The greatest of these....

There are many kinds of lost loves; the loved one, now gone, whose love for you still lives on- yet the love of their touch, their hug, their special names, the look and sound of joy when they saw you- these are lost.
There is unrequited love, and foolish love; first love and child-love; there is the "love of a friend who sticks closer than a brother"- that I have been blessed to find. There is a love that was once a certainty in your heart and a cause for happiness that has grown much colder; and one never really knows why, or how, or what to do. This is where I write when I'm feeling blue, so this is for love's lost, and lost loves, and love remembered.

Had we never lov'd sae kindly

Had we never lov'd sae blindly

Never met- or never parted-

We had ne'er been broken-hearted.

"These three remain: Faith, Hope, and Love; but the Greatest of these is Love."

The Good, The Bad, and the Dead

Since last night started with a dead patient and ended with a dead patient (same room, too- not a good night for T-6) I thought I would jot down a few thoughts on dead patients.
Pros:
1. The patient will not put on the call light thirty-eight times in one hour like my other patients are doing.
2. The patient will not attempt to hit, bite, or otherwise molest me.
3. In fact, the patient will not annoy me in any way. It's nice to have one that doesn't whine for a change.
4. I can talk about the patient in front of them and they don't mind.
5. There's no need to do all those admission or transfer papers.
6. The patient will not have to get up to the commode; necessitating a ten-minute-search for the portable potty, a twenty-minute search for the toilet paper, a lower back strain while attempting to hold onto grandma as she pivots her enormous behind from bed to potty, and the cleaning of the portable commode.


Now, if you're thinking a dead patient is pretty much a perfect patient- it would seem that way, wouldn't it? However, there are the Cons.
Cons:
1. The patient will have no identification anywhere on their body. If the patient is female, her purse will contain only candy, cigarettes, lighter, unlabeled pills, hairbrush/comb and makeup bag. If the patient is male, his wallet will contain only: five unused condoms and one that I'd rather not guess; various court citations in which his name is smeared illegibly as if it's been dropped in the toilet one too many times; a few one dollar bills, a pound of change- which will fall all over the floor in the room- a phone number for Bubba (there's always a Bubba) and a pocketknife.
2. Three hours later five family members/friends/live-ins will come into the lobby and start screaming that no one called them. If you call Bubba, he'll sound very panicked and say he doesn't know anybody that could possibly be dead. Bubba doesn't want to give his last name, either.
3. Family members/friends/live-ins will begin to argue over the dead body as to who's fault it is that they're dead and bring up every past grievance they have ever held against the other person. Attempts to redirect their "misplaced grief" (we're hoping that's what it is) will result in said family members/friends/live-ins informing you that they've been through this before and don't need your advice, thank you very much.
4. The Organ Donors must be called. They must. It's a State Law. No matter how long you put it off, eventually you must call them. They will put you on hold for twenty minutes while your other three patients are 1)pulling out their IVs 2)screaming for their pain medicine 3)vomiting in the hallways and 4)getting more short of breath. If you hang up and call back, they'll put you on hold longer. Once they answer, they will ask you five hundred and eighty six questions about the dead person's medical history, medicines, lifestyle, sexual preferences, etc., of which you have absolutely no idea. You're lucky if you get a correctly spelled name out of the family members/friends/live-ins. They will argue with each other over the patient's age, and nobody has a clue as to the birthday. The organ donors will make you go ask the family/friends/live-ins all their questions, and they will shriek at you that they do not know either and is this any time to be asking questions? Because, you know, they're busy fighting with each other.
5. Someone must decide where the body will be sent. In theory this is very simple. "What funeral home do you choose?" "Oh- mother has prior arrangements at Such and Such." This happens once in a freaking blue moon. Or maybe I just don't get those patients. My asking about the funeral home always results in the person asked giving me a horrified look and yelling, "I'M NOT PAYING FOR ANYTHING!" Nobody wants to pay for the funeral, so nobody's picking a funeral home that might possibly expect payment- and NOBODY is going to sign the paper releasing the body.
6. Family/friends/live-ins will begin wandering around the unit, chatting with other patients, bumming cigarettes and coffee, and when asked to remain in their assigned area, will state they are too upset to sit down.
7. The funeral homes take turns accepting bodies that have no responsible person (i.e., the nobodys-paying-the-bills, which is most of them) They are not thrilled when you call them at 3 am and inform them you have such a client and would they please get out of bed and come cart their dead ass away? They do not show up for three hours. When they do, they are very surly. By this time, the patient, who was found down in a field and had probably been dead five hours anyway- (but must be heroically coded for forty-five minutes and brought to the ED to be pronounced- i.e., dumped on us)- has been dead twelve hours and They Don't Look So Good. Dead trauma patients aren't necessarily the most gruesome; although I suppose if severed body parts or gaping holes or brains hanging out bothers you they might be- I vote for the Drowning Victim. They Look Bad. All bloated up and no place to go. It won't keep me from my sphaghetti and meatballs lunch break, though, if said break time ever occurs (generally at the end of thirteen hours)

