I Will Never Grow Up

September 29, 2023

The gin is ginning. It started yesterday morning. Seems strange because I’ve not noticed any trucks hauling bales of cotton or seen any bales sitting around in fields.

They are harvesting peanuts too. That puts a lot of dust in the air that aggravates breathing issues for a lot of people. But dust in the sky tends to create some beautiful sunrises and sunsets that I appreciate seeing. So, I view that whole thing as a good thing. It’s kind of like a pay-for-view thing. Unless it’s cloudy and you can’t see the sunrise or sunset.

There is a bit of an identity crisis associated with this crazy life-transition that I am engaged in. It is something of a crisis. But it’s different in its own way because the “season of crisis” is back there behind me now. It seems to be more of a life-recalculation and recalibration.

I knew who I was, who I had grown to become as the “David” in “Shirli and David”. I am still coming to know some things about who I am as just David. And my how some things have changed. My how I am changing with the things that are changing. Life’s perimeters have been greatly redrawn by an Unseen Hand. I’m looking at the changed landscape and thinking to myself, “This is the world that I now live in as just David.”

Honestly, it’s all more than a little exciting and frightening at the same time. There is always this tension between the two. It’s not annoying. It’s just there. It may sound odd but I’m finding the tension becoming rather exhilarating at this stage of things. It motivates me to keep moving ahead as this “whatever is unfolding around me” unfolds.

The thought never occurred to me before a few days ago. It was one of those thoughts that just shows up on their own and leaves you digging deep in ponderment.

When I was a child and teen growing up, I had no idea of what I wanted to be when I grew up. It seems my peers had some idea of what they wanted to be. I didn’t have the foggiest of a clue what I wanted to be. And, for not knowing what I wanted to be, my life has been far, far, far from lackluster. My goodness. What an adventure this life of mine has been!  And the adventure is not over. There’s more to come.

Maybe, in the Grand Scheme of things, it was never meant for me to figure out what I wanted to be when I grew up?

Have I grown up?

I’ve grown older. But no. I’ve never grown up. I have, of necessity, acted grown up from time to time. At one point I even took on uncomfortably wearing three-piece suits, ties, and wing-tip shoes in the performance of my pastoral duties. At this point in life, I truly believe I’ll never grow up. I will simply never grow up. It’s more than a choice for me. It’s a way of life … one that I’ve known since my childhood.

Today ... Twenty Years Ago

 

September 27, 2023

It appears that today, among other things, is going to be a trip down memory lane for me.

Every day involves some memory lane tripping anymore. The memory tripping is different now that my emotional zone is not completely raw and inflamed. The emotional yoyo effect is not nearly as drastic. The emotions are still there … and still quite sensitive … but the out-of-control trips down and back up are no longer a numeral factoring into the equation. Oh. There are still little trips and they do have an effect. But these trips no longer leave me the weeping emotional mess that I was for so many months while I was going through that hell.

Today, twenty years ago today, after nearly two years of happily living together in a pre-marital relationship, Shirli and I walked the aisle together and said our “I Do’s” at the Harmony Hill United Methodist Church in Stillwater, NJ. Side to side, hip to hip, arm in arm, facing every storm in life together. What beautiful memories mark the span of time represented by the life-events that fill those twenty years!

I suppose there is a measure of grief that I’m feeling today this far this side of July 4, 2022 after those months, weeks, and days that I did my best to take care of Shirli after we were informed of the terminal diagnosis and prognosis of the pancreatic cancer. Honestly, it still doesn’t seem real that Shirli is no longer physically right here beside me.

Life has become so surreal.

It’s like I’m in a dream that I can’t wake up from. But it’s not a dream. It’s not a dream that anyone wants to dream. It’s not a dream that anyone can just wake up from. Nay. To the contrary. Anymore, this dream is the epitome of reality and part of life being just flat-assed real.

I’ve always been a sensitive person. Maybe my genetics delivered me a heavy dose of soft emotions. Yeah. It must be in my genetics. [Gosh. How all that genetic stuff works is a huge ponderment. I think about it a lot.]

It’s a crazy thing about emotions. Especially these soft emotions. We can dumb them down by hardening them ourselves. We can numb them with alcohol or dope from the pharmacy. But when we just let them be what they are because of their gift to us, they show us, and those around us, who we truly are as created beings. Rather than feeling less of our softer emotions, we need to be feeling more of them lest we become like so many others whose lives are characterized by discompassion.

