September 27 1971 was Monday

..and the day I became a motherless daughter.

I cried in Dad's arms five times and probably at least another five times by myself. At one point, during that longest day ever, I stretched myself on Mom's side of their bed, where she'd been just three days prior. I wanted to be close to her. I wanted her to come back. I didn't know how sick Mom was or maybe I did and just in teenage denial.

On this day in 2009, Pastor Rickie Rush, of the Inspiring Body of Christ Church, spoke of shame. How things of your past are great canidates for shame. How Satan reminds you of these things and tell you how you're not worthy. The shame occurs when you believe the words Satan's spews. Yes, you will always have struggles as you journey to your blessings, that's where Satan's really wants to latch on, so you can fail. God wants to see how you react. If you can handle what HE has instore for you.

After Mom died, I felt so unworthy of many things. I trace alot, if not all, back to that 1971 day. As an adult, I realized when I was a kid, didn't think I was as special as somebody with a Mom. My Dad adored me, as did the rest of my family, but I wonder since I missed out on something--was I worthy enough? Satan had a grip on me. I know that now. I felt shame over my Mom's death. I carried guilt that I could have prevented it--if I just opened my mouth.

Mom wanted to have weight loss surgery. She wasn't a Half Ton Mom, like you see on TV, far from it. Yet she wanted it, to escape her 300 pounds yo-yo dieting, especially due to the success her sister and my 17 year old cousin seemed to have. On a June day, the doctor gave the final OK for surgery. Mom was euphoric. Mom held me close as she nearly skipped with joy from the doctor's office. Mom shouted how this time next year, how thin she would be.

A boulder slammed in the bottom of my stomach. I wanted to scream "NO! Don't do it!" But I didn't.

Three months later, after several complications, Mom died of yellow liver atrophy.

Our family doctor told me he advised Mom not to have it. My dad told me over and over, how Mom wanted this surgery and it didn't matter what anybody said. Dad, also said through the years, to not to feel guilty--how Mom wouldn't want me to. That's alittle easier said than done.

In service today, Pastor Rush said how words from those that are suppose to love you causes shame too. Explains alot. Especially when my step-mother would inform me how I didn't quite measure up to being the best daughter or that a man would want me because I didn't cook enough. After Mom died, I so longed for a mother figure. I settled for hurtful words to get what I thought I wanted.

I didn't wait for God to work it out, as Pastor Rush said. God had to put me in quarantine as He did His work on me. I skipped that step--ALOT, and tried to do it myself. In those cases, Satan roasted his marshmallows and had a good time. I know that now.

I'm not perfect, yet I see things more clearly now. I try to remember more memories of Mom---the good and the bad (she could spank in blink of an eye!). I was 13 when she died on this day in 1971. I think of how hard it was for Dad to wake his daughter and tell her Mommy was gone. So much we missed out on--our entire family.

Yet, I realize I am worthy. I always have been. God waited patiently for me to get there, even tho I wasn't so patient on myself. I still make mistakes. Sometimes I hear Satan whisper in my ear, but I don't hear him as much as I do. The beauty of being born with no left ear (microtia) so I turn to my left and all I 'hear' is hot air.

I celebrate Mom's life and continue with the dance our spirits still do today.

I am blessed.

Monday Muse

Once again, I question on taking an undetermined hiatus from this blog.

And I enjoy doing the blog.

However, my hits aren't as they were. Not giving what readers, I do have, what they want to read.

As much as grew up, followed the Osmonds, yet still rocked in the 70's, partied like it was 1999 in the 80's, thought I was a true adult in the '90, however I realized I'd not completed as much as I thought I woulda done by now in the 2000's--so what to do?

Write about just my survival of open-heart surgery or being born with microtia (born without an ear--in my case, I do not have a left ear) or being half a century with no husband or kids (which I miss not having) or the desire to produce a play from my own words, dance, sing, and play piano or the loss of my mom when I was 13 and being an only child at that?

Hmm. I've done that-only not every day.

Maybe I should? But which one? I'm open for suggestions.

However, since I've biked and treadmilled, must take trash to the curb, contemplate washing the dishes, pet a cat, chow a salad so my coumadin stays in check, watch "The Closer" and get on my knees and thank God for this life.

Stay tuned.

I am blessed.

My Month C'est Marvelous!

Stepped on the scale this morning
It screamed MUCH louder.
Who cares?
It's absolute April!
The month I burst onto this Earth
The 8th day is my day.
Seven days from this day.
Some folk rile why I make such a big deal
About my day. My month.
My parents suffered through four stillborns before me

I was their last chance

And I arrived on time, April 8, at 4:37 in the morning.

