Nothing Makes Sense ..

There was a young man..his name is Brandon Hydrick. I tell you his name because when you read this post I want you to say his name to yourself and think of him for that split second. He was 26 - and a victim of a senseless murder early yesterday morning.

Brandon's death hit too close to our home. Just hours earlier he was laughing, sitting around a bonfire at a private camp area back in the fields, enjoying a beautiful night with his brother, Ryan, and my youngest son, Brandon, his girlfriend and several other close friends. After everyone left my son drove off first; thinking her took the wrong road at the "Y", he called back to Hydrick and Ryan, as he could still see their truck in the field getting ready to leave. My Brandon was going to turn around and follow them out but Hydrick told him to keep going and he would be okay on the road he was on. Shortly there after Hydrick and his brother encountered a man in the middle of the road with an AK-47. The guy lived in the middle of the "Y" - fork in the road. He blocked the side to freedom, forcing Ryan to drive down the dead end road. They turned around at the dead end, as they sped past him, the man shot at the vehicle, through the tailgate into the cab of their truck, killing Brandon Hydrick with a bullet to his back.

As parents Rich and I feel guilty for being grateful that our Brandon didn't turn around...he kept going just like Hydrick told him to do. It would be almost 8 hours later that my Brandon would learn from a phone call from a police investigator what happened behind him on that dark country road.

Brandon Hydrick has been a part of our lives and family for 12-13 years. Best friend to all of my children, at  most events..even at the hospital when Evie was born. We all loved him and grieve his loss. Our hearts are broken for his family....our hearts break for my children and nieces that struggle to make sense of this tragedy.

Please say his name in prayer for all who loved him.

Brandon Hydrick.

Bringing Back the Sunday Dinner

I grew up in North Alabama, 5 hours away from my Grandparents (cousins, aunts/uncles). My Mom's parents were Grandmama & Granddaddy and my Dad's parents were Granny & Papa. Each set was vastly different from the other - but still very much the same. Granny & Papa were more lively, they told jokes and laughed a lot. Grandmama & Granddaddy seemed more serious and matter-of-fact. They didn't play with us but it could be because they had 11 children all with a minimum of 4 children each and they were constantly worn out over the largeness of their family.

Once a month or so Daddy  would pile us into the back of our huge-ass wood paneled station wagon or in the covered back of his pickup truck, and we would hit the road South.  The routine was always the same: Drive straight through until we got to Granny's. When we arrived close to midnight Granny would have an Orange Pound Cake and a 7-layer Chocolate Cake sitting on the kitchen table just waiting for us. We'd hit the beds as fast as we could because we knew 7am and breakfast would come too fast - no sleeping in for any of us! Granny would get up at the crack of dawn and start making breakfast, fried eggs, grits, toasts, bacon, ham....(love me some southern breakfast!) which we always ate off of her fine china. After breakfast my Mother would either wash or dry the dishes while the 'girls' (me and Rhonda) got dressed. Then it was off to town to visit Grandmama & Granddaddy while the 'boys' got to stay behind with my Dad and do fun stuff like fish, swing on ropes in the pond, dig in the dirt, ride in Papa's old truck, do 'stuff' with my Dad and Papa. My sister and I drug our feet all the way to the car every Saturday morning because we just knew the boys were going to have more fun that us. Once at Grandmama's house we sat around, waited for a cousin or two to pop over and just...sat around. Sometimes we would get to go downtown on the city square where Granddaddy owned a barber shop (there were no fast food places, department stores...nothing)...tiny town USA. But mostly, we just wandered around the yard looking for something to do until my Dad and Brothers arrived late in the afternoon for a bit of supper, Hee Haw, and many family people to arrive.

Sunday morning we would get up and head to my Grandmama & Granddaddy's church. Granddaddy led singing, my cousin played piano and everyone sang loudly, and some even in key. Once service was over we would all go back to Grandmama's house for "Sunday Dinner" - it took place around 1 o'clock. It was like waking up on Christmas morning and you realize Santa had come in the night and the tree was littered with presents. Except, it would be the dining room table weighted down with some of the most delicious southern Alabama food. Grandmama must have gotten up with the roosters to prepare the massive spread for 50; she would have the food on the table before church and cover it up with a sheet. After church the sheet would come off and all the Angels sangs "Ahhhhhhhhh"! Now, I don't know if she cooked like that every Sunday for the family down there or if it was a treat saved just for our visit (that's what I like to believe, although I know it's not true) - but it made me feel so special!