This is becoming such a beautiful life-transition. Cultivating and relishing old relationships. Developing and growing in new relationships. Discovering my own personal rhythm in life as “David”.

On this day twenty years ago.

Happy Anniversary, Doll Baby.

I’m celebrating it!

Well, You're Just Eccentric

September 20, 2023

I really can’t put a date on when the hard struggling seemingly subsided all on its own. But it did subside back there a while ago. I didn’t realize it when it happened. It was a gradual realization.  I’m not struggling. I’m not struggling against Shirli not being here anymore. I’m not struggling against anything anymore. I’m simply here embracing and enjoying life. Sure, there are sore spots. The past will ever be ever-present. But these sore spots are not the gaping wounds that they were not so very long ago. The medicine of time?

Ah. These lower temperatures are so welcome here at my surrounds. Very tolerable days book-cased on both ends by perfect mornings and evenings. I am finally able to once again enjoy spending great lengths of time sitting on the front porch.

It’s funny. What was it? A dozen years ago?

I was having a very serious conversation with my younger sister about something that she and I vehemently disagreed on. Somewhere in that conversation, she told me … to my face … “Well, you’re just eccentric.” And it certainly wasn’t spoken as a compliment.

Eccentric? Dang, what a label to pin on someone.

And, here I am now this far along after the labeling, wondering if she made an honest call. Maybe I am eccentric. Maybe I am a perfect match for the dictionary definition of the word. I’ve always admitted that I’m an odd duck but I’ve never thought of myself as being eccentric.

Maybe I need a T-Shirt that says, “I’m Eccentric!”.

I am beginning to tap into a different rhythm of life these days. One that is not caged and controlled by the clock and the demands and expectations of too many others. It’s a very “in-the-moment” thing that I am living in. It’s a deeply spiritual thing that I’m going through as part of this huge life-transition. It’s a freedom having so many heavy chains cast off after having them wrapped around me. It’s a freedom to finally be able to just be myself with my own personal array of foibles that follow me around.

I did not set out to come this way, dear ones. Not intentionally. Choices had a role to play. Circumstances and decisions always have ramifications that push us in many different directions. And I firmly believe there is a magnificent Greater Hand and Wind at work in and behind the scenes and scenarios generated by the choices we make. So, with me bumbling along like a blind man, God, in his own magnificent and mysterious ways, led and planted me right here. I find great peace and contentment being right here.

 

A New Sunrise

Monday

September 18, 2023

Life changes. Life changes a lot following the trauma associated with an emotional bludgeoning such as the one I have undergone. My life is changing. It seems to be changing in a hurry this far along in my journey. At least it feels that way to me.

A great many things will not fade away and disappear. Those are foundational bedrock. However, a great many things must change to accommodate the unfolding of this life-transition. Without this accommodation, my unfolding future will continue to look like the lived past and too many future days will be consumed by sorrow in a continual grieving for the past.

I saw our friend at Walmart in Bay Minette today. I had an early appointment to get blood drawn preliminary to my appointment with my primary next Monday. I stopped there after my chiropractor straightened me out again. I needed an air-freshener for the van and a nice scented candle [Lemon Balm and Cedar] for the house. It must be better than six years since we first met her. She is as short and round as ever. She was checking groceries when we first met her back then. Great hugs and enough conversation to find out she wants to move to North Carolina to be close to her brother.

Life changes. People change. Circumstances change. People die. People move and we lose contact with them or contact if greatly lessened. The human experience will always be one of change. Oh, how we fight against change when change is one of the only certainties associated with the human experience.

It seems that everyone I know is going through some kind of life-transition. Some are going through really hard life-transitions trying to make it through to some new dawning. “Hope springs Eternal in every human breast.”, says Alexander Pope. It’s hard to have hope when the pleasant world you have known is suddenly obliterated and gross emotional darkness fills your days and nights. Hope is hard to find when the best you can do is just hold on while waiting for a new sunrise.

Moving ahead in this “imposed upon me” life-transition is no insult to the past. Far from it. Much to the contrary. Moving ahead at my age, stage, and point in my life is honoring every contribution of this diverse … sometimes colorful, sometimes light, sometimes dark … past of mine. I am, today, the sum total of every one of my life’s experiences … both the good and the bad of them … and every personal relationship I have entered into … again, both the good and the bad of them.

I am yet too young in physical years to throw in the towel and give up on living life to the fullest of my abilities. I am yet too young interiorly to succumb to these circumstances that I have been plunged into. I cannot simply stop living.

