Often many of us neglect to connect with family, near and/or far. We are busy we say. and we also say, "I'd rather golf. I need to attend an important business meeting. It's too far to travel. I don't really have anything in common with those people anymore." Etc., etc.!!
When my sister-n-law told us she was putting together a family reunion with my husband's grandmother's siblings' children I thought, "Well, I won't know any of these people. Maybe I should stay home and catch up on...something?"
We arrived Friday evening at the darling Lee's Resort on Grand Lake O' The Cherokees in northeast Oklahoma. The resort is perched high upon a bluff overlooking the lake. Oklahoma spring winds were creating a rainfall of pollen and oak droppings. There were multiple shades of green everywhere. Small water fountains, a man-made flowing stream, flowerbeds with name tags of what was planted and who lovingly planted it caught my attention. We each had our own quaint little cabin and were warmly greeted by the owners in the 'cook shack'. And I must say the breakfast hash browns were the best I've ever tasted in my life!
My husband's grandmother was one of 8 siblings. So it was hard for me to keep track of who was from which sibling. Soon, it didn't matter anymore. We became one. Stories were flowing from childhood memories, weddings, funerals, and the grandparents' 60th wedding anniversary. These precious cousins were arriving from California, Louisiana, Texas, Oregon, Kansas, Colorado, Maryland and our lovely state capitol. One dear group of siblings had a sister and brother who had not seen one another in 17 years!! What a reunion that was!!!
I loved just watching all of them laugh, shed a few tears, nod in agreement and share, "Remember the time..?"
There were many activities: fishing, boating, sea-do riding, walking, cooking, and a skit from an old Jack Parr show enacted! There were wee ones, toddles, adolescents, lovebirds, and us older folk.
I also especially enjoyed hearing some stories begin with, "Our Mother..."
The really fun part was the sharing of photos from 'back when'. Each person brought family photo albums or boxes of photos from childhood or before. Those 8 siblings were beautiful and brilliant and each had a great sense of humor it seemed. An old movie that was filmed by my husband's uncle in the 50's of an anniversary of the great grandparents was digitally changed to a DVD by a family member and we watch it with great enjoyment!!
And one dear cousin's wife, knowing about my career, shared with me a couple of stories about loved ones who were nearing death and speaking to their sisters who had transitioned years before. They were standing at the foot of the bed she said, ready to assist in the 'journey'.
Well, needless to say, I wouldn't have missed this!! It rates as one of the best weekends of my life! I made a whole new connection to some pretty awesome souls!
It taught me to rethink how 'busy' I think I am. I need to get my side of the family together!! Kind of like herding cats! I'll start with having lunch with my sisters!! And get my Dad and his sweet wife in the car and go see my Aunt Chris and Uncle Red!!
Sunday we headed home and topped the day off with our lovely daughter and her precious husband and our beloved grandson #1 for a late lunch on Mother's Day! And the sweetest text from grandson #2 came later that night wishing me a Happy Mother's Day! Priceless!
I've been told by more than one that we choose ahead of time who we will 'be family' with when we come to Earth. Many would agree, many would disagree. I certainly can't prove that one way or the other.
But with all the challenges, all the celebrations, I wouldn't trade my tribe for anyone else's tribe. I'm so thankful for my roots with my birth family and so very proud to be Mrs. Becki Hawkins. My husband and his sisters were a treat to watch this past weekend...all smiles!!
Parting shot, make time...plan a family reunion!
Monday, May 12, 2014
Tuesday, May 6, 2014
MEAN AS A SNAKE
"Mean as a snake", is how my dear husband responds when anyone asks him how I'm doing. It has become sort of a term of endearment to me.
When I was working as a Hospice nurse, one day I visited a very special man. He barely fit on his hospital bed. He wasn't overweight but tall, a big ole boy, and as near a saint as they come. He wanted his bed in the living room where he could see out that west picture window. Picture windows were popular when I was a child. They gave you a bigger view of your yard, the neighborhood or the farm, depending on where you lived. Their home set up on a rise and pasture surrounded their house. He wanted to look outside.