Ham, fried chicken, chicken and dumplings, dressing, potatoes, black-eyed peas, little green peas (the best in the World), cornbread, fried cornbread, rolls, okra, fresh tomatoes...too much to remember but, Man...I love that food! And don't get me started on the dessert table and sweet tea! I could slip into a food coma just thinking about it right now! There is just something so special and unique about having Sunday Dinner - although Mama didn't throw down a Sunday dinner like Grandmama for us when we were at home, I always looked forward to whatever she made just because it was Sunday and food just tasted better on Sundays!

My Grandparents are gone now, along with my Mom and Dad. How I wish I could have just one more Sunday dinner with them all again! I wish my children and grandchildren could experience the gift of one of those Sunday dinners that I was given.

Last Sunday I threw down some southern Alabama cooking - Fried chicken, peas, fried cornbread, sweet potatoes...well, it was a semi throwdown. But it was yummy! Yummy! It was then that I realized that it was up to me to bring back the tradition of Sunday dinner! And not just any kind of food..but to resurrect the joy of that food spread under the sheet on Grandmama's table. So I have a challenge ahead of me!

I'm bringing back Sunday Dinner ya'll!

Dear You!

My feelings are truly hurt by your action...or inaction.

That is all.

Peace.

Ouchy!

I am one of THOSE people..clumsy, accident pron..the one of who Murphy's Law was based one. If it's going to happen to ANYONE - it will happen to Me!!

I have always been that way - sometimes I feel like a wanna-be hypochondriac except this stuff actually does happen. Tripping up the stairs, falling off the sidewalk, paper cut in the weirdest and most painful area, gym injury, stumble over my own feet... you get the idea.

I just spent 2 1/2 months in physical therapy from a knee injury I got at the gym. I was so ready to get back to working out and working off the 8 pounds I gained since March when I stopped going due to the pain. Then that S.O.B. Murphy came around!

So here I was three weeks ago...minding my own business (or someone else's), walking down my neighbor's sidewalk - it was dark, I was talking and walking (a bad combination for me) - the wine had nothing to do with it, I swear - when BAM! I stubbed my pinky toes right into a decorative, yet huge rock. I knew in that painful moment that I had broken that piggy!

For three weeks I have sported flip-flop sandals to work (very attractive in the professional environment) because I can't put my foot into a regular show. A week ago I shoved it in a work boot to help do some landscaping at our rental property (wanna buy a house???), then Murphy shows his sorry butt up AGAIN.

Knee injury A.G.A.I.N. Same knee, different side. I bummed and babied it then hit the gym yesterday (broken toes and all). I was determined to get this weight off come hell or high water. I noticed a tiny bit of swelling at my ankle before I went to bed - woke up with  my leg and foot swollen 1/2 size and I couldn't take a step without unbearable pain.

Here I am on the couch...missing work...ice/heat every 20 minutes and waiting for yet another doctor appointment to have my knee checked out - and my toe.

Ugh!!!

Peace!

That is All....

I can't say that the 2 "self-counseling" posts made me feel better - but I guess I actually do. They led to me being able to just start letting emotions go. It also led to some honest conversations with Rich and listening to him as we tried to work through my state of mind together. He essentially told me - in no uncertain terms - that I was looking for someone to blame...that's the only way I could try to make sense out of the chaos I was in. He's right. (Yes Pook...I said it). Because nothing made sense to me anymore I needed to try and pinpoint where the feelings came from and blame someone...anyone...

I blamed God for taking my folks at the same time Rich was deploying. Hell, I blamed Him for taking BOTH at the same time. I blamed Rich for leaving when I needed him the most - you know because soldiers have a choice in whether or not to deploy (insert sarcasm and eye-roll). I blamed my family for being so broken they could barely breath on their own, for not helping to put me back together. When in truth, I should have been strong enough to carry all of us. (I'm so sorry Family - to all of you for failing you!). I blamed my friends for having their own lives to live - their own families to tend to - their own perfect family. I blamed my co-workers for being so un-compassionate" - well, I will always blame them and resent them for that!


In reality, I have come to realize, that there is no blame to lay. Life happens the way it's intended and sometimes it suck harder than others. Good happens...bad happens. It's okay to be angry. It's okay to be sad. It's okay to be angry at God sometimes (or often)! It's okay to miss my parents with every fiber of my being...which is a good thing because I do. I will always want them back..always want them here.


So, am I over it? Never ever ever! But, I'm okay.

Peace

Self Counseling #2 (Anger & Bitterness)

My feelings of abandoment turned to bitterness, anger, and resentment over the course of 2010.

