Stories by the Beach

     I'm sitting in the dark in a condo on Panama City Beach.  I was determined to get going this morning so Madalynn could swim in some shade, but a migraine ensued while I was talking with a lady at the pool.   

     It's a perfectly gorgeous day over the turquoise and green striped water and the white sand.  Everyone but me has enjoyed it.  And that's okay; I'm thankful there is medicine and that I don't suffer from migraines all the time or for days, like some people I know.  The Weather Channel is on.  We are especially interested because Mike could've easily been called away to drive his relief truck.  For now, it's been worked out and he'll get there soon enough.  Some of the kids are planning to follow him to Oklahoma.  How devastating for that community.  It's so crazy because just last eve as I was taking pictures of Macklynn and Madalynn on the beach, I couldn't get over how small the ocean makes me feel, how the design of the sun and the horizon proves God is the grand mathematician, how the life beneath it proves He is the ultimate biologist, and how the intoxicating beauty proves He is the master artist.  

     Madalynn and I were supposed to have a picnic and fly kites on the beach late this afternoon; instead, Mike has the 2 little ones out fishing.  I tried peeking through the curtains and the light made pain surge through my head again.  It's awfully nice to be here alone and comfortable in this white flannel gown of mine, yes, the same one I had on driving Mike's big yellow truck into the truck stop as he kept it going with ether until we could fuel! 

     Miranda is "conveniently" driving the older ones down "the strip" to get ingredients to broil the shark Mike, Michael Jr, and Macklynn caught last night off the pier.  Mike and I spent time in 1988 doing just that, cruising in Barry Somebody's Corvette.  This beach goes back way further than that for Mike though.  He's been coming here before he can remember.  His grandparents owned a couple of places in Venture Out across the road.  He has all kinds of memories.  Our last trip here in 2006 was our last "real" vacation.  We also brought Megan here when she was just a little thing.  That was the trip I rode back with Mike's MawMaw.

     There was another lady at the pool this morning, the one we were with in the hot tub last night.  She sat with her granddaughter 2 chairs down and said to her, "The last picture I have of your grandfather was on those steps over there.  I can't believe he's just never, ever coming back."  The 9 or so year old said something and then her grandmother took her hand and said, "We have to talk about him so we don't forget him," and then she cried outloud.  Man, I can't even write this without crying again.  There I was reading my book about learning to love and she had lost the love of her life.

     I brought a veritable library of Godly writing.  I set it up so the kids would have access to whatever they need right now, heavy or light.  Megan snatched up "Stepping Heavenward," which is the book I looked for so long for McKala, that Megan had all along on her bookshelf in Georgia.  As we returned last night with some groceries, the lady staying below us asked, "Was your daughter reading 'Stepping Heavenward' next to us this afternoon.  I said, "Wow, yes, that's an old book; never heard anyone else talk about it!"  Turns out she has it and loves it, and so does their 22 year old daughter. 

     I had already wanted to talk with her but didn't have anything to start up a conversation with until then.  This morning before my migraine took hold, I was able to ask her about her sickness.  You see, she completely bald.  She's been fighting breast cancer since last year.  Good news is that prayer and chemo have made her clear; rough news it that radiation awaits her after her celebration vacation.  Sweet news is it that one of our girls overheard her husband tell her how beautiful she is the day before. 

     There has been story after story we've encountered here, making it way more than a getaway.  Macklynn's highlight was meeting and getting his picture taken at a gas station with an Extreme Bass Pro Fisherman.  Madalynn has made friend after friend.  The pretend play with her figurines has made her a great communicator.  As the big kids were a big hit "hammocking under the pier", having picture after picture taken of them and the beach patrol stopping to say he'd never seen it in all his time; Mike was moved hearing the handicapped man in his intertube saying "Mama" this and "Mama" that.  She took such tender care of him. 

     As we awaited the waves breaking and floating them out, I noticed the sophisticated woman in a black large rimmed hat consoling her teenage son.  He'd broken down in tears as he sat on the cooler.  She was holding his arm and whispering in his ear.  It made me wonder if they'd lost someone, too.  Then beside me, as family of six were playing, the little boy said to his mother, "Thank you for bringing me here."  She didn't hear him, so he repeated it.  He really wanted her to know. 

     It's so easy to be disenfranchised looking at all the bad, especially in this place deemed the "Redneck Riviera" and "the strip" up the road, but if you look for good, you WILL find it.  For this woman who's trying to love again ...and who knows? maybe never really did, not the way God desires; pieces of her are breaking off left and right.  She's down to a big ole pile of mush right now as she types in the haze of the remaining Benadryl I took.  All she knows is that God is moving ...and that's all she needs to know.