His wife wasn't well herself. She had a bad case of chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, COPD, and a history of bilateral breast cancer, and the longest run of Shingles I'd ever seen or heard tell of. She was as thin as a rail with watchdog eyes that seemed to never move away from my patient. She'd perch herself up in a chair, throw off her oxygen tubing and holler at the caregiver to turn off the oxygen machine so she could smoke. "Don't even try to talk me out of smoking!"She'd warn me each visit. I didn't! Good thing, if there was one, was that she'd do this in the garage with the door cracked open so she could hear better in case her husband beckoned her.
He'd smile at me and say softly, "She's still a good ole girl."
More than once I'd be sitting with him and he'd be off in his own world praying...for her, not himself, and his prayers were tender, endearing pleas of mercy for his wife.
I knew some of the story about her life. It sounded like a really rough childhood with an abusive, angry father, a dozen or more siblings and not much to eat, hard times for everyone 'those days', I was told.
One family member said it made her 'mean as a snake'. Others told me, "Don't upset her. Don't rile her!" Believe me, I did not!! And she really was kind and courteous to me.
But I'd heard stories of her putting the fear of God in many people in the county. One story was often told of how she nearly killed a man who tried to rob them back when they owned a bar in the 1940's. She took a pool cue stick to him and then got out her shotgun. No one ever tried that again.
I can remember as a very young child sitting on the foot rest of that long beautiful oak bar, wondering how anyone could stand to eat those pickled eggs, or sausages, and okra. I liked smelling that oily red stuff she would throw on the floor of the bar to sweep up the dirt with a huge dust mop. And I recall watching folks come in and sprinkle sawdust and something gritty onto the shuffle board table to play their hand at the game. The big bright colorful jukebox sat on the north side of the bar and would spill out whining country western music and some Elvis too, I think. The music seemed to float above me with the cloud of cigarette smoke.
My aunt had a Katherine Hepburn look. She was slender, dressed in slacks and blouses or sweaters. She always had on expensive, nice looking shoes. But no one ever doubted who run the joint. She was not a weak woman. However, my uncle's presence gave some pretty powerful order to the mix as well. He didn't say much but he didn't need to.
All of these memories ran in and out of my mind while I visited. Even though my aunt was still in charge as much as she possibly could be, she'd turned into one of the most devoted, caring wives I've ever witnessed. As frail as she was, she would make her way to his bedside and in her cigarette, throaty voice, ask him, "You all right?" And he'd slowly turn toward her, smile, and say with the moment of strength he had called for, "Yes, Honey, I'm all right."
Then she'd sit back down and watch.
Sometimes, and I understand not always, life has a way of soothing rough places due to faithful, unconditional love over the years. For someone as 'mean as a snake' she was the the sweetest, dearest presence to him...a memory that will be with me as always.
When I was working as a Hospice nurse, one day I visited a very special man. He barely fit on his hospital bed. He wasn't overweight but tall, a big ole boy, and as near a saint as they come. He wanted his bed in the living room where he could see out that west picture window. Picture windows were popular when I was a child. They gave you a bigger view of your yard, the neighborhood or the farm, depending on where you lived. Their home set up on a rise and pasture surrounded their house. He wanted to look outside.
His wife wasn't well herself. She had a bad case of chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, COPD, and a history of bilateral breast cancer, and the longest run of Shingles I'd ever seen or heard tell of. She was as thin as a rail with watchdog eyes that seemed to never move away from my patient. She'd perch herself up in a chair, throw off her oxygen tubing and holler at the caregiver to turn off the oxygen machine so she could smoke. "Don't even try to talk me out of smoking!"She'd warn me each visit. I didn't! Good thing, if there was one, was that she'd do this in the garage with the door cracked open so she could hear better in case her husband beckoned her.
He'd smile at me and say softly, "She's still a good ole girl."
More than once I'd be sitting with him and he'd be off in his own world praying...for her, not himself, and his prayers were tender, endearing pleas of mercy for his wife.
I knew some of the story about her life. It sounded like a really rough childhood with an abusive, angry father, a dozen or more siblings and not much to eat, hard times for everyone 'those days', I was told.
