Yesterday was my ex-husband, David Hampton’s, birthday. There are some things I never forget, and his birthday is one of them. Our paths seldom cross anymore – he and his wife live in Tidewater Virginia, and I am happily embedded in rural Georgia. But that doesn’t keep memories from flooding back at times, or my thoughts from going back in time to the years that we were together.
One birthday I remember in particular, and the one that kept creeping up on me yesterday and tapping me on the shoulder, was his 40th birthday.
We were in Fieldale, Virginia, for this milestone birthday. I wanted the world of Fieldale to know that David was turning 40, and some of my church friends were all too willing to help spread the word. I don’t remember who made the sign – it had to be either Darlene or Harriett - but on the morning of David’s birthday, a huge sign graced the front yard which read, “Lordy, Lordy, David’s 40!” Our car was also stuffed to capacity with black balloons. He received more birthday greetings in the mail than Santa receives letters from children, as everyone in town was alerted to his birthday. It was a fun time of celebration, that’s for sure!
My sons were 14 and 11 at the time, just the ages to really get a kick out of seeing their dad celebrate his special day. They liked watching his embarrassment about being in the spotlight, as well as his enjoyment about being in the spotlight. It was quite a day!
Yesterday, as memories of the day floated across the kitchen counter while I worked with the bounty from my garden, another thought hit me squarely in the head. My son, Wade, my little boy, is now 40 himself! And talking to Brian on the phone yesterday, he reminded me that he is “pushing 40.” Can it be possible? How can my sons be the age of their dad in this special memory? And, how old am I now, anyhow??? When David turned 40, I was the age that Brian is now- three years younger. Where has the time gone?
They say that you are only as old as you feel. I certainly don’t feel old, but the facts tell me that I’m progressing in that direction. And, so are my sons. My consolation in all of this is that memories are sweet, and no matter what my age may be, I can always escape into my memory bank to be whatever age I want.
I also repeat one of my mantras – “The secret of a long life is to continue getting older.” This is something I plan to do with each day I live.
Happy Birthday, David!
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Sunday, November 14, 2010
A Strange Case of Writer's Block
I’m back in my Collection of Days. I’d like to say that I’ve been suffering from a case of writer’s block for the past month, but if I am going to be honest in my writing, I have to admit that it’s been more a case of writer’s avoidance! It’s not that my days have not been interesting. On the contrary, my dilemma is that I haven’t found the words or the courage to honestly write about some recent special days.
Last month my mother-in-law died. It affected me profoundly, mainly from the perspective that it was a huge relief that she finally let go of her earthly body at the age of 89 and journeyed to her next place. I loved her dearly, and I wish I could say that she was a wonderful person, which she was in some ways. However, in reality, she was very difficult for me to love, and for many years I wasn’t sure how she felt about me. It wasn’t until her final three years of life that we became close, became confidants, and I finally let myself love her unconditionally.
I remember a comment she made to me early-on as I told her that Phil and I had married. Her response, “That’s wonderful, Jennie. We always hoped that Phil would marry Susan.” [a former girlfriend]. Then, one Christmas early in our marriage, she proudly presented everyone in the family with a new pair of bedroom slippers. When she got to me, she said, “Sorry, Jennie, they didn’t have any in your size on sale.” It was comments such at these that built the wall that separated us. I could see how she loved her family and was always helping out people in her church, but I wondered where I stood with her. I also knew that she was always trying to get me to influence Phil to do things that she thought he should do. When I refused to intervene, she didn’t like it one bit.
In spite of things like this, I grew to love Mom. After Pop died and she moved into an assisted-living apartment, we became fast friends. I shared my writing with her, which she seemed to enjoy reading and discussing. She also confided some of her deepest thoughts with me. Whenever I’d go to visit her, she wanted to know about my sons, and how they were doing. She was always interested in hearing about their lives and careers. Up until a few months before her death, when senility took more and more of her away from me, I knew that she was aware of who I was when I’d visit her in her nursing home room, because she never failed to ask me about Wade and Brian.
