Take the Day

I’ve had this weekend marked on my calendar. Every time I came across it, I took in a deep breath. Truth is, even oxygen can’t prepare you for this range of emotion. 

Change isn’t easy and to be honest, the past few months have been hard. I have found myself in tough situations and needing mama’s advice. Quite simply, there is absolutely nothing like the soothing comfort of your mama. 

I had a breakdown in the doctors office yesterday. Seems there is a plot twist in this life with a Lord who has a great sense of humor. Apparently I have gallstones and had a meeting with my surgeon this week to have my gallbladder removed. This with the upcoming anniversary of mom‘s passing from gallbladder cancer came to me all at once in the doctors office and I became a blubbering idiot. In one of my pitiful pleas to my husband, I said, “I just need my mama.”

Take the day. 

Buy the shoes. 

Eat the cake. 

That’s what mama said. As early as I can remember, she always encouraged me as a young mother to take time out for myself and enjoy life. She knew the demands of work, wife, and family far too well. She didn’t just say it, she lived it. So much so that we made a shirt the summer after her diagnosis to promote the lessons we had learned from her. 

Take the Day. 

In classic form, as today approached I kept thinking about what to do. The weather wasn’t cooperating with chances of showers all day long. My vision of riding with a convertible top down or hiking at Goforth Creek quickly diminished. So I decided to try something totally new.

No agenda. No expectations. Just a day. 

If you know anything about me, you know I’m a planner. If you knew my mother, you know why. The idea of having no plans is foreign to me. I just don’t quite know how to do it. Apparently neither do my people as evident in the number of times Robbie asked me what we were going to do. 

When I woke up this morning, I was hoping I would be ready to jump out of bed for a day adventure. Instead I just wanted to lay in the bed, cuddle with my pups, turn my phone off, and wait until Monday arrived. I finally talked myself into a shower and we decided to head to Chattanooga with our best dog Max. Turns out all I needed was a good steak, sunshine, and a patio at the Daily Ration.

Of course my day had to involve good food and the people I love. As I sat there on the patio, I tried to remember when a good lunch with good people became therapy for me. It’s hard to trace it back. My entire life has been built around being with those you love and enjoying great food. Some of my most fond memories are with my mom in the kitchen as she made me stir the chocolate chip cookie batter so that she could prepare multiple dozens to deliver to friends and family. I remember many times talking about boyfriend troubles, friend drama, school challenges and all of the other things that teenagers struggle with.  It seems she tricked me. I guess I opened up because I didn’t realize that I was bearing my soul while I was helping her in the kitchen. 

Eat the Cake. 

Our next stop was pivotal in our day adventure and we found ourselves headed to the Frothy Monkey for some dessert. Mama believed there wasn’t much that couldn’t be cured by some flour and sugar. I have to be honest, the past few years have brought more challenges than I would like to recollect. The sheer reality of those challenges made me reflect on how drastically our lives have changed. The dynamics of our family are ever changing and it was quickly evident our lives didn’t work the same without mama. She was my go-to...the voice on the other end of the phone who always knew what to say and would reassure me in my faith and love for my life. I have found myself wrestling with the new me - the woman who has to find a new voice in her life. I never had to “open up” with mom. She knew when I was hurting and exactly what to say. I miss her guidance more than anything. As my slice of lemon cake arrived, I could hear mama’s voice “Auts, one should never waste calories on a dessert with fruit. Save them for the chocolate.”

Buy the Shoes. 

Our last stop was Academy Sports for me to buy a pair of turf shoes. I am 100% certain, these are not the kind of shoes mama was talking about. But it was shoe shopping nonetheless. As we finished our cake and prepared for our final destination, I looked down at Max and noticed he had started to shake. We quickly realized he was about to have a seizure.  So instead of shoe shopping, we found ourself racing back to Cleveland to take Max to our vet. {For those Max lovers out there, he is resting comfortably at Taylor Animal Hospital overnight and has been seizure free tonight}

It wasn’t the way I planned it, but today was perfect. I didn’t get to “buy the shoes”, but I ended the day comforting our family pet of 14 years.  It reminded me of the day mom passed. We were driving through Ohio when we got the call. As I heard my dad’s words through the phone, I heard my daughter start to cry in the back seat. Robbie immediately pulled over for me to climb in the back seat with her. I instantly went into mom-mode and held my broken-hearted 12 year old. At that moment, I wasn’t Paulette’s daughter. I was Lily’s mom. 

I will never be half the woman she was. The profound impact my mother had on this world never ceases to amaze me. She was a pastor’s wife and secretary who changed this big world with her faith, her love, and thousands of chocolate chip cookies.

