009 dropped a lot of debris into the pond.
Marc laid the backpack down on the ground and started unzipping, eventually getting to the large compartment of the backpack. He had the backpack lifted up off the ground 3-4" and as he opened the main compartment, a small animal slid out. The animal was so bloated at first I thought it was a puppy, but when it started crying we knew it was a kitten, not a little bitty one, but the size Max and I call ‘cattens’ when they’re not kittens anymore and not yet full grown cats.
Marc, myself, and two other boys were there when Marc opened that backpack, and all of us immediately put our hands to our mouths. Miracle kitty was completely drenched, unmoving, and his only response when we touched him was that horrible piercing cry. I just kept saying, “Oh my God, oh my God! Who would do such a horrible thing?” I was crying, and when I looked up, I saw that all three of the boys were crying too. I got my phone out and called the police. Marc stayed with the cat while the other two boys and I went back to my car to find a towel or SOMETHING to wrap around the poor creature. It was shivering uncontrollably, and my first thought was to pick it up and warm it up, but I was afraid to because every time I touched it, it let out that horrible piercing cry. I was afraid I was hurting it.
The trunk of my car is still full of crap I transferred to it when we traded in the van, but for the first time in history, there wasn’t a towel in there. I found a big black trash bag and went back to the cat, and tucked the bag in around it. When the police got there, we told him what had happened and he was visibly shaken. I asked him if he had a towel or something in his car, but he didn’t have one either. When he went back to his car to call Animal Control, I took off my hoodie and tucked it in around the cat. This all happened just at dusk, when the temperature plummets these days. The only thing I could think to do for the cat was to try to keep it warm. I honestly thought he was a goner. He was nearly completely nonresponsive except for that horrible cry when we touched him.
The cop came back out to the bank and said Animal Control was out on Atkinson Drive chasing a horse. He was not going to be able to wait for them, so I volunteered to wait until they came. He helped me move the cat into a box and I put it in the backseat of my car, turned on the engine and the heater, and waited.
While I was in the car waiting, I checked on Miracle kitty several times. He’d quit crying, but he was still breathing, although it was very labored and hard to detect. I didn’t know if he had just given up, or was beginning to warm up and not in as much discomfort. The last time I checked, it seemed that its breathing was even worse; I had to shine my flashlight on it to tell it was breathing at all.
Eventually, around 6:00, I saw Animal Control turn in to the VFW driveway. I love living in a small town—these same two officers had been at my office a couple of days earlier chasing a loose pit bull (a VERY friendly one). I told them what had happened. One of the officers went to look in the box and tried to pull the backpack out, thinking it was a cover. I cried out “no!” and even as she slightly moved the backpack, the cat let out that horrible yowl again, and so I knew it was still alive. But both officers and I, after seeing such the kitty in such a horrible state, discussed the fact that we didn’t think it would survive. They put kitty in their truck and took off. After all, these guys are only on the clock till 5:00; they did this on overtime.
After Animal Control left, I sat there for a moment and just cried. I decided to go ahead to meet my friends, but I could not get the image of that kitten out of my head. It slid out of that backpack like a lump of wood when Marc unzipped it. It was drenched, crying, and never moved an inch. The thought that someone did this on purpose was even more horrifying. I was up till 5:00 AM that night, throwing up the whole time. That horrible picture was burned into my mind.
I called in to work the next morning because I could not get my stomach calmed down, and I still couldn’t get it out of my head, despite the distractions I’d tried. About 8:30 or 9:00, the cop called me to let me know the cat had made it through the night. He’d promised to let me know, and I was very touched he kept his promise. Still, every time I closed my eyes, I saw it again. Jen had to be at work at noon, and Goodwill is on the same road as Animal Control, so after I dropped her off, I drove on down there, hoping to see Miracle Kitty in a better state than the night before.
When I got there, one of the officers from the night before was on the benches letting a puppy have some yard time. She called the director and got permission for me to visit Miracle kitty. I went back and saw him for the first time away from the horror. He wasn’t moving around, but he did respond when I petted him and kind of tilted his chin up for scratches like he knew exactly how the petting system worked. He was dry and it turned out he was a little tuxedo cat, with the cutest markings. The officer felt his body and said this was the first time she’d touched him when he felt warm. She told me they were concerned he wasn’t up and walking around yet. I told her that come what may, if Miracle needed sponsors for extra medical care, I’d find them. And if the original owners did not claim her, I promised to help find her a new, safe, loving home.
When I left Animal Control, my phone rang as I was driving back to the pond to find an earring I lost out there the night before. The phone call was from KTRE, Channel 9, our local station. They asked me if I’d do an interview, and I said yes, and she agreed to meet me at the pond. I was very impressed with the reporter; she was very smart, and understood completely I wanted to do the interview to try to find out who had done this. That night, they ran the story, and I did not feel embarrassed in the least for the hoopla. I just hope it helps to find the culprit.
If you know me, you know what a soft heart I have for animals—ANY animal, domestic or wild. How many folks do you know who feel guilty when they can’t meet a duck for bread every morning? My friend, Janice, says they are defenseless and arouse all of our maternal instincts. I think I will always feel responsible for Miracle kitty. As of this date, he is doing really well. He’s walking around now and eating real food. If the original owners don’t show up, he will be available for adoption, and I have already vowed to find him a good home.
I pray to God I never see anything like that again in my life. I lived through the tragedy of losing my son and what happened to him was a nightmare, but I dealt with it because it was a logical, natural progression from illness to death. THIS was completely inhumane. Whoever committed this act has had their heart invaded by the devil. I pray to God every day that they catch the perpetrator.
allison
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Monday, October 31, 2011
Happy Halloween!
Every year since our son, Travis, was eight months old, we’ve gone to my parents’ house for Halloween. We went to show Mema and Papa his costume, and he trick-or-treated their street after he did ours, because he knew all the neighbors over there too. When his daughter was born, Travis never hesitated, but just showed up at their house to take her trick or treating there. This year, his new son joined us, continuing a 27-year tradition in our family.
While we hand out candy to the spooky little witches and Supermans, we sit on the porch and reminisce about past years and costumes. Travis’ first costume was an old devil costume of Max’s, with a headband with horns and a cape three times as long as he was. His favorite part of the treats that year were the bright colors on the packages, and Max ate all his chocolate.
My parents don’t like to talk about Aaron, but Max and I always remember, with simultaneous sadness and sweetness, the only time Travis got to go with his brother. Aaron was 16 months old; Travis was five and a half. They went as matching vampires in capes I made from an old dress of mine. Aaron was getting over chicken pox, no longer contagious, but the makeup covered up his spots. Travis raided Aaron’s bucket of candy, and I remember Aaron saying, “No, bubba!” to him, the same way Kadence does now to Aidan.
Travis was eight years old when Jen was born, and he could not wait to take her trick-or-treating, even though she was only 5 months old. Hook was his favorite movie at the moment, and he went as a pirate, with a long black wig, sash at the waist, and a hook created from aluminum foil by his creative mom. Every time he’d run back from a house, he would show Jen the candy he got, while Jen only looked at him with the wide-eyed adoration she’s had for him since birth.