I felt horribly angry at my Parents...for dying. Well, more so for my Mother because she wasn't the sick one..she wasn't supposed to up and die out of the blue. I know her love for my Dad was stronger than her love for me, but couldn't she have just stayed?

As a Christian I fought (and still fight) a huge resentment towards God. He stripped me bare where I had nothing left to lean on. I found it cruel to expect me to lean on Him when he was the One that did 'this'. He didn't have to take both parents..he could have left me one..He knew my husband was leaving... All of the 'healing' and comforting scriptures felt like mockary to my ears, the songs of praise I used to sing...just words that I no longer recognized or could form on my lips.

I was bitter towards my uncaring co-workers who were so...non-nonchalant about what I was going through. Going to work and looking at them just pissed me off every single day. How dare they not come to my parents funeral, or send a card, or an effing plant. How dare they avoid me because they don't know what to say?

I became resentful of my best friend for not being there even though I knew she couldn't help it. I would watch life and living go on as I stood at my windows looking out, and wonder how in hell does that happen? Weren't we supposed to be best friends? To be there through thick and thin? Well, I was pretty thin and I needed her. I began to question our friendship and pull back.

I wanted to stand in my front yard and scream.....Didn't anyone know that I was encased in a self-imposed cage...that I didn't know how to open the doors to get out? The bars were too heavy to move on my own - there was no one to help me.

After a while I became bitter-strong...."to hell with 'them' - I don't need anyone to help me. I won't dare intrude on God, or my friend, my family or my co-workers. They are all obviously too busy!" I pulled myself further into my darkness, which only intensified my frustration - such a bitter cycle I was in.

When deployment ended I thought all of the anger would end with it; it didn't. It may have decreased in it's intensity, but it didn't fade away like I had hoped. I held on to the feeling that I had been robbed of a year of my life! I had been unjustly punished for some unknown reason and it was so unfair!

Today, I'm not nearly as angry, resentful or bitter though the taste still lingers on my lips. I still can not find my way back to my faith and I am working on my realtionship with my friend. The innocence of trust I used to have for God, friends, family, myself...it's still weak. The only one I can trust to be there/here for me is me.

Peace.

(I have turned off comments..I just need to be able to get 'this' out there in order to find a way to deal with it. Personal comments can be emailed to me)

Self Counseling #1 - Abandonment

I'm not even sure where to start other than one word at a time. It's no secret to anyone that 2010 was a difficult year to endure. It started with 2 very traumatic events - the death and burial of both of my parents together and my husband's deployment. Four days after standing in the bitter cold morning of January watching my parents' caskets being slid into their burial site, I stood in the bitter snow at the armory and kissed my husband off to 4 1/2 months of pre-deployment training (he came home for a week before deploying for a year). The grief and trauma of losing my parents was so great - then Rich left and I fell deeper into the black hole. It's this hole that I still struggle to come out of 2 1/2 years later.

I became sad and lonely during that year with no one here to lean on. My siblings and children were just as broken and traumatized that we couldn't even lean on each other. My best friend, next door, was consumed with her life: home, children, work, going back to school and studying in any free time. My co-workers were indifferent. As a NG family member, our unit is small and in different geographical locations - I couldn't turn to the FRG...I WAS the FRG leader. I wanted to be held while I cried. I wanted desperately to talk and scream through my pain to someone...anyone. I wanted to lean on my parents, my husband, my family, my friend; there were no shoulders, no arms, no ears to hear me. I was alone.

I was able to turn to my blog and blog friends; without that venue I just don't think I could have held on to the lip of that black hole for as long as I did (thank you).

After the shock of death and deployment began to wear off and my new reality began to take root, I felt abandoned and left to drift alone without any direction at all. I was a child abandoned by her parents, a Christian abandoned by her God, a wife abandoned by her husband, a friend abandoned by her closet friend and a family member abandoned by her family in a way. Nothing felt RIGHT, nothing felt familiar..nothing felt normal. I no longer belonged in my life. The sense of loss and abandonment from my parents, God, Rich, my best friend, even my family was so great. It didn't matter that it couldn't be helped...by anyone, the effects lingered and grew in to something more that I could shake most days.

I struggled to rationalize the unrational. Today I struggle with a sense of insecurity and fear that I never experienced before, that stems from that abandonment feeling. When I let my mind take me back to those long days and that long year, my heart races and my mind becomes hazy - the anxiety just grips my throat.


The feelings of abandonment led to resentment, anger, bitterness.


Peace.

(I have turned off comments..I just need to be able to get 'this' out there in order to find a way to deal with it. Personal comments can be emailed to me)