A Weekend to Remember

     Last night, after Mike got back from Asheville (where I found out later he spent a couple of hours befriending Will Graham, Franklin's son, in his office looking at the collection of stones ...right up Mike's alley); and after Mike and I sat on the porch listening to the toads and watching the lightening bugs as the rain fell gently, Melody and I finished cleaning the carport and stowing things away in the attic and McKala was drawing me a bath.  Macklynn led me to the bathroom and swung open the door, so I could see the room lit with candles; music from my NOAA alarm playing; a chair beside the tub with a fresh towel, a glass, and a bottle of sparkling grape juice; AND Madalynn sitting on the seat doing her business!  Macklynn laughed so hard he couldn't speak and McKala sat down in the hall laughing.
     I didn't realize until today that McKala had put milk and honey in the water.  I just knew how nice it all was in the flickering light of the candles on every surface.  When the plum colored Clematis, that Madalynn and Macklynn had given me for my hair earlier, fell to the water and floated, the final touch was made; or so I thought.  About 30 minutes later McKala commanded that I unlock the door.  I thought something was wrong, but she was standing there with cinnamon rolls and milk for me.  You're beginning to see why I enjoy Mother's Day more than any other holiday and was apparently so looking forward to it that I forgot to get anything in the mail in time to our mothers :/.
     This morning McKala set her clock to surprise me with the things she'd gone to the store for yesterday.  She's so happy to have a job so she can contribute; she gave me $20 already this week to "tan" or whatever I need for the beach.  She came in our room with a tray full of food: eggs, pecan pancakes, orange juice, hot chocolate, more cinnamon rolls, and bacon, plenty of bacon, which is normally something we ration.  She and Melody had made sure everyone knew what they were wearing to church the night before and had it ironed, including my pants.
     While I got ready, Melody sat a vase of flowers from the yard and a card on the nightstand.  I didn't know until we left that she had also decorated, which explains the noise I kept hearing while I was in the bath:  the ribbon being curled and the tape dispenser being used.  We sang for the first time in the choir and the sermon was fantastic, as always.
     When we got back, McKala put together some snacks, although I was not hungry, and we went out to the freshly trimmed yard that Michael spent 4 hours on yesterday.  To our beach, Melody brought jugs of hot water, a bowl, scrub, and lotion for my feet.  I think it must've taken her an hour to finish by the time she was done massaging.  It's a lot of work, but she's offered to do it ever since she was old enough, 5 or so.  To me, it's a very special "washing of feet".
     McKala sent Madalynn to get "what's in the freezer".  She came down with lime popsicles.  She thought of everything, just the way Megan and Miranda used to do.  I dozed off and on under the sunlight peaking through the leaves being tossed by the wind as Mike, Michael, Macklynn, and Madalynn fished.  Macklynn's fish are growing quickly.  However, Michael excitedly caught a 5 lb Largemouth Bass, that broke Macklynn's line last week, which must've been in there before we stocked it.  It's so funny to hear Madalynn name off the species of fish as though it were nothing and run to find worms under anything that can be moved as though it's natural for all girls.  Hours later, when I came back in, Melody was ready to paint my toenails for the "real" beach.  I told her to surprise me and now I have bright green nails highlighted with fuscia flowers.  As they were drying, Miranda, who'd been looking up the Florida beach with binoculars for her sister, called me and told me all about their weekend and especially how they'd learned to cast nets off my Dad's boat today.  I know that she and her Daddy planned to get me the 12 week old, 20 lb blonde Pit Bull puppy at the feed store that wouldn't take its face from my neck long enough for me to get a good look at it ...precious.  I appreciate Mike wisely deciding that even though I miss my Tootsie so much, we don't need the expense of another animal.
      Megan made it back from her walk before we hung up and I thanked her for my card that says begins with, "Mother, sometimes I'd like to roll back the clock and return to my growing-up years so I could make up for all the times I didn't thank you enough."  I remember being rough on her, so I thank her more so for the message she sent me saying I am her best friend.  They say, don't try to be your child's friend; but when they are adults, nothing is sweeter.  I love being a mother, but can't imagine sometimes why God allows it, when on this Monday morning as I finish up here, I know that I'll never get done all that should be this week.  He loves me anyway ...just like we all love our children, and should never let the stress of the other stuff get in the way of it.  Thank God for a day like Mother's Day to stop and see beauty, when so many other days, I run against the wind, blind to God's delicacies that surround me.

