Mothers Like Me

For all the mothers just like me,
whose little ones weren’t meant to be
a breathing, joyous part of our life,
I feel your pain.  I know your strife.
There are no hand-made cards for us,
no little ones to make a fuss,
no breakfast trays brought to our bed,
decorated with a single rose of crimson red.
There are no loving hugs topped with a morning kiss,
one more injustice that we have missed,
No uttered words of “Mom, you’re the best!”
Or tiny bodies to cuddle during an afternoon rest.
There are no gifts sent home from school,
those hand-made treasures made of glitter and glue.
We don’t have little hands to hold our own,
No squealing voices fill our home,
There are no pictures for us to take.
No “Mother’s Day memories” each year to make.
We don’t get to experience that angst-filled evolution,
of our tiny tots moving into the teenage revolution.
No journey through those transition years,
When they think we know nothing, yet we continue to cheer,
for every made accomplishment, both large and small –
a minor role in the school play or a home-run hit baseball...
There are no awkward birds and bees “talks”,
nor pride-filled memories of their graduation walk.
We don’t get to assist with the college scout,
or enjoy a simple afternoon out.
There isn’t a college fund to fill,
There isn’t a career-major to help them mill.
No wedding bells will celebratorily chime,
For our children who didn’t get to live out their prime.
We won’t get to bounce grand babies on our knee,
There’s an entire life we’ll never see.
Because, we are mothers who never got to hold our child,
and weren’t blessed to be on the receiving end of their happy smile.
We’ve never heard an uttered, “I love you, Mom!”
Or exchanged any presents to and from...
This day is always bittersweet and beguiled.
I’m blessed to have my mother, yet grieved not to have my child.
Such is our life – there’s no child to say,
an honor to us on our Mother’s Day.
Most times, it’s an insult to injury that downright smarts,
This sorrow that can only live on within our hearts....
Because society doesn’t often understand,
How a woman can grieve over a modified plan,
That didn’t actually result in the birth of our child,
It’s a thought I’ve heard that really gets me riled.
There isn’t anything that can take that child’s place.
The only salvation for us is God’s amazing grace....
And, knowing that our children are safely in heaven’s splendor,
Is the only thought that makes this loss the slightest bit kinder and gentler.
But, it’s never an easy blow to take,
When you can’t have your child to tenderly tuck in or gently awake.
No mornings to start off or evenings to wind down.
No tears to wipe away or attempts to upturn a frown.
It’s hard, this position of not getting to mother,
my little baby girl and her big, older brother.
It’s the hardest cross I’ve been asked to carry,
And, I drag it along through the years as I tarry.
They were real and alive, if only for the briefest moment in time,
Every stillborn and miscarried child decorating heaven’s playground, like mine.
So, to all of you mothers who sadly know how this story goes,
Let me wish you a blessed Mother’s Day from a mother who knows...
One day, we shall get our heavenly embrace.
Until then, we must be content with this note of grace:
Our children are safe, they are loved and they’re whole.
And, they’re with us~ just pay attention to the whisper in your soul.
They’ll send you a message or a sign in some miraculous way...
To let you know they’re thinking of you on this Mother’s Day.
It’s the best we can hope for, and they’ll do their part,
To send a message if you open your heart.
So, today, let me offer you my wish and a prayer.
Our little ones are near even if you’re unaware.
And, they’re sending much love  - embrace it.  It’s there.
It’ll be delivered to you on a wing and a prayer....

Happy Mother’s Day to the Moms who have lost your children either through stillbirth or miscarriage.  You have not been forgotten!  Embrace your day, because you, too, deserve it!
Blessings,

© Jhill Perran
Written May 12, 2012

To Have and To Hold...

April 28, 1995

      
                                                           　
"If you love something, set if free. If it comes back to you, it’s yours. If it doesn’t, it never was..."

"Wait for a time, exactly under the star. Then, if a little man appears who laughs, who has golden hair...you will know who he is. If this should happen, please comfort me. Send me word that he has come back..." ~Antoine de Saint-Exupery from, The Little Prince

http://youtu.be/Ttd1yDbjUpY [On Golden Pond/Dave Grusin]


Today has been a happy day – a reflective day. You see, it was on this day, 17 years ago, that I married my best friend on the sixth anniversary of our first date. That first date, and the night that followed it several years later, are perfectly etched in my mind with such clarity that if I close them, I can be right back in its moments. They were beautiful days.

It rained here today, however, but it didn’t dampen our mood, our thoughts or our reflections. We’ve traveled a long way together on this road of life we share. I’m his co-pilot, and he rides shotgun for me or vice-versa, depending on from whose vantage point the view is seen. Hopefully, we’ve got a longer journey yet ahead.

Looking back on the road we’ve traveled thus far, we couldn’t help but note all the changes in our world, our families and our lives in the nearly two decades we’ve been married. Loved ones have left us and gone to their eternal rest as have a few friends; marriages of loved ones have broken apart; physical limitations have risen; and, the changes continue coming. The "best of times and worst of times", I have shared with Tom. The greatest joys I’ve ever known as well as the deepest lows, are tied to him. The joys are too many to count. The sorrows are few, namely, the deprivation of raising our children who we had for only a few golden months each, before heaven called them back...burying my father and several other family members, some illness here and there that have crept upon us...yet we understand that life cannot realistically be lived without a few painful moments. Thankfully, ours have been few, and we are blessed.

I think back to that first April 28^th we shared 23 years ago. It was a great night, much like the one that came on the night that changed my life forever, when Tom added to my name and who I am as a person. On the first April 28^th, we went out with a group of friends for a meal, then went to play pool. I’d never played pool. I didn’t understand the rules of the game, and had no idea that when I shot the 8 ball into that coveted hole that pool players are suppose to shoot those solid and stripped balls into, that I’d actually lost us the game. All I knew was that balls were on the table geared to be shot and dropped into those dispersed holes around the table’s circumference, and I’d dropped the 8 ball. It seemed like an omen: 8 is the symbol of infinity, and I had bagged that one. I was ecstatic as were those on the opposing team. Within a minute, I had been informed by several friends who were enjoying my accomplishment as much as I was [those on that opposing team] that I’d actually made a huge faux pas. Immediately, my sense of joy sank into a black hole much as that black 8 ball had done only moments before. I looked to Tom to tell him I was sorry, but instead of being upset, he was smiling at me and clapping – genuinely proud that I had accomplished what the object of the game was, regardless of that fact that it was the wrong ball that had slipped down into that hole. He appreciated the fact that I had done what I thought I was suppose to do, and that was good enough for him. Little did I know that it would become a metaphor of our life together. What I mean by that is that it doesn’t seem to matter if I fall short in task, he’s proud that I tried–made the effort. That night, he made me feel like the best thing since Wonder bread. It is a feeling that I wish every person could know once in their lifetime.

I remember a friend told me that a first date isn’t when you go out with a group of friends. I agreed with her. That’s an outing. The first date part came later, when we sat in his truck until four a.m., talking about everything under the sun – important things, and mundane things. We’ve always had great conversation, and it began on that very first night we spent together talking until the dark night turned into a faint dawn. Later that day, I called my Aunt Judy, who was anxious to hear all the details of that first date. I remember telling her that I’d met the man I was going to marry, and if I didn’t marry him, then it wasn’t going to be in the cards for me. It wasn’t a moment of drama. It was an intuitive knowing.

I’ve heard often in life that timing is everything. At the time we first connected, the forever dream, though discussed, wasn’t in the cards for us. We were 3/4 of the way on the same page, but we both knew that to make something work and be successful that we had to be 100% on the same page. We weren’t ready, and we couldn’t stay together in that state of unreadiness. It was a painful breakup because no one was "the bad guy", but it was painful nonetheless. It was the first time in my life that I’d felt a pain in my heart that I didn’t believe it could withstand.

During the four years that we were apart, we never truly lost contact with the other, proof that the ties that bind us are strong ones. Periodically, at different times of the year, we’d call the other just to say hello and see how the other was doing. Ironically, during all that time apart, we’d both each only had one blind date. I remember telling my mother once, when she asked me why I didn’t seem interested in dating, that I didn’t know where one went after they’d met their soul mate? It wasn’t the answer she wanted to hear, because she wanted me to have the kind of life that’s she’d always wished and envisioned for me. She said as much to me, and I remember telling her that I hadn’t given up on Tom just yet.

My faith in holding out and holding on paid off. Tom and I reconnected on Valentine’s Day 2004, and the rest is history. Fourteen months later, I took the most important walk of my life. As with our first date, I remember that night so vividly. One thing that sticks out the most in my mind was walking, on my father’s arm, into the doorway of our church as "The Wedding March" played and everyone stood up. Tom stood at the end of that aisle smiling at me–waiting for me. All I wanted to do was get to him, but I recall my father squeezing my hand that was looped through his arm and whispering for me to wait.

His hushed tone slowed me down because he wanted to make certain that I had my full moment. [We get so few in life]. "Hold on, Sug!" he directed. "Let everyone get a good look at you."

