Lost Birds

 Haven't written since May.  In the blink of an eye since school got out, then it was Summer School, and now we are already into the 2nd Six Weeks.  Time is slippery: going oh so fast while simultaneously crawling by.  It has been 604 days since Liberty moved on.  

The oddest thing happened two weekends ago.  I came home from Saturday School and saw that the floors on the way up the third floor were gross.   The floor was covered in powdery white ickiness all the way up to my apartment.  There was a slight smell as well.  But the worst was the sounds: like something banding against the walls and something picking at the walls and ceilings.  Finally found the culprit: a juvenile Grackle. This little guy was lost in our stairwell and couldn't get out through the skylights.  I tried to help this confused little bird out of the building using tapping the broom on the rails.   This bird was flapping and flapping to try to get out.  Over and over I tried.  After thirty minutes I had to get back to Caprock, so I left for about an hour and a half.  

That bird was still struggling when I made it back home.  This time I put some water out and changed my clothes then back at it.  

That bird was yelling at me for sure.   How none of my eight neighbors didn't come out.  The bedraggled birdy was hurting and not moving very well.  He was more chaotic, and scared.  After more practice and over an hour longer, with my Swiffer and my dustpan I started saying out loud, "You are not going to die today." over and over.  At some point I was talking to Libby , because I needed her to help me get that bird out safely.  I never touched that bird with any of my cleaning instruments until he finally followed the little noises I was making, and I pushed him out of the door.  https://music.apple.com/us/album/ill-fly-away/269440847?i=269441201

The little guy flew away immediately.   I checked over and over throughout that afternoon and evening and I never saw him again.  I heard it squawking across the courtyard at my apartment.  

Years ago, when the girls were under ten Libby brought in a little bird that had fallen out of the nest. She had brought all sorts of critters which Libby would place somewhere on her sister's bed.  Whatever Libby was trying to rescue usually got left of something of Mariah's stuff.   Oh, the squeaking and squawking by all!

Trying to think through this earlier memory and the great bird experience, I found this article. "Many cultures believe birds bring important messages, so a bird flying into your home may be trying to tell you something. Unfortunately, it won’t necessarily be obvious whether the news is good or bad – we’ll leave that up to your interpretation.

If a bird flies into your house and appears restless, but doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to get out, it could mean the presence of a spirit. Again, this isn’t always a bad thing, as the spirit might not be of the evil kind, but may simply be trying to guide you through a difficult time in your life."  

Broken Horses

Libby's little birdie did not make it very long.  They rarely do.  I hope that my little bird lived on telling the story of the crazy apartment lady promising and arguing that it WILL live.  

But my little birdie, my little liberty did not make it through her illness, but she damn sure fought against every single step as her illness fought back.  I believe we have had ongoing interactions since Liberty's body quit.  I do.  I am grateful for every feather I see.  She is in every sunrise and sunset.  She dances to her own weird music coming clearly through the wind.  Libby made us warriors in everyday life.  Her stubbornness shines through Marigh and her perseverance.  All of this and the date is 605 since she left this life.   Here's to many more.  

Time is slippery and I am blessed by every memory that comes through me. 

Counting On

In 2015, Liberty was a graduating senior at Caprock.  That was eight years ago. On Senior Day, we enjoyed the Pirate ship, the Hymilayan, and a few more rides that were Liberty accessible.   We tried to ensure that Libby got a genuine experience in her Senior year.  It was harrowing getting her into and out of the rides, but her smiles were worth it.  

Her senior year was wonderful for her. And like many other parents, it was harder on all of Libby's family. There was a fear of the unknown, excitement, and trepidation. She wanted to graduate with her friends- so she did. I didn't have a plan for where Libby would go while I was at school. We didn't have a plan at all. Stubbornness won, as it usually did.

Against my requests, Libby wanted to walk across the stage. It took a gait belt, leg braces, a principal, and several Special Education Aides flanking her through her journey across the stage. I handed her a diploma with tears running down my cheeks. I will never forget that day. It took her 14 hard and slow steps to get across to get that diploma. I am grateful she wanted to walk with her friends. Grateful it counted.

I count.  I count everything. And many things. I used to count every step on my walk after school.  No reason except I wanted to know exactly how many steps it took me to get home to Grandma.   For years I would count the time between breaths.  Count the breaths.  The time between medications.  Counting my grief with every breath.

It is a blessing and a challenge to continue to count the days since her last day: 471 days as of 5/17/23.   Counting the last time she ate. Counting the last time she laughed.  Counting back to the last times she sang.  I don’t need to keep counting, but it is a balm at times for my heart to count these moments and days. Instead, I can count the inches on her tree has grown, how long I’ve been living in my apartment, or how happy Mariah is.  I can count on the end of my 19th year of teaching.

 This is a monumental passage in my life.  Until now, I have never before lived alone.  I have never had my own bathroom. Never had my own closet. I have found that I am better with less.

Until now, I have always shared my space in some way.  I have very few items in my tiny home, and that is good. 

 I don’t need things.  I need time and healing peace. I need Libby’s tree to continue to grow.  Today, I have Monkey, my Siamese cat, and he is enough.   

