I WAS IN THE DEATH-SEAT

From my personal history:

I was home, visiting my dad. He was in his late 80's and still driving. He drove up until two weeks of his death at age 93.

"Let's go to Richfield and get dinner," he said. "I'll buy. We'll go to JB's."

"Okay," I said. "Shall I drive?"

"Nah. I'll drive."

I shuddered just a bit, and reluctantly got in the car. I'd driven with Daddy before, recently. He drove at a reasonable speed. His eyesight was good. His reflexes seemed to be good, too. There was just something--I can't put my finger on it, but I was a bit uneasy when he drove.

When we got to Richfield I said, "Dad, go up a block where there is a stop light and then you can turn left and come back down to JB's."

"Nah, I always go this way."

So, we sat at a stop sign, waiting to cross Main Street. We sat a long time.

"Just turn right, Dad, and go up to the light."

"I always go this way," he said.

We waited some more. The traffic on Main Street was pretty heavy.

"Go up to the light, Dad. I don't see a break in the traffic, we could sit here all night."

Just then he floored the gas pedal and we took off. My head made an imprint in the head rest. I could see a car, coming right at us. I was in the "death seat." I saw the whites of the driver's eyes and a panicked look as he put on the brakes." Luckily, his reflexes were good too.

We crossed the street, unharmed.

"Daddy," I said, when I could speak again. "There was a car coming. We could have been hit."

"I was tired of waiting," he said.

HE WAS TIRED OF WAITING!? Oh, my.

People came to know God that day. Me, for sure, and probably the driver of the oncoming car. Maybe that was Daddy's purpose all along. Maybe dinner was just a bonus.

THE COMPLICATED LIFE

Today I did not have a personal history story written for group. This is almost the first time in two years that I have not been prepared.

The women in the group let me talk after everyone else had read and I talked about the book. The book. The book where I am exorcising my ghosts. One ghost. The loss of my birth dad.

I am beginning to realize this book cannot be about my loss alone. My sisters lost too, especially Julie--who will be referred to as the troll occasionally in the book. Poor Julie to be portrayed in such a way--she hardly resembles a troll at all. Anyway, I have a hot tempered scene in my head between me and the troll, who, I will have to call something nicer because she put up with "the brat" all those years and has never been properly thanked for it.

Mom had the biggest loss of all. Julie told me some of the details of what happened after my dad's death. Mom tried to hold the business together but the physical work was overwhelming.

I have another scene with her and Aunt Dee trying to make mattresses but their strength just wasn't enough. It will have to be a dialogue scene, painted by the speaker--haven't decided who that will be yet--who watched and participated more than I did. I just ate dirt, probably, and peed my pants.

So, the book is getting more complicated. Life is complicated. We don't know what someone else is going through while we merrily waltz Matilda--that is if we know how to waltz and we know Matilda and if she doesn't want to lead. We should always be on the lookout for subtle signs that someone else is in distress--that someone is suffering, is sad, is grieving or even is angry.

I told one of my son's once to, "Watch for the signs." (This was after he teased Gilmore Girl to the edge of insanity and she broke down and cried.) He said, "What signs?" He honestly didn't know. Some of us are more in tune that others but it's a skill that can be taught. Sadly, sufferers aren't likely to say, "Hey listen. I'm having a crappy life. Could you cut me a little slack here?" So we go on our merry way, not helping, not loving or being compassionate. Judging. Often judging.

Life is complicated. We don't know what someone else is dealing with. I wonder if we could be a little more careful. Watch for the subtleties. The sighs. The forced laughter. The silences. The countenance that is devoid of joy. The heavy hands that hang down.

I wonder if a word of kindness would help. A hand on the shoulder. An "I'm sorry." Hardly ever can we change things, but we can listen. We can let the other know, maybe even just by a look, that we might understand, maybe only 10% but that's better than nothing. Maybe even if they see us eat some dirt and pee our pants they could say to themselves, "Well, at least I'm not that bad." Maybe it would help.

I don't think it helped my Mom or my sisters. I was just one more detail that had to be taken care of but maybe it did help. Maybe it gave them something to take their mind off their loss. There is nothing so delightful as a two year old and maybe I was there, at that time for a reason, more than I know.

Anyway, life is complicated, isn't it? I wish we could have a visual image that shows how we are all connected and then a visual image that shows how we have helped one another. I'll bet we would even be connected to Kevin Bacon somehow. Maybe in as little as four steps.

THE ABC'S OF GRATITUDE--L

L--I am grateful for love. Grateful I was born into a family who loved me.

My dad was killed in a plane crash before I was two and I have always missed the love he had for me. the chapter I am writing this week has all the emotion I have always had about being raised without him. It's been hard to write because I have been so angry and feel so cheated.

Mom remarried and Daddy loved me. Even when I was a dirty-rotten-stinker. I adored him. He was a marvelous man. I am a better person for being raised by him and I love him with all my heart.

The love I have for my Mom cannot be described. She loved me totally and I loved her back. I miss her so much that some days I sneak away to the bathroom and cry. She was the ideal mother, fixing tea parties for Holly and me, grinning and bearing my teenage hysterics, adoring my babies and my teenagers, loving Phil as if he were her own son, and always, always, loving me.

I had two amazing sisters. Each was different and unique. Who I am is in some part because of how they treated me when I was growing up. They loved me and I loved them but there was all that sibling stuff going on. My book is full of that sibling stuff. It may be hard for my sister to read--then again maybe she will never have to. I hope she will understand that without all that sibling stuff I would be a weak, easily wounded sissy and that she helped make me strong. My other sister died way to early and when I am crying--in the bathroom for my mom--I cry for her, too.

I have been in love maybe three times in my life. I was lucky that the man I loved the most, Phil, loved me back. He's loved me when I was grumpy, depressed, angry--I threw water on him once from the second story balcony because I was so angry--actually that time we ended up laughing. He's loved me through good times, the birth of our children, the funny, laugh out loud times. He knows me better than anyone else and loves me anyway. He is my strength. He is strong in the gospel and loves the Lord and tries to do what is right. I love him for his commitment and his goodness. I love him for a hundred different reasons.

I love the children. They come as babies and we are charmed. By the time they get interesting it's too late and we are hooked. And they were interesting in unnumbered ways. We waited them out and soon they became interesting in milder ways and now we are friends. I am madly in love with each of them. I love who they have chosen to love and spend their lives with. They have given us grandchildren and the grandchildren are charismatic and we are as hooked on them as we are about our children. Some of them just have dogs and so we love the dogs while we are being patient for the charismatic grandchildren.

And I can't talk about love without mentioning my "goodest," daily, life-changing-for-the-better friends. They know me almost as well as Phil does and maybe even better than the kids. Some are email buddies, some are "spittin' distance" ones and some are not seen often but are friends to the end.

And I've saved the best for last. I love Heavenly Father and Jesus. I am so grateful I had the chance to come to earth and receive a body and find Phil and be allowed to bear Heavenly Father's children. I am in love with the fact that Father trusts me. I let him down and what does he do? Trusts me again. He must love me a lot to let me make all these mistakes and let me decide when I am going to make things better. And he sent Jesus to atone for me and for all His children and then, if that weren't enough, he sent the Holy Ghost to warn, comfort and guide.

I am blessed to have loved and been loved.