By the time Jen was eight, we had moved to Lufkin and lived out in the country where we never had trick-or-treaters. We just started at Mema and Papa’s house, carrying costumes to their house and getting ready there. Travis always danced and fidgeted, anxiously waiting for Jen to get ready. He’d then take her by the hand, leading her around the neighborhood, teaching her all his trick-or-treat tips, and always reminding her to say “thank you.” That year, Jen was a glamour girl, in a red sequined dress I made her, hair up in a fashionable bun highlighted by a tiara, and glamorous make-up. My heart always flipped when I followed them down the street during this era. Travis’ tall figure next to her small one, that tiny hand tightly clasping his index finger, keeping her safe, and making sure she hit the best houses and got the best stuff. He’d usually arrive back at the house carrying her, because her little feet got tired, and he has never been able to tolerate Jen in any form of discomfort without making it all better.
Last year, Travis’ daughter, Kadence was almost the same exact age as Aaron was when they arrived to go trick-or-treating. We waited on the porch while Sandra got Kadence’s outfit on, and when that baby walked out in her Wonder woman costume, including winged shoes and gold bracelets of power, my heart just melted. This year, Kadence and Sandra were pirate wenches, while Aidan was a tiny, wiggly, giggly, glow-in-the-dark, skeleton.
Traditions in life change so much and sometimes disappear as life evolves. It makes even more precious this long tradition of ours. These memories began when Travis was in diapers, my dad’s hair and beard were a deep dark brown, and he had way more of it. One year Mother wanted to be a witch and I painted her face so wickedly well the kids were afraid to take candy from her. She swore after that she’d never be the bad witch again. There were years with babies in our arms, little hands grasping our fingers, pulling them in a wagon or pushing a stroller, and carrying them when their tiny feet got tired. Every year, my mind flashes back to images of miniature vampires, pink princesses, the giant spider costume Travis requested one year, Jen wearing a princess dress three years in a row, and I know I’ll never forget tonight’s tiny laughing skeleton.
I relish these memories. They are so cherished and I keep them very close to my heart because they sustain me during difficult, dark, and tough times. I look forward to the time when Max and I are the white haired great-grandparents, Travis and Jen are our strong guardians, and their grandchildren in diapers and ready for their first taste of that good sweet stuff. These traditions, and the wonderful bright and colorful memories they provide, are just a small fraction of what makes life such a beautiful and wonderful thing. I can’t wait for all the good stuff yet to come!!!
While we hand out candy to the spooky little witches and Supermans, we sit on the porch and reminisce about past years and costumes. Travis’ first costume was an old devil costume of Max’s, with a headband with horns and a cape three times as long as he was. His favorite part of the treats that year were the bright colors on the packages, and Max ate all his chocolate.
My parents don’t like to talk about Aaron, but Max and I always remember, with simultaneous sadness and sweetness, the only time Travis got to go with his brother. Aaron was 16 months old; Travis was five and a half. They went as matching vampires in capes I made from an old dress of mine. Aaron was getting over chicken pox, no longer contagious, but the makeup covered up his spots. Travis raided Aaron’s bucket of candy, and I remember Aaron saying, “No, bubba!” to him, the same way Kadence does now to Aidan.
Travis was eight years old when Jen was born, and he could not wait to take her trick-or-treating, even though she was only 5 months old. Hook was his favorite movie at the moment, and he went as a pirate, with a long black wig, sash at the waist, and a hook created from aluminum foil by his creative mom. Every time he’d run back from a house, he would show Jen the candy he got, while Jen only looked at him with the wide-eyed adoration she’s had for him since birth.
By the time Jen was eight, we had moved to Lufkin and lived out in the country where we never had trick-or-treaters. We just started at Mema and Papa’s house, carrying costumes to their house and getting ready there. Travis always danced and fidgeted, anxiously waiting for Jen to get ready. He’d then take her by the hand, leading her around the neighborhood, teaching her all his trick-or-treat tips, and always reminding her to say “thank you.” That year, Jen was a glamour girl, in a red sequined dress I made her, hair up in a fashionable bun highlighted by a tiara, and glamorous make-up. My heart always flipped when I followed them down the street during this era. Travis’ tall figure next to her small one, that tiny hand tightly clasping his index finger, keeping her safe, and making sure she hit the best houses and got the best stuff. He’d usually arrive back at the house carrying her, because her little feet got tired, and he has never been able to tolerate Jen in any form of discomfort without making it all better.
Last year, Travis’ daughter, Kadence was almost the same exact age as Aaron was when they arrived to go trick-or-treating. We waited on the porch while Sandra got Kadence’s outfit on, and when that baby walked out in her Wonder woman costume, including winged shoes and gold bracelets of power, my heart just melted. This year, Kadence and Sandra were pirate wenches, while Aidan was a tiny, wiggly, giggly, glow-in-the-dark, skeleton.
Traditions in life change so much and sometimes disappear as life evolves. It makes even more precious this long tradition of ours. These memories began when Travis was in diapers, my dad’s hair and beard were a deep dark brown, and he had way more of it. One year Mother wanted to be a witch and I painted her face so wickedly well the kids were afraid to take candy from her. She swore after that she’d never be the bad witch again. There were years with babies in our arms, little hands grasping our fingers, pulling them in a wagon or pushing a stroller, and carrying them when their tiny feet got tired. Every year, my mind flashes back to images of miniature vampires, pink princesses, the giant spider costume Travis requested one year, Jen wearing a princess dress three years in a row, and I know I’ll never forget tonight’s tiny laughing skeleton.
I relish these memories. They are so cherished and I keep them very close to my heart because they sustain me during difficult, dark, and tough times. I look forward to the time when Max and I are the white haired great-grandparents, Travis and Jen are our strong guardians, and their grandchildren in diapers and ready for their first taste of that good sweet stuff. These traditions, and the wonderful bright and colorful memories they provide, are just a small fraction of what makes life such a beautiful and wonderful thing. I can’t wait for all the good stuff yet to come!!!
Monday, October 17, 2011
What I Learned About Facebook in Two Weeks
Two weeks ago, I was really bored at work and started hiding all the Facebook ads. It gets a little addictive and I never stopped. This was how FB responded:
No matter how many times you hide Zappo and PetSmart and WalMart, they come back; they must make huge FB 'contributions.'
Despite the fact that I consistently marked everything 'uninteresting' I continued to get ads related to things I am interested in, which means the ads are linked to what we write. For instance; if I post a picture or participate in a photography-related post, I get ads about getting degrees in photography or learning about it online or websites with pictures. If I mention a glass of wine, i get a rehab ad (that one always cracks me up). If I mention my grandies, I get ads for toddler stuff. So, they really do pay attention to what we say, except when we request changes or complain that we don't like the new format or that we need help with it. I'd still like to get rid of that new ticker and just go back to having the most current statuses on top without designating anything a 'top story.'
