One foot in front of the other, Mom

Right after my dad died, someone said to me, "It'll get easier."  And I remember simultaneously thinking, "well, let's just speed it up." and "NO! NO!  STOP THE WORLD.  If it gets easier I'll forget."

It's true.  It has gotten easier.  In some ways.  My memories with and of my dad are still very strong.  His one-liners and sayings are alive in well in the Spann family, which always evoke a smile or a laugh or a groan.  But in other ways, it's not easier.  Sometimes, I still have a really deep, raw grief.  It usually comes over me most unsuspecting, like a pop-up summer lightening storm.  Out of nowhere.  Powerful and striking and demanding attention.

Other times, it's a slow, lingering ache, mostly when it hits me that he's never coming back.  Never.  You'd think I wouldn't need to be reminded.  But I guess that's what grief does.  Or is.  A reminder of what was, what isn't, what won't be.

Every year at the anniversary of his death, I take time to make space and remember and honor and give thanks for him, his gifts and legacy to me and my family.  And each year I've taken time to write about him.

This year, I'm thinking and remembering him.  And I'm writing about my mom.

…………………………….

In the moments when my spirit knew before my heart and mind knew what was about to happen in the next hours, my sub-conscious was already trying to process.  The memory is planted in my mind plainly.  I know exactly where I was while I was barreling down I-75 to pack a bag and return back to meet my mom and sister.  When I left the hospital the plan was to get some dinner and go back in the morning.  But somehow, somehow, my spirit knew those were the last words I would hear him say to me.  "Thanks for coming, Holly".  I was focused on driving, fast.  Get there.  Get back.  But why?  Why the rush?  We hadn't been given bad news at that point.  Get there.  Get back.  Get there.  You're too young to have to worry about your parents.  This shouldn't be happening.  Get there.  Get back.  My poor mom.  Oh, mom.  Oh, my mom.  Get there.  Get back.  Mom.  My spirit knew.
……………………………...

Mom,

What has been six years for us, has probably felt like a lifetime for you, or a moment, all at once.  In those six years you have taught me so much.

No woman ever dreams of waking up on her 40th wedding anniversary less than 24 hours past making the "until death do us part" real.  But you did.   You put one foot in front of the other and made it through the day.  And then the next and the next.

We, my sisters and I, have grieved for dad.  You already know that.  He's missed so much and has been missed so much.   Always a missing place at our gatherings and celebrations.

Mom, we've grieved for you too.  Plans blown to pieces with one last breath.  Dreams of a retirement and traveling and golfing and enjoying years and years of hard work and sacrifice gone before you could process the reality.

Like parents of school children, we've been saddened to see friendships lost because you're no longer a couple. We've stayed awake waiting for your text to make sure you made it home safely, like you did for us not too many years ago.  We've seen you heal and grow and move through all the stages of grief and back again.  Yet, you keep putting one foot in front of the other.

Proudly from the sidelines we have cheered you on as you've dipped your toe in the waters of new friendships and hobbies and, yes, even dating.

For six years, your courage, sometimes roaring like a lion, more often, gently, daily putting one foot in front of the other.

Anyone who has met a Spann daughter knows you and dad raised strong, confident, brave, courageous women.  We confidently (sometimes a little too confidently) make it known that there isn't much  from which we are going to back down.  I can picture dad, even today, with swollen pride taking full credit for the confident women we have become.  And you.  You quietly let him take the credit.

Mom, you have faced your fears and tried new things and made new friends and along the way you've taught me so much in these six years.  We are so proud of you.  And Dad would be too.  That crooked little grin of his, saying, "Baby girl, I knew you could do it."

What I've really learned in the last six years, is that it was you, mom, who deserved the credit for our ability to keep going.  One foot in front of another.  Head up and confident, even when we didn't want to.

Keep stepping mom.  There's not much from which you're going to back down.  One foot in front of the other today.  And tomorrow.

We're still cheering you on.

Love you,
H

Technology and the love of Sisters!

I love technology....for a LOT of reasons.  I've always been an early adopter.  Palm pilot?  check.  Motorola StarTac early upgrade?  You bet!  iPad Original?  Got it.  Convert the house to all Apple devices?  Oh yea.