I glanced over at him as tears came to my eyes, much the way they had in the vestibule when I teased him about finally being able to give me away, and he cleared his throat, trying not to let his own emotion get the better of him, and told me that he wasn’t giving me away, he was merely "passing me along...."

I wasn’t accustomed to comments of that nature from my father. I knew he loved me. He told me so, but these particular comments were sweet, tender moments that let me know this event wasn’t as easy for him as I thought it would be. Don’t get me wrong. My father adored Tom. He use to say he couldn’t have done a better job if he’d picked him out himself. Still, until I became engaged, my father was the most important man in my life, and that was changing. Another man was taking that spot, and he knew that my place within our family was shifting. I understand his comments and feeling so much better now as I’ve gotten older and wiser. I remember he seemed to relax a bit when I cheerfully told him that he wasn’t losing a daughter but he was gaining a son. No truer words were ever spoken, because Tom truly has been a son to my parents, and they both considered him in that light.

I heeded his advice and was so thankful for it in that moment, however, as well as the advice of a colleague who told me to make certain that we walked through our reception room at The Comus Inn, situated at the base of Sugarloaf Mountain, before the festivities began and take time to look at our cake, food table and decorations, because she had failed to do that, and her memories of her night were a blur. I did both of those things: I stopped in the doorway of our church’s sanctuary and took a deep breath as I looked around at all who were in attendance. I remember seeing friends like Ginny, Linda, Dawn, Carolyn, and my friends from my days working at the hotel. I saw my boss and the president of our union. I saw my mother and Tom’s family – my soon-to-be new sister, Kathy. And, I can still see the look on Tom’s face as I stood there, waiting to join him.

I also remember our beautiful cake, the large basket filled with birdseed with the lavender ribbons and the display that had the tree saplings that were our party favors. I remember the gorgeous mountain views outside the window of the restaurant, and the beautiful day that faded into a spectacular evening. It was a perfect night - the most perfect one I’ve ever known. I was Cinderella at the magical ball and the carriage didn’t turn into a pumpkin when the clock struck midnight. The room was filled with laughter, love, smiling faces, great food and dancing late into that Friday night as it eased into early, early Saturday morning. I wish everyone could be the lead character in a night such as that.

So much as happened in the ensuing years: our dream to become parents and raise children didn’t work out very well for us. Our babies weren’t meant to live here, and though that’s not and has never been okay with us, it’s one of those "unfortunates" that life sometimes adds to one’s story. Tom, however, went back to school and became a Special Education teacher, something that is his true calling. We moved to Virginia a few years ago, which was another surprising twist in our journey, because I never thought I’d leave Maryland. My father, his two sisters, my grandmother and Uncle Ed are gone now, as is our beautiful minister, Anne-Jeanne Quay. Carolyn’s "Darling, Sweet Larry" has also gone to the "next place"; our country has been involved in two wars since we said our "I Do’s"; and, it seems like Tom and I are living in more similar economic times like my grandparents lived during the depression of the 1930's, though technologically, we’re living the scenario of the 1960's cartoon, "The Jetsons". It truly has been a wild ride, and we’re only about a third of the way into that 50 years we promised each other.

Our hair is a little grayer; our waists are a little thicker; our wisdom is a lot broader; and, our outlook continues to be positively directed outward – together, looking toward the future.

This evening, I looked over at my husband snoozing in his recliner with two puppies lightly snoring in his lap, and I had to smile. I got my brass ring! This is the good life, and though we’ve settled in a bit and don’t do all the little romantic things we did when we were courting, as my grandmother used to say, he still makes my heart go pitter pat. We struggle; we disagree, we laugh; we cry; but, we continue to hold hands and stick together....this is our life, and I will be forever grateful that God blessed me with such a good one...

http://youtu.be/3gziSnkICbk [This Is Our Life/Mary Beth Maziarz]

The Moment

Ashley, Peggy and Tammy Eisenhart

Christmas 2011

Angels deliver Fate to our doorstep - and anywhere else it’s needed. ~Jessi Lane Adams

http://youtu.be/447yaU_4DF8 [The Moment/Kenny G]

Make yourself familiar with the angels, and behold them frequently in spirit; for, without being seen, they are present with you. ~St Francis of Sales


Have you ever had a moment – one that was so grand and surreal that it made you pause to question what had actually happened? Have you ever had a moment so lovely in the overall context of it all, that it put an entirely different spin on the concept of beautiful? Have you ever had a moment so miraculous that you felt the angels in heaven were surely singing? I had a moment just like that a little over a week ago. It was quite simply spectacular!

For those who know me, and those who have been reading my blog, you know that I’m a sign person. I believe in them! Well, I had a sign on March 22nd, that can only be classified as having been heaven sent. Before I begin, let me just say that I’ve had experiences where my loved ones, those who have gone to heaven, have sent me signs from beyond and visited me with the feeling of their presence close by. I’ve never experienced that feeling with the loved one of a loved one. I can tell you that it’s every bit as powerful an experience.

If you don’t believe in such things, I can respect that. I can also say that I feel sorry that you don’t know the unbridled joy of knowing that someone you love remains connected to you no matter the space and distance that separates. If you do believe in such things, you’re in for a real holy roller moment, as a friend of mine says about joyously divine happenings.

So, strap on and in. Here we go:

Wednesday night, March 21^st, about 11:30 pm, I began having an anxious feeling that I wasn’t going to sleep that night. For any of you who suffer with insomnia, I don’t need to explain what that feeling is. The nights are long and draining when your body is tired, your mind is exhausted and your entire makeup~body, mind, and spirit, longs for and craves a sleep that might not come. A couple of times a month, I have nights where sleep evades me, and I spend those long, sleepless nights, searching the web, watching late-night television, listening to music or writing. I had a sense that I was about to have one of "those" nights.

It was after one a.m. on the 22^nd, when I began to channel surf – hoping to find something that might settle me down a bit so that I could feel Mr. Sandman coming to claim me. I can still feel my mouth drop when I hit a channel in the high 100's. It was ShopNBC. I’m not very familiar with that shopping channel. I’d heard of it, but I’m a QVC gal [been with them since its inception in the late 80's], and I periodically check in with HSN. Being disabled, I have a hard time getting over to the mall anymore, and why bother when the mall can come to you via tv? It’s a GREAT invention! Back to the story at hand. So, I stop on the ShopNBC channel just as the woman is show-casing a Madi Claire leather handbag.

You may be asking, "what’s the big deal?"
HERE is the big deal: the bag was named Tamara.  [That's Tammy's name.]  

I hear some of you saying, still not certain of the awesomeness of that, "I’m still not getting the BIG deal part!?"
Further explanation of "the big deal" is this: In February, my friend, Peggy, un-expectantly suffered the worst nightmare any parent can endure, when her daughter, Tammy, passed away in her sleep. I’ve previously written about the awful moment when I learned of it. Now, in this moment, I was looking at a beautiful red, leather purse with a touch of zebra print named Tamara. I don’t know what happened in my den that night or early morning other than to say that I felt something in the room with me, and I heard a request put upon my heart. This is different than hearing the voice of a loved one whispering something in your ear. I felt a message placed on my heart that was as plain as if the voice had been audible, "please get this for my mom! I want her to have something of me to carry and hold onto at Christmas." Yeah, I know. It was March and Christmas was a full nine months away. Still, that was the message that filled my heart, clear as a bell– so, so clear.

I felt a chill, but not in a bad way, and the hair on my neck slowly rose. 
"Tammy," I whispered out loud. "Are you here?"
I must tell you I felt a little silly asking it, because it didn’t escape me that IF this beautiful young woman was going to come to someone, I believed that it would surely be to her mother, her father, her sisters, her grandparents or her friends. Certainly, I thought, it wouldn’t be to a friend of her mother’s! But, God and angels work in mysterious ways and use whatever vessel-whatever means is available and open to them at the moment, to transmit a special message. I’m open to such things, and Peggy’s Tammy knew that.

The response came to my heart with a louder urging of, "Please get this for my mom!" Yes. I felt the urgent emphasis on the word "please."

I paused.

"Were you wearing red last Christmas, Tammy?" I softly asked, reaching back into my memory to pull forward the beautiful pictures that I had seen of Peggy’s family the previous holiday. I couldn’t recall using my memory. Quickly, my fingers typed Peggy’s name into Facebook so that I could pull up her holiday album. I remembered someone wearing red, but I couldn’t remember if it was Tammy. My mouth dropped again when the picture came up, and I saw my friend, Peggy, flanked on either side by two of her beautiful daughters, one of whom was Tammy. Both were wearing red.

I felt a whoosh of air exhale as tears came to my eyes. I think I whispered, "Oh my God!"

In that moment, I felt a most unusual thing – a feeling of polite impatience as the message filled my heart again, "PLEASE! You can cry in a minute, but PLEASE get this for my mom!" Yes, I felt the distinct emphasis on the words "please".