Her funeral was difficult. Phil and his sister haven’t spoken to each other in several years, and Mom’s death didn’t change anything. While the minister spoke of her love of her family and how much it meant to her, I felt a deep sadness that her family had splintered and was uncomfortably enduring having to sit together in the same pews for her service. I also admitted to myself that some of it was her fault. When something difficult came her way, she’d turn her head the other way, wouldn’t want to hear about it, and would pretend that everything was fine. She just never could admit that things were less than ideal in her family, even though she was always willing to add a critical comment about whatever the issue of the day happened to be. In contrast, she would always find excuses for everyone’s, including her own, behavior, as her way of forgiving herself for making such caustic comments and thinking such thoughts.
Mom was a World War II veteran, and she was buried in the National Cemetery in Canton, Georgia, with military honors, next to Pop, also a veteran. As the bugler blew Taps, something inside of me was released, and I finally let Mom and all of the Lazarus family conflicts drift away with the warm October breeze. I knew that Phil and his sister might never reconcile, and that the awkward times with the family were now a thing of the past for me. In a purely selfish thought, I realized that never again would I have to endure the strain of family get-togethers, when someone was always mad about something, and never have to dread coming face-to-face with Phil’s sister who openly despised us both. Instead, I thought of the good things that I knew about Mom, and cherished the special moments that we had together acting like girlfriends in her apartment, and later in her nursing home room. I remembered the way she would grip my hand, not wanting to let go, and how her eyes would sparkle when we’d share a private moment or joke. I remembered her smile when she’d spot me walking down the hall toward her room, and the delight in her face that I had come for a visit.
No, Mom was not perfect, and she had the ability to get under my skin and irritate me to no ends. But I miss her, and will miss my visits with her. I am happy that she is finally at peace and is exploring heaven with her beloved Trooper.
Good-bye, Mom. I love you. I am now ready to write again.
Last month my mother-in-law died. It affected me profoundly, mainly from the perspective that it was a huge relief that she finally let go of her earthly body at the age of 89 and journeyed to her next place. I loved her dearly, and I wish I could say that she was a wonderful person, which she was in some ways. However, in reality, she was very difficult for me to love, and for many years I wasn’t sure how she felt about me. It wasn’t until her final three years of life that we became close, became confidants, and I finally let myself love her unconditionally.
I remember a comment she made to me early-on as I told her that Phil and I had married. Her response, “That’s wonderful, Jennie. We always hoped that Phil would marry Susan.” [a former girlfriend]. Then, one Christmas early in our marriage, she proudly presented everyone in the family with a new pair of bedroom slippers. When she got to me, she said, “Sorry, Jennie, they didn’t have any in your size on sale.” It was comments such at these that built the wall that separated us. I could see how she loved her family and was always helping out people in her church, but I wondered where I stood with her. I also knew that she was always trying to get me to influence Phil to do things that she thought he should do. When I refused to intervene, she didn’t like it one bit.
In spite of things like this, I grew to love Mom. After Pop died and she moved into an assisted-living apartment, we became fast friends. I shared my writing with her, which she seemed to enjoy reading and discussing. She also confided some of her deepest thoughts with me. Whenever I’d go to visit her, she wanted to know about my sons, and how they were doing. She was always interested in hearing about their lives and careers. Up until a few months before her death, when senility took more and more of her away from me, I knew that she was aware of who I was when I’d visit her in her nursing home room, because she never failed to ask me about Wade and Brian.
Her funeral was difficult. Phil and his sister haven’t spoken to each other in several years, and Mom’s death didn’t change anything. While the minister spoke of her love of her family and how much it meant to her, I felt a deep sadness that her family had splintered and was uncomfortably enduring having to sit together in the same pews for her service. I also admitted to myself that some of it was her fault. When something difficult came her way, she’d turn her head the other way, wouldn’t want to hear about it, and would pretend that everything was fine. She just never could admit that things were less than ideal in her family, even though she was always willing to add a critical comment about whatever the issue of the day happened to be. In contrast, she would always find excuses for everyone’s, including her own, behavior, as her way of forgiving herself for making such caustic comments and thinking such thoughts.