Tomorrow I will spend the anniversary of her death the only way she would want me to...on the softball field with my daughter. And coincidently we’ll be wearing red.  

#teamred #april13th

{sixty-four}

Its kind of funny.  This spring, my facebook feed was obsessed with a giraffe named April who was about to give birth.  I would see posts sharing the live feed of April pacing and sitting and pacing and sitting.  Here lately, I feel like April . Something just doesn't feel right and I can't quite get settled.  I also feel like everyone is watching and waiting.  Watching and waiting for the big moment.  To be honest, so am I.  In my experience, this kind of wait always ends with a great explosion before picking up the pieces and moving on.  I'm not sure that's the case this time.  I think this wait is permanent.

I have a hard time admitting it. I’ve lost joy. I know life isn’t over and there are plenty of happy times ahead, but I truly can’t remember the last time I laughed so hard it hurt. Wait. Yes I can. It was Christmas 2016. It was one month after mom’s diagnosis. My nuclear family was gathered together for the first time in many years. We were dressed in Santa #teamred shirts and headed to my Aunt Lynda’s for Christmas dinner. We arrived and realized Mom and Dad were delayed. When they arrived, daddy had a very guilty look on his face. After much teasing and suggestions on why they were late, we learned the real story.  Turns out they had spent the whole day wearing the wrong #teamred shirt. They were actually wearing each other’s shirt. Mom’s was a little too big and Dad’s was a little snug. What a perfect problem. So what does a married couple of 44 years do?  Pull over on the side of the road and swap shirts!

I don’t know why but this story brought me so much joy. They were both so proud they’d swapped shirts in the front seat of their Cadillac. It was much fun and we had a great chuckle about it. I remember watching my dad laugh until he cried (dad's signature move), and thinking I was glad we could all still laugh after mom's diagnosis.

This picture was taken on the return flight from mom and dad's 40th anniversary trip to Punta Cana.  Tate and Lily were continuing their flight from Atlanta and going to spend a few weeks with mom and dad in NY.  I remember thinking as they walked away that I couldn't imagine missing something more than I did in that moment. I felt my heart was walking away from me, one step at a time.

I was wrong.  I could miss something as much.  And in this case, the missing is permanent.

I remember her 40th. I drove home to TN. We had an argument at the end of the weekend. It’s the last argument I remember between us. The only arguing we did over the past 20 years was about me taking care of myself.  She would tell me I needed to eat better and get more rest.  I would give anything to argue with her again. 

Life moves on and so do people. The truth is I’ve had a hard enough time putting one foot in front of the other so I’m not quite sure how to actually move on. I woke up Sunday morning and realized I had to celebrate. The fact of the matter is Mom would far rather celebrate her birth than remember her death.  I have a wonderful husband, two amazing kids, and more loving friends and family than I deserve.  And the truth is, that's more than enough.  I'm in this new place where I can feel so much happiness and so much emptiness all in the same breath.  And that's perfectly okay.  It makes me value the things I have so much more.

Happy 64th Mama!  You lived 15,895 beautiful days.

You are loved.  You are missed.  And I'm so glad you were born.

Red

I haven’t written in awhile. And to be honest, I don’t really feel like writing now. My head has somehow convinced my heart that writing will give my words an exit from the whirlwind they’ve been on lately. 

It’s been a month. 

A month without our morning talks. A month of sorting out paperwork. A month without her Facebook comments. A month wearing her wedding band. 

A month of our new normal. 

The thing is there was nothing normal about being her daughter so it’s incomprehensible figuring out how to live without her. 

I know people often say their mom is their best friend.  I would never say that.  To me, she was so much more.  I had the blessing of a mother who was the greatest human on the planet.  Today, I found something she had written down.  I assume she read it and wanted to remember it.  For me, it summed up her life perfectly.

"May you have enough happiness to make you sweet, enough trials to make you strong, enough sorrow to keep you human and enough hope to make you happy."

I only saw her angry once in my adult life and it was last year. Dad tried to sneak blueberries in her morning smoothie and she was NOT happy about it. She stormed through that living room like there was a bee in her bonnet. Poor daddy didn’t stand a chance. 

I do recall some instances when we were young where her red hair got the best of her. They almost all revolved around her kids and sports. I remember my senior year we played in the sub-sectionals at McAvoy Park. I stole second and slid into a hard tag. My helmet flew off and by the time I came to, mama was standing over me in her heels and suit. Apparently she had bounded down the bleachers and had choice words for the shortstop who, in her opinion, used “excessive tagging”. 

