It’s old. It’s faded. Some of the edges are frayed. There’s a tear in the cuff that can’t be repaired. It’s definitely seen better days.
This jacket has been with me for the better part of 25 years.
There’s been a few times I’ve had it in my “toss” pile, only to change my mind and pull it back out. So, I ask myself, what is it about this jacket that I keep running back to like an old friend? What is it about this unpretentious article of clothing that I can’t seem to let go of?
Simple.
It’s history.
It’s the history that is held inside the body of this jacket.
In the years since I have owned this piece of clothing (or, does it own me), this jacket has kept my body warm and my soul comforted. It’s the comfort of chicken soup and the warmth of hot chocolate. This friend of mine has kept me warm at UT football games, hayrides, and pumpkin carvings. Its sleeves have wiped noses, its hood has kept the rain off. It has served as an impromptu pillow and a blanket for little ones. It has accompanied me on walks, endless farmer’s markets,and soccer games. It has been with me on some of my best days, and some of my worst days. On some of my darkest days, it has caught tears that couldn’t be held back.
Just look at this picture. That jacket is keeping my daughter warm on a chilly Saturday morning in 1994. That’s Shane on her lap (he’s 30 now).
Fast forward to October 2012 (18 years later), that’s Shane wearing that very same jacket. He and Brandon supported me by participating in the Out of the Darkness community walk for Suicide Prevention.
I asked my daughter Robin to put on the jacket so I would have a picture of her wearing it too. 🙂
And just 2 years ago, I brazenly got it back out of the toss pile and wore it while running errands on yet another chilly East Tennessee Saturday morning.
And then, just this spring, here “we” are with Charlie on a video shoot in Birmingham, AL. This old jacket and her ample pockets came in handy storing camera batteries, filters, lens caps, and a handful of C47’s (also known as clothespins).
So, if I could turn back the hands of time would I make her new again?
No, not really. Because, like its owner, this beloved jacket of mine has worked hard for those worn edges, she has earned the frays and the imperfections that make her what she is today.
And what happens to this little sweetheart when I’m no longer around to need her? Well, Ms. Ames, she’s yours – as you wish.
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”!
This bracelet came up on a news feed of mine. I studied it. Not the bracelet, but the words. I’ve probably studied over it more than some people would study for a test. Well, not so much study, but ponder. The words are powerful. The words imply strength and courage and all the other positive feelings that are conjured up in these seven little words.
When I first saw these words I thought about the women in my life that intentionally took on a challenge. Chris Mac decided she wanted to have a healthier lifestyle and took on the challenge of losing weight the old fashioned way – by eating healthy and exercising. Hannah has taken on the challenge of going back to college to become an RN after having a child. Brenda G later in life chose to adopt three children that needed her. Amy made the decision to not only tell her adoption story, but posted it for all the world to read. To these women and others like you, I humbly acknowledge your courage.
Then there’s the rest of us – no less important, but our challenges more or less got dumped into our laps. We didn’t ask for them. We weren’t looking for them, but they happened just the same. Cynthia discovered she had breast cancer. Angela and Laura G found themselves in destructive marriages. Many of us were given widowhood. My Aunt Lois and cousins Pat and Tina face each day with the deterioration of their husband/father from Alzheimers disease. Heather battles the fear that comes with having a child with severe food allergies. Then there’s the many single moms I know that get up each morning to fill the shoes of both mother and father. My own sister Terri is synonymous with courage, tenacity, and strength (although sometimes she doesn’t see it).
So I go back to the words: She believed she could, so she did.
In all honesty, there were times when I didn’t know if I could overcome the loss of my husband and the avalanche of aftershocks that came with it. I feel sure that each person I have mentioned and all of the ones in this video have had the same feeling at one time or another in the challenges that have faced them. That doubt, that defeating feeling, that nagging in the back of your mind that says it’s too hard, it’s too much to bear. We fall. We cry. We doubt.
But herein lies the difference: We fell but we didn’t stay down, we wiped our bloodied knees and got back up. We cried, but we wiped our tears away and pushed forward. We doubted, but it didn’t consume us. We overcame. And that’s what I celebrate today.
So this is for you ladies: The women that inspire me, encourage me, and lift me up.
