One Year

It's been one year. One year since Uncle Tellius passed away. One year since I had to watch my cousins bury their father. One year since I experienced an inkling of what it will be like to lose my own father. One year since I saw Daddy come face to face with his own mortality as he saw his younger brother slip away.

But beyond the pain and crushing grief at losing him to cancer when he seemed to have so many more years left to live, was the undeniable beauty of his life. My earliest memories of Uncle Tellius were a strange mixture of love and fear. He was an alcoholic and drug addict, a lifestyle he acquired during his time in Cambodia during the Vietnam War. I remember him breaking the kitchen chairs over the table when he became enraged that Aunt Gail had neglected refused to stock the fridge with beer. Another time, I remember fleeing the house with my cousins and aunt to take refuge at the next door neighbor's house until the pastor's wife could come and pick us up.

But I loved him. When he was relatively sober, he was fun to be with. He had lost his front teeth playing high school football, and he would get on all fours and chase us down the hall with his partials pushed out of his mouth, growling as we squealed in terror. He was so soft-hearted and such a push-over when it came to his daughters, Courtney, Allison and Sunshine.

He and Aunt Gail eventually divorced, but he finally admitted that he had a problem with substance abuse and got help. I was a child, so in my mind it happened overnight, but I'm sure there were times he backslid and fell off the wagon, but he eventually kicked the habit. He built a house on the property that belonged to my great-grandparents and started over fresh. He was the kind of uncle that never forgot a birthday, and I was sure to get a crisp $5 bill inside my birthday card. Somehow, losing him on my birthday seemed strangely fitting. I don't see it as a sad thing...it makes me feel all the more connected to him, in that no matter how many years go by I will always think of him on my birthday.

I don't remember how old I was, but at some point it occurred to me that we celebrate Veteran's Day for a reason, and that I felt that Uncle Tellius had been neglected in some way because of his service in Vietnam. I decided that year to send him a card thanking him for his service, and that was when our relationship changed. That one random act touched him deeply, and he let me know how much my words had meant to him. I vowed from that year on, I would always send a card on Veteran's Day.

Some years it was a card and some years it was flowers, but I always sent something. In 1997 when I announced that I was getting married, he was unable to attend because he was working a shut down at the plant where he worked. I know that it bothered him, but he sent me a letter explaining how much he wanted to be there and how he was flattered that I considered him role model and hero. Then he wrote:

"But you need to know that I also look up to you as a role model--you are my hero.

There are all sorts of heroes in the world, and all kinds of ways and events that turn people into them, but there is one ingredient I feel must be present in all heroic deeds and that ingredient is bravery. Not too many people possess it, understand it or even display it. Brave acts usually occur in a very few minutes or even seconds. The deed is done, the medal awarded and all is over.

But this is not so in your case. The bravery that you displayed over a very long and bitter conflict is to me what real heroes are made of. In most cases for what you did and what you went through, the medal of honor would surely have been issued--your courage and bravery is truly what makes up "The Right Stuff"!

You fought the long battle, and when the enemy laid siege you dug in and held the high ground. And when you were seriously wounded on the field of battle someone in the ranks yelled for a medic. But on this day there was no medic to be found--all had been killed. Then, out of the gun smoke and carnage came a man that no one knew except for you and a few of your comrades. He wore the insignia of a doctor--a Physician, and He tended to your wounds and stopped the bleeding. You recovered from your wounds and returned to the battlefield to see your army win the conflict.

Because of you Xan, I am able to cope with many conflicts in my life. The Bible says that we have been given a gift--you are one of my most treasured gifts. I know Trevor is a good man and that he loves you very much. I wish the both of you all the good things in life and many years together. It is logical. (You've totally got to be a Trekkie to get that reference)

Love,
Uncle Tellius"

I knew when my dad called me with the diagnosis, that it was only a matter of time before we would lose Uncle Tellius. I felt like even more of a kindred spirit because of our shared experience with cancer. Although the treatments devised by man failed him in the end, God did not. He went to his death surrounded by family and with the blessed assurance that he would be free from sin, pain and suffering forever. It was an unimaginable comfort to think of him singing songs of praise at the feet of Jesus, and knowing that I would see him again one day.