The feeling made me chuckle in one regard. Having shopped via television channels for many years, I know how it works. The telecast is sent to millions of homes, and things can sell-out quickly. If something sells out, there’s no telling when it will return. There IS a sense of urgency shopping that way if you see something that strikes your fancy! As that feeling came to me, the show host made the statement that it had taken them seven months to get this particular purse back in stock. Without hesitation, I reached for the phone and called ShopNBC. After I ordered that purse, I sighed happily and said, "Alright Tammakins! Done deal! Your Momma is getting a beautiful red purse for Christmas with your name on it – something extra special for her to carry and hold onto at the holiday!" [Don’t ask me why I called her "Tammakins", because I have no clue, and I don’t remember if I even told Peggy that I called her that when we spoke about it.] But I did. And I laughed. This laugh came out of me that I’d never heard before. It was a deliciously giddy and wickedly funny sort of laugh! It was a "we did it", kind of laugh - the kind that comes when you want to surprise someone really good, and you realize you just pulled it off. Then, I laughed. I was truly having a special moment with something beyond myself, and it was magical.

I stared at the picture of the three of them for a minute – those three, beautiful and smiling faces of my friend with two of her daughters in front of their Christmas tree. It was Tammy’s last earthly Christmas. I thought of the magnitude of what had just happened: this child-young woman angel, knowing how difficult a first Christmas holiday without her would be for her mother this year and finding a way to put something soft and beautiful in her mother’s hands that would let Peggy know that Tammy had planned for this, had thought of her, months before that moment came to pass. Once again, at Christmastime, Peggy would have a lovely, red Tammy by her side. It was a wondrous moment to realize that Tammy Eisenhart had blown a kiss to her mother on March 22nd, and it had touched my heart as it bypassed its way on deliverance to Peggy. Oh, what a glorious moment it was to have been pulled into that conspiracy of love! I said, looking at the picture for a few minutes, that no one would believe this, if I told them. [Well, I knew Peggy would, because she believes in signs too.] Yet, it was so grand a pre-arrangement that is was almost unfathomable!

I had one final message to Tammy, which I spoke aloud: "I’m going to note this experience beneath this Christmas picture," I said as I typed my message to Peggy. "So, that after your mother opens this present, she can come back and have concrete proof that it really did happen on this day and at this hour!" [Unbeknownst to me, I wasn’t aware that Facebook notifies people when a message is put on one of their pictures. I would find that out, later in the morning when Peggy sent me a message.]

Once I’d sent that message, I kissed my fingers and touched the screen where Tammy’s face was staring out at me. "Bless you, Angel!" I whispered. "For thinking such beautiful thoughts of your Mom!"

Then, I let my fingers reach over and rub the picture of Peggy’s hand that was holding the family dog. "Oh, Peggy!" I cried. "Your daughter loves you so much....just you wait and see!"

I don’t know if it was God telling me "good job!" or it was Tammy telling me "thank you!" but, in that moment, I feel a peace come over me. It truly was the one that passes all understanding, and all traces of insomnia left me for that night. I left the computer on with the picture of Peggy and her girls up, because I couldn’t bring myself to shut that down, but I turned off the televison and the lights. Then, I went to bed and slept peacefully like a baby for the rest of the night.

The next morning when I woke, I had a brief moment where I wondered if the whole thing had been some kind of incredible dream? I soon learned that it wasn’t, when I walked into the den and saw my computer screen upright, I knew it had really happened. I walked to it and lightly touched it. The black-sleeping screen, sprang back to life with the touch of my hand. There, I saw the Christmas picture of Peggy, Ashley and Tammy with my note attached to the bottom of it. What surprised me is that Peggy had sent me a message at 8:21 am. 
I had a brief second of disbelief!
"Oh no!" I cried. How had she found the message so quickly? I had wanted this to be a Christmas surprise, but I couldn’t very well NOT tell Peggy what had gone down during my mini-slumber party with her daughter the previous night when she called later in the day, as she indicated she would. I’m not into cruel punishment, which is what that would have been if I’d stayed mum about it all at that point! With me, it’s all about love and light. I glanced at the clock and saw it was a quarter to nine. I went to my kitchen and made me a cup of tea, trying to figure out how I was going to tell Peggy about the miracle I’d been a party to eight hours prior? This was suppose to be a Christmas surprise, I remembered clearly the message put on my heart a few hours earlier. I cringed, thinking I might have let Tammy down in some way, given that her mother now knew what we’d been up to. 
I took my cup of tea into the side yard, while I let my puppies out and sat down in the rocker, saying a heart prayer to Tammy that I was sorry if I’d somehow ruined her surprise with that message I felt compelled to leave beneath the Christmas picture. I closed my eyes with that thought when I felt the soft kiss of a cool morning breeze touch my cheek and another heart message.

Don’t feel that way! Be happy when she calls and tell her all about it, if you want to.

I opened my eyes and took a sip of tea and felt a calming peace come to me again.

By lunchtime, when my phone rang, I greeted Peggy with the joy and exuberance I felt by the visit I’d had with her precious angel the previous night. We had the best talk; we spoke of so many things, and shared several laughs, because when I described how everything unfolded that night, Peggy told me with her own tone of credulity that it sounded JUST like Tammy! How awesome is that?

I remember Peggy telling me that she wanted to pay for the purse, and I said simply, directly and firmly, "NO WAY! If your daughter had wanted you to pay for the Christmas present she wanted you to have, she’d have come to you and woken you up last night and directed YOUR fingers to ShopNBC!"

Peggy laughed when I said that. She knew it was a lost cause to insist upon it. It was good to hear her laugh.

I told her I was a little bummed because I’d wanted it to be a grand surprise for her, and she told me that it was grand.

"Oh, Jhill!" she said softly, overwhelmed [like me] by the magnitude of it all. "This is such a whoa moment! My daughter is so awesome!"

Yeah. Awesome was an appropriate word for it.

She assured me that her knowing about it didn’t detract from the grandness of the story. Given that I also believe things happen as they should, I felt that, perhaps, the message of what happened the previous night was a story that Peggy needed to be aware of in THIS moment, as she continued to struggle with and learn to deal with her new normal regarding Tammy. It was enough to know that good things were coming, and Peggy knows that I’ll figure out a way to put the surprise back into the gift~there are lots of little zippered places and compartments for lots of little add-on remembrances. I promised Tammy that morning that I’d figure out a way to put some surprise elements back into the gift. I think she knows I’m more than capable to rise to that challenge!

Peggy, of course, protested that thought I expressed, but I think she soon realized that me being in cahoots with her daughter was going to be something she was outnumbered in regarding the purse and whatever would be contained inside. And, I think she was excited by the prospect. I distinctly heard excitement in her voice. She knows her daughter, and she knows me! I won’t say that’s going to be a double trouble moment~more like double the pleasure and double the fun! Peggy told me that Tammy must have known that I’d be the perfect person to help her get this done. Tammy certainly has me pegged! [Pardon the pun but wasn’t it a delicious one?] I’m very good at helping someone pull off a surprise for someone they love. I was honored to have been chosen. I remember saying to Peggy, "what are the odds of that happening?" 
These are the odds I’m referring to: A red purse named Tamara was put in my path in the wee hours of a chilly March morning, with a message to buy it for my dear friend, Peggy. It was to be a Christmas gift from her daughter, Tammy, who had gone back to heaven little more than a month prior and was wearing red in the last Christmas pictures taken of her!? To say that God and angels aren’t awesome is a gross understatement! To say that a higher power wasn’t at work in the presence of my home that night-morning, would be stating something inaccurate! Some things in life and beyond are too profound to explain in layman’s terms. This was one of those things-times-moments.

I read something a long time ago that said, "Angels can fly directly into the heart of the matter!" That’s Tammy Eisenhart to a T! Had she lived, she would have been a GREAT choreographer, because she certainly has a flair with orchestrating how a gift is put together that creates something magnificent. Odd, it’s a sentiment that some of my loved ones say about me, which is why this was such a perfect merging of hearts and minds.

I remember saying, before we ended our phone call in a tone that was still dumbfounded by the grandeur of it all, "My God, Peggy, think how much your daughter loves you that she’s setting this up now to ensure that your first Christmas without her physically here, will still provide you with a certain something of her that’s tangibly here! She’s making sure that you’ll still have something soft and huggable that’s got her hand-prints – her name all over it?"
Softly, Peggy said. "I know. She’s pretty amazing!"
"Yeah," I agreed. "She’s pretty doggone amazing! Tell her to come visit me anytime!"