Finally, a couple of times I got a little pop-up asking me to take a survey about what I would be interested in seeing. Of course, I'm always interested in improving FB, so both times I clicked it. Sadly, neither time did the link work.
In addition, during this time period, I had another FB issue come up regarding a real security problem, which at this time, I’m still not sure is resolved. After an extensive search of the Facebook Insecurity Center, got no help. After an extensive search for a "Contact Us" button, found none. And after a direct message to Mr. Zuckerberg himself, got no response.
I'll leave ya'll to take this news as you wish....
Personally, I’ve learned to be careful when friending others. I’ve friended several new people on FB with no problems whatsoever. Sometimes the relationship continues and sometimes not, just like ‘real’ life. It’s not the first time I’ve learned to be careful, and it won’t be the last. It’s part of life. You can live and trust or not. It’s your choice, but so are the consequences. This is an occasional consequence in my choice.
The irony of the entire situation is that I still like Facebook, but it has nothing to do with the ads or stalkers or them tracking my status updates. It has everything to do with reconnecting with friends I grew up with, keeping up with friends who live far away, getting to see pics of my nephew’s football games and my grandkids during their days, getting to share pictures I take and finding out what people think of them, finding new friends with common interests, bitching about common pet peeves (stupid litterbugs), getting to vent the goofiness that flies through my head during the day, and yes, making new friends. Overall, I think Facebook is a good thing; it's just a bit of a pain sometimes.
Love to all those I love who love me back,
allison
No matter how many times you hide Zappo and PetSmart and WalMart, they come back; they must make huge FB 'contributions.'
Despite the fact that I consistently marked everything 'uninteresting' I continued to get ads related to things I am interested in, which means the ads are linked to what we write. For instance; if I post a picture or participate in a photography-related post, I get ads about getting degrees in photography or learning about it online or websites with pictures. If I mention a glass of wine, i get a rehab ad (that one always cracks me up). If I mention my grandies, I get ads for toddler stuff. So, they really do pay attention to what we say, except when we request changes or complain that we don't like the new format or that we need help with it. I'd still like to get rid of that new ticker and just go back to having the most current statuses on top without designating anything a 'top story.'
Finally, a couple of times I got a little pop-up asking me to take a survey about what I would be interested in seeing. Of course, I'm always interested in improving FB, so both times I clicked it. Sadly, neither time did the link work.
In addition, during this time period, I had another FB issue come up regarding a real security problem, which at this time, I’m still not sure is resolved. After an extensive search of the Facebook Insecurity Center, got no help. After an extensive search for a "Contact Us" button, found none. And after a direct message to Mr. Zuckerberg himself, got no response.
I'll leave ya'll to take this news as you wish....
Personally, I’ve learned to be careful when friending others. I’ve friended several new people on FB with no problems whatsoever. Sometimes the relationship continues and sometimes not, just like ‘real’ life. It’s not the first time I’ve learned to be careful, and it won’t be the last. It’s part of life. You can live and trust or not. It’s your choice, but so are the consequences. This is an occasional consequence in my choice.
The irony of the entire situation is that I still like Facebook, but it has nothing to do with the ads or stalkers or them tracking my status updates. It has everything to do with reconnecting with friends I grew up with, keeping up with friends who live far away, getting to see pics of my nephew’s football games and my grandkids during their days, getting to share pictures I take and finding out what people think of them, finding new friends with common interests, bitching about common pet peeves (stupid litterbugs), getting to vent the goofiness that flies through my head during the day, and yes, making new friends. Overall, I think Facebook is a good thing; it's just a bit of a pain sometimes.
Love to all those I love who love me back,
allison
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Today at the Pond, 10-12-11
Today, when I went to feed Elvis, something magical happened. It was a really incredible moment in nature, and I have to share this one in words.
I got to the pond about 5:30, parked the car, and walked the little path to where Elvis and I have been meeting. He has not been eating as much bread lately, but he always eats a couple of pieces, and the turtles and perch enjoy the rest. We had a nice rain this afternoon. Well, I say nice. It rained, that’s the big thing. It was just one brief shower, but after a summer when I can remember all the specific dates it rained, any brief shower is welcome.
It was still raining when I got to the pond and I can’t take the camera down to Elvis when it’s raining. I don’t mind getting wet, but I love my camera. This is why I did not visually record what happened. Elvis parallels me in the water as I follow the path through the woods, and while I climb down the bank, he moves in closer. Today was so pretty after it rained. It was just sprinkling by the time I got to him. The sun was peeking through to the west, and I kept looking back east to see if there was a rainbow. The rain passed and the surface of the pond was as pristine as window glass. Elvis actually came up on the bank, flapping his wings for me within three feet of where I was standing. He is always less threatened when I’m down low, so I just sat down in the wet grass and hand fed him tonight. That’s the first time in ages I’ve gotten to do that.
After 2-3 pieces, he’d had enough and headed out. The entire time I’m feeding him, of course, the turtles and the perch are swarming around the extra pieces I throw out to keep them away from Elvis. Elvis swam through them, scattering the perch in a thousand different directions. One zipped across the water for a good 12-15 feet before finally submerging! I like watching Elvis swim across that mirror of the pond, watching the V of his wake spreading across the whole pond, so I stayed there watching him until he got to the island. While I was paying attention to him, I did not notice that the waters around me had calmed, and I could see through to the bottom of the pond. I watched the perch swimming through, and several huge soft-shelled turtles and red-eared sliders came up on the mud in front of me to get Elvis’ scraps. It’s amazing to see these wild animals so close. Normally turtles scatter when any human approaches. I scarcely breathed while I watched them. I knew if I made the slightest motion they would scatter, muddying the water and ending the show. As usual, the turtles were snapping at each other, and fighting over the small scraps of bread. They can be very entertaining, especially to a nature-loving geek like myself.
As I was watching the turtles, the perch, and the big bass slapping their tails on the water, something caught the corner of my eye. As I looked to my right, I saw the year-round resident American coot sidling up on my right. He was less than 20 feet away when I noticed him. I’ve been thinking for a couple of weeks now that he’s been feeding on Elvis’ leftovers along with everybody else. Several times, I’ve gotten him on video within 50-100 feet of where I was standing. I sat there like a statue: on the wet grass, with those funny little grass bugs crawling all over my already itchy psoriasis legs. I dared not move. Had I brushed aside a hair, scratched an itch, or heaven forbid, sneezed, the coot would have taken off running across the water. I scarcely breathed as he came, closer, closer, closer. He was much smaller up close than I thought he would be, bigger than the pied-billed grebe he hangs out with, like the size of a wood duck but smaller than a teal. He is about one-third Elvis’ size, but Elvis is an anomaly anyway. As I was watching the coot, moving only my eyes, I glanced out and about 15 feet out from the shoreline was the pied-billed grebe that keeps this coot company. The grebe likes to move in on the perch after I feed Elvis. All I’ve ever seen the coot eat is vegetation; all I’ve seen the grebe eat is fish. They make a good pair of companions and are never far apart. The grebe glided over the water closer to me, cautiously aware of me and unsure if it was safe to come close.