Although the years of addiction that tore his family apart could never be undone or forgotten, he was proof that God's sovereign plan for our lives cannot be stopped by our own sin and weakness. Uncle Tellius left behind a legacy of faith and an incredible example of how lives can be changed by the indwelling power of the Holy Spirit.

My grief is still raw even after a year, but I suppose that will heal with time. I find myself in tears at the most inopportune moments, and unable to find the words to even speak to his wife, Jan. If my grief is still fresh, what must it be like to lose a spouse? What must it be like for his son, Zach, to lose his father at the age of 14? Although I am unable to speak, I pray for them daily and I continue to remember the man I loved like a father. He was my hero.

Not Ready

Today marks the 5 month anniversary of Uncle Tellius' death. It hit me like a ton of bricks as I was writing the date in a patient's chart this morning. My heart cried out for Courtney as I celebrated Father's Day on Sunday with the knowledge that she was unable to pick up the phone and call her Daddy the way that I did. I was sorrowful as I tried to imagine my own life without Daddy...a reality that is closer rather than far away. The hope of twenty more years seems ridiculously short and inadequate, yet at least I have that hope.

I also had Mama, Aunt Gail and Uncle Chuck on my mind as I tried to imagine what they were feeling Sunday without Gramps. Although his death was more along the natural order of things, it doesn't lessen the impact of the loss, particularly on holidays. As I watched my children interact with Trevor and saw how much they love him I was thankful for his safe return to our little haven.

I am unable to articulate the depth of my grief regarding Uncle Tellius. I want to write about what a wonderful person he was, what solid faith he possessed, what impact his military service had on his life....there are so many things about him that I want to get out in the open, but I can't. Maybe I'm just not ready to open that wound yet. Even as I sit here typing I can't help but weep a little....for a life that seemed not quite finished, not entirely done. That is, of course, a human perspective. I know that God had a specific reason for Uncle Tellius' death and it may never be revealed to me. That's okay. If He thought I needed to know, I would.

But that doesn't stop me from grieving and carefully pulling out my memories of him to glance at briefly, and then shove back into the recesses of my mind. Holding them out in the light still hurts too much, but I know that one day I will be able to see them and enjoy them without tears and pain. I just keep holding on to that hope and look forward to the day that I can dust off those cobwebs and rejoice in the fact that I have memories to hold and cherish.

The Piano

I bought a piano for $50 today. It is an old, brown upright that was being sold at a garage sale. I had gone to the Jerusalem cemetery to put fresh flowers on Gramps' grave and I was at the Trinity cemetery to put flowers on Uncle Tellius' grave. The parsonage is right on the church property and Bro. Randy's daughter and son-in-law live in a house next to the graveyard and they were the ones having the garage sale.

As I drove up, I saw about 10 cars parked along the edge of the cemetery and at first I thought that there was a funeral service being conducted. Much to my horror, I realized that there was a garage sale in full swing as I was going to visit Uncle Tellius' grave for the first time since his death. It felt as though everyone was watching me as I walked past the tables and straight to the grave. I knelt to clear out the dried out flower arrangement that someone had left and replaced it with my own fresh flowers.

As I knelt there, the people milling around nearby left my mind and it was filled with memories of Uncle Tellius. Today marks the 4th month since his death and kneeling there before the mound of still fresh earth brought his death into sharp focus. Living in Texas affords me the luxury of blurring the memories of his illness and death, and going home was like opening a barely closed wound. And as always, I felt a twinge of guilt at my grief as I remembered how much more my cousins have suffered and grieved for the loss of their Daddy. As much as I loved him (and love him still), he was not my father and as strange as it might sound I feel weirdly guilty for my grief.

There are many that knew him better and were closer to him than I ever was. Many with closer ties and more stories and a lifetime of memories to tell. But, in spite of the twinge of guilt, I still grieve for a life that didn't seem quite finished. I know that God is on His throne and in control of everything, but the human part of me screams out "Why?! It's not fair!" like a petulant child.

So, as I prayed through my tears at the foot of his grave for understanding and peace, I began to feel better. I stayed for a few more minutes and then I made my way back to the car. As I was walking past the tables I saw a sign on the wall advertising a piano for $50. I just could not pass that up. We have been wanting a piano for a long time now and this seemed like the perfect opportunity. I paid for it and figured that we would devise a plan for getting it back to Texas. As it turns out, that is becoming a thorn in my side and would require an entire blog of it's own to do it justice!