One family member said it made her 'mean as a snake'. Others told me, "Don't upset her. Don't rile her!" Believe me, I did not!! And she really was kind and courteous to me.
But I'd heard stories of her putting the fear of God in many people in the county. One story was often told of how she nearly killed a man who tried to rob them back when they owned a bar in the 1940's. She took a pool cue stick to him and then got out her shotgun. No one ever tried that again.
I can remember as a very young child sitting on the foot rest of that long beautiful oak bar, wondering how anyone could stand to eat those pickled eggs, or sausages, and okra. I liked smelling that oily red stuff she would throw on the floor of the bar to sweep up the dirt with a huge dust mop. And I recall watching folks come in and sprinkle sawdust and something gritty onto the shuffle board table to play their hand at the game. The big bright colorful jukebox sat on the north side of the bar and would spill out whining country western music and some Elvis too, I think. The music seemed to float above me with the cloud of cigarette smoke.
My aunt had a Katherine Hepburn look. She was slender, dressed in slacks and blouses or sweaters. She always had on expensive, nice looking shoes. But no one ever doubted who run the joint. She was not a weak woman. However, my uncle's presence gave some pretty powerful order to the mix as well. He didn't say much but he didn't need to.
All of these memories ran in and out of my mind while I visited. Even though my aunt was still in charge as much as she possibly could be, she'd turned into one of the most devoted, caring wives I've ever witnessed. As frail as she was, she would make her way to his bedside and in her cigarette, throaty voice, ask him, "You all right?" And he'd slowly turn toward her, smile, and say with the moment of strength he had called for, "Yes, Honey, I'm all right."
Then she'd sit back down and watch.
Sometimes, and I understand not always, life has a way of soothing rough places due to faithful, unconditional love over the years. For someone as 'mean as a snake' she was the the sweetest, dearest presence to him...a memory that will be with me as always.
Saturday, May 3, 2014
Remembering Her Mama
Early in my career of nursing I was working in an outpatient cancer ward where we saw patients primarily who needed chemotherapy, transfusions, lab work.
Sally was younger than most of our regular clientele in the waiting room. She was wearing a really spunky, red flirty hat with her blonde curly wig. Dark pink toe nail polish peeked out of her open toed sandals. And her strappy cotton flowered sundress allowed room to work with her infusaport for her chemotherapy and blood work.
"My don't you look nice!" I said as she entered our area.
"My kids picked out this stuff. You know I'd rather be in my jeans and tennis shoes!" She said as she slid into one of our bright plastic waiting chairs.
She was almost through with her chemo treatments and was looking forward to having her port removed and a vacation. "Where?"I asked one day while I was checking her vital signs.
"Anywhere there is a Holiday Inn with a pool for my kids!" She said with a huge grin.
She came into our tiny treatment room and started making her recliner comfortable with a soft cotton blanket and a little pillow with embroidered pink roses on the pillow case. Then she headed to our mini frig and got a Pepsi, some saltines and looked my way. "You know, Becki, I read the other day in a reputable magazine that calories don't count when you are on chemo! So I might eat a candy bar too!"
"Oh really?" I replied. "And what magazine did that appear in?"
"The one that Erma Bombeck wrote a column for." She answered with a smirk!
I smiled and continued gathering my supplies as she nestled in her space.
As I began the lengthy infusions of pre-meds and chemo, she suddenly became serious.
"Hey Becki, pull that curtain. I want to chat a little."
"Sure Kiddo, I'm all yours for the rest of the day. And I'm all ears. Chat away!"
"Well, I know I'm really doing just fine. It's just that I had a dream last night about my Mom. I know I've told you about her before and that she died before I graduated from high school with breast cancer."
"Yes, I remember." I nodded in reply.
"Well, she was smiling and looked so young and beautiful like when I was about 5 or 6 years old and she was in her late 20's or 30's. And she had on one of her favorite old cotton printed aprons she always wore. It had big pockets. She was smiling and looked so alive and real. And she said, "Don't worry Pumpkin, It's what she called me because my hair was orange red.