It was a moment!  It was ALL such a wonderful moment. The moment, however, did not end there.
Later that day, another unusual thing happened. A beautiful, red cardinal flew onto my deck and walked around until it came to rest on the stoop of our French doors. It sat there, peering in through the bottom window. I looked up from my computer and froze. It’s eyes were looking right at me when I looked at it. I wanted to get up and go to the door, but I was afraid it would fly away, so I stayed perfectly still as our eyes locked on the other and watched the other. Finally, after a minute or two, knowing that it wouldn’t stay there forever, I lifted my hand in a wave goodbye, and that gorgeous bird lifted one wing back at me, before it took off. 
My hand clutched my chest as I got up and went to look out the door’s windows. There in the woods outside my house, perched on a white dogwood that stands in memory of my son, William, was that lovely little cardinal, sitting perched atop a branch full of white blooms. It was a most beautiful sight! I stood at the door for a few minutes just watching it, knowing that it could see me watching it. Then, it flew away. It visited me a few days later – coming to the stoop at the bottom of the French door and peering into the room, just as it had done earlier. I couldn’t help myself. I named it Tammy. The color red has taken on a whole new dimension for me and the meaning I place on it. I associate the color with Peggy’s daughter now, along with cardinals. It wasn’t happenstance that a red cardinal appeared after this miracle. Cardinals have special meanings for people who believe in such things, and I assure you that I do. They are symbolic of the beauty and warmth that is the Christmas holiday, and that’s what this entire experience was about: sending a special gift and message to someone next Christmas. It’s been written that glimpses of that brilliant red bird bring cheer, hope and inspiration. Yeah. That’s what it did alright. One other thing that’s notable about the cardinal is that some religions view this bird as a carrier of the soul to heaven. [It’s also the state bird of Virginia...just saying....]

Immediately, when I saw that little bird again, I thought of the lyrics to a song that Celine Dion and the Bee Gees did together called Immortality. I pulled the song up on Youtube, and sat with my eyes closed, listening to it. It was another " holy-roller moment", as I heard the song in a new light, because of this experience. Consider the lyrics:

So this is who I am,
And, this is all I know...
And, I must choose to live,
For all that I can give -
The spark that makes the power grow.

And, I will stand for my dream if I can,
Symbol of my faith in who I am,
But, you are my only...
And, I must follow on the road that lies ahead,
And, I won't let my heart control my head,
But, you are my only.
We don't say goodbye....
I know what I've got to be....

Immortality,
I make my journey through eternity.
I keep the memory of you and me inside.

Fulfill your destiny!
Is there within the child.
My storm will never end.
My fate is on the wind.
The king of hearts, the joker's wild.....
We don't say goodbye!
I'll make them all remember me....

‘Cause I have found a dream that must come true.
Every ounce of me must see it though,
But you are my only...
I'm sorry, I don't have a role for love to play.
Hand over my heart, I'll find my way.
I will make them give to me...
Immortality,
There is a vision and a fire in me.
I keep the memory of you and me, inside....
And we don't say goodbye!
We don't say goodbye!
With all my love for you,
And what else we may do,
We don't say, goodbye....

Tears came to my eyes as I listened to those words and thought about this blessed experience that I had been privileged to be a part of. It still, more than a week later, feels surreal to me. Yet, I know it happened, and I believe I had a mini-slumber party with Peggy’s angel Tammy in the wee hours of that March morning.

In considering all aspects of that experience, I’m reminded of a directive that Richard Crashaw has posed to his fellow humankind: "There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle." I’ll go for the miracle every time. Thank you, Tammy for giving me one on March 22nd. What a beautiful angel you are....a beautiful red cardinal too! Every ounce of you saw that dream come true, and I’m honored you chose me to be a part of it. Hand over my heart, I’m so grateful for the blessing of this miracle you sent my way! Now, go journey through eternity, Tammakins love, as brilliantly as you did here. And, thank you most of all for proving beyond ANY doubt of reason that though life can separate souls, we’re still VERY much connected, because we don’t say goodbye.....

http://youtu.be/7e940gEtWgQ [Immortality - Celine Dion & The Bee Gees]

The "Tamara" purse a.k.a. "Tammy"

Untitled

*Come back for post.

A Change of Heart, A.K.A. - My Funny Valentine

Love is what makes two people sit in the middle of a bench when there is plenty of room at both ends.

http://youtu.be/Z-9Rg9iJty4 [My Funny Valentine/Sarah Vaughan]

Valentine’s Day. The mere mention of those words conjure up images of red, pink and lace – boxes of chocolate, flowers [preferably roses], cupids, candles, love songs, mushy cards, romance, firelight, jewelry [here’s a two*fer: chocolate diamonds] passion, and I’ll let you finish the remainder of the train of thought.
I never thought, romantic that I am, that I would ever have a change of heart regarding Valentine’s Day. Don’t get me wrong. I love all of the above-mentioned things as much as the next person, and if there are a dozen roses waiting for me in the morning, I will feel a thrill go through me much the way I have all the previous Valentine’s Days when I’ve gotten flowers. I’ll gush. I’ll squeal to myself, and I will, undoubtably, call a few of my friends and sigh, "you won’t believe the beautiful flowers that he left for me this morning...."
However, years change one’s times, and, sometimes, one’s attitude changes as well about old standards and how things should be. There’s nothing wrong with that. My expectation of what constitutes romantic gestures in this moment isn’t what it was 25 years ago. Changing economic times have also made it necessary to put a little practicality where romantic gestures are concerned. Here’s the thing: if you’re creative, it can be more memorable. If you’ve got a good sense of humor, it can be just as good as it always was. Case in point: yesterday, my husband and I were at Barnes and Noble. Have you checked the prices of cards lately? Well, I have. (*!@#%^$ [in other words, put your favorite expletive where the symbols are.]
I said to Tom, "Gives more savings credence to those card-making kits that HSN sells on its craft days!"
He rolled his eyes. "We don’t need any more stuff!" he lamented.
I shrugged my shoulders. "I’m just sayin’!" and continued to look for what I had gone there for in the first place.
He went to get his crossword puzzle book.
I roamed the aisles. Bookstores are like candy stores to me. You know the slogan for that famous town in Pennsylvania, "the BEST place on earth?" Well, that’s how I feel about book stores.
I waited for Tom to come back, and when he did, I called him over. I handed him a card.
He looked at me. "THIS is the card I would give to you on Tuesday, if I was buying a card."
He smiled, and read it.
Then, he looked around for a minute and handed me a card. "For you," he said.
I read it and smiled. "Aw," I replied. "You love me?"
"I love you."
"I love you back," I told him, then we kissed.
I remember thinking, as I put the cards back how that exchange would never have flown five, 10, 15 or 20 years ago. Yet, in this moment, at this place in our lives, I’m good. I got the thought. I saw the pretty card. He picked it out. We saved $3.95 each, and I didn’t have the painful pang I feel when I have to throw something pretty, like a card, into the recycle bin. Score one for the home team!
He handed me the puzzle book he wanted.
As I headed to the register, he asked. "Seriously? We’re good? No card exchange this year?"
"We’re good," I told him. "Go buy yourself a cup of coffee and bagel."
Practical AND thoughtful! Score one for me!
Tom thinks we loose a lot of money when we go to the book store. That little exercise proved to him otherwise.
Later that night, as we were making hotdogs, he said in the middle of preparations, "how about a little hug?"
I’m NEVER one to turn away a hug. I wrapped my arms around him and squeezed him tight.
"I’m going to miss you tomorrow," he said. "I always hate when the weekend is over."
Pitter pat went the beat of my heart.
"I know, Honey!" I said, patting his back. "I’ll miss you too."
"Let’s spend the whole day in bed on Saturday!" he said, excited by the thought.
Now, before you let your thoughts take that turn, let me just say, there’s a television set in the bedroom along with a King size bed. It’s waaaaay more comfortable stretching out in there with two puppies hopping all over us than sitting like tightly packed sardines on the tiny love-seat or all piling into the recliners.
Like you, however, I couldn’t resist.
Not missing a beat, I said. "You animal!"
He looked at me as his train hopped his track over to where my thought had gone. He chuckled. "How bout we spend half the day in bed?" he amended.
I high-fived him. "Sounds good to me!" Practical YET semi-romantic.
I pulled a Joanism. [A ‘Joanism’ is a Joan River’s joke that can apply to one’s every day life] To the front of my mind came the thought: "What the hell, I know in advance, I’ll shave my legs!"
First plan of preparedness: Always go into a situation ready for anything to happen! ;-)
Fifteen years ago, if he’d said that to me, I’d have come back with a little romantic humor: "Do you want me to bring in a picnic basket?"
Now, I offer a serious statement to a moment like this. Something like, "Don’t forget to bring the puppies a chew bone..."
Change of heart.....not always a bad thing. Snuggle-cuddling is a VERY good activity on a late Saturday morning into the early afternoon...
Later that night, we heard some comedienne make a wise-crack about guys taking their wives to Red Lobster for Valentine’s Day....like that wasn’t something special or significant.
My shoulders slumped. "Dammit!" I said. "Don’t tell me we can’t go to Red Lobster for Valentine’s Day!?"
He laughed. I think he thought the question was rhetorical.
When he didn’t answer, I felt the need to offer another suggestion. It was the Golden Corral commercial that had just come on, and it appealed to me. Let me paint the image for you of what I saw: a chocolate fountain of warm, flowing liquid gold.
"Hey, Tom..."
"No," he replied.
"Why not?"
"It’s way down in Richmond," he said. "And, I don’t want to go there for Valentine’s Day."
My lips turned downward in a frown. "That would have been an easy please for you," I told him. "Just push a chair up to that fountain and give me a fondu pick.....I’d have been good to go and you would have known how much I liked that experience!"
"Sorry to disappoint you," he replied.
"Well," I pushed. "What about Red Lobster?"
His brow furrowed. "Why do you want to go to Red Lobster so bad?"
Hello!  Cheddar biscuits....
Instead, I replied. "We have that $50 gift card. I just figured we could have a nice meal and not have to shell out any cash for it." Practical AND a Freebie.
He considered it. I knew that statement was music to his ears – gift card-nice dinner-free. Once upon a time, using a gift card for my Valentine’s Day dinner would have appealed to me as much as exchanging Valentine’s Day cards inside the store two days before the event~NOT!
"We can go to Red Lobster," he finally said.
"Good," I replied, pleased that we had nailed that detail down.
We finished our hotdogs. He came to get my plate and take it to the kitchen. [He’s thoughtful that way].
He had unloaded the dishwasher earlier, and I had a sink full of breakfast, lunch and supper dishes to now fill it up with.
We’ve got those 42" inch kitchen cabinets that look great, but I have a hard time, five foot thing that I am with a bad back to boot, reaching even the bottom shelf to put away the dishes. So, dishwasher unloading it one of Tom’s chores.
He called from the kitchen. "Sweetie, I’ll load the dishwasher for you!"
[With all the cold air of late, my bad back has been hurting a lot more than usual.]
I had followed him into the kitchen to re-fill my tea glass.
"Oh, you sweet man!" I said, as if he’d just given me the Hope Diamond. I followed the comment up by giving him face kisses.
For those of you who are dating or newly married and don’t know this. After you’ve been married for 10, 15, 17 years and so on, these kind of offerings are on par – an equal playing field with unexpected flowers, candy and whatnot. It’s a love gesture. Over time, our preferences change. Our husbands cleaning things, laundering things, picking up things, suggesting going out to dinner in the middle of the week....for us, those things are every bit as romantic and magical as all the things that one typically thinks of as romantic.
He still leaves me a love note by the coffee pot in the morning; and wakes me for a kiss goodbye before he leaves for work. I asked him once why he woke me up instead of just giving me a kiss before he went on his way. He said it was because he wanted to talk to me before he left home to start his day, even if it was just to get a sleepy "Good Morning-love you". [Yeah, I’m lucky....] He also still brings me a candy bar home from the store without my asking for it. It’s all in perspective of what becomes important for us in whatever stage of the journey we’re in. A Twix bar 17 years in gets the same kudos as a small box of Godiva did years ago. Fancy names don’t always mean best. Not to me anyway.
Don’t get me wrong. I have fancy, eclectic taste. It’s just not where food or candy is concerned. My husband appreciates that about me!
Besides, I get tons of wet, slobbery kisses and total body shimmy-shakes whenever I enter the room. That’s one of the benefits of having two puppies. Still, I know how it feels to be adored. My husband’s still got his game. Whenever he does little things, like scrubbing the bottom of the shower stall because I can’t bend down and do that anymore or unloads the dishwasher, or loads the dishwasher for me, or brings me an unexpected Starbucks, or changes the sheets on the bed, or leaves a Twix bar on the kitchen island or any one of a hundred other things he does for me, it re-affirms that passion and love that I know he feels for me. They’re change of heart ways of telling someone you love them, but they’re just as important and they mean just as much now as all the other things from the past.
He calls me every day at lunch to say hello and see how I’m doing.
And, when I hear the garage door open every night, I feel my heart smile and say a silent "Thank you, God, for bringing him home safe and sound to me."
The puppies and I go to the stairwell door inside of the kitchen that leads down to the garage. We open it and turn on the light as we wait for him to appear. The puppies bark and dance around in excited anticipation of seeing him walk through the bottom door. I have that excited anticipation too as I tell them that their Daddy will be coming up any minute. When the door opens and he emerges from the outside world, he looks up at me, our eyes meet and lock for a brief second before he says happily, "Hi, puppies!" which make them bark and dance and go crazy.
As he climbs the stairs, we patiently wait for him to reach us, each loaded with our hugs and kisses. He reaches for me first. I think the puppies know that’s the natural order of this greeting and will never change. We have a smooch and a hug before he turns his full attention to Chuey and Elmer which sends them running around him in giddy, wild abandon because the King of the house is finally back home.
I watch him step into the kitchen and put his briefcase and lunch bag on the island so that he can reach down and rub the boys - giving a caress to the scruff of their necks and down their back coats.
Then, he rises and lets out a happy sigh, looking at me. "It’s good to be home."
I smile, turning off the light in the stairwell and closing the door. "It’s good to have you home, Honey!
It never gets old. That’s our every day valentine.
"What’s for supper?" he asks one particular night.
"You tell me," I say.
"How about breakfast?"
I smile. I knew he was going to say that. "Breakfast is good...."
He nods, making himself a small snack to tide him over.
Then, we walk into the living room together to watch the news. The puppies follow close on our heels.
"You sure breakfast is okay?" he asks, taking his seat and turning on his computer.
"I’m sure," I tell him.
Chuey and Elmer look and me. "You want some bacon and eggs for supper?" I say in the funny voice we use when we talk to our fur babies.
They run around the living room, jumping on each other and growling playfully.
Tom and I watch them and laugh because they are such a delight.
In that moment, my eyes take in my blessings with grateful appreciation. I look at the three guys in my life and can’t help but think: "Yeah. Life is good...."
Then, I hear Sarah Vaughan in my mind sing what my heart realizes in that moment each day is Valentine’s Day....