I am so excited about this piano. Now the kids can take lessons, I can start playing again and we can sing around it when Mama and Daddy come to visit. I can't wait to make those kinds of memories with my kids and to see them learn how to appreciate and love music the way Trevor and I do.

Alexandra and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

This has been a very sad day. Last night we received a call from Trevor's mom that Charly was going in to surgery because of an ectopic pregnancy. She had been having problems since she found out she was pregnant several weeks ago, and had gone in for a ultrasound to check everything out. The egg had implanted in her left fallopian tube and was about to rupture, so they had to surgically remove the tube.

The surgery went fine with no complications, but Will and Charly were on my heart last night and again when I woke up this morning. I kept racking my brain trying to figure out what I could do to make them feel better, but nothing seemed adequate. What can you say that doesn't sound ridiculous and trite the moment it leaves your mouth?

When I arrived at work my friend Kasi came into the CT room and shut the door. I excitedly asked her how she was feeling since she just found out last week that she was pregnant. What I did not expect was the flood of tears along with the news that she had miscarried the night before. She had enough bleeding early yesterday that the MD ordered an ultrasound to check things out. By Tuesday evening she realized that she had miscarried, but reading the ultrasound report this morning confirmed her fears.

My heart just broke to see her pain and tears...all I could do was hug her and reassure her that there was nothing she could have done to prevent this from happening. I helped her get out of the building so that she wouldn't have to face anyone just yet and she went home.

First Charly, now Kasi. It's hard to glorify God in the face of such grief, but that is all we can do. We have to trust in His sovereignty and know that no matter what happens in our lives, He is in control. That is reason enough to glorify Him. All I can do is offer words of support to these women that I love and be available to them in whatever way they need me.

If Only......

As the reports began to emerge Monday from Virginia Tech, the country watched in horror as the death toll mounted. First it was thought there were two shooters, and then it was finally determined that it was in fact one disturbed student behind the whole thing. It is impossible to gauge the number of lives this act of violence has destroyed or how long it will take the family and friends of the victims to come to terms with what has happened.

It's been less than a week since those 32 people lost their lives and I have heard so many people make the comment that the campus police should have locked down the campus after the first 2 shootings that happened in a dorm. Why did it take 2 hours to inform the Virginia Tech students? Why didn't they do something more? To that I can only say that hindsight is 20/20, and retrospectively I'm sure that all parties involved wished that they had done things differently. Of course they do....the same way that people who survive horrible car wrecks think and rethink the events leading up to the accident. "If only I had left the house 2 minutes earlier instead of running back inside for that bottle of water. If only I had not stopped to chat with the neighbor for 5 minutes...then I would have completely avoided the accident." If only....if only. Anyone who has been the victim of a random event has had this maddening thought repeating over and over again. We think that if we can rationalize and logic it to death that it will be easier to come to terms with the event.

Sometimes things just happen. It doesn't matter what you do or don't do. You can't plan for it and you can't see the future, and it's not really fair to try and assign blame although that is our first reaction to the unexplainable. The campus police thought the first shooting was a domestic violence situation. They had sent deputies out to find the boyfriend of one of the victims and thought that they were on the right track. They had no reason to believe and no way of knowing that there was a mentally unstable student on his way to the post office to mail his manifesto en route to the building where he would take 30 more lives and then his own. Why would they have notified the entire campus that a jealous boyfriend lost control and shot his girlfriend and the guy he thought she was seeing behind his back? They felt like they had the situation in hand and all the bases covered.

Why does our society try to assign blame where it doesn't belong? We blame childhoods filled with abuse for the actions of pedophiles and child abusers and give them lenient sentences and probation. We blame cigarette companies for causing lung cancer, and gun manufacturers for children being shot in the streets. People need to stop deflecting attention away from their own actions by blaming others and take some responsibility for the things they have done. Yes, you may have had a crappy, abuse-filled childhood but you had the choice to move on and not perpetuate the atrocities you experienced. No one forced you to smoke 2 packs a day for 28 years, so don't act surprised when you get hit with the cancer stick and are given 6 months to live. Guns don't kill people....people kill people.

