i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart) i am never without it (anywhere I go, you go, my dear;) - e.e. cummings
My daughter left on Saturday for a week at the beach with my stepmom, stepsister and sister-in-law. It's the annual "girls week," only I couldn't go this year. I've never been away from Emily for seven whole days.
Once upon a time, I wouldn't let her out of my sight. I felt like I couldn't. She might have a seizure and I wouldn't be there to hold her, comfort her. I remember the panicked feeling I had every time she climbed a jungle gym. What if she had a seizure and I couldn't reach her? But I had to let her play, be a child. I never wanted her to feel different, even though she was walking around with a walnut-sized tumor in her brain.
Adding insult to injury is the fact that she won't talk to me on the phone. She's either having too much fun or she doesn't want to be reminded of me in case it makes her homesick. I know she's older now. And she's healthy. And most children by the time they are five have spent at least a week with their grandparents. But I keep turning to look for her, to make sure she's there. And she's not. And my heart has a hole in it the size of a five year old.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Family Ties
About two months ago, we learned that my father-in-law’s health is failing. Understand that we learned this third person, from my brother-in-law who lives in Boston and was visiting the Georgia coast where my father-in-law lives. It’s not unusual for my husband’s family to go weeks, months, even years without speaking, so it came as little surprise to me, actually, that Billy was sick and that none of his three sons knew.
This has always troubled me about the Pyrons, their ability to disconnect and reconnect with each other. When I lived in another state, eight hours away from my family, my heart ached. Every year when the first hint of fall was in the air and the smells of summer turned into autumn, I longed for my family. I still can’t pinpoint the reason, but that was a big trigger for me. We relocated our entire life to be near my family, so it’s hard for me to grasp how you can not need your parents and siblings. But the Pyrons don’t, for the most part, and it’s taken me almost 10 years to butt out and let Charles handle, or not handle as the case may be, his familial relationships.
When I first met my father-in-law, he was an imposing figure. My husband hadn’t spoken to him in almost 9 years, and I, the new fiancée, was right in the middle of their reconciliation. Billy was every bit a character out of a Faulkner novel. Wide, strapping shoulders. Calves the size of my thighs (I was thinner then, but still!). He lived in a renovated share croppers cabin on the edge of his best friend’s “estate” outside of Gay, Georgia, close to Warm Springs where Roosevelt received his polio treatments and took his refuge.
Billy was eccentric, is eccentric still. His cabin and yard were decorated with “art.” Things like “hog in a log,” which was a decaying hog carcass residing peacefully in a hollowed out log. A plaque on his door read, “Flat Shoals Road Porch Sitters Club: Residence of the President.” He’d have given Rev. Howard Finster a run for his money for sure.
When we heard he was ill, we panicked a little. How could this tour de force be anything less? How could the man who spent days hiking and hunting in the woods possibly get lost and not be able to find his way home from the post office? We made plans. We rented a car. We hopped a plane. We ended up in Brunswick, Georgia, on the doorsteps of a man my son barely remembered and of whom my daughter had no memories at all. We had a good week-long visit, and yet Billy recently told his oldest son that he “hadn’t seen Charles in a long, long time.”
All of this has weighed on my husband. It must be hard to deal with the failing health of a parent when you don’t think you have your siblings to lean on. We got a call last week that Billy has severe diabetes. Two days ago, a doctor determined his two carotid arteries to his brain are 99% blocked and he only has 29% heart function. That crazy strong body is wearing down.
Tonight, I watched and listened as my husband talked to his oldest brother, who is in Georgia handling things and will be on hand for the procedure to clear out the arteries. Bill is bearing a tremendous weight and obviously needed to vent. They talked for over an hour, as Bill recounted the day’s events and told story after insane story about the goings on of the day.
As Charles listened, I saw a weight lift from his shoulders and his face. He grinned from ear to ear as Bill talked. He belly laughed like I haven’t heard him do in months. I watched him connect with his big brother – reminisce, commiserate and enjoy the relationship that only siblings can have: the common remembrances and emotions that two adults who lived the same life, have the same parents share. I’m so glad that’s there. I think that will sustain them through the next few months, as we cope with Billy’s health and prepare for the inevitable. As long as we can laugh with our family, I think we’re all okay at the end of the day.
This has always troubled me about the Pyrons, their ability to disconnect and reconnect with each other. When I lived in another state, eight hours away from my family, my heart ached. Every year when the first hint of fall was in the air and the smells of summer turned into autumn, I longed for my family. I still can’t pinpoint the reason, but that was a big trigger for me. We relocated our entire life to be near my family, so it’s hard for me to grasp how you can not need your parents and siblings. But the Pyrons don’t, for the most part, and it’s taken me almost 10 years to butt out and let Charles handle, or not handle as the case may be, his familial relationships.
When I first met my father-in-law, he was an imposing figure. My husband hadn’t spoken to him in almost 9 years, and I, the new fiancée, was right in the middle of their reconciliation. Billy was every bit a character out of a Faulkner novel. Wide, strapping shoulders. Calves the size of my thighs (I was thinner then, but still!). He lived in a renovated share croppers cabin on the edge of his best friend’s “estate” outside of Gay, Georgia, close to Warm Springs where Roosevelt received his polio treatments and took his refuge.
Billy was eccentric, is eccentric still. His cabin and yard were decorated with “art.” Things like “hog in a log,” which was a decaying hog carcass residing peacefully in a hollowed out log. A plaque on his door read, “Flat Shoals Road Porch Sitters Club: Residence of the President.” He’d have given Rev. Howard Finster a run for his money for sure.