I didn’t move a muscle or make a sound. The grebe has NEVER come close to me. I just watched as both these birds glided nearer. The coot pecked at Elvis’ leftovers, while the grebe dived within five feet of me, resurfacing right beside the coot, swirling in circles as he swallowed the perch he caught. Then, just when I thought it couldn’t get any better nature-geek wise, across this mirror of the pond, the great egret that lives at the pond sailed over the water, his reflection flying along the surface. He landed about 50 feet down the bank from the rest of us and began hunting for his dinner along the moss beds.
The whole time I’m watching this incredibly display of nature, everything is backlit by this huge gorgeous Texas sky, filled with pink and blue and purple clouds moving out after the rain. As I look out toward the VFW building, the sky is dark and I can see the showers still falling toward the south. Toward the east, the sky has cleared and taken on that golden magic light of twilight that we photographers chase every day. Toward the west, the setting sun has lit the clouds in all the colors of life, demonstrating God’s beauty in all its glory. Behind me are the woods, which are a thin strip between the pond and the nearby road. Although I can hear cars moving on the road behind me, I sit, in this quiet, peaceful place, surrounded by amazing natural beauty. I felt like God was sharing a special secret with me.
I wish I could have recorded all of this on video; it really was an amazing visual experience. But on 10/12/11, “Today at the Pond” exists only in my memory. I don’t feel my words even come close to describing the experience.
Eventually, everything beautiful ends.....the egret ate a perch and moved across the pond to his usual hunting spot. The grebe, full from his dinner, glided back to the island, most likely to prepare for his evening roost. Elvis spotted the coot close to me hastily swam over from the island. Sometimes, Elvis can be a bit of a tyrant. He used to peck at Ducky sometimes when he thought Ducky as stealing his bread, and today he swam between me and the coot. He didn’t peck the coot, he just pecked toward him, warning the coot off. The coot swam on down the shoreline, away from me. Once he reestablished his dominance, Elvis returned to the island. Bread gone, the perch and turtles retreated to the depths of the pond.
I got up, chastising myself for my now-soaked butt, and took one last look around. I thank God every day for the pond; it is a very special place to me, not just because of Elvis, but because I really am a total true nature nut, and I have seen things there I might never have seen, and it’s all within 15 minutes of my home. That place is a true heavenly gift to me; I am eternally grateful for it. Tonight was particularly beautiful, and I am especially grateful. Thank you, Lord!
FOOTNOTE:
A little background on these four birds: Elvis, the American coot, the great egret, and the pied-billed grebe. In the winter, there are normally 8-10 grebes and 8-10 coots living at the pond. After this summer and the drought, with so little water and food, I don’t know what will happen this winter. But normally, they divide into two groups, and chase each other off their personal turf whenever necessary. When late spring comes, the other grebes and coots disappear and only one of each species remain. I always wondered why only these singles stayed year-round. This summer, I realized one of the coot’s wings is about six inches shorter than the other. I’ve never seen this coot fly, and I’m assuming he can’t. I don’t know how he got the short wing, I don’t know if my assumption is correct, and I don’t even know if this is the same coot I’ve been watching for the past four years. All I know is there is only ever one coot, only one grebe, and only one great egret that stay at the pond year-round. These three birds, along with Elvis, are constant residents. The egret is alone because he chases all the other egrets off. Elvis is alone because he is Elvis and the only semi-domesticated Muscovy that’s ever shown up there. Elvis is a very capable flier; he just keeps coming back because he wants to, I guess. There have been a few times when he disappeared for a few days, but so far, he’s always come back. I don’t know why the one grebe is always there, but I have to guess it is because he cannot fly. I’ve never seen this single grebe fly, but unlike the coot, I’ve not seen any particular handicap that might explain why he doesn’t. In time, I may eventually find out why, and I may not. Some day, I know, Elvis will disappear too, and I may never know what happened to him. Part of the intrigue of watching nature is seeing things you never know the reasons for. Nature is a wonder. That’s what keeps me watching.
I got to the pond about 5:30, parked the car, and walked the little path to where Elvis and I have been meeting. He has not been eating as much bread lately, but he always eats a couple of pieces, and the turtles and perch enjoy the rest. We had a nice rain this afternoon. Well, I say nice. It rained, that’s the big thing. It was just one brief shower, but after a summer when I can remember all the specific dates it rained, any brief shower is welcome.
It was still raining when I got to the pond and I can’t take the camera down to Elvis when it’s raining. I don’t mind getting wet, but I love my camera. This is why I did not visually record what happened. Elvis parallels me in the water as I follow the path through the woods, and while I climb down the bank, he moves in closer. Today was so pretty after it rained. It was just sprinkling by the time I got to him. The sun was peeking through to the west, and I kept looking back east to see if there was a rainbow. The rain passed and the surface of the pond was as pristine as window glass. Elvis actually came up on the bank, flapping his wings for me within three feet of where I was standing. He is always less threatened when I’m down low, so I just sat down in the wet grass and hand fed him tonight. That’s the first time in ages I’ve gotten to do that.
After 2-3 pieces, he’d had enough and headed out. The entire time I’m feeding him, of course, the turtles and the perch are swarming around the extra pieces I throw out to keep them away from Elvis. Elvis swam through them, scattering the perch in a thousand different directions. One zipped across the water for a good 12-15 feet before finally submerging! I like watching Elvis swim across that mirror of the pond, watching the V of his wake spreading across the whole pond, so I stayed there watching him until he got to the island. While I was paying attention to him, I did not notice that the waters around me had calmed, and I could see through to the bottom of the pond. I watched the perch swimming through, and several huge soft-shelled turtles and red-eared sliders came up on the mud in front of me to get Elvis’ scraps. It’s amazing to see these wild animals so close. Normally turtles scatter when any human approaches. I scarcely breathed while I watched them. I knew if I made the slightest motion they would scatter, muddying the water and ending the show. As usual, the turtles were snapping at each other, and fighting over the small scraps of bread. They can be very entertaining, especially to a nature-loving geek like myself.
As I was watching the turtles, the perch, and the big bass slapping their tails on the water, something caught the corner of my eye. As I looked to my right, I saw the year-round resident American coot sidling up on my right. He was less than 20 feet away when I noticed him. I’ve been thinking for a couple of weeks now that he’s been feeding on Elvis’ leftovers along with everybody else. Several times, I’ve gotten him on video within 50-100 feet of where I was standing. I sat there like a statue: on the wet grass, with those funny little grass bugs crawling all over my already itchy psoriasis legs. I dared not move. Had I brushed aside a hair, scratched an itch, or heaven forbid, sneezed, the coot would have taken off running across the water. I scarcely breathed as he came, closer, closer, closer. He was much smaller up close than I thought he would be, bigger than the pied-billed grebe he hangs out with, like the size of a wood duck but smaller than a teal. He is about one-third Elvis’ size, but Elvis is an anomaly anyway. As I was watching the coot, moving only my eyes, I glanced out and about 15 feet out from the shoreline was the pied-billed grebe that keeps this coot company. The grebe likes to move in on the perch after I feed Elvis. All I’ve ever seen the coot eat is vegetation; all I’ve seen the grebe eat is fish. They make a good pair of companions and are never far apart. The grebe glided over the water closer to me, cautiously aware of me and unsure if it was safe to come close.
