No regrets – kind of philosophical, maybe

PROVE IT, HERMY……
I feel a bit James Taylor-ish right now….I’ve seen fire and I’ve seen rain type of feeling.
I just noted J Henry again, and it got me to thinking…

I truly have no regrets about the way my life has gone.  There are plenty of things that I wish had gone better, or things I wish I’d done better, but no regrets.

I’ve known happiness….very sweet, lasting happiness.  Through all the struggles life throws our direction, I still hold to the love I’ve always known – from God, family, and friends.  I have known some pretty magnificent people.  My own personal everyday heroes that no one else might know, but oh how special they’ve always been to me.

Mama – my sweet mother has always been loving and supportive of me, even during the times anyone else would have wished they’d drowned me at birth.
From my grandparents, I learned different means of coping with certain situations.  I am learning dignity in the face of defeat right now from both of my grandmothers.  They both are losing their minds – literally.  Memaw has Alzheimer’s.  Nanny – it may be old age or maybe it is also Alzheimer’s.  Each of them is fighting to retain dignity, and they do it beautifully.  At long last, Nanny admits that she is not the rock-solid person she used to be not even so long ago.  After 81, the decline became faster and faster.  Here both my grandmothers are at age 83, losing what they have always held so dearly….memories, thought processes….and keeping such positive faces to the world.  May I be so brave when my time comes.

My siblings.  Though we are in some ways vastly different from each other, we have always been close.  Even in the moments that we feel ready to committ homicide, the love is still there.  Strong people.  Good stock.  Well, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, they say.

I miss my Daddy.  He has been dead for half my life now.  I am old enough to remember every bit of time he has been gone.  I remember him; God, how I remember him.  The bitterness over things he did is gone now.  I miss him, and I can admit it to myself without being ashamed.  Why was I ever ashamed?  Because I was bitter, and I felt that took away my right to miss him or express sorrow over the incredible loss of a father who loved me and whom I love.

Mrs. Chaffee…..the most awesome person I knew as a child.  She died when I was 12.  She was 83 years young, as she put it.  Young but ready to go home.  Her husband was buried on my 10th birthday, and she never was the same, as is so often the case.  Instead of dwelling on the sadness of the loss of this remarkable woman born over a century ago, I focus on the joy of having known her in the first place.  Having loved her.  What a special lady Mrs. Chaffee was.  I miss her every day of my life.

These are the happy thoughts.  There are sad ones, as well.

I have lost friends, old and young.  The loss was markedly painful, but the absolute worst pain I have known was when the children of my friends began to die.  That will put life in perspective.

For all the young friends I lost in my childhood and adulthood, the loss was devastating, of course.  I try to remember that they have gone to better than what they had here.  The babies, though.

Seven year old Tracy.  The child was born severely handicapped, but he was able to live without being attached to machinery, and his sweet disposition brought a smile to everyone’s faces.  One day, I received a call that Tracy had rolled over in his bed during the night and fallen between the bed and the wall.  His handicaps being as they were, he was unable to dislodge himself, and he suffocated.  When I found out, it was as if my heart had been ripped out of my chest.  He was not my son, but he was a child I loved.  It felt so WRONG that one of our babies died before we did.  There are those who have said it was for the best.  Factually speaking, that may be so, but who will tell that to his mother as she lies in bed crying, missing her son?  Who can ease the pain his sisters may feel if they are old enough to remember him?  No one can replace Tracy.

Six year old Brianna.  I took her mother, her brother and sister, and her to the store one day.  Brianna was laughing, cutting up, getting in trouble the way kids do.  The next morning, her mother called me and said, "Herman, my baby’s dead."  Again, how does one deal with the loss of such a young life?  Our babies.  They are not supposed to die.  Brianna was trapped in a fire that her own aunt started by leaving a hot plate under a blanket to heat the child.  The adults ran out, leaving Brianna in the burning house.  Her mother has never been quite fully sane since that happened. 

I will continue this line of thinking later.  It is time for bed.

My Mikey, I love you forever times PI cubed plus one,

Your Jack