Let's face it.  There are some pretty amazing things we can do now with technology.  And even though I've always been an early adopter, I'm certain I no longer begin to scratch the surface as to the modern marvels available to a lay-person.

One of the top reasons I love technology???  It's ability to keep my family connected and simultaneously sharing our wicked sense of humor [at least you'll finally see, it's genetic!]  Last night, after a late work dinner in Columbus as we were walking back to the car, Sweet Sarah says, "well, your sisters are out of control again."

Why?, as I glance down at my phone and see 43....FORTY-THREE!!!! text messages.

so, dear readers....brace yourself.  And here's your fair warning:  you have to get our sick sense of humor to appreciate it.  

Here's the transcript, condensed to eliminate break in conversation but the play by play none-the-less [with my comments to help keep you up to speed....good luck!]


AMY:  Poison oak again! 

[NASTY!-- my comments, not included in texting] 

AMY:  Ugh. My doctor 

[MY BEAUTIFUL NIECE!  HOW CUTE!!!]

JULIE:  Your dr is adorable. Perhaps she should prescribe some leaf identification classes for you 

AMY: Got it from the goats. Was petting them! [Amy and her family have goats]

MOM:  Julie that is funny 

JULIE:  I am funny. Amy, as a mountain woman you need to find a way to build up some immunity to such ailments. Maybe quit shaving your legs or something. 

AMY [in her best southern pioneer accent]  Perhaps. Tis true , indeed to survive under these conditions it will be necessary for my body to build some immunities Of some nature... The prospect of this continuing indefinitely leaves me to wonder how it can be that I shall endure... I dug some roots to make a salve to which I applied to my skin but the fire ants took hold of my hind end and I now find myself with root sap on my front and fire ant bites on my rear...what a sight indeed... 

JULIE [not missing a beat]  Endure you shall. Wondering what next may come 

AMY:  For dinner because of my condition, we are having leftover biscuits with beans cooked in bacon fat leftover from last year 's hog...oh this wretched itch! 

MOM:  Caution is best exercised when gathering supplies 

JULIE:  Thus try a tincture made of nectar of the slithery vine from yonder, coupled with a salve made from the goats milk This shall ease your suffering 

AMY:  Tis true. I was in such a state of panicked itchiness that caution was left on the doorstep next to the bowl of milk fat I was making butter with. Oh dear... 

MOM:  WD 40 if you're a real mountain woman 

JULIE:  Best to send the young one to fetch more lest your husband come home to find you in such a state of disheveledness 

AMY:  I hope that the grasshoppers do not visit...the spring garden is in and our plans include slaughtering an animal of some sort... Oh yes...I must gather myself and put my britches on & not continue to wallow in suffering as I would hate for him to think I was wallowing with my britches off for any other reason! 

JULIE:  Well you better figure out the animal so you can get to raising the beast in time for the fall harvest Lest he is the one you are wallowing with I suppose 

AMY:  He already thinks the reverend Harlow visits too much. But I only have a heart for him on Saturday nights after his bath If he hasn't been pulling on the jug 

JULIE:  Blessed is he that has the opportunity to bathe at least one day per week in time for the lords day 

AMY:  Thanks be to God. We are so blessed to have a tub, barrels of corn pone, smoked meat in the smokehouse, flour & sugar, and a donkey [they do not have a donkey]

JULIE: You can thank god all you want but I know he's punishing you with that poison oak for all the things you've been brewing in that still up on that mountain. John boy has already written about it in for the Richmond paper [note the Walton's reference for those of you still following along!]

AMY:  A woman's got to make a livin...either a still or...I chose the still. Hell be damned John boy. Cookin hootch is better than usin your c----! I am a woman of The Lord! Thanks be to God! He gave me the recipe! [continuing now with the Walton's reference]

JULIE:  Oh I never heard such unladylike language in all my life You mountain women are all the same Uncouth 

AMY:  Well reverend Harlow doesn't think so! 