 http://youtu.be/Fnn9JlqqTE4 [To Make You Feel My Love/Adele]

 Post Script: I wrote this entry last night [the 13^th] to post this morning; I woke up this morning to find a dozen BEE*U*TEE*FUL red roses on the kitchen island and I got the bagel from Panera. He took the coffee. Now, THAT’s a good Valentine’s Day card. I’m just taping the finishing Dove’s chocolate candies on Tom’s Amazon gift card. I’ve got special dog cookies for the puppies and Red Lobster is tonight. Woo*Hoo! It’s a beautiful day in our neighborhood. Happy Valentine’s Day All from our house to yours!
　
　
　
　

Exhale

　
Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:
The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star,
Hath had elsewhere its setting,
And cometh from afar:
Not in entire forgetfulness,
And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory do we come
From God, who is our home...
~from Intimations of Immortality, William Wordsworth

                                                  Tammy on the right with her sister Kayley.

Have you ever noticed that tragedy seems to come in threes? I don’t know why that is? It’s a mystery, but it never seems to fail: when you hear tragic news and then a second bit of sad news comes, there always seems to follow in the wake of it all, a third. Such was the directional course of today.
I should probably go to bed. It’s what I told my mother a couple of hours ago that I wanted to do: put this day to bed. When bad days come, the first inclination is to want for them to end quickly before any more damage can be done. Damage had the upper hand, at least in my opinion, today. Yet, somehow, my brain has gone into shock overload, and I know that sleep will evade me, if I try for it right now. Writing always seems to help me relax my overburdened mind. And, so, tonight....I reflect, and I write. I make no promises of how coherent these thoughts will be, but I need to get them out so that the grief of this day doesn’t swallow me up. Tears have consumed me a dozen times since the early afternoon, and I need relief...release...If only I could give that to the families of those whom I write about tonight...
The day started out positive enough: Saturday. It’s the best day of the week for most people, because it’s the first day of the weekend. It was also reported here the last few days that central Virginia would see our first bit of snow for the year today. Tom and I were excited about that - me, because it’s the first snow of the season, and I love to watch it fall. For Tom, he’s been itching to try out a new snow blower we recently bought for him. We put the snow anticipation on the back burner and went about this day as we normally do: errands, lunch out, grocery store.
We got home in the early afternoon, and sure enough, the sky began to rain snow. It was a glorious sight for the brief time it fell. I pressed my nose against the window pane of our French Door and smiled as it fell, while Tom whoop*whooped, because he would get to try out his blower tomorrow. We’re kids that way - finding a childlike wonder and an anticipated childlike joy from something simple like the falling of snow. It was a great moment. However, just as suddenly as that giddy feeling came, it rapidly dissipated.
News came that a friend of mine’s young daughter had died in her sleep.  I didn't know the particulars, just that bit of information. When you hear something that seems improbable, there is a stillness that comes as your mind begins to decipher the meaning of each word to see if, somehow, someone made a mistake in the re-telling of a fact. When you realize that the statement stands as an unbelievable truth, you blink. Then, you blink again and again. Blinking allows that fact to touch-down in the part of your brain where your understanding lives. Shock can’t settle in until that touch-down occurs.
Shock, when it comes, truly is like running full-speed into a brick wall. That’s what it felt like when I got that news today. I couldn’t wrap my brain around it. The awful disbelief of realizing that a beautiful, young woman had her life interrupted and would not be here to live it out took a horrifying and upsetting hold of me. My thoughts immediately turned to her mother, my friend, Peggy. I know what it is to lose a baby, in my case, two. I don’t know what it is to share 27 years of life and its experiences with your child, then have that child abruptly taken from you. There is no word for it - the abrupt taking away of a beloved someone. Cruel comes to mind and, while close, is still a gross understatement of the true reality of that experience.
The reaction that shock leaves your brain to handle and deal with is one, simple word: no. NO! I don’t want to hear this! NO! I don’t want this to be true! NO! I can’t bear this for my friend! NO! It’s not right! NO! It makes no sense! NO! It’s too awful to contemplate! NO! NO! NO! The unfortunate thing about screaming NO so loudly and with such force is that it’s regrettably irrelevant to the equation. You cannot make something so, simply because you loudly verbalize a negative response to it. All that is left for you to do is to wail against the truth of the matter.
That’s just what I did. I had the ugly cry – the one where not only your face but your entire body contorts with the pain and knowledge of something awful, as it simultaneously tries to digest it.
Peggy is an incredible mother and her girls mean the world to her. I couldn’t imagine this for her. I didn’t want to. The only thing I could do in that moment was weep for her, her husband and their remaining girls. I went to her Face Book page to express my immediate condolences. There, I saw Peggy’s photo albums and looked through them as I tried to regain my composure and collect my thoughts. One photograph was of Tammy with her sister Kayley. I looked at Tammy’s beautiful face - the chocolate eyes she had that are just like her mother’s. I saw echos of her mother’s face as a younger woman staring back at me through Tammy’s countenance, and the sorrow took hold of me yet again with a trail of new tears.
Peggy is a special friend. Even though we live in separate states now, time and distance has not changed that fact. I remember the first time I was in her home - it was 10 years ago this month. It was a good day – a Saturday not unlike today except for the tragic part. A group of friends met for lunch then went over to Peggy’s for coffee, dessert and more fun-filled conversation and laughs. The blue backdrop of that February winter’s day began to change to gray as the day grew late, indicating that night was soon approaching. It’s amazing how quickly friends can lose track of time when laughing and having a great time. When the children began to come home as the dinner hour approached, that’s when we all realized it was time to head home to our own families, after sharing a great afternoon making wonderful memories. Memories are the gift that remains of experiences shared with loved ones. I have great memories of that day.
Months later, Peggy offered a friendly comfort to me at a time in my life when I really needed it. I will never forget that. Nine months after that gathering at her house, a dear childhood friend of mine, died at the age of 38 from cancer. It was a devastating loss. Several of my friends, Peggy included, had been praying for Sheri. A few weeks after Sheri’s death, Peggy called to check on me. She could hear the "down" in my voice and suggested that we meet at The Cracker Barrel for lunch on Saturday. I did. I was so glad I went. We talked and laughed and laughed and talked. We had apple dumplings for lunch. It’s great when you have a friend who has a mind-set like that: Let’s have apple dumplings for lunch! My response to her thought: I’m in! We spent a couple of hours doing nothing but talking and laughing. Then, we roamed around the country store, where I found an ornament that was meant for Sheri’s father. It was so appropriate to something that Sheri and I had shared as kids about our fathers. We called them "marshmallow men". The ornament was a SMORE’s. I laughed when I saw it. It was a marshmallow man standing on a chocolate step on top of a plastic graham cracker base. I think he was wearing a smaller, square hat that looked like a mini graham cracker. I knew it had purposely been put in my path to send to Sheri’s father for Christmas, because I believe in signs like that. I told Peggy the story about it, and I remember her gently patting my back then giving my shoulder a little squeeze. I wish I could gently pat her back right now and do the same for her shoulder. There was a comfort in the gesture, and I know right now she probably could use all the comfort she can get. The best I can do is pray, and that’s what I’ve done on and off all afternoon: pray for her and her family.
No more had I gotten myself under control and managed to stifle those tears, that I saw a flash of news on Twitter that Whitney Houston had died. My brain, which was already numb, stared at that name and wondered, for the briefest second, if there was another Whitney Houston that wasn’t the Whitney Houston that my brain had pulled forward in my mind’s eye? It was a true, "huh" moment. I don’t know if my mouth had been agape since getting the news that Peggy’s daughter, Tammy, had passed or if it had momentarily closed in the re-gathering of my bearings, because that news was horrible enough without this added "Oh my God!" sentiment barreling through on top of it. All I know is that my mouth had dropped down again and was wide open in more harrowed disbelief. I don’t remember if my brain thought the word "no" or I actually said it? I just know that the room spun for a moment, and I felt dizzy.