Every now and then there is that rare exception- an upstanding citizen who actually has a driver's license and a working cell phone; actual grieving relatives, etc. This is not fun because it's very sad. If it's a young person, it's horrible and you don't ever get used to it. Fortunately, most of our deceased fall into the above category.

My Favorite After Death Scene: Momma, in her early fifties, falls off porch and breaks her hip. Momma vomits during surgery, aspirates it into her lungs, codes and dies. Momma's children come in and promptly begin screaming at each other in the waiting room over who is going to get Momma's black-and-white TV, her Frigidaire, and the money she has in her underwear drawer. This is an absolute true story. The 6 foot tall sister has her much smaller brother pinned up against the wall by the time security comes. When the surgeon arrives to try and apologize his way out of a lawsuit, they punch him.

A message for Benny

It's been six days since the day I think of as "the terrible, horrible, VERY BAD day" I had gotten off work and come home from my 13 hours in the ER, my husband said our dog was missing and went to look for him, and within a few minutes had brought him home dead.
Our dog was eight years old, and he was a golden retriever. His name was Benny. It's funny how you can tell people these basic facts and can't possibly describe exactly who your dog was or what he meant to you. He was loving, funny, sweet, and had more expression in his big brown eyes than any dog on the planet. He was a Christmas present for my son when he was ten, but he was the family pet as well; he really couldn't have been more a part of the family. We moved from Hannibal to Wisconson to East Brainerd to Red Bank and to Ooltewah and Benny was always with us, through all the changes. My parents got sick and died and my heart was broken, but when I came home, Benny was always there when I was up late and everyone was sleeping. You could always cry on his fur and tell him exactly what you were thinking.
We knew he was getting older; he was a big dog and those breeds don't live long, but he even seemed old for eight; his face was white and he had developed arthritis; he didn't move around nearly as well as he used to, and watching him try to climb up things he used to jump up on easily was painful. We're all glad he will be spared more pain and suffering of growing older; especially since dogs can't tell you they're hurting. There's no words, though, to say how much he meant to us, or how much we will miss him; I had no idea how bad it would hurt until I was sitting on the grass by his body, wrapped in my favorite Cubs blanket; I felt like my heart was torn to pieces; it was unbelievable. It still seems rather like a very bad dream, and I'm still kind of hoping I'll wake up. I keep looking for him in all his favorite spots; or when I drive up in the driveway; I can't believe he's gone. No one you love and lose ever lives long enough; dogs' lives seem painfully short. We had Benny, however, through the most difficult years of our lives; our kids are both adults now, and I know this was his time to go.
I felt this peace even when I was crying hysterically, that Benny was happy, that he was in heaven and my Dad was saying to me, "It's okay, sweetheart. You know I'll watch after old Benny." Daddy always loved Benny and any dog. I like to think of him with my childhood dog Frisky and my dad, going for walks in heavenly woods and fishing; and he's young and agile and happy as he tears across beautiful fields, full of joy.
The hardest part was watching my 18-year-old son mourn his dog, who was his best friend- no dog ever had a better boy, that's for sure. These two had slept together, gone running together, played together, and loved each other desperately. My son, who is quite too grown up and manly to cry anymore, cried terribly over his dog's body, and that was the worst part of all. My daughter, who tends to keep her feelings private and is 23, clung to me and we cried together when we first heard the news; my husband kept it all stoic, he said, until he had to put the dog up on the vet's table (we had him cremated)
This is a sad post, but I wanted to post something for my Benny; I figured a message without explanation would be kind of stupid, even though I don't think anyone actually reads this blog.
Anyway Benny, here's your letter; I hope my Dad can get on-line in heaven and read it to you.
Dear Benny-
You were the best and sweetest dog any family could ever have. I don't think we could have loved you more, and I hope we always showed it. I know you're better off now, but we have such a hole in our hearts, and will for such a long time. Our house will never be the same, and our family won't either, for you were part of it. It almost seems fitting that you left me the year my kids are leaving as well; it's like you knew, and you were really for them- especially Nick- but I lost my heart to you too.
I wish I could give you a wonderful memorial service or do something in your memory, but I don't know what, and it could never be good enough. When Steve picked you up on the side of the road, he looked up and saw a rainbow; that meant a lot to me, because my Mom always taught us "A rainbow is God's way of saying everything is going to be all right." (as in the story about Noah) When I was driving home from work the next night and crying so much I could hardly see; "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" came on the radio- something I haven't heard in probably twenty or thirty years. Coincidence? I don't think so.
I so want you here, but I can't be selfish; it brings back the old hurts, that still aren't old- Mom and Dad- when you know they're better off, but you so desperately feel like you aren't.
I hope this year will go better than it started!
I love you Benny and I couldn't ever tell you how much. I knew you were incredibly important to our family, but I didn't know how much until you were gone. Please know you are forever in our hearts and minds and memories, and I'll never forget my best dog.
Love,
Momma