I all ready knew I had things to start and do

Even through rough times after my mom's death

When I was 13, to my dad's final months in 2001

Wanted. Loved. That's what I was.

Makes memories of the spanks not too bad.

Fast forward to now-2009

With American Idol tonight. Megan Joy should be sad at night's end

Along with a Who Cares? on the sinkful of dishes

It is still April--my month.

Diamond is my birthstone

The ring, my dad gave me on my 31st birthday proves that

Sure, things could always be better.

And they will.

What you see is temporary

What you don't see is eternal

Wanted. Loved. That's what I was

And still am

Blessed

Just To Know

Me and Movie Man on his last day. I realize I either bust the camera (It's mine) or shoot the co-worker who took it--maybe both. So filled with grain and peach fuzz. Guess we'll just need to take another one. Movie Man, I'm sure, just rolled his peepers. Just to know him as I do.

Movie Man left today. It won't really hit me until Tuesday--after we speak Monday night how his first day went at Movie Man's new job. How it went for me as he wasn't at his old job. Will sink in --kinda like the Titanic-when I don't feel Movie Man's shoulder squeeze as he paces by. Like he did as he exited today at Stage I M Gone For Good. Just to know.

The day wound up being more emotional for Movie Man than he realized. The good bye from the comfortable to the hello of the unknown. Tonight, as I ate a salad which nearly cost a second mortgage (I love you Celebrity Bakery--however after tonight I will stay with just the bakery part--I digress) tried to reassure Movie Man he's doing the right thing. He tried to reassure me it's my time to finally fly. All my kids have flown from the nest. Just to know me as he does.

Our friendship has been the most different and most in-depth I've experienced, in a very long time. Some scenarios were not too pretty. Folks at work knew when we fought. While other scenarios we even surprised ourselves. Movie Man is the little brother I never had or ever really wanted. Both of us spoiled only children. Stubborn.

I realized tonight, I remind Movie Man too much how he was born three months after I graduated from high school. He's taught me everything movie box office since about 1979. And just shakes his head when I can't remember the first movie we saw together. I just remembered it took about six months to get him to agree to even have a first movie together.

This movie is far from finished. Pop more corn and hold the credits.

Just to know: I am blessed.

Christmas in October

On October 23, 1954 my parents married. Dad always said when he met Mom, he knew his partying days were done. I arrived in April 1958. Things were non-stop from that day. The pictures here are from a Christmas—which outside of my birthday, was my favorite day of the year. But my parents would say, my birth was the Christmas Day for them.

They’d suffered four miscarriages and I was their last chance at a baby. They wanted me. And I suppose I wanted them as much. I'm sure God informed me of the troubles that lie ahead on Earth. Perhaps, I’d want another set of parents or kick around Heaven a bit more.

Evidently I had my mind made up--even then- and said no. I was born in Iowa, a state not known for its racial diversity, plus I had only one ear. A condition call microtia. So there would be broo-ha-ha how well I would hear. The endless hearing tests grew so annoying. Then my mother only lived to when I was just 13. How would a teenager, without a mother to guide her the rest of the way fare? With all that, I still arrived on the very day the family doctor predicted. Guess I wanted to get the party started because I popped out at 4:30 AM. When I went out on my own, Dad's tradition was to call me at 4:30am on my day. Good way to get my birthday started.

There were the good days, like Dad taking me on the walk to learn the way to kindergarten. He made school sound so grand! We’d peek in the windows and Dad told me how much fun I'd have. Although, Dad didn’t inform me I’d have YEARS to take it all in. The good times Mom and I had as we’d get food from the A and W, or our town’s version of a Dairy Queen. Just drive through the countryside as we sang, laughed and did some girl talk. Or the Saturday mornings, they would pour me in the back seat, with a armful of Nancy Drew mysteries. The whole day would be spent picnicking at different ponds and lakes while they fished and I read, slept and sometimes fished. That was major family time. On the bad, Mom believed in a few, good spanks. While Dad chewed his King Edward cigar, glared and said my entire four word name. Unfortunately, there were no siblings to blame stuff on. Outside of that, Mom would forever tell me I was her angel. Then Dad informed me to always be his prettiest girl. I thought the words corny--then.

On October 23, 2001, what would have been my parents' 47th wedding anniversary, was the day I buried Dad. Instead of tears shed at the grave site, I smiled because I figured Dad had it all planned. Mom passed away when she was 43, and Dad joined her when I was 43. And on this day, it was how it should be--Mom and Dad were together again.

Today I ready myself for a walk and I smile. For they will walk with me. I’ll catch a whiff of Dad’s cigar and hear Mom whisper in my ear that I’m still their angel.

They are mine.

I am blessed.