It's grown to such ridiculous proportions that we don't have any idea how to respond to a crisis except to point fingers. Stupid amounts of tax dollars are going to be spent trying to assign blame in Virginia over the next few months. I could save them a lot of money if they would just ask me whose fault it is. How about the 23 year old killer who methodically shot and murdered 32 people? When all is said and done, it was his fault that this happened. Should the school have made more of an effort to counsel him and get to the bottom of his frightening writings? Probably. Should the police have locked down the campus after the first shooting? Perhaps. But blaming someone other than Cho for what happened is completely irresponsible. It's ridiculous to say that things would have turned out differently if we had done B instead of A. If only the school had just seen the warning signs and taken him seriously. If only his classmates had tried harder to reach out to him. If only. That sort of rationalization begins to turn the victimizer into a victim and that is no way to honor the memory of the dead.

Every Season

As I was driving to work this morning, I was listening to a song by Nichole Nordeman called "Every Season". Summer is just around the corner and I was thinking of all the plans we've made and about how life goes on even without those we've lost. We are planning to go to Mama and Daddy's for the 4th of July and Uncle Tellius and Gramps won't be there for the family celebration. But we will and there will be laughter and fun and we will remember them in small and large ways. Every season is a chance for God to change us and make us stronger and sometimes that molding process involves grief and pain to reshape us. God is there in all the seasons of our life to guide us and to hold us. Thank you God, for sending difficult times so that through your grace and power and I can see the important things more clearly.

Ecclesiastes 3:1 To everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under heaven

Every evening sky, an invitation
To trace the patterned stars
And early in July, a celebration
For freedom that is ours
And I notice You in children’s games
In those who watch them from the shade
Every drop of sun is full of fun and wonder
You are summer

And even when the trees have just surrendered
To the harvest time
Forfeiting their leaves in late September
And sending us inside
Still I notice You when change begins
And I am braced for colder winds
I will offer thanks for what has been and was to come
You are autumn

And everything in time and under heaven
Finally falls asleep
Wrapped in blankets white, all creation shivers underneath
And still I notice You when branches crack
And in my breath on frosted glass
Even now in death, You open doors for life to enter
You are winter

And everything that’s new has bravely surfaced
Teaching us to breathe
What was frozen through is newly purposed
Turning all things green
So it is with You and how You make me new
With every season’s change
And so it will be as You are re-creating me
Summer, autumn, winter, spring

Nichole Nordeman

It's All Relative

Trevor told me the other night that he is not going to China at the end of April as planned. He's been trying to get back over there to complete a project since his first trip of the year was aborted in February. One problem after another has surfaced and so he's still here and the project is still incomplete. I'm sorry that he has work that he can't finish, but I am really glad that he is here with us instead of halfway across the planet.

This postponement of his trip also means that I don't have to switch call at work with anyone and now I will be off for Memorial Day weekend. I want to go home to Louisiana this year and visit the graves of Gramps and Uncle Tellius. I have always been overwhelmed by the sacrifice and heroism of these two men. Gramps was a paratrooper in World War II and Uncle Tellius served in Vietnam and I tried to let them know each year on Veteran's Day how much their service meant to me. This is the first Memorial Day since we lost them, and I want to do something special. I'm not sure what I'm going to put on the graves, but hopefully it will be something that they would have appreciated when they were alive.

This trip home will also be my first since Uncle Tellius' funeral. It's funny how we begin to mark things in relationship to the deaths of people we love. Thanksgiving was the first holiday after Gramps died. Christmas was the last holiday that we had with Uncle Tellius. Even the days of the month take on different meaning. The 16th will be the 8 month anniversary of Gramp's death and the 19th will be 3 months for Uncle Tellius. I don't write this to be morbid...it's just my reality now. I can't see how I'll ever write those numbers again without thinking of the loss my family has suffered.

Still, I find comfort in the thought that one day I will see them both again. There will be no more pain, suffering or tears when we all reunite in heaven. I Thessalonians 4:13-18 But I do not want you to be ignorant, brethren, concerning those who have died already, lest you sorrow as others who have no hope. For if we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so God will bring with Him those who sleep in Jesus. For this we say to you by the word of the Lord, that we who are alive and remain until the coming of the Lord will by no means precede those who are dead. For the Lord Himself will descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of an archangel, and with the trumpet of God. And the dead in Christ will rise first. Then we who are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. And thus we shall always be with the Lord. Therefore comfort one another with these words.