Mom was a World War II veteran, and she was buried in the National Cemetery in Canton, Georgia, with military honors, next to Pop, also a veteran. As the bugler blew Taps, something inside of me was released, and I finally let Mom and all of the Lazarus family conflicts drift away with the warm October breeze. I knew that Phil and his sister might never reconcile, and that the awkward times with the family were now a thing of the past for me. In a purely selfish thought, I realized that never again would I have to endure the strain of family get-togethers, when someone was always mad about something, and never have to dread coming face-to-face with Phil’s sister who openly despised us both. Instead, I thought of the good things that I knew about Mom, and cherished the special moments that we had together acting like girlfriends in her apartment, and later in her nursing home room. I remembered the way she would grip my hand, not wanting to let go, and how her eyes would sparkle when we’d share a private moment or joke. I remembered her smile when she’d spot me walking down the hall toward her room, and the delight in her face that I had come for a visit.
No, Mom was not perfect, and she had the ability to get under my skin and irritate me to no ends. But I miss her, and will miss my visits with her. I am happy that she is finally at peace and is exploring heaven with her beloved Trooper.
Good-bye, Mom. I love you. I am now ready to write again.
Thursday, December 24, 2009
It's Christmas!!
It’s Christmas Eve again.
It’s a day for memories and traditions, for pausing for a little while to think about the birth of our Savior, Jesus Christ, and to appreciate the warmth that the love of God, my family and friends brings my way.
This is the first year in several that I haven’t been with at least one of my sons during the Christmas season. Phil and I are on our own this Christmas, and I am facing today and tomorrow with nostalgia and many memories. It’s not bad, it’s just very, very different!
I’ve decided to change my focus for the two of us this Christmas – possibly new traditions in the making - who knows? With one son in New York and the other in California, the chances of us all getting together for Christmas in future years is uncertain, so it’s time to look at the holiday with a different perspective. Past traditions, now updated for the two of us, and some new things this year are going to make our Christmas special.
Today I am taking Phil out to lunch at Social Circle’s new eating establishment, Lou’s Soda Shop and Grill. This is reminiscent of Christmas Eves when the boys were young. David and I would take them to the local Mexican fast food establishment (we couldn’t afford anything more extravagant) where we’d chow down on tacos and cinnamon toasted tortilla chips and use up Christmas Eve hours and little boy energy. Going out to lunch on Christmas Eve is a nice tradition to return to! We’ll get home in time to sit at the computer to watch New York’s Marble Collegiate Church’s Christmas Eve service at 4:00, where we’ll see Brian read the scripture and hear Roy sing “O Holy Night.” This will be a new experience, since streaming video is something that hasn’t been around for long. It will also make me feel close to my son, in a “virtual” way. After this is over, I am planning to go to our own church’s candlelight service, and hope that Phil will decide to go with me.
Christmas morning will be quiet with just the two of us in the house. The stockings will be filled with treats for our animals, who are getting some pretty good Santa surprises. I am then going to cook a hot breakfast of eggs and bacon, and add the spice of Mimosas for a little buzz . The rest of Christmas Day is unplanned. We’ll probably drive to Monroe to see what Santa has brought our little four-year-old friend, Lille, and then we’ll be home tomorrow evening for our new traditional Christmas dinner of grilled steaks. I’ll have my cell phone handy all day long for calls from Wade and Brian and Roy, and look forward to wishing them all a Very Merry Christmas!
There won’t be a lot of baking in my home this Christmas Eve and Day. Everything in the kitchen will be pretty low key. All of the cookie and bread baking is done, and baked gifts have already been delivered to everyone on our Christmas list. We’re not big turkey eaters, and have discovered that a good steak makes a perfect Christmas dinner. There are no grandchildren coming to add excitement to the day, so a quiet, serene day is what we’ll have. If it isn’t raining, I’ll go for a long walk with Diamond in the afternoon.
