Today is my mother’s birthday. Had she lived to see 2015 she would’ve been 85 years old. She passed away from lung cancer at an all too early age of 64.
I try to imagine how my life would’ve been different had she lived this long. I think that had she had more time on this earth, I would’ve been able to gain a better perspective of her and her ways. As I have said previously, she was complicated and sometimes getting close to her was near impossible.
So, in the absence of my mother, I have to say that time and circumstance have been a teacher to me. In the gap between my mother’s death and today, time has taught me not to take this life for granted. Appreciate all that is around us, soak in the every day mundane chores and responsibilities. Be thankful for a purpose. Rejoice in pain, celebrate those tears because that means you can feel, you can hurt. Embrace joy.
My circumstances have taught me that everything can change in an instant. If we are not mentally and spiritually prepared, it can be a long and bumpy road, the lessons that we learn can be painful. I have faced this on many occasions since Helen Ruth passed away. At times I was better prepared than others. Be rest assured that life can change when we are least expecting it. It’s how we face it, how we deal with it that defines who we are… or at least who we want to become.
I have learned that happiness is a choice. Only for so long can we blame our past, point fingers at others that “made us who we are.” We are who we have chosen to be. For me, I choose happiness.
My dear mother, I miss you. I miss the time that we have lost. I’m sorry that you weren’t here to enjoy all of your grandchildren and yes, your great grandchildren. Love to you on your birthday,
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.
Several weeks ago I put my friends to the task of finding me a good guy to go out with. In the past five years since Michael’s passing, my dating life has been essentially nonexistent. After a few false starts, I finally felt like I was ready to put myself out there, to what extent I was capable of I wasn’t sure – but I was ready to put my feet back in the water.
I have a wonderful friend with an equally wonderful husband. They took my plea seriously and began to look in earnest for a great guy to match me with. The next thing I know, my phone number has been passed on to a potential suitor that seems interested in meeting a “great gal.” Within just a few days, I’m meeting this man for the first time for a meet and greet and a really good pizza.
21 DAYS WITH BOB
(I spelled his name backwards to protect his identity)
He walked into the restaurant while I stood in a standing room only bar area. “How will I know you?” he asked earlier on the phone. “I will be the shortest woman there, how will I know you?” “I’ll have a black t-shirt on.” And there he was. I thought, “If this is him, I’m the luckiest woman here.” And it was him. Tall. Handsome. Well dressed. Great smile.
We took our seats, clinked our bottles of beer together, and had a wonderful evening. I had forgotten how “newness” felt. How scary and exciting the unknown can be. I listened with intrigue to his life story. Intermittently, he interjected, “Now this might be a deal breaker but…”, and yet nothing in his past overshadowed anything in my own past. At some point in the conversation I felt it necessary to tell him about the nature of my husband’s passing. I didn’t want it to be the focus of our evening, but the “S” word came up (suicide) and I felt it best to reveal that part of my life. Before the night ended, Bob asked me out on a “real” date. I tried to squlech my enthusiasm, but quickly accepted his offer. We ended the evening with a respectable kiss and I drove away with a happy and grateful heart.
The next few weeks we tallied up hours of telephone conversations and enjoyed two more dates. This man is kind, funny, polite, and extremely interesting. We held hands in Market Square. We shared some tender kisses. He opened the car door for me. We spent hours listening to music together. I listened more than I talked (and you all know how much I love to talk.) Although I generally don’t hold my feelings too close to the vest, I found myself more guarded than I had expected. In passing I mentioned my blog to him but never revealed the website – I say this because this blog is an open window of my life. So I worried, was my life, my past, going to be more than someone could handle? Did I come with too much baggage? My idle thoughts brought questions of my level of ability to give myself to someone. Could I possibly fall in love again? Did I have the capability to become intimate with someone again? Could I ever trust another man with not only my heart but the bare bones of not killing himself? I only asked these questions because I really liked this man. I found him of quality and “brought up right.” I have to tell you, when a spouse ends their life without any warning or explanation, it makes a person question themselves to the tenth degree.
Even with all of these questions and self-doubt, I couldn’t help but face my days with an extra spring in my step, perhaps a larger smile on my face, and a higher degree of optimism. When his name popped up on my phone whether a text or a call, I would smile. I found myself letting my guard down a bit, allowing myself to have feelings for the first man since my husband’s death.
It turns out that all of my concerns, all of my doubts, were in vain. I found myself on Christmas Day with the realization that I had not heard from Bob in a couple of days. So I did what anybody else would’ve done – I text “Merry Christmas.” No response. Wow – I was a bit hurt. It’s Christmas for God’s sake – and nothing? The next day – “Hey Bob, was it something I said, something I did?” How funny, how odd, and yet predictable that we always assume that it was something that we are responsible for, that we somehow are to blame when something goes wrong. I won’t bore you with the rest , because you too see where this is going. Suffice it to say that apparently ol’ Bob didn’t feel as strongly for me as I did for him. It’s left me puzzled, it’s left me a bit sad – sad in the fact that I didn’t allow him to see me for who I was – who I am – where I’ve come from and where I want to go in life.
So I’m left with the fear that I will rebuild my wall of protection that keeps me from being hurt, that I won’t allow anyone else in my life that could possibly cause me grief. This small hurt was quite enough for now and quite frankly, I don’t like doubting myself.
To Bob I say, “I’m glad I got to meet you… but I’m sad for what we might’ve had… I’m sad for what we could’ve done… especially that ride on your tractor.”
I have so many fond memories of my Daddy, this man that helped mold and shape the person that I am today. The example that he set for us, the life that he led, was a shining light in which we patterned our lives after.
This December is the 2nd anniversary of his passing. His absence is always more pronounced this time of year. The holidays have a way of conjuring up memories and reliving moments in time. I want to share a story about my Daddy that always makes me smile and always makes me feel special.
When Terri and I were 8 – 10 years old or so, we saw a grocery list lying on the kitchen counter waiting for Daddy. On the list there were the usual items; milk, bread, and so on, written in my mother’s distinctive cursive handwriting. While no one was looking, (the sneaky snakes that we were), Terri and I added to the list (in our own distinct script),
cookies
candy
ice cream
Cautiously, and undetected, we placed the list back on the counter where we found it. Much to our surprise, when Daddy returned home from the grocery, he had bought ALL of the items on the list, including the goodies that Terri and I had added. When we told Daddy it was us that added the “good stuff” on the list, he grinned and acted surprised.
Now, as an adult, I think back about when Daddy saw that list for the first time. He knew he had a choice; Do I do the practical thing and ignore this obvious addendum, perhaps scold them for their attempted deception, or do I indulge my girls and make them feel special? He did the right thing, because this memory is an indelible part of my being. The cookies , the candy, the ice cream (although a big deal at the time), took a back seat to the way my Daddy made me feel at the time.
Now I ask, how many parents would do that for their children?
