Category: Growing pains

13Nov

Those three words

 

It happened one day last week.

I left work that afternoon at my usual time and I was tired, really tired. And to beat all, I hadn’t felt well all day – you know that feeling that you get right before you get officially sick? Runny nose, cough, aching.. all the symptoms of a cold coming on.

Charlie, along with a good friend of his,  had left town just an hour earlier heading to Atlanta.  In his absence, I was looking forward to going home, settling into my pjs, and curling up into bed with my dogs along with a hot cup of tea.

Except I hit a bump in the road – literally. Well, a convenient store parking lot curb to be specific. 

I was thirsty. Maybe from the excessive coughing; maybe from the cold medicine I had taken  earlier. So I benignly decided to stop at the convenient store for a soda before going home.

And boom!

What was that?

Damn.

The curb. I hit the curb.

Instantly the low tire indicator came on and it was just a matter of finding out exactly which tire I had blown.

With my heart and mind racing, I got out of my car to discover the right front tire was flatter than the batch of homemade biscuits I attempted to make last year.

I drive a Chevrolet Volt (it’s electric). Spare tires are not included…. something about space availability… carrying extra weight…bla bla bla.  So, here I am in a parking lot, miles from home, with a flat tire.

Am I in danger?

No.

Am I hurt?

No.

But I am in need of a tow truck. And maybe a hug.

So I called Charlie in hopes of a hearing a friendly voice and getting a tow truck connection. As embarrassed as I was to tell the story, “Honey I jumped a curb, I have a flat tire”, I made the call anyway.

And what did he say?

Those three words that sometimes we all need to hear.

“I’ll be there”.

“No honey”, I said (maybe not too convincingly), “I’m grown, I can take care of it. Keep heading south, just call me a tow truck please.”

Charlie immediately got on the phone with the insurance company and got the process started on getting a tow truck to my location.

As I sat there in my car waiting on the tow truck (not much else to do), I thought about all the times I was forced to handle these situations on my own for so long. Did I manage? Yes, yes I did. And I gained confidence each and every time I made it through another challenge.

But I gotta tell you, it felt good having Charlie to call, having someone to say, “I’ll be there”. No questions asked…. well, maybe, “How did you not see that curb?”…  🙂

In the end, Charlie and Stephan made it there before the tow truck did – and I was so glad to see those friendly faces!

May I always remember how sweet those three words are, and to be that friendly voice on the other end of the phone when needed.

Peace (and keep it on the road),

Cat

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

16Mar

A Home for my Heart

Almost seven years ago I found myself standing in a funeral receiving line as the widow of a man that took his own life. I was told later that I uttered the words, “I will never smile again.” Now that I look back, I’m sure I believed those words.

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The road has been long, and at times, seemingly endless.

Many of you have accompanied me on this unintentional journey. You have been there to catch my tears and to buffer my falls. You have endured my many questions that there were no answers to. You have witnessed my small victories and stood by my side while I experienced life’s disappointments. My gratitude for your love and support is immeasurable.

And although grateful for my many friends and family that have been there for me, I discovered that any healing, or any growth that would take place in my life,  would ultimately be up to me.

So I set out on this – what – pilgrimage, if you will, to forge a new life for myself.  A life without Michael. A life without a mate. A life where I was forced to learn my weaknesses.  A life without a safety net.

But where do you begin? Where do you go and what do you do? How do you continue when all you want to do is curl up in a ball and pretend this awful thing didn’t happen?

Well, to answer these somewhat rhetorical questions, I will borrow a scene from one of my favorite movies – Sleepless in Seattle. Tom Hank’s character is trying to explain his life as a new widower.

Doctor Marcia Fieldstone: “What are you going to do?”
Sam Baldwin: “Well, I’m gonna get out of bed every morning… breathe in and out all day long. Then, after a while I won’t have to remind myself to get out of bed every morning and breathe in and out… and, then after a while, I won’t have to think about how I had it great and perfect for a while.”

And that’s what I did.

Breathe in.
Mourn for the love that was taken from me.

Breathe out.
Mourn for the life I had to leave behind.

Breathe in.
Fill my lungs with the fragrance of a new day.

Breathe out.
Look around me and witness the china blue sky.

 It was gradual. It was painstakingly slow.

But, in time,  I began to face each day with more optimism than the last; with more laughter (yes, I laughed and smiled again) than sorrow; with more joy than grief. I began to breathe in contentment; and exhale the pain. I have stayed true to the belief that this tragedy would not define me.

And as the years have passed, and as time has marched on, I have evolved and transformed  into a woman that absolutely loves life and all of the good, the bad, and the ugly that it encompasses.

Six months ago I began a weight loss journey; one that I have not shared on social media – maybe because it was so personal – maybe because I feared failure. But I jumped in – head first – and have not come up for air. To date, I have lost 48 pounds.

How do I feel? Wonderful. Successful. In control.

Which catapulted me back into the dating world.

Yes, I joined Match.com.

And on the first morning of my membership I am greeted with the most friendly of greetings:

“It’s a great day to say Good Morning TnShortStory.”

Meet Charlie.

Cat-Charlie-02-5x7

Our beginning was a couple of witty emails, followed by a surprisingly easy phone conversation, and ending in an unpretentious meeting at a local Chili’s for lunch. Come to find out,  we have a mutual friend (thank you Spencer), that corroborated that neither one of us were serial killers, stalkers, or relatively bad people.

We have been together ever since.

May I please tell you about this man?

He is kind. He has a heart that is pure, and I believe, spun of gold.  His sincerity reaches to my soul. His amazing creativity inspires me. His energy is contagious and the way he looks at me – well, it melts my heart.  His love for life is equal to mine.