Can you think of a more glorious thing than the rapture? Every time I read this passage I get goosebumps and tears in my eyes. I am promised a reunion with those that I love who died as believers in Christ. "And Lord haste the day when my faith shall be sight. The clouds be rolled back as a scroll. The trump shall resound and the Lord shall descend; even so, it is well with my soul"

A Life of Generosity

It's been a little over 7 months since my Gramps died. Thomas Battice Effler. Mr. B. Daddy. Tom. Honey. Uncle B. He had many names, but he was Gramps to me. I still miss him terribly and I suppose that's never going to go away. I dream of him now and then....dreams where I can talk to him again and ask him about where I should plant a particular tree or shrub. Sometimes he's the young and vibrant man I remember from my childhood. Forearms like Popeye from years of hanging sheet rock and painting houses. Strong arms for hugging and picking me up. Making a "prison" by crossing his legs while sitting in his recliner and keeping me in it as I squealed to be let out, but not really meaning it. Sometimes he is the older man of more recent years....sick more than he was well. In those dreams he wants me to lay next to him and just be. In those dreams I know that he is dying, but I have time to say goodbye.

No matter what dreams I have about Gramps, one thing doesn't change. That unchangeable thing is my memory. I have a lifetime of memories that involve him. As was evident as I heard his eulogy at the funeral, the defining characteristic of his life was his unfailing faith in Jesus Christ and because of that faith a generosity of spirit that was unmatched. I could write a thousand stories that reveal the depths of his giving heart, but I'll stick with just a few that have special meaning to me.

I recently bought gerbils for my children. As I was standing in the pet store debating what kind of shavings to put in the bottom of the cage, I suddenly teared up. I hadn't thought of this in almost 20 years, but when I was in high school I had two white mice. I had gone home to Louisiana for a visit and when I told Gramps that I had mice, he didn't have too much to say. But later that day, he said, "Youngin', get into the truck. We're going to Teddy's" When Gramps said to get going, you got going or got left behind, so I hopped in the truck and went along with him. When we got there, he pulled out a long piece of cedar that he had gotten out of his woodworking shop. Uncle Teddy had a planer, and Gramps planed that piece of wood down to a pile of cedar shavings fit for a mouse cage. It filled a huge bag and lasted me for months. It was such a small thing, but it meant enough that I remember it still.

He and Granny never missed any big event in my life. I come from a Masonic family, and I was very active in Rainbow Girls. I was a Grand Officer (state officer) and held a position of leadership in the local assembly. They were there for all of my important ceremonies. Granny made all of the food for the reception that followed and Gramps made my wooden gavel out of black walnut wood. It sits on my shelf and I think of him every time I pick it up.

When I was 19, I was diagnosed with Hodgkin's Disease. I underwent a exploratory laparotomy and splenectomy 4 days after my 20th birthday. The surgery was at a ridiculously early hour of the morning and it was still dark outside when they came to get me. As I looked beyond my parents and the nurses, I saw my Granny and Gramps walk through my hospital room door. They had driven in the night before and made it to the hospital in time to see me and pray with me before I went in. You just cannot know how that made me feel. Knowing that Granny and Gramps were there somehow made it better.

A few weeks before Gramps died, Mama had called me on a Friday night to tell me that he was in the hospital again. It wasn't really any different than all the other times that he had been admitted in recent months, but it was the first time that I had a vision of him in a nursing home. I saw him as old and frail, and it shocked me. You would think that it wouldn't considering the fact that he had been old and frail for some time, but I guess some part of my brain still saw him as that young, vibrant man of my childhood. I had a sudden feeling that I needed to see him. I felt like I was being pulled home and I had to go. I talked to Trevor about it, and made arrangements to leave the next morning.