"Well, then she said, It's not your time yet. But when that time does come, I'll be here to help you make the journey. You have more time, Honey, to be with your little ones. You'll see them grown so don't worry anymore.
"What do you think about that?" she asked as she watched closely for my expression and answer.
"Oh, I think that's a wonderful dream!" I smiled and patted her arm.
"Well, I can't tell just anybody as they'd think I had a chemo brain disorder going on. But ever since that dream I've been thinking about when Mom died. You know when you're a teenager you're just all involved with school and activities and dating and well, I jut didn't think she'd not always be there. I wish I'd hung around the house more and told her how great she was. And I was thinking that when my time does come I'd want my kids to remember me like I remember her."
"Tell me what you remember." I asked her.
"There's so many things. And it's not like I'm trying to make her into a saint or anything like that but she was close! She was always positive. Dad would say, 'Oh, brother, weatherman said it'll rain today. I don't know if we'll be out of the hayfield in time.'
And she'd be standing there by the kitchen table drying dishes with her tea towel and say, "Oh Herb, wouldn't a rain be nice in this heat? I swear those chickens are pantin' in the backyard. Wouldn't they be happy with a rain?"
I'd be still eating on the last biscuit with honey listening and watchin' and waitin' for Daddy's reply. He'd pull his old worn out sweat stained hat on and look at her like she was from outer space as he slammed the back screen door while heading to the barn muttering something to himself.
She was always doing something for others who might need some help. She'd have us save all our clothes and shoes that didn't fit any of us anymore and we'd take them to this family that had less than we did. She made us polish the shoes or wash the shoe laces and wash and iron the clothes and patch any tears in the fabric.
She was always giving away extra garden produce and eggs and milk. I remember rolling my eyes thinking, 'Oh great! I'm going to be suffering extra in the heat picking that sticky okra and diggin' for potatoes for somebody we don't even know! She visited the sick in our community and always went to see about those who were grieving when they lost a family member. She never went empty handed. She took a cake or a pie. And I guess there were certainly times she must have had moments like any human does with doubt or fear or sadness, but if she did, I guess it didn't last long.
I was the most ornery one of us kids. I was scared and angry when she was dying. I didn't want to stay in the room with her. But she made me feel like I was the most important person that ever breathed when I walked into a room. But she did that for every one of us I imagine. It wasn't till after she was gone that I realized how much she meant to me...to all of us.
We found little pieces of paper in her Bible where she'd made herself notes like: make Herb a banana cream pie, buy Princess more ribbon for her hair (my sister), tell Pumpkin how good her cookies were Sunday night, forgive Mrs. Johnson."
My sweet patient didn't say too much after that. She just smiled at me and thanked me for listening before she left.
I'm really more like Pumpkin that her Mom. Often I want to punch someone first and then forgive them. But I'm not giving up on myself. Over the years I've come to realize that God's grace still abounds.
How do you want to be remembered? I won't be remembered for my pies and cakes or sewing or contributions to a discussion about politics. It'll probably be something else I'm remembered for!
Hug your children! Hug your parents! Hug your Grandparents! Hug somebody!
Sally was younger than most of our regular clientele in the waiting room. She was wearing a really spunky, red flirty hat with her blonde curly wig. Dark pink toe nail polish peeked out of her open toed sandals. And her strappy cotton flowered sundress allowed room to work with her infusaport for her chemotherapy and blood work.
"My don't you look nice!" I said as she entered our area.
"My kids picked out this stuff. You know I'd rather be in my jeans and tennis shoes!" She said as she slid into one of our bright plastic waiting chairs.
She was almost through with her chemo treatments and was looking forward to having her port removed and a vacation. "Where?"I asked one day while I was checking her vital signs.
"Anywhere there is a Holiday Inn with a pool for my kids!" She said with a huge grin.
She came into our tiny treatment room and started making her recliner comfortable with a soft cotton blanket and a little pillow with embroidered pink roses on the pillow case. Then she headed to our mini frig and got a Pepsi, some saltines and looked my way. "You know, Becki, I read the other day in a reputable magazine that calories don't count when you are on chemo! So I might eat a candy bar too!"