 

 

 

A Flippin' Epiphany

 

Sunday Evening

9/17/2023

It’s been a while since I last attended a Mass. Shame on me? Not really shame on me. I’ve been on the road a lot and doing some recreational things.

Twenty-five minutes to the church in town or make a pilgrimage to Daphne for Mass and to see our dear Padre Johnny. Padre Johnny was our mentor when Shirli and I made that huge transition of entering into the Catholic Church in 2007 after all our years as Protestants. He also performed our Catholic wedding. I’ve not seen Padre in a few years. The last time was in Mobile. We occasionally drove over for Saturday evening Mass. The last time I saw him, Shirli and I saw him together.

It was an easy decision to make, though I knew it stood a great chance of evoking a lot of emotion. But, going to the church in town always evokes a lot of emotion. And for good reason.

I really benefitted from seeing Padre Johnny. In fact, I met him in the foyer of the church when I walked in. He looks good. His homilies draw you in and arrest you. His so very reverent manner at the Altar adds so much dignity to the Holy Occasion. Just the beauty of it all loosed waves of emotion. A flood of memories of our journey together into the Catholic Church washed over me. I had to pull out my bandana. More than once. It was all so beautiful.

As we shook hands afterward as I was walking out, I mentioned to Padre Johnny that I would really like to sit down with him one day and just talk. He told me to get up with him. I told him I would then made my way out the door and to Fred parked in the shade of a Live Oak.

Walking along, I couldn’t help but to think … that talk will likely never happen.

That’s really the way it is these days in this unfolding life-transition that’s been flung upon me. There are so many people that I would like to see again and spend time with in conversation. What’s the likelihood? In most cases … none. In a few cases … slim. How’s that for a flippin’ epiphany? Certainly not one that evokes warm fuzzies. But reality is reality. And, quite honestly, reality can be a son of a bitch.

Second Culling

 

Saturday morning. It’s quiet here at the shack beside the track at five in the morning. I’ve been up since half past two. Just woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep. What the heck. Time is just time anymore. What I have of time is mine for the most part. I am no longer on the treadmill. What a joy! I’ll catch myself a nice siesta after lunch.

My fam next door has gone up to the camp for the weekend. I was invited but declined. I would have really enjoyed the company. My fam and I have grown really close since Shirli died. Oh no. It’s not a biological connection. It’s not genetic. It’s a heart connection. I need my fam and my fam needs me.

My biological family? I have two siblings left. Two sisters. I love them. And they love me. There are nieces and nephews and grand nieces and grand nephews. But there is very little interaction or communication where this familial group is concerned. Honestly. I’m more than a little put-out with them. The same can be said about all my cousins, except one on my dad’s side. It just baffles me that after Shirli died not one of them bothered to call or text to inquire how I was doing. Not one “sympathy” card from any of them. Ha. That’s really strange.

Thinking back, I can see now how this inconsiderate neglect on their part … something that quite honestly deeply hurt my already bludgeoned emotions … added to the already all-too-deep and all-too-dark hole of grief that I had entered into. Hell upon hell. And there was a third well-intentioned hell that factored itself in. Hell upon hell upon hell. That third hell? I am still affected by its effects. The scalding from the heat of the third hell left a bitterness within me. I don’t like to feel bitterness toward anyone. Yet, I do feel bitterness toward the perpetrators of the abuse that was emotionally leveraged against me. Yeah. That was a rough one.

I have begun working on the “second culling”. The “first culling” was made back in January. You know. Shirli’s clothes and certain other things that I needed to depart with. That was tough. This second culling is tough too. Every drawer and behind every door. Just what do I really need to keep? It’s crazy as hell how every single little thing has emotional attachments associated with it. Things that I have to touch and hold. Things that Shirli touched and held.

My range of emotions is somewhat different now though.

I find myself diving deeply into a sea of appreciation and thanksgiving for the wonderful years of life and love that Shirli and I shared together. Yes. I miss Shirli. I suppose I will always miss Shirli. How can I not? It’s been a good long while now since I last had a fall-apart and the mournful, sorrowful sadness is gone. 

Life is getting really interesting. Life is getting really good.

The Fortune Cookie

I stopped at the local buffet to grab a late lunch after leaving the gym. I used to stop in there too often. Not so much anymore but it was convenient and served a useful purpose that day. One plate that I didn’t finish and a fortune cookie. I always read the fortune baked inside but I never eat the cookie. I find them tasteless and hard to chew. I have no interest in breaking a tooth on something unfit to eat.