When I arrived in Hammond, I went straight to the hospital but was told that he had been discharged so I went to Granny and Gramps' house. Maybe he wasn't so sick after all....maybe my gut feeling was nothing. I surprised Granny (I hadn't told anyone that I was coming) and after discovering that he was in fact still in the hospital, I went back over there. I finally found his room, and as I entered, I greeted him with, "Hey faker!" The smile that he gave me was enough to just melt my heart. "Youngin'!" he said in disbelief, "what are you doing here?" We sat and visited for several hours. Just everyday stuff. Sick or not, Gramps was still sharp as a tack. He was never afraid of expressing his opinion and he didn't start that Saturday as we spoke. We reminisced about memories of each other and he told me stories of boot camp and World War II in Germany. He told me about how he met Granny and how much he loved her then and loved her still after 59 years of marriage.

I left him later that day fully intending to spend most of the next morning with him before I had to head back home, but a call early Sunday morning from Trevor sent me flying home to him. We didn't know it at the time, but he had a kidney stone and didn't know the cause of his pain. There was no way for me to know when I leaned down and kissed Gramps goodbye that it would be the last time I would see him alive. I told him that I loved him and he said the same and then I was gone.

The call came in the middle of the night just a week or so later. Gramps went quickly due to a pulmonary embolism....we could not have asked for a better way for him to go. No pain, and he was lucid right up to the end. His was a life well lived for the glory of God and he left behind a legacy of love and generosity that knows no equal. I like to think when I perform a random act of kindness that I am somehow channeling Gramps a little bit. He would be horrified if he heard me say that, but I don't care.

So, I'll keep dreaming of him and telling my children stories of his exceptional love and generosity. We will tell and retell the stories of how Gramps threw us in the swimming pool to teach us how to swim, when we get together at Christmas, along with all the other familiar stories that we know by heart. I will keep seeing him in unexpected places and in my dreams, and I thank God for letting me be fortunate enough to be his granddaughter.

And So it Begins....

The diet that is. I lost about 50 lbs last spring/summer with the help of some consistent circuit training and Weight Watchers. When my grandfather passed away this past August, I spent the entire trip home to Louisiana enjoying the good home cooking that I associate with a) my family and b) funerals. We're from the South...it wouldn't be considered a proper funeral without eating in the fellowship hall afterwards. Several times during that visit, my brother and his wife (who are usually dieting with me) laughed off the extra eating with me by commenting, "Leave us alone...we're grieving!" Now that may sound crass to some, to joke about Gramps' death like that, but that's the kind of family we are. If you can't find the humor in the situation, then what's the point? I am more likely to break out into nervous laughter at a funeral than a crying jag....it's just the way I'm made. Anyway, that's completely off the current subject, so I'll move on.

So, after the food fest I had in August I never really got back on track with my diet and exercise. Then came the dreaded holiday season; in my family it's just not Thanksgiving and Christmas without round the clock eating of all the traditional foods that we enjoy. Colossal cookies, caramel popcorn, Texas trash, Martha Washington candy, cheese logs, sausage pinwheels....oh the list goes on and on. So you see my problem.....grief eating and then traditional holiday gorging. Just as we got past the holidays and I felt my resolve strengthening, we had another death in the family. My uncle Tellius had been ill for several years with colon cancer and finally succumbed to it. He passed away on my 35th birthday and I am actually glad that it happened that way. Although I could never forget him no matter when he died, now I will have a special reason to remember him every year.

So more grief eating and lowered resolve followed, and here we are. The good news is that I've only gained back about 10 lbs in spite of my best efforts to ruin my progress. The bad news is that I will be cranky and hungry for about a week until I get my body realigned with healthy eating and exercise habits. This has prompted me to issue a general warning to all family and friends who might have the opportunity to come into direct contact with me. I AM CRANKY AND HUNGRY. IF I SNAP AT YOU, IT IS JUST MY STOMACH TALKING. DO NOT TAKE IT PERSONALLY. That is all.

I make a solemn pledge to all people out there who do not need or want to do Weight Watchers: "I will try to keep conversations about my weight, number of points consumed daily and point values of food to a bare minimum. I give permission for blank stares and glassy eyes if I begin such a conversation." I have been told that I obsess (whatever) about the point values of food not just for myself, but for every one around me. It's not my fault if I feel compelled to point out that the 350lb woman at the table next to us at Chili's is eating a 45 point Awesome Blossom all by herself. Or that maybe, just maybe we could all use a little self control when eating those 2 point a pop candies. But I will do my best this time not to bore you guys with the detail...I will just dazzle you with the results!