The Ghost of Christmas Past

I think most people's favorite Christmases are when they are small; I'm not any different when it comes to this. The earliest Christmas I remember, we lived in Chicago- I was probably about five- my sister Celia had twin beds in her room, and I was allowed to sleep in there; this was an occasion in itself. It's just a little snippet; but I remember being curled up in my twin canopy bed with the white knubbly bedspread; the window was right next to me; and I couldn't go to sleep because I was so excited and happy. Then I saw these big thick snowflakes start to fall- not that a white Christmas is unusual in Chicago; but it started dumping down and it was most exciting- I got up and started doing a little dance on my bed.
The Wait on the Top of the Staircase was the most exciting of all; this continued even until we were teenagers. My two sisters and I would huddle on the top step and Dad would go down and check that everything was set up properly- they usually had a few bigger presents that weren't wrapped but were strategically placed. Then he would boom out that we could come down, and we would all barrel down the stairs with our dog Frisky, for the day Dreams Come True.
I wonder why everything always seemed happier on Christmas; it certainly wasn't just about getting presents, although those were great. We didn't fight, everything seemed magical, somehow- as if all possibilities were present. My very favorite Christmas came when I was eight and my Mom announced she was pregnant; I was the youngest, and at my age had imagined I would always stay that way; I couldn't think of anything I wanted more than to be a big sister. You don't think of children that age as feeling things quite so strongly; but I was as excited as when I found out I was pregnant with my own children. I remember sitting on the staircase later; kind of in a daze, just thinking, it isn't possible to be this happy, it can't be real.
My little brother-or-sister that wasn't is one of the people I miss this Christmas, if you can miss someone you never knew. I guess it's more about missing an idea. I would like to have another younger person in the family I could love-everything's too different now.
The older I got, Christmas stayed just as happy; mainly because of Mom and Dad. We kept the same traditions; even when I was grownup and married; Dad read the Christmas Story of Christmas Eve, and we could each pick out one present. It gradually developed into a day of mayhem as more grandchildren were added; but this just added to the general fun; now instead of just the five of us, I had a husband and (later) children, nieces and a nephew, there were always mountains of presents; and watching everyone open theirs was great fun.
I don't remember what was our last Big Christmas with everyone there, and I'm glad; it's too bittersweet. The Christmas before my parents died I was back in Chattanooga, happy to be with my family for a couple weeks; but my heart was still in Missouri, and it was breaking. I knew this was the last Christmas they'd both be alive and I wasn't there; but I so wanted to be with my husband and children; that whole nine months was about being torn in two, and that day was the best example of it.
The Christmas After, of course, was the hardest Christmas ever; if I hadn't had my kids, I'd have skipped it; but I knew they were trying so hard to make it a good day for me and I couldn't let them down by sitting around bawling all day. Sometimes I think (well, I know) it's harder to sit and pretend to be happy than to just let yourself cry it out. I guess next year's was better, but not much; last year's was better, but there's never been any comparison with Before.
Now we're coming up on what will be the last Christmas the four of us live here together; since my two kids both graduate next spring and plan on moving out. It seems like Christmas is getting smaller, or harder, or both; sappy Christmas songs make me sad; and I start wishing it were all over again.
This is NOT the kind of Christmas person I want to be; I know Christmas is about Christ and what He did for me. When I think of all my blessings, I am overwhelmed. There's that part of me, though, that always wants to turn around and look back- to catch a glimpse of Christmas Past; like a melting snowflake in your hand.
I hope we have big, happy Christmases in the future; Christmases where the kids and grandkids come and we keep the old traditions; Christmases where I don't think about my dad's merry chuckling or my mom's happy smile more than I do anything else. Faith, hope, and love...but the greatest of these is love.
I hate melancholy posts; but I do believe in the therapeutic power of ventilating; what else is a blog for? I don't think anyone else is really going to read it! If so, I guess it'll be okay if they know my guilty secrets, or think I'm a self-pitying idiot, I rather think that myself sometimes.
My wish for this Christmas is I can help someone who is hurting to have a better one. Given the job I have, it's entirely possible; if I can quit being selfish and start focusing more on others. My parents always said that was the secret to happiness anyway; and my Dad, who was the happiest person I ever knew, was also the most unselfish; so they must have been on to something. (actually, they just followed the teachings of Jesus, but we all know that's a lot more difficult than it sounds!)
Since this is a sappy, stupid post, I'll close with the sappy song that always gets me most at Christmas- the Carpenter's "Merry Christmas Darling" I'll dedicate this to the two people that always gave me the happiest Christmases ever; the two I'll miss for the rest of my life. No need to say who they are. Changed the verbs a little; since it's past tense now.