Even though Christmas is different for me now, the magic of the day is still here. I woke up this morning with a sense of anticipation of the day and with a song in my heart. The child in me is very much alive as memories of past Christmases flood my memory. I know I will cry my way through all of the Christmas carols at church this evening, and will hardly be able to sing a word; in fact, I’ll probably be on the verge of tears most of the day. I always think about Mary on this day as she gave birth to Jesus, and remember giving birth to my first son, Wade, in December 39 years ago. Since Wade’s birth, a special soft spot for Mary has been in my heart, as I imagine what she must have gone through in giving birth to her firstborn son in such lousy conditions. She was one very strong young lady!
Christmas is here again. It’s a new day, as each day is, but one that is special as we celebrate God’s greatest gift to us all.
Merry Christmas!!
It’s a day for memories and traditions, for pausing for a little while to think about the birth of our Savior, Jesus Christ, and to appreciate the warmth that the love of God, my family and friends brings my way.
This is the first year in several that I haven’t been with at least one of my sons during the Christmas season. Phil and I are on our own this Christmas, and I am facing today and tomorrow with nostalgia and many memories. It’s not bad, it’s just very, very different!
I’ve decided to change my focus for the two of us this Christmas – possibly new traditions in the making - who knows? With one son in New York and the other in California, the chances of us all getting together for Christmas in future years is uncertain, so it’s time to look at the holiday with a different perspective. Past traditions, now updated for the two of us, and some new things this year are going to make our Christmas special.
Today I am taking Phil out to lunch at Social Circle’s new eating establishment, Lou’s Soda Shop and Grill. This is reminiscent of Christmas Eves when the boys were young. David and I would take them to the local Mexican fast food establishment (we couldn’t afford anything more extravagant) where we’d chow down on tacos and cinnamon toasted tortilla chips and use up Christmas Eve hours and little boy energy. Going out to lunch on Christmas Eve is a nice tradition to return to! We’ll get home in time to sit at the computer to watch New York’s Marble Collegiate Church’s Christmas Eve service at 4:00, where we’ll see Brian read the scripture and hear Roy sing “O Holy Night.” This will be a new experience, since streaming video is something that hasn’t been around for long. It will also make me feel close to my son, in a “virtual” way. After this is over, I am planning to go to our own church’s candlelight service, and hope that Phil will decide to go with me.
Christmas morning will be quiet with just the two of us in the house. The stockings will be filled with treats for our animals, who are getting some pretty good Santa surprises. I am then going to cook a hot breakfast of eggs and bacon, and add the spice of Mimosas for a little buzz . The rest of Christmas Day is unplanned. We’ll probably drive to Monroe to see what Santa has brought our little four-year-old friend, Lille, and then we’ll be home tomorrow evening for our new traditional Christmas dinner of grilled steaks. I’ll have my cell phone handy all day long for calls from Wade and Brian and Roy, and look forward to wishing them all a Very Merry Christmas!
There won’t be a lot of baking in my home this Christmas Eve and Day. Everything in the kitchen will be pretty low key. All of the cookie and bread baking is done, and baked gifts have already been delivered to everyone on our Christmas list. We’re not big turkey eaters, and have discovered that a good steak makes a perfect Christmas dinner. There are no grandchildren coming to add excitement to the day, so a quiet, serene day is what we’ll have. If it isn’t raining, I’ll go for a long walk with Diamond in the afternoon.
Even though Christmas is different for me now, the magic of the day is still here. I woke up this morning with a sense of anticipation of the day and with a song in my heart. The child in me is very much alive as memories of past Christmases flood my memory. I know I will cry my way through all of the Christmas carols at church this evening, and will hardly be able to sing a word; in fact, I’ll probably be on the verge of tears most of the day. I always think about Mary on this day as she gave birth to Jesus, and remember giving birth to my first son, Wade, in December 39 years ago. Since Wade’s birth, a special soft spot for Mary has been in my heart, as I imagine what she must have gone through in giving birth to her firstborn son in such lousy conditions. She was one very strong young lady!
Christmas is here again. It’s a new day, as each day is, but one that is special as we celebrate God’s greatest gift to us all.
Merry Christmas!!
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