I didn’t move a muscle or make a sound. The grebe has NEVER come close to me. I just watched as both these birds glided nearer. The coot pecked at Elvis’ leftovers, while the grebe dived within five feet of me, resurfacing right beside the coot, swirling in circles as he swallowed the perch he caught. Then, just when I thought it couldn’t get any better nature-geek wise, across this mirror of the pond, the great egret that lives at the pond sailed over the water, his reflection flying along the surface. He landed about 50 feet down the bank from the rest of us and began hunting for his dinner along the moss beds.
The whole time I’m watching this incredibly display of nature, everything is backlit by this huge gorgeous Texas sky, filled with pink and blue and purple clouds moving out after the rain. As I look out toward the VFW building, the sky is dark and I can see the showers still falling toward the south. Toward the east, the sky has cleared and taken on that golden magic light of twilight that we photographers chase every day. Toward the west, the setting sun has lit the clouds in all the colors of life, demonstrating God’s beauty in all its glory. Behind me are the woods, which are a thin strip between the pond and the nearby road. Although I can hear cars moving on the road behind me, I sit, in this quiet, peaceful place, surrounded by amazing natural beauty. I felt like God was sharing a special secret with me.
I wish I could have recorded all of this on video; it really was an amazing visual experience. But on 10/12/11, “Today at the Pond” exists only in my memory. I don’t feel my words even come close to describing the experience.
Eventually, everything beautiful ends.....the egret ate a perch and moved across the pond to his usual hunting spot. The grebe, full from his dinner, glided back to the island, most likely to prepare for his evening roost. Elvis spotted the coot close to me hastily swam over from the island. Sometimes, Elvis can be a bit of a tyrant. He used to peck at Ducky sometimes when he thought Ducky as stealing his bread, and today he swam between me and the coot. He didn’t peck the coot, he just pecked toward him, warning the coot off. The coot swam on down the shoreline, away from me. Once he reestablished his dominance, Elvis returned to the island. Bread gone, the perch and turtles retreated to the depths of the pond.
I got up, chastising myself for my now-soaked butt, and took one last look around. I thank God every day for the pond; it is a very special place to me, not just because of Elvis, but because I really am a total true nature nut, and I have seen things there I might never have seen, and it’s all within 15 minutes of my home. That place is a true heavenly gift to me; I am eternally grateful for it. Tonight was particularly beautiful, and I am especially grateful. Thank you, Lord!
FOOTNOTE:
A little background on these four birds: Elvis, the American coot, the great egret, and the pied-billed grebe. In the winter, there are normally 8-10 grebes and 8-10 coots living at the pond. After this summer and the drought, with so little water and food, I don’t know what will happen this winter. But normally, they divide into two groups, and chase each other off their personal turf whenever necessary. When late spring comes, the other grebes and coots disappear and only one of each species remain. I always wondered why only these singles stayed year-round. This summer, I realized one of the coot’s wings is about six inches shorter than the other. I’ve never seen this coot fly, and I’m assuming he can’t. I don’t know how he got the short wing, I don’t know if my assumption is correct, and I don’t even know if this is the same coot I’ve been watching for the past four years. All I know is there is only ever one coot, only one grebe, and only one great egret that stay at the pond year-round. These three birds, along with Elvis, are constant residents. The egret is alone because he chases all the other egrets off. Elvis is alone because he is Elvis and the only semi-domesticated Muscovy that’s ever shown up there. Elvis is a very capable flier; he just keeps coming back because he wants to, I guess. There have been a few times when he disappeared for a few days, but so far, he’s always come back. I don’t know why the one grebe is always there, but I have to guess it is because he cannot fly. I’ve never seen this single grebe fly, but unlike the coot, I’ve not seen any particular handicap that might explain why he doesn’t. In time, I may eventually find out why, and I may not. Some day, I know, Elvis will disappear too, and I may never know what happened to him. Part of the intrigue of watching nature is seeing things you never know the reasons for. Nature is a wonder. That’s what keeps me watching.
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Remembering....
I wrote these after 9/11
9/12/01
From a perfect blue September sky
Darkness fell
And we, a nation bound together in shock,
We sat
We watched
Overwhelmed by our awakening
Knowledge that yes,
We were one nation, yes
We were indivisible, yes
Our fellow workers, friends, mothers, fathers,
Pain was our own.
In panicked moments we
Phoned to make sure, that niece
That nephew, were they? Did he?
Touching base to ensure the
Safety of our own loved.
Aching, hurt, blind and bleeding from the
Cuts of cowardly madmen
Whose low acts made us
One injured entity.
Looking for avenues to assist
Praying for survivors
Longing for the normality of
The previous day.
Never again to rest on our laurels
Never again to take for granted
The freedom our fellow men
Enjoyed till the moment of their end.
Always to remember
In their honor,
For their children and ours,
That freedom must perpetuate.
9/21/01
In my hometown….
Folks congregate at the store to drink Cokes and smoke and
talk and catch up with old friends and see who's out and about.
Sunday fills the churches.
High school football is the sport of choice.
Prejudice and pride, partiality and tolerance live side by side.
In my hometown….
Elders teach us how to can figs and play 42.
We have fire ants and pine trees,
Beer drinkers and Baptists.
We don’t keep up with the Jones.
Your way is your way.
There are more pick-ups than cell phones,
Logging feeds families.
Our voices have a twang,
Our dogs are dawgs,
Our cars get oll.
Chicken fried steak is a food group.
In my hometown….
Computers are the latest greatest:
The internet not such a bad thing at all.
Daddy sells on ebay,
Mama emails kids who never call.
In my hometown….
Laziness meets with disapproval.
The police catch the bad guys.
Parents spank their children when they misbehave.
Children say "sir" and "ma’am,"
Knowing to forget such words is disrespectful.
In my hometown….
The pace is slower,
Folks say "hi,"
Look you in the eye,
Talk to you in the grocery store
Smile when they give you change
Usually forget to check your I.D.
In my hometown….
We need a break.
Our hearts are overwhelmed
with terror and injury
and hope.
Old Glory reigns
Patriotism runs high.
In my hometown….
We lit candles and prayed
It was a dream,
We sang
We re-united
Wishing that day had never come.
In my hometown….
We believe in "one nation, under God,"
"Truth, justice and the American way,"
The Golden Rule.
In my hometown….
We believe…
And that makes all things possible.
9/12/01
From a perfect blue September sky
Darkness fell
And we, a nation bound together in shock,
We sat
We watched
Overwhelmed by our awakening
Knowledge that yes,
We were one nation, yes
We were indivisible, yes
Our fellow workers, friends, mothers, fathers,
Pain was our own.
In panicked moments we
Phoned to make sure, that niece
That nephew, were they? Did he?