Merry Christmas, darling
We're apart, it's true
But I can dream, and in my dreams
I'm Christmasing with you
Holidays are joyful
There's always something new
But everyday was a holiday
When I was near to you

The lights on my tree
I wish you could see
I wish it every day
Logs on the fire, fill me with desire
To see you and to say.........

That I wish you Merry Christmas
Happy New Year too
I've just one wish on this Christmas Eve
I wish I were with you
I wish I were with you.

Milestone Birthdays

In a couple of weeks my son will be eighteen.
This doesn't sound like such a big thing, really but....but....this is my BABY.... it was a sentimental thing when my daughter turned eighteen (almost five years ago) but I still had one underage, so the kidswere just split fifty-fifty. Now both my children, ALL my children, are going to be "adults" Nothing will change in our house from one day to the next- he still has his senior year in high school ahead, she still has her senior year in college- and no one's planning on moving out till next summer.
So why does this seem like the end of an era?
I remember that first birthday, when you couldn't believe your baby was one! And then two...and then three....and then the years ticked away faster than you ever thought possible. "Oh, they grow up too fast." the Old Ones would say wisely, nodding their heads. And you, the exhausted young mom, didn't really believe that would happen.
Then one day you turned around and looked at the calendar and realized.....it did.
People always warn you about What's In Store with kids. Usually this is in a negative vein and bothered me. First it was, "Wait till you find out what it's like to have a newborn!" "Oh my God, you are going to have a two year old! They're awful!" and then the death sentence voice, "Oh no.,...your kids are going to be TEENAGERS!"
Well, I've always found them wrong. Pretty much. My babies were wonderful. My toddlers were sweet. Toilet training, well, that was rough-with one of them. Teaching them to drive, also tough- with one of them. Teenagers? Great kids. I'm the proudest mom in the world of my kids. They may not be perfect in EVERY way (although I find them so) but they are so good, kind, loving, funny, and sweet. I never wanted to miss a minute with them and I've enjoyed being a Mom more than anything in the world.
The only part they don't tell you about is how hard it is to let them go....
Maybe because you wouldn't believe it.
Maybe because it's too hard.