The fortune cookie read, “In the near future, you will discover how fortunate you are.”

I seriously doubt that the fortune inside the cookie had anything to do with anything although it surely runs alongside where I am in this crazy life-transition that I’ve entered into.

It’s really interesting how life has a way of unfolding. And we haven’t a clue what the unfolding will bring as time performs its wonders.

That’s how this eight-day trip I’ve just returned from happened. It just happened. It started with a very short phone conversation on Monday and early Tuesday morning Fred was headed to a rendezvous point in Lucedale enroute to the Ozark Mountains then on to explore around Springfield, Missouri.

The Almost World Famous Beetle Bailey has been a dear brother for a lot of years now. And now, this side of all that wandering through the valleys of his grief and my own, we’ve teamed up as road buddies. Look out world. Beetle in Big Red. Me in Fred. Talk about a hoot! There’re antics everywhere we go.

I told some gals behind the counter at one of our “necessary” stops that we were a couple of geriatrics that had escaped from the cage and were out just wandering around. Ha. I’m not ready for the cage. I’ve got rambling in my bones.

It didn’t take long after Shirli and I got together for us to begin regularly using the phrase, “I love my life.”

We loved our life together. We loved the individual lives that were ours to live in freedom knowing that the greatest desire of the other was for the other. Ah. What a blessed man I am to have known such freedom to love … such freedom to simply “be”. I think this being business, this “just happily being” without the physical and emotional comforts of having Shirli alongside me, has been the toughest aspect of this transition.

It was out there somewhere on the road coming back from Missouri when that phrase began floating around in my thoughts. I haven’t so much as thought it once since discovering Shirli’s terminal diagnosis and prognosis. But, out there on the road, that thought would swim by occasionally leaving behind a slight wake that lapped the shorelines of my memory.

“I love my life.”

And then, as timely as timely can be, that FM station out of Who Knows Where, Missouri played Kris Kristofferson singing “Why Me Lord?” Yeah. I shed a few tears as he sang those words in my hearing. I tried to sing along but was so emotional that I could not carry a tune. Then I verbalized the words as a prayer of thanksgiving.

“I love my life. Thank you, Lord, for being so good to me, problem child that I am.”

Yeah. God’s problem child. I have no problem admitting what I truly am. But the contrary thing is how He blesses and takes such good care of me despite being the problem child that I am. Amazing. Grace. What a reality, one that truly baffles me … one that truly brings me to my knees when considering the Grand Scheme of things.

Grief is a contrary bastard.

It’s not some simple little five-stage thing that we pass through a stage at a time until the stages are behind us. It’s not chronological. There is nothing chronological about it. It’s like a huge bowl of spaghetti that’s constantly moving on its own. I do think those five stages are individually stacked full of assorted degrees that we work through on grief’s own time schedule. We’ve got pitifully little control over the process. The process owns us and we are subjective to it. It messes with our heads and direly aggravates everything going on in the seat of our bludgeoned emotions. Wherever that seat is. Personally, I think it’s in our souls.

I am beginning to discover afresh just how fortunate a man I really am. And it is such a multi-layered fortune, one that is full of deeply meaningful relationships with people who are extremely dear to me and grow dearer by the day.  

 

Rediscovering Soul Happiness

September 1, 2023

Rediscovering A Merry Heart

I am beginning to find humor in things and laugh again. Spontaneous laughter. Around people and when I’m alone. It feels really good! I feel my “happy face” coming back. It’s been a long season since the walk through that dark valley started. For two decades I had someone beside me to laugh with. Shirli and I laughed together a lot. And a lot about some of the silliest of our antics.

 At this stage in this transition, I am rediscovering what I refer to as “soul happiness.”

Sure. There is a hole in my heart. How can there not be? It will always be there. But that hole can keep me from moving forward into a better place or serve as a source of motivation to keep walking the walk toward where life is a happy place rather than a place full of despair. I cannot remain in the mire wallowing around in a pity-party for one.

No. That’s not what Shirli wants for me to do. She made that very plain to me before she died. That’s not what I want for me to do. I will not consign myself to a life sentence of misery. Even now that I’m pushing seventy, I’m still TOO YOUNG to throw in the towel and give up on living life.

“A cheerful [merry] heart is a good medicine, but a downcast spirit dries up the bones.” Says Proverbs 17:22.