She had a laugh that would fill up a room. It was a head tilted back, mouth wide open, belly laugh that made you feel her joy. I heard it most often in the presence of my brothers. They would say something inappropriate, she would laugh hysterically and then scold them and tell them they were “not right.”  I heard it just last week coming from my daughter while she was FaceTiming a friend. It makes me happy that I can hear mom’s vivacious laugh through my twelve year old. Her spirit is nestled way deep in our Lily Bean. 

I learned my greatest lessons from her.  

She taught me to not only love, but to say it often and love unconditionally.  
She taught me to not only laugh, but to laugh so hard that tears roll down my face.
She taught me to not only play, but to dance whenever I got the chance.
She taught me to not only pray, but to believe in my prayers and trust his hand in my life.

The other day I was driving down the road when one of her favorite songs came on the radio.  It immediately took my breath away.  As I sat in my car sobbing, the final verse came through loud and clear...

"Just remember in the winter, far beneath the bitter snows

Lies the seed, that with the sun's love in the spring becomes the rose."

I miss her. I miss her so much that my heart sometimes feels it will burst out of my chest. And just when I feel the tears well up, I hear her voice “Don’t cry sis. I’m right here.”  

And I know she is. 

Climb

“I don’t think I can do it, mom.”

“Baby girl.  I know you can.”

And just like that, she amazes me. 

Time after time.

Words are hard to find when it comes to describing a life with my Lily Bean.  Every second with her is like a really deep, cleansing breath.

Determined.

Funny.

Confident.

Thoughtful.

When she was a baby, I always said we could leave for the weekend and she would be fine, as long as she had food, her blankie “Bay” and her two fingers. It’s actually amazing to think about now.  Something about her was just so calming, even as an infant.  She brought such a balance to our family that was desperately needed. That remains true to this day.

On this past Sunday, her confidence wavered.  She had brought four of her dear friends to a climbing facility to celebrate her birthday.  I don’t think she thought through the fact that she had never been rock climbing before.  Immediately in her first climb, I could see an unfamiliar look in her eyes.

“Mom.  I’m scared.  What do I do?”

“You can’t give up now, girl.  Just take it one step at time. Remember. If you fall, there is something there to catch you.”

The first step was the hardest.  With each reach for the next rock, her pace increased and her strength improved until she finally reached the top.  And then she climbed to the top over and over again.

That girl.  She is something else.

When I think of being the mother of Lily Katherine O’Bryan, I think of lyrics from one of my college favorites:

Feet on ground

Heart in hand

Facing forward

Be yourself

~Jann Arden

Happy Birthday, my sweet Lily Bean.  May you never stop climbing.

~ao

Redemption Ride

I had been looking forward to this specific ride all summer.  If there were ever a year I need to refocus, it was this one.  Partially because I finally took some significant time off  this summer and enjoyed three weeks in New York.  But mostly due to the fact that last year was the most difficult of my professional career.

Every year, I take a long bike ride before the beginning of the school year to clear my head and set goals for the new year.  This year was delayed for a variety of reasons.  After a full week of school, I finally found the time and energy to take a Sunday afternoon ride. 

Earbuds In.

Playlist on.

Eyes to the path.

It started like any other ride.  I started off slow, gaining speed with each push of the pedal.  I pedaled faster hoping to clear my head.  It was quickly evident, the Lord had other plans.

Redemption.

I just couldn’t get it out of my mind and I wasn't exactly sure why.  For some reason, I had a replay of every redemption story I had encountered.  I couldn't help but wonder if the Lord was preparing me for something or settling something.  Either way, he had my attention.

I witnessed my first redemption story at a young age.  I remember watching the story unfold and wondering if I would ever see things the same way again.  Since then, I’ve seen it happen over and over again.

Fall.

Suffer.

Rise.

Redeemed.

Being a high school principal, I watch the redemption story happen daily.  Let’s face it.  Teenagers screw up.  Over and over and over again.  Just recently, I have watched the most amazing transformation of a student that couldn’t get out of his own way.  Fall after fall after fall, he just couldn’t stand back up.  And then it happened.  He was finally able to claim his redemption story.

The one thing I have learned over the years is that redemption is a journey and it doesn’t happen overnight.  I think that’s the hardest fight we battle as Christians.  We expect that once we accept Christ as our savior, that our struggles should be done.  Wouldn’t that make for a simple story?

A friend of mine once told me, “Forgiveness doesn’t show weakness, it exhibits the greatest of strength.”  I firmly believe if you can’t love through adversity then you never really loved at all.  Redemption is not simple.  Christ’s love for us is just a great example of what he expects from us. I’m thankful he loved first.  I’m thankful he forgave us.  I’m thankful he died for that which he forgave.