We fell in love; almost in an instant.  All of this seemed to be happening so fast – or was it? Looking back – given my history and his, I believe God has been preparing our hearts for one another for some time now. The time was right. Our hearts were ready. And it happened.

There is no turning back from this irrefutable, irresistible, wonderful love. Come hell, or high water, I love this man. And he loves me. If I could safely shout it from the rooftops, I would. We are planning a life together. A future.

From the beginning we have captured a sentiment.

We love “us”.

A unit that was formed from two people into one entity.

Us.

And that is how we will remain.

Us.

Charlie and Cathy.

A life to be lived. A love to share. A future to write.

Our hearts are finally home.

All my love,
Cat

For Charlie.

13Sep

Single file and yeast rolls

It happened in an instant and it came from out of nowhere. Just the other day I was walking down a hallway (location not important) and there it was. That smell, that aroma, that unmistaken combination of yeast, disinfectant, and a faint hint of…what…ink from a mimeograph machine? And there I was again, transformed back into the halls of my elementary school.

I could see myself walking in a “single file” line with my classmates going to the cafeteria at lunch time. You could smell the fresh baked yeast rolls all the way down the hall. On the way we would pass the boys and girls restrooms (on the right), and just before entering the cafeteria, there on the left, was the office (where the intimidating principal lived). Thus, the trio of aromas hitting the senses; yeast from the rolls, disinfectant from the rest rooms, and ink from the office. Good, reminiscing smells.

I look back on my  school days at Powell Elementary School and smile. I was quiet and shy (hard to believe, right?). I tended to be a follower – I don’t think there was a “leader” bone in my body. I can recall even being nervous when I was, on the occasion, proclaimed “line leader”. After all, that’s a lot of responsibility and everybody is looking to you to keep that line straight and true.

Powell Elementary, the institution where I learned reading, writing, and begrudgingly, arithmetic – and a whole lot more. It was the place where I first witnessed someone with a learning disability and wanting desperately to help him. The thrill of watching a reel-to-reel movie even though it was educational (please, no pop quiz afterwards). The dreaded “achievement tests”. The smell of pencil shavings and the feel of chalk between my fingers. The excitement of getting to go outside on pretty days for a lesson or two (thank you Miss Hendrix). The morning Pledge of Allegiance where we all proudly put our hands over our hearts and recited those words.

In those years I found out that Santa Claus wasn’t real, and not every teacher is nice. The yearly group picture where I would inevitably be seated on the far end (shortest on the end after all). Those halls witnessed my first kiss (a quick kiss in the cafeteria after school) and subsequently, my first breakup. I enjoy thinking back of art class in the spooky basement, the musty smell of the gym floor (yes, we laid directly on the floor),and the sound of the bell ringing telling us that the school day was over. I established a lifelong friend, Ellie Baker Howe.

Those memories are forever etched in my mind. I wouldn’t trade them for anything. Those formative years where life lessons made more of an impression than the “Three R’s”. May those halls forever echo the chant, “Go Panthers”!

29Aug

Heather Denise

 

1

Mother and Daughter

*** I write this on the 38th birthday of this remarkable woman that I am so proud to call “Daughter.” She continues to fill  my life with joy, pride, and awe.  ***

I thought I knew about life. I thought I knew about love.

Then she was born. August 29, 1977. We named her Heather Denise. She weighed in at 6 pounds, 14 ounces and was the most beautiful sight my eyes had ever seen. I was all of 21 years old.

From the very first time I held her in my arms I knew that my life would never be the same. When people say they don’t believe in love at first sight, they clearly don’t remember that moment they looked into their child’s eyes for the first time. That moment when you know that you will love this person until the day you die.

Heather was an easy baby. She slept well, she nursed well, she cooed, she loved her baths, she adored being held. She loved being rocked to sleep in the hand me down, freshly painted yellow rocking chair.

There wasn’t anything about this child that was difficult. I recall at times feeling a bit smug about this, thinking that it was the calm, peaceful environment that she was being raised in that contributed to her good nature.(I would learn later after her colicky sister Robin was born that her “peaceful environment” had nothing to do with her temperament.)

Time taught me that Heather did things in her own, carefully executed time. She didn’t walk until she was eighteen months old. I had well intentioned, concerned people to advise me if I would “get her off my hip” she would walk. I have to admit, I was a bit concerned myself, enough so to consult her pediatrician. After his careful examination, I was reassured that Heather would walk when Heather was ready. And she did just that. At eighteen months old, without fanfare, without any attention called to herself, she pulled herself up next to the sofa, she let go – and boom – she walked the entire length of the living room without falling, stumbling, or the least bit of wobbling.

And so that act of walking became indicative of the way Heather has lived her life; on her own terms. She’s a thinker, a planner, a woman that envisions success before she has even made her first move. Oh how I admire that! She has a heart of gold and empathy for others that stretches for miles. She loves tirelessly and persistently. The challenges she has faced would break anyone else. Yet, she continues to tackle each and every one with determination, faith, and an unyielding spirit.

In her 38 years Heather has had many accomplishments. She is a graduate of the University of Tennessee. She enjoys a career as a graphic artist. She has been married to her one and only love Dave for 15 years. They have a beautiful, articulate, intelligent daughter named Alexis Rhea (Thank you Heather & Dave for giving her my middle name, Rhea.)

But if you asked Heather, her treasure above all, it would be the salvation she received through Jesus Christ. That redemption continues to be the foundation of her life that all else works around. Her faith is uncompromising, unwavering, and undying.

This woman is one of my heroes. Is it selfish that I hope that I may have had a part in her becoming the woman that she is today? Because what a legacy that would be for me. Regardless if my influence was great or insignificant, I am one proud Mamma.

Happy Birthday Heather Denise,  Mamma loves you oh so much!