Touching base to ensure the
Safety of our own loved.
Aching, hurt, blind and bleeding from the
Cuts of cowardly madmen
Whose low acts made us
One injured entity.
Looking for avenues to assist
Praying for survivors
Longing for the normality of
The previous day.
Never again to rest on our laurels
Never again to take for granted
The freedom our fellow men
Enjoyed till the moment of their end.
Always to remember
In their honor,
For their children and ours,
That freedom must perpetuate.
9/21/01
In my hometown….
Folks congregate at the store to drink Cokes and smoke and
talk and catch up with old friends and see who's out and about.
Sunday fills the churches.
High school football is the sport of choice.
Prejudice and pride, partiality and tolerance live side by side.
In my hometown….
Elders teach us how to can figs and play 42.
We have fire ants and pine trees,
Beer drinkers and Baptists.
We don’t keep up with the Jones.
Your way is your way.
There are more pick-ups than cell phones,
Logging feeds families.
Our voices have a twang,
Our dogs are dawgs,
Our cars get oll.
Chicken fried steak is a food group.
In my hometown….
Computers are the latest greatest:
The internet not such a bad thing at all.
Daddy sells on ebay,
Mama emails kids who never call.
In my hometown….
Laziness meets with disapproval.
The police catch the bad guys.
Parents spank their children when they misbehave.
Children say "sir" and "ma’am,"
Knowing to forget such words is disrespectful.
In my hometown….
The pace is slower,
Folks say "hi,"
Look you in the eye,
Talk to you in the grocery store
Smile when they give you change
Usually forget to check your I.D.
In my hometown….
We need a break.
Our hearts are overwhelmed
with terror and injury
and hope.
Old Glory reigns
Patriotism runs high.
In my hometown….
We lit candles and prayed
It was a dream,
We sang
We re-united
Wishing that day had never come.
In my hometown….
We believe in "one nation, under God,"
"Truth, justice and the American way,"
The Golden Rule.
In my hometown….
We believe…
And that makes all things possible.
Saturday, July 2, 2011
JUNE is a 4-letter word
For many years now, Max and I have been aware that some pretty incredible and pretty awful things have happened to our family between the first of May and the last day of June. It’s kind of freaky when you look it all at once:
June, 1984, we moved into our first house and there was a solar eclipse the same day. June 1985, my best friend, Gail, was diagnosed with breast cancer, and I had surgery; we had our surgeries the same day. In June 1986, Gail’s cancer came back in her lungs. In 1988, I gave birth to Aaron the same day Gail was having brain surgery because her cancer spread there. (Gail died just before Christmas of 1989.) June 1989 was Aarons first birthday and the only birthday party he ever got to have. In June of 1990, Aaron died. In June of 1991, I had surgery to remove scar tissue, and my mentor, Kathe, died. She was an incredibly strong and amazing woman; Jen is named after her. May 1992, Jen was born. June 1993, we lost our house. June 1994, we were attacked by a crazy woman who stalked us that whole summer. June 1995, I fell and broke my shoulder. 1996 was the year I had ovarian cancer, and in June, I was back in ICU with a thrombosis in my neck. June 1997, our vegetable garden was vandalized while we were out of town; all of our hard work pulled up and destroyed. June 1998, my last grandfather, Grandpa Russell died. June 2000, Travis was in the hospital with a bowel obstruction. May and June 2002, our house was replumbed and repainted, Travis graduated from high school, I got a black eye from a bungee cord, saw my biological father for the first time in 30 years, and was back in ICU with spinal meningitis. Late May 2003, my friend, Jana died from complications of breast cancer (I miss her every single day). In May of 2004, Jen was in the hospital, the starter on the car died, and I was in the hospital again for complications from scar tissue. June of 2005 was easier, just one car malfunction that year (with 2 weeks in the shop). But May 13, 2006 nearly destroyed us when my Uncle Lee died very unexpectedly. In June of 2007, after months of struggling financially, we filed bankruptcy; it started on the anniversary of Aaron’s death. In 2008, my oldest niece graduated, my best friend’s daughter graduated, we had a bat invasion at our house, I dropped a fan on my foot and broke my toe, and my best friend, Kathy, who I’d known for 20+ years, had a psychotic break and tried to shoot my husband. In June of 2009, my granddaughter, Kadence was born, the central air shorted out, my 2nd oldest nephew graduated, and my sister and I had a moment over something stupid (not a happy moment). June 2010, I was working two jobs, including for the Census. I filed a complaint against them and was fired. May and June of 2011, the van died and was out of commission for two weeks, Jen graduated, Jess visited, my brother visited, Jen won a blue ribbon at the regional art show, we threw Jen’s graduation party, our central air was fixed after two years, and our bankruptcy closed out a year early.
So, Max and I tend to get a little nervous when May and June roll around; it’s just tends to be a drama-filled time for us.
Since Tuesday night, when I found out our bankruptcy was over a year early, I’ve felt like I was living in a dream. Everything’s a little blurry and off-kilter. You know the feeling, how you don’t know what to believe and what is false, what you hope is real and what is really real. The fact that this IS real, not a clerical error, not someone pranking us (which would be unbelievably mean), NOT a dream----well, I’m someone who lives by words, and I’m speechless. I’ve spent the past six weeks worrying sick over my car, cause ya’ll know how it is, no car, no job. And Max’s car that he drives back and forth to Houston in each week has 100K miles on it; I get scared every week when he leaves for Houston in that car. But there was no way whatsoever we could make a car note when $1000 of our income goes to the bankruptcy court right off the bat each month. Jen’s senior year was unbelievably expensive, and we’ve been living hand-to-mouth trying to make ends meet. So, when I find out that we get back that $1000 a month, that we can breathe a little easier and get Max a better car, it’s just overwhelming!
There is no explanation for the good or the bad or when it comes; it’s just what we get in life. Why it goes in cycles like this, I have no idea. It’s not that good and bad things don’t happen to us the rest of the year, it just seems like May and June all the drama is squared and there is some thrill or crisis every single week.
All I can do during times like this is what I always do. I give my heart and my soul to the Lord; I put it all in His very capable hands. He is the guiding hand. He knows what we need, when we need it, when we are weak, and when we are strong. Even during times I didn’t think he knew me well, I still know in my heart that He will always keep us strong during times of trial, and appreciative during times of joy. There’s been a lot of Junes when there was only one set of footprints in the sand because He was carrying us.
So, today’s blog is just a long way of saying, thank you Lord, for our lives and all that the word “life” encompasses! Thank you, thank you, thank you!!!