I'd Wonder

     Mike has a large swelling of his supraclavicular lymph node on the right side, not good, and now the skin is red, really not good.  I'd be lying if I didn't admit there were times when I wondered what it'd be like if he were gone, "gone" gone.  The Holy Spirit would grab me instantly and remind me that he might not be saved.   I, then, would fear for my own life.  In the last couple of years, I've also wondered what it would be like if I were gone, "gone" gone.  He'd almost have to be the leader, the disciplinarian, the "source".  I've written before that if I could just make it until Madalynn is an adult, I would have had enough time on this earth.  Now, I've asked God if "that" is even the best?  What if I were "gone"?  Couldn't that be a good thing?
     Last night, I lay in bed while he was in the bathroom wondering what it be like if Mike were really "gone".  I looked to my right where the large framed print hangs of the snowy picture he took off the ferry that he and McKala and his truck were taking.  I looked in front of me, the Virginia Creeper coming head on.  He loved going to get the next print, loved palling around with the artist. 
     I remembered the other night: when he came in for church and the smell of grease drew me to him and the kids were embarrassed that I said it.  However, the smell of his Zest soap and Right Guard Sport aerosol deodorant are like repellant to me, but would that matter if he were "gone"? 
     The old timey radio with the turntable he bought sits on the kitchen counter.  For a "country boy", he has a taste for nicer things and is so diversified in them.  His purchase timing has always stunk and until now, we've always owed more than he made.  It's been enough to drive me insane.  But would it matter if he were "gone"?  Those nights after he's left for a trip and I have some "freedom" from the intensity of his personality seem so liberating, but what if he never came back?  Truth is no one can replace Mike. 
     He's random and spontaneous and brave and genius and brutally honest.  Would losing him, even with the fascination of himself that remains, be worth it?  He may drive me and the children crazy with his neverending study of himself, but truth is we never feel more safe than when we're with him ...unless he's driving the car, that is.  I have to consider that for the most part of his adult life, he's been alone in a truck, by his own choice ...nevertheless,with himself and all the time in the world to think of himself and how he feels.
     If he were "gone", I wouldn't get calls at the most inconvenient times about the newest global happenings.  Then, maybe I wouldn't get any calls at all.  Maybe, I wouldn't want any calls from anyone else.   I know about myself that I desire approval, but from worthy sources.  There just aren't that many worthy men.  There's no one else who has fathered my seven children.  And as much as I feel like he doesn't know me sometimes, I don't know that anyone else would either.
     I'll be starting some counseling soon.  I'd thought I'd be a help there, but I'm told I need "help" before I can be a help.  I always wondered if I brought an indifference into the relationship, if I wasn't whole long before he and I tore each other apart.
     Tomorrow is Mother's Day.  Mike is gone showing his Disaster Relief Unit/Truck at The Cove in Asheville.  Miranda's with Megan and my parents on the way to gulf of Florida.  McKala's at work.  I'm sitting here eyeballing the pond, hoping against hope that the sun will continue to shine; so I can partake in its glory.  I love where I live and I attribute it all to God, but truth is if Mike didn't allow or support my being here full time with the kids, my life would look completely different.  What if Mike were "gone"?  How much would I appreciate it then, when the lifestyle I cherish switched gears, when I didn't have him paying my way? 
     Say that's cold all you want.  People say, "Don't stay together for the children."  Really?!  What will life be like for them when you're apart?  People say, "Don't stay together for the money."  Really?!  What will life be like when you're supporting yourself?  Of course, there's a bigger purpose!  The Lord knows that and that's why he tells us to obey his commands.  He "gets it".  He "understands".  He "gets" me, even when I don't "get" myself.  He knows better than I.  He loves me, even when I don't know how to love.
     You ask, "How then is your life not all 'rosey' if He's so good?"  Well, my life's not over; neither is Mike's.  I have to recognize that he's wired differently than anyone I know.  I think his brain and chemistry really are unusual.  But I know, no matter the hurtful words that are spoken and feelings that are reciprocated, he has "come clean"; he loves now to hear songs praising his Savior; he gave up the fight to be wealthy; his eye no longer wanders, even though I'm hardly a thing to behold right now; he prayed with me the other night; and I believe he longs to be somebody he hasn't ever been.
     So, why do I seek and destroy every time a red flag goes up?  Where is my faith in my Creator?  In my endeavor seeking perfection into sainthood, which all true Christians are espoused to do,  I hold my light to him and lose sight that even though we are "one", we are separate beings and at times, on different paths.  All this is HARD, really, really hard; but I will never trust my ways above Christ's.  I want so badly to be madly in love, no, not really, just madly in friendship would be a good place.
     But what if Mike were "gone", it'd just be me surrounded by memories that, although often were tainted, were still memories of a wonderful roller coaster ride I've been on where God has molded me and toughened me and made me glad for the blessings he has given me.   The iron tea pot on the stove would remain and remind me of the time he found it in a yard and cleaned it up and seasoned it ...because he knew I love cast iron.  I'd want my back scratched and no one would be there in the night to do it until he tired.  I probably wouldn't be able to wear that "over-the-top" full length raccoon pelt coat he bought me for my 40th birthday, him knowing I'd never buy such a thing for myself. 
     I'd sit outside and see the road signs he had put up because he didn't see any sense in another person wrecking in the curve, much less another death.  And guess what, there hasn't been a serious wreck in the 4 years since.  I wonder if I'd be like my friend Denise's husband, who's left her Facebook page open and has been posting pictures of and letters about her even though she's been "gone" since last year.  She took a nap and never woke up. 
     I wonder if I'd wonder what I could've done differently, if my intentions were really as good as I thought they were, if I'd really tried to understand and take care of him the way he needed to be, even when he made me want to pull my hair out.  I reserve so much because oftentimes I'm damned if I do and damned if I don't, but does that matter in the scheme of eternity?  I wonder if when one of the kids would smile at me, I'd see his expression.  Truth is there will never be a life for me without Mike because he's in every direction that I turn my head and in every thought or move I make, even when I'm unaware of it.   Mike and Michelle, 24 years of marriage in a month a half, still getting on each other's nerves, still harboring things, still opposite in as many things as we are not ...but still bound in something bigger than ourselves that has brought us here.  I don't have to wonder what that is.  All I have to do is believe that it is real and that it heals.