When we heard he was ill, we panicked a little. How could this tour de force be anything less? How could the man who spent days hiking and hunting in the woods possibly get lost and not be able to find his way home from the post office? We made plans. We rented a car. We hopped a plane. We ended up in Brunswick, Georgia, on the doorsteps of a man my son barely remembered and of whom my daughter had no memories at all. We had a good week-long visit, and yet Billy recently told his oldest son that he “hadn’t seen Charles in a long, long time.”
All of this has weighed on my husband. It must be hard to deal with the failing health of a parent when you don’t think you have your siblings to lean on. We got a call last week that Billy has severe diabetes. Two days ago, a doctor determined his two carotid arteries to his brain are 99% blocked and he only has 29% heart function. That crazy strong body is wearing down.
Tonight, I watched and listened as my husband talked to his oldest brother, who is in Georgia handling things and will be on hand for the procedure to clear out the arteries. Bill is bearing a tremendous weight and obviously needed to vent. They talked for over an hour, as Bill recounted the day’s events and told story after insane story about the goings on of the day.
As Charles listened, I saw a weight lift from his shoulders and his face. He grinned from ear to ear as Bill talked. He belly laughed like I haven’t heard him do in months. I watched him connect with his big brother – reminisce, commiserate and enjoy the relationship that only siblings can have: the common remembrances and emotions that two adults who lived the same life, have the same parents share. I’m so glad that’s there. I think that will sustain them through the next few months, as we cope with Billy’s health and prepare for the inevitable. As long as we can laugh with our family, I think we’re all okay at the end of the day.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Bikini Babes
Interesting Q & A over on Babble.com about whether it's okay for a baby to wear a bikini. Maybe it's a Southern thing, but I do think it's a bit tacky for a child under the age of 13 to wear a bikini. I'm not really old fashioned, but to me it's akin to the trend of dressing your child in couture or letting your young daughter dress like Lindsay Lohan or Britney Spears. They have their whole lives ahead of them to choose their own outfits. Dress them in age appropriate clothes while you can for Pete's sake. Having said that, I must admit that right now my five-year-old daughter is sporting a gymnastics leotard that is about a half size to small. And I just took her to Subway in it. Go figure.
Burning the Midnight Oil
I'm tired today, as I was up until midnight working on a freelance project for my former colleagues in Montgomery, Alabama. Every year for the last three, I've traveled to high-poverty, high-minority public schools where the students and teachers are dispelling the myth that poor, black kids (or Hispanics, or Special Needs students) can't learn.
I don't really know why I continue to do it now that I'm living in Arkansas and working full time, except for the fact that it is so inspiring. It's still amazing to me that a state like Alabama has so much going for it when it comes to education policy. Really. They have a lot figured out when it comes to teaching all students to read, which as it turns out, is in fact rocket science. And it's so frustrating to me that Arkansas, especially Little Rock, can't quite get it together. Maybe if I scream loud enough I can get the attention of some folks and show them what Alabama has done.
My next round of articles are due on Monday. I've finished one and have a long way to go and a short time to get there on the other two. But it's worth it. If one principal or teacher can read the success stories and be inspired to change things in their school, I've done a good job. Click here to download last year's stories if you are so inclined.
I don't really know why I continue to do it now that I'm living in Arkansas and working full time, except for the fact that it is so inspiring. It's still amazing to me that a state like Alabama has so much going for it when it comes to education policy. Really. They have a lot figured out when it comes to teaching all students to read, which as it turns out, is in fact rocket science. And it's so frustrating to me that Arkansas, especially Little Rock, can't quite get it together. Maybe if I scream loud enough I can get the attention of some folks and show them what Alabama has done.
My next round of articles are due on Monday. I've finished one and have a long way to go and a short time to get there on the other two. But it's worth it. If one principal or teacher can read the success stories and be inspired to change things in their school, I've done a good job. Click here to download last year's stories if you are so inclined.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
A Little Background Music
When my daughter was 18 months old, she started having seizures. An MRI taken at Children's Hospital in Birmingham, Alabama, revealed a large tumor in her left temporal lobe. The tumor was benign, but Emily's seizures were not controlled with medication. She underwent three surgeries to have the tumor removed, and she has been seizure-free for two years. She's a happy, healthy five year old, thank goodness.
I anticipate talking a lot about this experience here, so just to get you up to speed (and to force you to listen to Cyndi Lauper, which everyone must do from time to time), follow this link for an audio montage about the ordeal.
I anticipate talking a lot about this experience here, so just to get you up to speed (and to force you to listen to Cyndi Lauper, which everyone must do from time to time), follow this link for an audio montage about the ordeal.
Brand New ... Be Kind
I'm new to this thing called blogging. I read blogs. I lurk, actually, never posting comments for fear I won't be able to get the words right. Which is strange, since I write and edit for a living. But this is personal. It's me inviting the world into my life. Will you find me interesting? Funny (I think I am!)? Will my stories and experiences touch you? I hope so. We'll see.
Here's the thing ... and I promise not to end each post with this kitchy phrase ... I really just want to write. It calls to me. Not the writing I do day-to-day, but good writing, deep writing. And I think this might just be a good way to start.
Here's the thing ... and I promise not to end each post with this kitchy phrase ... I really just want to write. It calls to me. Not the writing I do day-to-day, but good writing, deep writing. And I think this might just be a good way to start.
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