Wayne and Trish Wolfenbarger (along with their three doppelgänger children, Ashley, Brooke, and Gunnar), came into our lives in the late 1990’s. There was only one condo that separated our large families (apologies to Mr. & Mrs Casey.) Michael and I were still practically newlyweds and adjusting to our blended family when our families were introduced.
I remember when they moved in. Truck after truck, load after load kept being delivered and unloaded. I watched with curiosity. Just how many people and just how much stuff can fit and live in this small three bedroom condominium?
Michael, being the social butterfly that he was, just had to make a beeline over to meet the new neighbors while all of the unloading and unpacking was taking place. I, on the other hand, wanted to leave them in peace and allow them to move in, get settled, and perhaps one day, get acquainted. But that was always a difference between Michael and I. He was more “in your face” – I was more.. well, not. And in true Michael fashion, everyone seemed to appreciate his approach.
I am proud to say that Wayne & Trish and three of the most adorable children you ever laid your eyes on became our dear friends. Our children became fast friends. Our homes became hubs to children going in and out, laughing, screaming, seemingly always hungry for snacks. There was always a child spending the night with another child. It was busy, it was chaotic, but looking back, I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.
Ashley, Brooke, and Hannah (Grigsby) performing the Macarena. The parents were constantly being treated to performances)
If you don’t mind, stop and listen to this song. I believe with all of my heart if Wayne ever had a song for his loving wife Trish, it would be this song.
Let me tell you about this amazing couple. When I met them, honestly I can’t tell you how long they had been married. At that point in time when we first met, they had already fused together as one. I don’t mean that didn’t have separate personalities, they did – clearly, they did. Wayne was soft spoken. His style was slow, it was easy, it was well thought out. And Trish, well, Trish was more like me. She felt things stronger, more powerful, and in truth (for both of us), more exaggerated. But they conducted themselves as one unit. They ebbed, they flowed. One didn’t make a move without the other. And oh, how they loved one another! I can close my eyes and remember the many, many times I caught them gazing into each other’s eyes – the love, the devotion, the respect, and the commitment was clearly evident. Theirs was a love to pattern a relationship over.
And one more thing, all of “that stuff” that went into that small condominium – well, Trish turned it into a home for their family. Everywhere you looked, it was home. It was comfortable, it was lived in. She loved Americana, and those touches she added to their home made it more special than any professional decorator could’ve done.
We spent several years in that community. We watched our children mature. We experienced great times, and we endured troubling times. But through it all, we managed to raise up some really great kids and still have strong marriages to show for it.
I can’t recall now if Michael and I moved away first or if Wayne and Trish moved away first, but in the end, each family went their own way. We got busy, we lost touch.
You all know that Michael unexpectedly took his life in 2009. Not long after that (through Facebook) I was reacquainted with Trish and her children. We swapped stories, we caught up, promising to visit soon. Time has a way of getting away from us. We have good intentions, really we do. It seems the next thing I know I hear that Wayne is sick – with cancer.
Personally, of all the words in the dictionary, I hate the “C” word almost as much as any other word I know. And when I heard how serious this monster had attacked Wayne’s body, it made me sick. Although no one “deserves” to have cancer, no one “deserved” it less than Wayne. By the time I got over to the Wolfenbarger’s house to bring a meal, I had waited too late to see Wayne. He was too sick for visitors. However, I did get to visit Trish and her amazing children. They were just as I had remembered (although the children were grown adults now). They were the family Musketeers – all for one, and one for all. This family has never wavered in their devotion to one another.
One year ago tomorrow will be the first anniversary of Wayne Wolfenbarger’s passage into heaven. I have in some ways dreaded this for Trish and her family as it will conjure up the memories of the loss of this wonderful man. Quite frankly, these kind of anniversaries suck – I can’t think of a more poignant way of expressing it.
But what I hope, and what I pray, is that this anniversary will highlight for this family all the love, and all the warmth, and all the special times that Wayne brought to this world and our lives. He loved his wife beyond measure, he treasured his children beyond compare. What greater legacy could a man leave behind? Nothing… nothing.
Wayne Wolfenbarger you are a man to be remembered. A man to be respected, and a man that we will never forget.