I know we will always be close, and there are plenty of good times ahead to come- weddings, grandchildren, special family times. But when they go out on their own, things change. I know because I've been through it with my parents. "Home" is where your spouse is, not your parents. "Home" is where your children are, not your parents. And although your parents are beloved, and so important, you take them for granted until they're gone, because your focus is where it should be- on your own family.
So how do you deal with being relagated to the sidelines? I guess it's up to me.
I think I'll decide to enjoy cheering them on.
I think I'll try to be the kind of Mom that even grown up kids WANT to come see, not just feel guilty because they haven't seen.
I think I'll thank the Lord every day that I have them on this earth with me, that I can talk to them, that I can still get and give hugs.
I think I'll wish a whole lot that my mother was still alive, so I could tell her how hard it is. She would understand. (or maybe she wouldn't, she could never get all her kids out of the house!)
Meanwhile, I'm thinking of a sweet little towheaded Mama's boy who loved to cuddle, snuggle, and "go bye-bye" who is now a dark-haired, handsome, funny and sweet young man- that still loves to "go bye-bye" only now when he goes out, it isn't with Mama.
I love you Nicholas. You have been, as the Lord told me you would be, a son who would bring me only joy, all my life.

Actual Reasons people have called an ambulance to bring them to the ER

1. nasal congestion (no, I'm not kidding)
2. constipation (wanting a nurse to give him an enema)
3. scabies

I'm starting to understand why ER nurses get a little baffled about Humanity in General. Then again, we see the real winners, shall we say. The above are all actual cases; not mentioned are the people having chest pain, shortness of breath, and spells of passing out, who do NOT call an ambulance but have their loved one drive them to the ER, where we will have to drag their dead carcass out of the back seat. Whazzup with that??
Here are some rules for being a good ER patient. You may not want to be one, but if you are, you'll get better pain medicine and your nurse will love you.
1) Do not, do not, please do not, ask the nurse nine thousand times, "How much longer will it be?" I really honestly have no idea. I do not want to make false promises. You may be up to be seen next, and twelve train wrecks will come in through the door and guess what? Three more hours. I do not know how long it will take the labs to come back. I don't work there. I do not know how long it will take radiology to come and get you. I don't work there either. I have no idea how many films they have to shoot in other parts of the hospital, or how many stats they are doing. Just don't begin any sentence with, "How much longer....." and you'll be fine. I promise you, if I knew I'd tell you, but I don't.
2) Please remember an emergency room is for, well, emergencies. If you are not an emergency, you are gonna wait. You are going to wait a long time. The reason you are waiting a long time is because other, actual emergencies will be coming in and out, and they will get seen first, no matter how long you've been standing outside your room with your arms folded glaring at the nurses. Bring a book, stretch out and close your eyes, or do whatever you need to do, but plan to wait and wait and wait some more. There are not enough staff to handle the patient load; especially now that a great deal more patients are being seen who want some more Vicodin. Remember- the nurse is not the enemy. She wants you to go home, too. Especially if you are hostile. However, it won't get you out any quicker.
3) Do not threaten the nurse with statements such as, "I'm leaving in five minutes." First of all, ER nurses do not scare easily. Secondly, if you choose to leave of your own free will, you are quite able to do so. The ER is not a jail. My life will probably go on if you choose to leave in five minutes, so please do not present it as if I am going to cling to your arm, sobbing, and beg you to stay. The usual response is, "Okay, in five minutes I'll bring your paper to sign out." This is not because the nurse is hateful. It is because this is an emergency room, and you are not an emergency (or you would be being taken care of at that very moment)
4) If the nurse smiles and is friendly to you, try to smile back. It's just polite. Obviously if you're in excruciating pain, nobody expects this. If the nurse has time to do something extra such as bring you or your loved one a cup of coffee, extra blankets, magazines, etc., thank him/her. We are very busy and it really does take time to do these things.
5) On the subject of the above: The nurse is not a waitress. She is not there to provide hubby (who is not a patient) with a Sprite (in a cup with a lid and ice, please) and the four-year-old (who is not the patient, and should be at home with hubby) toys and entertainment. The ER nurse is responsible for providing medical care to the ill. Again, this will happen very quickly if you have an ACTUAL emergency; it will not happen quickly (unless you luck out and come when it's a little slower) if you have had that pain in your foot for two weeks. This does not mean that we do not want to help you. It just means it isn't as urgent to us as the guy having a heart attack, the lady bleeding out of her bowels at an alarming rate, or the suicidal teenager who is trying to beat everyone up.
6) Be pleasant to the doctor. Do not tell him what drug to give you. He will never, ever give you that drug if you ask for it specifically, especially if you already know the generic name and dosage and it's a painkiller. Why? We don't like to feed people's addictions, because this does not help anyone, and we're supposed to be helping and not hurting. Also, please do not think I am cynical if you tell me you are dying of the worst pain in your life, yet sit giggling on your cellphone and putting on lipstick. At least try and put on a little bit of an act. Which, by the way, does not include loudly moaning when the nurse is in the room, and immediately ceasing to moan when she walks out of the room. At least wait till I'm down the hall.
7) Call the doctor "Sir" or "ma'm" or "doctor" They have big egos and like respect. Do not call them "dickhead" "asswipe" or "you stupid idiot" You will not get any pain prescriptions that way, and we will remember you next time you show up. If you're really ill, you'll be treated like everyone else. If you are NOT really ill, you will sit in the waiting room until your ass becomes one with the chair.
8) If you've been waiting forever and you see all the nurses at the desk sitting around, this does not mean no one is doing anything. It means we are waiting for results to come back, or (usually) waiting for the doctor to decide to go see you or what is going to be done with you. Once we have done the nursing orders, we cannot expedite things any further.
9) And finally- please remember nurses cannot legally prescribe medicine. Please do not ask me, "Can you get her something for pain?" I cannot order anything for pain; I can only administer what the physician orders. If I think someone is really in pain (see cellphone chatting and putting on lipstick) I will find a doctor, interrupt him whether it aggravates him or not, and fight to get my patient some pain medicine. If I also have three patients who are critically ill, you may have to be in pain awhile. I don't like this, because I've been there myself, but if the critically ill patients were your family members, you would understand and agree.