June, 1984, we moved into our first house and there was a solar eclipse the same day. June 1985, my best friend, Gail, was diagnosed with breast cancer, and I had surgery; we had our surgeries the same day. In June 1986, Gail’s cancer came back in her lungs. In 1988, I gave birth to Aaron the same day Gail was having brain surgery because her cancer spread there. (Gail died just before Christmas of 1989.) June 1989 was Aarons first birthday and the only birthday party he ever got to have. In June of 1990, Aaron died. In June of 1991, I had surgery to remove scar tissue, and my mentor, Kathe, died. She was an incredibly strong and amazing woman; Jen is named after her. May 1992, Jen was born. June 1993, we lost our house. June 1994, we were attacked by a crazy woman who stalked us that whole summer. June 1995, I fell and broke my shoulder. 1996 was the year I had ovarian cancer, and in June, I was back in ICU with a thrombosis in my neck. June 1997, our vegetable garden was vandalized while we were out of town; all of our hard work pulled up and destroyed. June 1998, my last grandfather, Grandpa Russell died. June 2000, Travis was in the hospital with a bowel obstruction. May and June 2002, our house was replumbed and repainted, Travis graduated from high school, I got a black eye from a bungee cord, saw my biological father for the first time in 30 years, and was back in ICU with spinal meningitis. Late May 2003, my friend, Jana died from complications of breast cancer (I miss her every single day). In May of 2004, Jen was in the hospital, the starter on the car died, and I was in the hospital again for complications from scar tissue. June of 2005 was easier, just one car malfunction that year (with 2 weeks in the shop). But May 13, 2006 nearly destroyed us when my Uncle Lee died very unexpectedly. In June of 2007, after months of struggling financially, we filed bankruptcy; it started on the anniversary of Aaron’s death. In 2008, my oldest niece graduated, my best friend’s daughter graduated, we had a bat invasion at our house, I dropped a fan on my foot and broke my toe, and my best friend, Kathy, who I’d known for 20+ years, had a psychotic break and tried to shoot my husband. In June of 2009, my granddaughter, Kadence was born, the central air shorted out, my 2nd oldest nephew graduated, and my sister and I had a moment over something stupid (not a happy moment). June 2010, I was working two jobs, including for the Census. I filed a complaint against them and was fired. May and June of 2011, the van died and was out of commission for two weeks, Jen graduated, Jess visited, my brother visited, Jen won a blue ribbon at the regional art show, we threw Jen’s graduation party, our central air was fixed after two years, and our bankruptcy closed out a year early.
So, Max and I tend to get a little nervous when May and June roll around; it’s just tends to be a drama-filled time for us.
Since Tuesday night, when I found out our bankruptcy was over a year early, I’ve felt like I was living in a dream. Everything’s a little blurry and off-kilter. You know the feeling, how you don’t know what to believe and what is false, what you hope is real and what is really real. The fact that this IS real, not a clerical error, not someone pranking us (which would be unbelievably mean), NOT a dream----well, I’m someone who lives by words, and I’m speechless. I’ve spent the past six weeks worrying sick over my car, cause ya’ll know how it is, no car, no job. And Max’s car that he drives back and forth to Houston in each week has 100K miles on it; I get scared every week when he leaves for Houston in that car. But there was no way whatsoever we could make a car note when $1000 of our income goes to the bankruptcy court right off the bat each month. Jen’s senior year was unbelievably expensive, and we’ve been living hand-to-mouth trying to make ends meet. So, when I find out that we get back that $1000 a month, that we can breathe a little easier and get Max a better car, it’s just overwhelming!
There is no explanation for the good or the bad or when it comes; it’s just what we get in life. Why it goes in cycles like this, I have no idea. It’s not that good and bad things don’t happen to us the rest of the year, it just seems like May and June all the drama is squared and there is some thrill or crisis every single week.
All I can do during times like this is what I always do. I give my heart and my soul to the Lord; I put it all in His very capable hands. He is the guiding hand. He knows what we need, when we need it, when we are weak, and when we are strong. Even during times I didn’t think he knew me well, I still know in my heart that He will always keep us strong during times of trial, and appreciative during times of joy. There’s been a lot of Junes when there was only one set of footprints in the sand because He was carrying us.
So, today’s blog is just a long way of saying, thank you Lord, for our lives and all that the word “life” encompasses! Thank you, thank you, thank you!!!
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
My Eyes Won’t Stop Leaking
My sister has four kids, my brother has five, and I had three. My mother always tells people she has 11 grandchildren. I say I “had” three kids and let people hear it as they will. If they notice the past tense, I tell them my youngest son, Aaron, died. Sometimes people ask about the details; sometimes they don’t. I take it as it comes. I just want people to know he existed, ya know? He will always be a part of me, and his death is what made me the way I am now.
A little over a week ago, we celebrated our daughter, Jennifer’s, high school graduation. Jen has Asperger’s Syndrome and Pervasive Developmental Disorder, two high-functioning forms of autism. She is not normally an emotional person and seldom just bursts out into true joy. Her face when she came off that field will always be one of my most precious memories. She was beaming from ear to ear, proud of herself, excited about being the center of attention, and overjoyed with life. I was so happy for her; all I could do was run to meet her and hug her and weep and just not want to ever let go.
After the ceremony, we gathered together and my beloved friend, Jess, took pictures of our family: me and Max, Travis, Jen and Sandra, and our two grandchildren, Kadence and Aidan. I love this picture; I printed out a copy and have taped it by my desk at work. It is the wallpaper on my computer at work and my laptop. I’m not lying, I really DO love this picture. But every time I look at it, I swear, I can see Aaron’s face beaming down on us from heaven. Then, the sadness just overwhelms me. People take family portraits with all their kids. I would give my own life to have a picture of all three of my kids together.
June 11, 2001 is the 21st anniversary of Aaron’s death. He died four days after his 2nd birthday. Today is his birthday; he would be 23 years old now. Every joy in my life is not haunted, but touched by the fact that he is not there to share it with us. Where would he be now? His cousin, who is six months older, is a helicopter pilot. My sister and I used to talk about how would grow up together. His brother is a daddy now, with a gorgeous wife and two beautiful children. Those kids will never know their uncle Aaron. His baby sister has just finished high school and is going on to college. Jen never even got to meet her brother.
I don’t treasure Jen’s accomplishment any less because of Aaron’s absence, but the pain today is acute because we miss him so much at events like this. Travis’ graduation and wedding, the birth of the grandkids, Jen’s graduation—he is always absent. We will always miss him. He will ALWAYS live in our hearts.
There are people out there who think you should stop grieving after 21 years. Maybe with your parents, or a sibling or a friend, their birthday will pass or the anniversary of their death, and you will remember them and be sad they have moved on. These people are your history, we accept that we may lose them to death over time. But with your child? When you lose your child, you lose the future of your family. Your family is forever incomplete. No family portrait, no Christmas, no holiday, no wedding, no graduation, no birth, ever includes your whole family again. So, if you’re one of those people who believe that sort of thing; just believe what you want. I would not wish for my worst enemy to walk these steps and have this pain. Other people’s beliefs are their own, I can’t change them and don't try to. Just don’t berate me for feeling my feelings.