My fingers began to fly over the keyboard as I typed her name into the search engine. Up came a news report that was three minutes old. Quickly, I opened it and read another devastating story of loss and reports of a death that had come too soon. My hands formed an immediate prayer sign as my lips came to rest against them, and I closed my eyes as more tears came.
Whitney has been a staple in my life since I was in my early 20's. Her songs–her music has been a mainstay among my easy listening preferences. The news took the worst feelings of the day to a whole other dimension.
I’ll never forget in 1987,  [December 2] my mother and I going to see Whitney in concert in Jacksonville, Florida. We had great seats - row 8. It was amazing to listen to her. It was good fortune to be that close to such a gift - that voice–that spirit. At the time, she was in the very beginnings of her career. She sang for a couple of hours, and it was magic – pure magic. It was grace in motion, hearing her voice climb and reach for notes that you didn’t think were humanly possible to hit. Yet, she did it with seeming ease. Not only did she hit them, but she held them–caressed them for long seconds before she offered them back to us. It was pure gold, and I remember thinking that there are certain things that make a person know that there is a God, because that voice could have only come from some higher place where glorious things are created then gifted. Her voice was stunningly beautiful. It was a chill producer. When she hit those high notes and held them in perfect pitch for those endless seconds, it was 24 kt., pure gold. And, if you can believe it, that wasn’t the best part of the experience. The best part was when she let her band take a 20 minute break, and she remained on stage and sang gospel songs a cappella. Think of the best thing that you can possibly imagine, then magnify it to the nth degree. THAT was Whitney Houston singing gospel songs a cappella. My mother and I looked at one another knowing we were in the presence of something truly beyond worldly. It felt like we were at a concert where an angel had been plucked from heaven and placed before us to perform. That’s what that voice is: angelic and heavenly.
I called my mother back to see if she had heard the news about Whitney? She was as stunned as I was. She replied that disbelieving "no"! We talked a little about the concert we’d been fortunate to witness. We spoke of her greatness. Then, I couldn’t talk anymore because the day’s sorrow that had all but taken me to my knees, had caught up to me again, and I felt more ugly cries approaching.
My husband and I watched the new coverage as this tragedy unfolded. I remembered the last time I saw Whitney. It was the interview she did with Oprah. I remember the song that came out of that time: I Look to You. It’s a song that has brought me great comfort the last few years as I’ve battled and struggled with my disability. There is hope in that song, and renewed strength. I took comfort in it–her singing of it. I remember the first time I watched her sing it, I prayed that Whitney was realizing those hopeful declarations that were contained in those lyrics, and I prayed that she was on her way back, bringing that golden voice–that gifted voice back to those of us who yearned to still hear it. Some have said that her voice was no longer the instrument that it had once been. Maybe so, but when I heard it, I still heard the power and the beauty of it. Singers in the current music industry should be so lucky on their BEST day to sound like Whitney Houston did on her worst. She, quite simply, had one of the best voices this world has ever heard. That statement, like her voice will withstand the test of time.
The news reporting tonight has been delicate in discussing Whitney’s troubles of the last 15 years. It’s been appreciated. No one wants to hear negative thoughts or comments when people are grappling with the suddenness and shock that this tragedy has created. Whitney Houston had problems– more than her share of them. We all have troubles; we all carry our own, private demons. The only difference is that Whitney had to live hers out, while the public watched, sometimes joked and often times criticized. I won’t remember Whitney Houston for the demons she struggled to overcome. I’ll remember her for that incredible, God-given instrument that she played like a Stradivarius. It was a sweet, glorious sound, and it shall be missed.
It was a good thought to end the night on, or so I thought. But, no more had that thought come to me, when the phone rang again. It was mother telling me that the daughter of one of her friends had died unexpectedly today too. What are the odds that a mother and daughter would both have a friend who would unexpectedly lose their daughter to an early, untimely death? Again, my mouth fell in that wide-open position of gaping disbelief. Three women gone too soon. Three daughters taken before their time. My knuckles turned white as I griped the phone.
I’d not seen Gay for probably 30 years, but I remember her well. She was between my sister and me in age. My sister is 51 and I’m 48. I asked my mother to express my sympathies to Gay’s mother, Charlene. Beyond that, I couldn’t think of anything more to say? My brain was shutting down. I could feel the "blank" taking hold. I told my mother that I couldn’t talk anymore because I was so close on the cusp of tears yet again. It was too much! I could feel my voice take on a shakiness as the tone fell out of it. When I hung up the phone, I looked upward with arms lifted in surrender and cried "uncle". No game. No fooling. I had reached the end of my rope on this day, and I knew I was about to be standing on my knees before the day was completely done. It would be no easy feat for me either.
I’ve been in physical therapy three times a week since the end of December, as the result of a bad fall I took on Christmas night. Still, as I held my hands up in surrender, I cried, "I give! I surrender! No more! I will get down on my knees right now God, but please, God! Please, God! Please, no more...."
It comes in threes – tragedy. I don’t know why that is? I just know that it does. This night, when I say my prayers, my thoughts and sentiments will be with Peggy and Tammy; Cissy and Whitney; and Charlene and Gay. And, my thoughts will be with Whitney’s daughter and Gay’s children as well. The circle of life sometimes doesn’t circle in the expected way that we anticipate, when we think of the natural order of things. Parents aren’t suppose to bury their children! Young children aren’t suppose to lose their mothers before they have the opportunity to fully understand and appreciate just who the incredible woman was who gave you life. Any way you look at it, and remember it, February 11, 2012 will always be a sad, unexpected day for the world yet it has more personal sorrow for me because of Tammy and Gay’s passing as well. As I sit here, trying to conclude my thoughts for tonight, this lyric popped into my mind:
Sometimes you laugh, sometimes you cry.
Life never tells us the whens or whys
When you’ve got friends to wish you well
you’ll find the point when you will exhale...
Today is surreal, and I am at a loss. Perhaps, in a few days, when the reality of this all settles, I can revisit these thoughts and maybe make better sense of them–maybe not. I don’t know? Tonight, these are the contents of my heart, sad as they are.....Still, I find myself holding on to my breath, afraid to let go of it. It’s odd. I’ve spent the last few minutes just staring ahead of me at nothing, listening to the wind in a low-pitch howl outside my door. The screen is whipping against the door as I think about the news of today and three women who are in blazing mode – trailing clouds of glory as they head back to their eternal home and realizing that we will probably never fully understand the why of how life’s end came for each of them. New normals are like that sometimes: they make no sense. Even when you’re given the pieces of the puzzle to fill in the blank places of the picture, it still makes no sense, and there is nothing that anyone can do about that. It is an exhale moment, and I just did.
Three women’s stars are setting elsewhere tonight. Those who knew and loved them, will never forget them. Beyond that, I don’t know what else to say, because my mind is in that tired and numb place that minds tend to go to when shock and sorrow have unexpectedly given a sucker punch not once but three times in one night.
I have no thoughts right now except these that are all jumbled up in my mind, and I’m typing them as they occur: Bittersweet....Memories are all that is left...Sometimes we cry, as we try to find that point where we can exhale...Learning to love yourself, it is the greatest love of all...If somebody loves you, won’t they always love you?...Winter storms have come and darkened my sun after all that I’ve been through...who on earth can I turn too. I look to you...after all my strength is gone, in you I can be strong. I look to you...I get so emotional, Baby, every time I think of you...Yes. Jesus loves me....Yet, to their family and friends, and in one case, to her millions of fans....we’ll always love them....always...
Godspeed Tammy, Whitney and Gay~Godspeed...and Rest In Peace.
Below, I’ve listed 7 of Whitney’s songs. It is the number of completion. Yet, nothing is ever really finished...