[enter stage right, just now getting caught up]  ME: Oh sisters sisters. Here I am trying to make something of myself. I've gone and left for the big city attending a function of the senior most Vice President in the state's capital city only to return and find such dreadful drivel of middle sister's sipping of the recipe and tempting the right reverend. Oh the delightment and hilarity of it all. Did it ever make my evening after being surrounded by such a serious nature of insuring lives and protecting others from life's unforeseen such as you have found yourself in a state dear little Amy.

JULIE:   YeS, littlest sister Holly, it is not looked upon fondly when you delight in the desparity of others. Especially, the likes of those birthed from the same mother of thyself


So....there you have it.  A brief glimpse into the wicked sense of humor of the Spann girls all shared over text messaging all because of poison oak.  And the only parts that are true????  The poison oak.  The Goats.  And my meeting.

I.  LOVE.  MY. SISTERS!

Why didn't I Listen to my Mom?

Yep, it's official.  I have officially become old enough to ADMIT that I should've (and probably should) listen to my mother.

Who wouldn't listen to a woman who wear a hot dog on her head?

Last night I sat down at the piano and feebly made my way through some hymns.  And as I struggled to make my fingers work while simultaneously reading both lines for left and right hand it occurred to me (again.), Mom was right.  I should've never quit piano lessons.  (I have, of course, had this thought before, but I'm now admitting it publicly)

By the time I was a high school junior I had been taking lessons for six years.  Four of these years were spent with the wonderful Mrs. Straight.  Once a week I would skip my lunch hour and walk across the street from the school and take a lesson.  Many, many times during that weekly lesson Mrs. Straight would ask, "Holly, how much did you practice this week?" [ummm, I'm pretty sure she knew the answer before she asked].  We really had a quite candid relationship, looking back that's probably why I liked her so much.  After a few years together, I'd walk in the front door [Mrs. Straight never wanted her students to knock.  "Just walk in when you're here"] and put it out there.  "Well, I haven't practiced this week, so it's not going to be good."

You see, I was really torn at that time between two things I really, really loved.  Softball and music.  [my mother would add socializing]  I played on several teams in the summer, had quite the demanding social life and besides one other friend, was the only one still taking piano lessons in high school.  So, finding time to practice the piano cramped my style at times.  But I did love it.  Still love it actually.  But Mrs. Straight still encouraged me, saw potential in me and held me accountable to practicing.  

One day at the end of my lesson dear Mrs. Straight, told me it was time to move on.  She wanted me to do two things.  First, she wanted me to have a musical affair on her and begin seeing someone else!  GASP!  She recommended I begin seeing another piano teacher at Bowling Green State University.  It seemed, she had taken me as far as I could go and it was time for me to move on to the next level.  And second, she wanted me to begin taking organ lessons.  Apparently, there was a shortage of church ready organists.  Mrs. Straight suggested it would be a great opportunity for me to make a little extra money and learn a new instrument.  

I don't really remember how I told my parents about this conversation.  But I do remember weighing the decision and the implications it would have on my social life. And I remember thinking about the fact that I had reached a crossroads---to quit piano altogether or move to the next level.  My parents, of course, encouraged me to move to the nexrt level.  I wasn't so sure.  My mom [pay attention dear readers], my mom said, "if you quit now, you'll regret it for the rest of your life."  

My mom was right.  

She was so right.

I never went to BG for lessons.  I finished the year with Mrs. Straight and carried on to the blissful social life of a seventeen year old. 

So last night, I got to thinking about my mom being right about the piano.  And what other things she has been [or is] right about.  Here's a few I can name....

- Quitting piano lessons [still regret it.  perhaps I should put it on The List]

- "When you know, you know." 

- All things medical.  Seriously, the woman is always three steps ahead of most doctors.

- "Pray about it." - she reminds us often to do this

-Live Life for Today.  My adventurous spirit comes from her

-A cooking go to.  I still call and ask random questions about cooking.  "Can I....?"  "should I...?", "How do I...?"  And without missing a bit she'll have the answer.

-Fashionista.  At 39 I am happy to let the woman still dress me.  Yep.  I admit it.  Ain't nothing better than giving Claudia a budget and letting her put a new seasonal wardrobe together for me. 

Thanks, Mama!