"Oh really?" I replied. "And what magazine did that appear in?"
"The one that Erma Bombeck wrote a column for." She answered with a smirk!
I smiled and continued gathering my supplies as she nestled in her space.
As I began the lengthy infusions of pre-meds and chemo, she suddenly became serious.
"Hey Becki, pull that curtain. I want to chat a little."
"Sure Kiddo, I'm all yours for the rest of the day. And I'm all ears. Chat away!"
"Well, I know I'm really doing just fine. It's just that I had a dream last night about my Mom. I know I've told you about her before and that she died before I graduated from high school with breast cancer."
"Yes, I remember." I nodded in reply.
"Well, she was smiling and looked so young and beautiful like when I was about 5 or 6 years old and she was in her late 20's or 30's. And she had on one of her favorite old cotton printed aprons she always wore. It had big pockets. She was smiling and looked so alive and real. And she said, "Don't worry Pumpkin, It's what she called me because my hair was orange red.
"Well, then she said, It's not your time yet. But when that time does come, I'll be here to help you make the journey. You have more time, Honey, to be with your little ones. You'll see them grown so don't worry anymore.
"What do you think about that?" she asked as she watched closely for my expression and answer.
"Oh, I think that's a wonderful dream!" I smiled and patted her arm.
"Well, I can't tell just anybody as they'd think I had a chemo brain disorder going on. But ever since that dream I've been thinking about when Mom died. You know when you're a teenager you're just all involved with school and activities and dating and well, I jut didn't think she'd not always be there. I wish I'd hung around the house more and told her how great she was. And I was thinking that when my time does come I'd want my kids to remember me like I remember her."
"Tell me what you remember." I asked her.
"There's so many things. And it's not like I'm trying to make her into a saint or anything like that but she was close! She was always positive. Dad would say, 'Oh, brother, weatherman said it'll rain today. I don't know if we'll be out of the hayfield in time.'
And she'd be standing there by the kitchen table drying dishes with her tea towel and say, "Oh Herb, wouldn't a rain be nice in this heat? I swear those chickens are pantin' in the backyard. Wouldn't they be happy with a rain?"
I'd be still eating on the last biscuit with honey listening and watchin' and waitin' for Daddy's reply. He'd pull his old worn out sweat stained hat on and look at her like she was from outer space as he slammed the back screen door while heading to the barn muttering something to himself.
She was always doing something for others who might need some help. She'd have us save all our clothes and shoes that didn't fit any of us anymore and we'd take them to this family that had less than we did. She made us polish the shoes or wash the shoe laces and wash and iron the clothes and patch any tears in the fabric.
She was always giving away extra garden produce and eggs and milk. I remember rolling my eyes thinking, 'Oh great! I'm going to be suffering extra in the heat picking that sticky okra and diggin' for potatoes for somebody we don't even know! She visited the sick in our community and always went to see about those who were grieving when they lost a family member. She never went empty handed. She took a cake or a pie. And I guess there were certainly times she must have had moments like any human does with doubt or fear or sadness, but if she did, I guess it didn't last long.
I was the most ornery one of us kids. I was scared and angry when she was dying. I didn't want to stay in the room with her. But she made me feel like I was the most important person that ever breathed when I walked into a room. But she did that for every one of us I imagine. It wasn't till after she was gone that I realized how much she meant to me...to all of us.
We found little pieces of paper in her Bible where she'd made herself notes like: make Herb a banana cream pie, buy Princess more ribbon for her hair (my sister), tell Pumpkin how good her cookies were Sunday night, forgive Mrs. Johnson."
My sweet patient didn't say too much after that. She just smiled at me and thanked me for listening before she left.
I'm really more like Pumpkin that her Mom. Often I want to punch someone first and then forgive them. But I'm not giving up on myself. Over the years I've come to realize that God's grace still abounds.
How do you want to be remembered? I won't be remembered for my pies and cakes or sewing or contributions to a discussion about politics. It'll probably be something else I'm remembered for!
Hug your children! Hug your parents! Hug your Grandparents! Hug somebody!
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