http://youtu.be/H2GbvEML1yE [Where Do Broken Hearts Go/Whitney Houston]
http://youtu.be/ydPXZlwvgNY [The Greatest Love of All/Whitney Houston]
http://youtu.be/7d_ToCL9nSY [Exhale/Whitney Houston]
http://youtu.be/5Pze_mdbOK8 [I Look To You/Whitney Houston]
http://youtu.be/0YjSHbA6HQQ [I Get So Emotional/Whitney Houston]
http://youtu.be/cd-CFI4EhBU [I’ll Always Love You/Whitney Houston]
http://youtu.be/ZNqAHrNNLqA [Jesus Loves Me/Whitney Houston]
　

This picture of Whitney brings me peace; it's the light behind her.  We will all step into the light when our time on earth is done.   I hope it's as beautiful as it appears to be.  In my heart, I know it is...

The Challenger Seven

HIGH FLIGHT Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of earth, And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings. Sunward, I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth Of sun-split clouds - and done a hundred things You have not dreamed of - wheeled and soared and swung High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there, I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung My eager craft through footless halls of air. Up, up the long delirious, burning blue, I've topped the windswept heights with easy grace, Where never lark, or even eagle flew - And, while with silent lifting mind I've trod The high untresspassed sanctity of space, Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.   Written by Pilot Officer Gillespie Magee                  No. 412 Squadron, RCAF                 Killed, 11 December, 1941

                The Crew of the Space Shuttle Challenger/January 1986

http://youtu.be/qZxLXuFfPvM [Moonlighting/Al Jarreau]