On a happier side, here are some nice things you may not know about ER nurses:
1) We do NOT think you're stupid if you come in because you have chest pain, and it turns out to be heartburn. Not at all. We worry you may not come back next time when you really are having a heart attack. We're glad it turned out to not be serious. We know chest pain is an important reason to come to the ER.
2) We do not think you are a baby if you are afraid of needles. However, if you hit the nurse who is attempting to start the IV, this will change.
3) We really don't want our patients to be uncomfortable or in pain. We will do what we can do take care of your pain and find you a pillow or that blanket, if time is permitting. There are many times when you actually do not sit down or go to the bathroom for twelve hours, but you may take five minutes to get a few things for your patient.
4) If you or your loved one is critically ill, we worry about you after you aregone. We hope you are okay, and try to find out how things turned out. If we hear it turned out badly, we are bummed out, especially the primary nurse that cared for you.
5) When young people die, ER nurses cry. Always.

Maybe this will help us all understand each other better. And if you have a really good experience in the ER, the best thing you can do to reward your nurse or physician is write a letter to the CEO of the hospital. I got one of these today and it more than made my day!! Knowing you made a positive difference for someone is what keeps you going on those long nights when it seems every patient wishes to a)hit you b)vomit on you c)snarl at you- and the floor nurses aren't happy with you either (because you keep bringing them patients)

Good luck if you are a patient in the scary world of the ER! I hope you are treated well. Please do your part.