Today, my heart hurts so bad; all my feelings are sad. I can remember the touch of his hair, his smile, even how he smelled. I remember how he always called me “daddy” even after he could say mama. I remember the food fight with his brother when they threw pasta at each other and redecorated the kitchen. I remember how Aaron was afraid of the vacuum cleaner, and how he walked up and punched it one time after Max vacuumed. I remember how he loved his Nonny and carried it everywhere and we lost it once at NASA and ran all over the place in a panic to find it. I remember tucking it under his arm as he lay in his coffin. I remember the first time I cut his hair and he pointed at the hair that fell and said, “boo boo?” and then cried and wouldn’t let me finish. I remember Travis playing ‘piggy’ with Aaron’s toes, and Travis telling me he was gonna throw that new baby away cause it was a pain. I remember Aaron’s song we taught Travis to learn how to spell Aaron’s name. I remember nursing Aaron at the zoo in Houston when my sister and I went there one day. I remember him grabbing my hair spray can every morning as I got ready for work and banging it against the walls cause it made a great noise. I remember waking up the morning he went into the hospital cause he was throwing something at me, and later I found it in the bed. I still have that little green marble in my jewelry box. I remember blowing bubbles for him and Travis, and how they laughed when the dog bit the bubbles. I remember how he used to thump his feet in his crib as he was falling asleep; I heard that thump for months after he was gone. I remember him in my sister’s pool and joking about how we’d have to drain the pool to get him out, cause that’s the only reason he would ever get out of the bathtub. I remember taking him on the swings at T.C. Jester park during his brother’s baseball practice. I remember his beautiful face the day he was born.
And, I remember that first seizure in March of 1990, and the last seizure in June of 1990, and every single fucking day in that horrible hospital, living each minute looking and praying for some sign he would wake up and be Aaron again. I remember the moment I realized he never would and my knees weakening and the world swimming around me and going black and thinking I was going to faint for the first time in my life.
For a long time, our world was black. They say time heals, but it really just teaches you how to better manage the pain. The pain never really goes away, you just learn to bear the weight. I didn’t hide my tears today. I just let my eyes keep leaking. Those tears and my pain are a tribute to the love we have for him. Aaron was my precious son, and my love for him will never go away. My mind will always see that empty spot where he should be. Sometimes, I can see it and smile because he was such a happy little guy and I know he’d be smiling.
But today, that spot is just empty, and my eyes won’t stop leaking.
Mama loves you sweet pea!
A little over a week ago, we celebrated our daughter, Jennifer’s, high school graduation. Jen has Asperger’s Syndrome and Pervasive Developmental Disorder, two high-functioning forms of autism. She is not normally an emotional person and seldom just bursts out into true joy. Her face when she came off that field will always be one of my most precious memories. She was beaming from ear to ear, proud of herself, excited about being the center of attention, and overjoyed with life. I was so happy for her; all I could do was run to meet her and hug her and weep and just not want to ever let go.
After the ceremony, we gathered together and my beloved friend, Jess, took pictures of our family: me and Max, Travis, Jen and Sandra, and our two grandchildren, Kadence and Aidan. I love this picture; I printed out a copy and have taped it by my desk at work. It is the wallpaper on my computer at work and my laptop. I’m not lying, I really DO love this picture. But every time I look at it, I swear, I can see Aaron’s face beaming down on us from heaven. Then, the sadness just overwhelms me. People take family portraits with all their kids. I would give my own life to have a picture of all three of my kids together.
June 11, 2001 is the 21st anniversary of Aaron’s death. He died four days after his 2nd birthday. Today is his birthday; he would be 23 years old now. Every joy in my life is not haunted, but touched by the fact that he is not there to share it with us. Where would he be now? His cousin, who is six months older, is a helicopter pilot. My sister and I used to talk about how would grow up together. His brother is a daddy now, with a gorgeous wife and two beautiful children. Those kids will never know their uncle Aaron. His baby sister has just finished high school and is going on to college. Jen never even got to meet her brother.
I don’t treasure Jen’s accomplishment any less because of Aaron’s absence, but the pain today is acute because we miss him so much at events like this. Travis’ graduation and wedding, the birth of the grandkids, Jen’s graduation—he is always absent. We will always miss him. He will ALWAYS live in our hearts.
There are people out there who think you should stop grieving after 21 years. Maybe with your parents, or a sibling or a friend, their birthday will pass or the anniversary of their death, and you will remember them and be sad they have moved on. These people are your history, we accept that we may lose them to death over time. But with your child? When you lose your child, you lose the future of your family. Your family is forever incomplete. No family portrait, no Christmas, no holiday, no wedding, no graduation, no birth, ever includes your whole family again. So, if you’re one of those people who believe that sort of thing; just believe what you want. I would not wish for my worst enemy to walk these steps and have this pain. Other people’s beliefs are their own, I can’t change them and don't try to. Just don’t berate me for feeling my feelings.
Today, my heart hurts so bad; all my feelings are sad. I can remember the touch of his hair, his smile, even how he smelled. I remember how he always called me “daddy” even after he could say mama. I remember the food fight with his brother when they threw pasta at each other and redecorated the kitchen. I remember how Aaron was afraid of the vacuum cleaner, and how he walked up and punched it one time after Max vacuumed. I remember how he loved his Nonny and carried it everywhere and we lost it once at NASA and ran all over the place in a panic to find it. I remember tucking it under his arm as he lay in his coffin. I remember the first time I cut his hair and he pointed at the hair that fell and said, “boo boo?” and then cried and wouldn’t let me finish. I remember Travis playing ‘piggy’ with Aaron’s toes, and Travis telling me he was gonna throw that new baby away cause it was a pain. I remember Aaron’s song we taught Travis to learn how to spell Aaron’s name. I remember nursing Aaron at the zoo in Houston when my sister and I went there one day. I remember him grabbing my hair spray can every morning as I got ready for work and banging it against the walls cause it made a great noise. I remember waking up the morning he went into the hospital cause he was throwing something at me, and later I found it in the bed. I still have that little green marble in my jewelry box. I remember blowing bubbles for him and Travis, and how they laughed when the dog bit the bubbles. I remember how he used to thump his feet in his crib as he was falling asleep; I heard that thump for months after he was gone. I remember him in my sister’s pool and joking about how we’d have to drain the pool to get him out, cause that’s the only reason he would ever get out of the bathtub. I remember taking him on the swings at T.C. Jester park during his brother’s baseball practice. I remember his beautiful face the day he was born.
And, I remember that first seizure in March of 1990, and the last seizure in June of 1990, and every single fucking day in that horrible hospital, living each minute looking and praying for some sign he would wake up and be Aaron again. I remember the moment I realized he never would and my knees weakening and the world swimming around me and going black and thinking I was going to faint for the first time in my life.
For a long time, our world was black. They say time heals, but it really just teaches you how to better manage the pain. The pain never really goes away, you just learn to bear the weight. I didn’t hide my tears today. I just let my eyes keep leaking. Those tears and my pain are a tribute to the love we have for him. Aaron was my precious son, and my love for him will never go away. My mind will always see that empty spot where he should be. Sometimes, I can see it and smile because he was such a happy little guy and I know he’d be smiling.
But today, that spot is just empty, and my eyes won’t stop leaking.
Mama loves you sweet pea!
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