 There are certain days in history, that no matter how many years have past, you remember them, with the crystal clarity of the moment in which you first experienced it. For those of you who are my age, older and, perhaps, a decade younger, if I mention the tragedy that occurred on January 28, 1986, the space shuttle Challenger should come to mind. While momentous an event in and of itself, that particular flight was historical because, for the first time in the history of space exploration, a civilian was to be aboard that flight, teaching her students from outer space.
For months, prior to that ill-fated morning, we listened as the news informed us of the progression of Christa McAuliffe’s flight training as well as her plan to conduct her lessons for her New Hampshire class from aboard the shuttle. Her experience was an eye-opener to everyone who was not an astronaut; who didn’t know all that was involved in preparing for one of these launches; and, for everything that our astronauts endure themselves before and during these endeavors. It was exciting. It was informative, and we appreciated them all the more for their role in the advancement of something that three decades prior had been only a dream.
I went to bed on January 27^th not knowing if the shuttle would depart as planned. The night brought freezing temperatures - cold, even for Florida, which is where I lived at the time. The launch had already been delayed a few times because of the weather. When I awoke the next morning, the news anchors were still talking about delays of the Challenger’s launch, because NASA wanted to make certain that the shuttle was de-iced and the craft completely defrosted before take off. I’m not a rocket scientist, but listening to the news, and the bit they spoke about the situation– how cold it was and ice could effect the rocket and its proper functioning, I didn’t think it was a great idea to try for it that day.
I said as much to my friend, Susan, who called me that morning to see if I wanted to join them for supper that night after my afternoon classes at The University of Florida.
"Well," she said, no more a rocket scientist than me. "It’d probably cost them a ton of money to scrap it at that point." But, she did agree that it didn’t sound like a good idea to try and launch it that morning.
We talked a little more, I thanked her for the dinner invitation and told her I’d see them all later. I hung up the phone thinking about her comments. I supposed they made sense relating to business, but I’ve never been one who put money or the expense of anything above people.
That’s just me though.
I threw a load of laundry in the wash, before I went to take a shower. It was Tuesday. I didn’t have classes until late afternoon on Tuesdays and Thursdays. [2-5 pm] My laundry room was outside in a closet at the end of my porch off the bedroom of my apartment. It WAS cold that day. Brrr kind of cold. I remember pulling my robe’s belt tighter, as I unlocked the door of my outside storage area and tossed the clothes into the machine.
After I took my shower, I made me a cup of coffee and went into my living room to watch the shuttle take off, before I did a little studying prior to class. I placed my book and notebook on the sofa as I sipped my coffee and turned my attention to the tv. Television stations had interrupted regular programming to show the launch of the Challenger.
I watched as the crew walked one-by-one out of the building, beaming smiles and hand-waves as they went to board the shuttle. They were finally, after many delays, ready to fulfill their mission - space exploration. Little did they know that the universe, on that day, would not cooperate with their intended expedition.
I sat glued to the television as the commentators talked about space exploration, notable flights of recent years and gave biographical details of the seven-person crew who would be taking to flight in a matter of minutes. It truly was something to behold – watching that rocket fire up, hear the count-down and see it lift off from the ground, preparing to soar into flight. The tv screen split, showing the rocket’s lift upward as well as the crowd’s reaction. I saw students from Christa McAuliffe’s school standing in front of her parents. Happy chatter filled the background as the rocket rose higher and higher into the air. I remember the smile of pride on the faces of Christa McAuliffe’s parents, while they looked up and watched the Challenger, with their daughter on board, propel itself upward in a blaze of glory.
It was a WOW moment. That "wow" sentiment keep the momentum except that the joyful energy within the emotion of that feeling radically shifted 73 seconds in, just after the words, "Challenger, go with throttle up!" were spoken, because the rocket combusted in a massive explosion.
The image of glory that had filled the screen just seconds before instantly erupted into burning balls of red-orange bursts of fire, coupled with the emergence of somber hues of black, grey and white trails of smoke and ash in its aftermath.
The happy, incredulous "oh wows" heard just seconds before the horrific blast blew everything apart, quickly turned into disbelieving cries of "oh wow", as eyes remained transfixed upward at the chaotic sky. It was that feeling that happens when you witness a horrible car accident. You want to turn away, but your eyes are glued to the mayhem in a horribly, surreal fascination. We knew we all saw something, but weren’t completely certain if what we saw was a normal part of the process?... No one wanted to hasten a thought beyond the chaos that was unfolding or what it all exactly meant, because somewhere, in the deepest part of everyone who witnessed it, we knew that what was happening in the sky wasn’t good.
Quickly following on the vibrations of the words "oh wow!" was the overwhelming, emotional realization that the "not good" thoughts were becoming real. Mutters of "Oh, God!" and "No!" crept into the mix of the disbelieving vernacular of the moment. For one collective point in time, all eyes that had been watching this event unfold, went into an immediate and joint shock. Even those officially manning the situation didn’t appear to understand, like the rest of us, what to think; what to do; or, what to say?
Then, as plumes and trails of billowing smoke continued to weave down and across the sky in erratic, zig-zag patterns, all ears heard those two dreaded words: "major malfunction."
"What?"... "Huh?"......... and those two questions seemed to fill time and space for what seemed like eternity.
It was nothing but helpless feelings in the minutes just after the catastrophe in the sky. I don’t know at what point my mouth fell open, I just know that it did, and it stayed that way. Gaping astonishment was the only emotion that seemed appropriate at that moment. The newscasters looked equally uncertain of how to proceed as they struggled to keep their emotions under control. Suddenly, the air in my apartment felt too tight around me, like it was choking me. Claustrophobia took hold, and I needed to get out.
I remember running outside in my bare-feet. I didn’t know where I was going, I just remember that I needed to be anywhere but in my living room, where the reality of the situation was impossible to escape. The chill of the air went straight through my sweat pants, tank top and jacket, and I felt the distinct shiver that comes from cold, fear, and shock run down my spine then back up again, making me shiver yet again. The steely cold of the winter-air brought me back to reality.
I looked up at the sky. I wasn’t certain what I thought I’d find there, other than a wishful glimmer of hope that perhaps, just perhaps, the orbiter carrying the Challenger Seven had somehow managed to impel beyond what anyone had been able to see with cameras and monitors, and was safely floating somewhere out in the Atlantic Ocean waiting to be rescued. I said a prayer as I stared up at the sky–verbalizing that thought. I’ve always been a firm believer in the power of the spoken word. I prayed that it would be so. Just as I finished my "Please God..." appeal, I heard my name called, and looked over to find Susan running toward me.
"Oh, my God!" she cried. "What was that?"
We hugged as I shook my head that I didn’t know what that was.
The blank look that I gave her followed up with an, "I don’t know," and my continued stare upward let her know that I didn’t think it could possibly be good.
"Let’s go inside," she said, her arm wrapped around me, pulling me toward my open front door. "It’s freezing out here."
I followed, but couldn’t take my eyes off the sky.
"Maybe they know something more by now," she said, trying to sound hopeful–cheerful.
I closed the door of my apartment as we both took seats in front of the t.v., which was replaying the scene, while trying to get to the bottom of the question: "what just happened?"
More than anything, and to this day, the image I remember most about that day-that moment-that event, was not seeing the Challenger explode in the air and break apart, raining down chunks of useless pieces of steel, shattered shards of glass and other materials that were now irreparably ruined and destroyed, although that is certainly an image that is forever seared into my mind. What I remember most in that moment of gaping horror was the look on Grace Corrigan’s face–the fear and disbelief in her eyes as she watched the rocket that carried her daughter, Christa McAuliffe, dissipate in violent puffs of smoke and fire, leaving nothing but a macabre vision of hell right before her eyes. I remember her looking at her husband for a comforting reassurance that all was well and that what had just been witnessed was exactly how rockets were suppose to break the barrier between earth and space. When she didn’t get that reassuring, confident support from him, I remember watching her head rest against his shoulder as she tried to find her mother’s courage to steel herself from the terrible conclusion that the rest of us were realizing: that whatever had happened up there in the sky, it was more probable than not that there could not have been any survivors. You could see that thought dawn upon her face, and when it did, it was a painful thing to see: the slumped shoulders, top lip biting down into the lower lip to stifle the cries that one could see were forming. Her teary eyes could no longer look up at the dread of what remained, because she knew what it meant to her and her family. We saw that pain take root within her. Everything that I was feeling was vivid on her face. A controlled panic ensued when her psyche finally let the thought of the worst case scenario take hold. There was a clear instant when her expression revealed what everyone feared: doom.
That’s what I remember most. It wasn’t until I saw those things register on Mrs. Corrigan’s face and in her eyes that I broke down and cried. It was a reaction that I could neither contain nor control at that point. It was a sobbing cry, and my tumble into grief caused Susan to let go and cry too.
Still, within that release of sorrow, Susan looked at me and repeated something that we’d been hearing over and over for minutes from the newscasters, "maybe the Orbiter was able to separate, and they’re just waiting to be rescued."
I looked blankly at the tv-screen, then at Susan.
Flatly, I said. "It exploded, Susan! How could they possibly survive that?"
She shook her head sadly and said. "I don’t know..."
We sat for hours, glued to my television set, as the tragedy played out and was replayed over and over with different thoughts and sporadic updated news. It all came in tidbits. Slow tidbits of dribs and drabs. Our minds became as numb as our bodies felt.
The coverage was continual all afternoon and into the early evening. Yet, it seemed like a non-stop newsfeed of the same information simply being repeated over and over again. Neither of us, however, could turn it off. If ever a moment felt like something out of the Twilight Zone, it was that afternoon.
Information scrolled across the bottom of the tv screen that UF afternoon and evening classes had been suspended, and there would be a vigil held at 7 pm in the auditorium in memory of the Challenger Seven.
It was late afternoon when Susan decided to go back home. Her children would be arriving home from school shortly. She had routines that couldn’t be put on hold.
"Do you want to come for supper?" she asked before leaving.
I shook my head. I wasn’t hungry. I just felt sad.
"I’ll just make me some soup or something," I told her, thanking her for the offer.
"Come on down if you change your mind," she told me.
I nodded and closed the door, leaning my head against it. It was only then that I realized the tremendous headache that was forming.
In between, plays and replays of the day’s earlier events, I managed to get my clothes in the dryer, and also spoke with my parents.
It’s odd, when something like that happens, it’s important and necessary that we reach out to make certain that everything else is as it should be-is in its place, so that we can keep moving forward. I got that reassurance. The families of the Challenger Seven got no such reprieve that night, and my thoughts the rest of the day, evening and following days were with them.
That night, I curled up on my sofa with my two cats, Gypsy and Mac. President Reagan was suppose to give the State of the Union address that evening, but I honestly don’t remember if he followed through with that? I do remember him coming on tv to address the nation and our grief. I also remember that the constant daily coverage stopped at 8 p.m.; in doing so, the news anchors said they’d be back at 11 with a wrap up on the day’s events. It’s as if they understood that we needed a break from the continual replaying of those 73 seconds, and the horror that came in its wake.
Aside from the light over my stove, and the light of the tv screen, my apartment was dark that night, as I pulled the quilt tighter around me and snuggled with my cats.
Moonlighting came on. It was a welcome reprieve, but it didn’t chase the gloom away, as it could so often do on a bad day. I felt tears come as I listened to Al Jarreau sing the opening theme that I’d heard a hundred times before. It took on a different meaning for me in that moment. It’s odd how lyrics develop a different life than originally intended when tragedy befalls. Something unexplainable opened up and a new definition formed as I listened to the words:

Some walk by night,
Some fly by day,
Nothing could change you,
Set and sure of the way.

There is the sun and moon,
They sing their own sweet tune,
Watch them when dawn is due,
Sharing one space.

We'll walk by night,
We'll fly by day,
Moonlighting strangers
Who just met on the way...who just met on the way...

That song became a different context for me on January 28, 1986, as I thought about the day’s events. The Challenger explosion and tragedy of it–the deaths of the seven who were on board all melded together. In that moment, they had been connected by the sharing of one space. Now, they would forever-after be connected because of that one, shared space.
In the days and weeks that followed, there was a lot of discussion about what caused the Challenger’s explosion. Theories and hypotheses abounded about the rocket boosters, the Orbiter itself, O-rings, field joints, aluminum stag, jet streams and how frozen temperatures effected and weakened those things and caused them to malfunction.
In the years since that terrible winter day, I’ve watched documentaries on the Challenger. I know there were a few people who took a stand at the time against NASA launching the Challenger on that ill-fated day. There are mixed emotions that are felt resulting from all the information that has since been brought forward regarding the realistic feasibility of carrying on with the launch on that particular January morning. It should have been grounded until temperatures permitted an unquestionably safe flight. That being said, it doesn’t change the fact that we lost something glorious and irreplaceable that day: seven glorious somethings- seven irreplaceable someones. Children lost parents; parents lost children; partners lost spouses; people lost friends; and, the world lost them. They did not live to realize their full potentials. It remains a staggering set of thoughts.
Still, we remember them as they each walked confidently, as Thoreau said, in the direction of their dreams – as they strode cheerfully out into that cold January morning to fulfill their individual destinies and tried to live out that which they had imagined. Neither time, nor space will ever diminish that one glorious moment + those 13 additional seconds before they "slipped the surly bonds of earth, stepped into one magnificently shared space and touched the face of God..."

In Memoriam to The Challenger Seven:

Francis "Dick" Scobee, Michael Smith, Judith Resnik, Ronald McNair, Ellison Onizuka, Gregory Jarvis, & Christa McAuliffe

Grace Corrigan

January 28, 1986

http://youtu.be/pUALwYsXSm8 [The Challenger Disaster/January 28, 1986]http://youtu.be/LZ_SCCsGiho [Go Rest High On That Mountain/V. Gill, A. Krause, R. Skaggs]