Signal Mountain days

It seemed like there were always crickets- which I love. The sky was bluer, the air was cleaner (well, it is 5,000 feet in altitude) and in this dream world, everything was actually real.
When we first moved to Signal Mountain I was eight- I remember sitting in the backseat in great awe as we twisted and turned and went up what seemed like a never-ending mountain (I had previously been in the flatlands of Chicago) only to get to the greatest house in the whole world!! "Hefley House" as we call it (that's my maiden name) was a kid's perfect house on a kid's perfect yard. Two stories with a third split level den; six bedrooms; a screened in porch that was big enough to rollerskate on; a huge yard with climbing trees galore; a secret hideout attic where my sister painted a dragon on the door (it's still there) and a secret hideout cubbyhole beneath the porch that was Only Mine (because I was the only one short enough to stand up in it)
My childhood was like a William Wordsworth poem, only better. Most of it I remember being outdoors; riding my bicycle everywhere (everything was so safe!) jumping on the trampoline, playing with my friends. My Mom and Dad loved me and peace and harmony reigned throughout the earth. There wasn't any such thing as war or death or poverty or sickness. Everything moved in kind of a golden haze, and there was my dog Frisky beside me, running, always running, keeping ahead and then bounding in front of my bicycle.
A cold rainy day just meant a cozy afternoon with Mom in front of the fireplace, playing cards, or singing and playing "my" piano. My two big sisters were both beautiful, popular, and had lots of boyfriends, and I was terribly jealous- but it never seemed to make me unhappy.
At night I would lie in bed and sometimes sing songs, just because I felt happy. The window would be open and the warm air and the sound of crickets filled the room. There wasn't any place better on earth. I still don't think there is.
I had some wonderful friends, but two especially stand out in my memories. Lolly (ok, now she's grown up and Lehne) was very talented, funny, smart, and interesting. I was a little scared of her parents because their family seemed much more sophisticated than mine. They were always in plays at the local theater and Lolly could play the piano, sing, and cook, all better than me. I thought she was the coolest. Funny thing is, I still do- 34 (yikes!) years after we met, we're still best friends.
My other special friend was Dee Dee- especially after Lolly moved to Florida. Dee Dee was always up for anything fun, and everything was fun when you were with her. We lived on our bikes and our dogs were our pals (we even married them in a special ceremony) We played marbles, had a M*A*S*H club, came up with a million and one ways to play hide and seek, and always went sledding on her street because it went straight down and ended in a cul-de-sac...better than any theme show park attraction! Dee Dee's house seemed like my second home because I spent so much time there, and because I felt so comfortable there. Her parents were very like my own- they actually stayed married to each other for over fifty years- and there were three sisters at her house, too. Her family was always happy and even when we were tormenting her older sister or trying to hide from her younger sister, there never was any real animosity. We were too happy to really be mad at anybody. I was scared of her garage, but wouldn't ever tell her-she might think I was a baby! We played "Pong" at her kitchen table and thought it was the most amazing thing ever. She was my pal when I first Found Music-I think a very special part of a person's life. We had a big tape recorder and would put it next to the radio and listen to WGOW and WDEF and tape our favorite songs. Whenever I hear those old late seventies songs, that all comes back- the yellow bedroom with the twin beds, the hamsters that were always escaping, and the plans you always were making for More Fun Later On.
My parents recently died, and Dee Dee's parents recently died (her father very recently) and now she just lost a nephew, her older sister's son. Sometimes it is hard to reconcile the past with the present when life hits you with all this sadness. You can't live in the past, and there's so many people you love in the present you wouldn't want to, but oh, the memories are so sweet. I wish I could take them all and wrap them up in a box and give them to Dee Dee and her family. But I guess I don't need to; they already have them.
I think heaven will be a lot like Signal Mountain, except everyone we love, past and present, will be there. There won't be any worries or sadness; there will always be lots of love. Every day will be like a Christmas day.
Until then, I guess we take the love and the faith and the happiness of the memories and hold them in our hearts, to keep us strong so we can soldier on.

There are places I remember...
In my life, though some have changed
Some forever, some for better...
Some have gone, and some remain.
All these memories have their meaning
Of people and friends that went before
Some are dead and some are living
In my life, I loved them all.

(The Beatles)

This post is dedicated to the Herdy family, one of the best families I've ever known.
May God bless you and keep you
May His love comfort and sustain you
May you find your world again.
I love you all.


cheri grace