( I do miss my dogs, but there’s no way for me to have them now.)  

There is no internet and no tv in my apartment, and I love the solace and quiet. I lose time in peacefulness as I count my days. I am humbled to have each and every day to carry on. It is a gift to have the time to carry on, as I grow into my own independence.

Mariah continues to flourish and become more and more of a force in her own world. She is kind, thoughtful, honest, and fierce. Mariah is everything I could have wanted her to be and SO MUCH MORE. Derrick and Mariah's understanding and support are a true gift. Cannot say thank you enough.

More and more I cleave to my faith for all of the opportunities and

challenges ahead.  

You are loved.  You are important. You count. Every bit and breath counts. This time is not guaranteed, so we are all graduating in our own ways. And it all counts. For that, we are blessed. "Didn't Know My Own Strength"

Run Fast Little One

 I have always cherished the beauty of the Easter season.  As a child Easter meant going to the garage sales with my Godmother to get a frilly dress, girdle, and “clicky” shoes.  Not to mention getting my hair pressed to set the curls in the right places.  I can still smell the rolls rising, deviled eggs, as the Ham baked for our after-church Easter Meal. 

In church, Easter meant bright colors came out of their hiding to usher us into a new season.  The hope of resurrection filled the world with a cacophony of risen life in both flora and fauna.  Easter is the time of resilience and re-beginnings. 

"There is Jesus"

Yet, before we get to that time of celebration there are the deep, dry, and cold parts of winter.  I am not comfortable in the dark, and this year Dark invited strange high winds that seem to stay on the Panhandle stage for encore after encore.  The trifecta of cold, dark, and windy means there aren’t many chances of running or biking outside, but I still didn’t welcome the winter blues this year as I have in the past yearning to be outside.  I am better when I can be outside. "When It Don't Come Easy" I don't think I am the only one struggling to not pick up the pent-up yuck of winter.

This year, I am coveting the starkness of Lent, and the simplicity of giving away what weighs us down.  As much as I relish the chance to love an unadorned church, I revel in the beauty rolling into the fully dressed church on a tide of colors. As simple as the church is when She is in Lent, She is just as surprisingly complex during Easter Tide. That contrast is part of my own emotional, physical, and spiritual rotation.  

 The more I am coming out of my Grief fog, the more I am realizing what is better for my whole self. That means I am finding time to be outside or get into the pool for laps- even if it is in short adventures. 

Easter and all of the beauty that comes along with Spring feels like I’ve been charged with glorious enlivened growth.  We’ve even had several little teasing spots of rain and even the dirt is wearing a “Spring come here to me” smell. Last week, 3/22, I had a doctor's checkup and afterward, I gleefully took myself to Palo Duro Canyon.  I had three hours before I had to return to school; I took a half day.  What beauty did I find?  No longer is the Canyon wearing the almost simple pallet of winter yellows and grays.   She is wearing lots of copper red and infantile greens as she gears up for the seasonal change.    

I saw all these beautiful friends and sang my way down the trail.  Then I saw the most amazing gift: I stopped to look at the stream and saw an adolescent Coyote across the stream.  I didn’t get a picture because she was looking right at me and I began to cry…  She stood completely still and then nodded her head as she sniffed in my direction. She was shedding her winter fur, as am I. Then I realized that her muzzle had red specks in her fur. 

 Libby was always the Wolf, the Coyote, the Fox: all the Canid.  I just kept singing “Hi Libby- Hi Libby- Hi Libby.”  I uh may have tried to follow that coyote for quite a while, and I could not keep up.  I couldn’t keep up with her.  

I choose to believe that Liberty needed to see me as much as I needed to feel her presence. I choose to believe that Liberty was letting me know that she is eating after so long struggling to eat.  I choose to believe that she is growing in her new realm by running fast as did so long ago.  I cannot say that I don’t miss her physical presence every day, but I am grateful that she is free of physical problems.  She has shed her body, just as the coyote is shedding blood-stained fur.  Every Easter we can clean out the negative and water the positive; we too can shed what doesn’t serve us.  

"Hold My Hand"

As everything is dynamically changing, and growing in this Eastertide I pray that we can be refreshed in this season.  I know that I am surrounded by love and support and for that I am grateful.  Please continue to say her name and keep her in our hearts.  Pray for her other family members and of course, for her amazing sister and Derrick.  We are all running in our own ways.  We are all learning and growing in our own ways.  As stark as parts of winter have been, Spring can be a fantastic race of growing and shifting into a better and stronger version of ourselves.  Run fast little one- I will always be cheering you on.

 

The Remember Day

 Today is Liberty's first Heavenly Birthday and I am much more of a mess than normal.  She would have been 26 today.  I miss her from the marrow of my bones.  Miss taking care of her.  Just miss her. 

 Yesterday, in church, it hit me that I have nothing to get for her.  Then I realized she doesn't need anything anymore.  Nothing.  Her list of potential gifts is ZERO.   So, I cried there in church.  A cry that is like wearing someone else's worn-out shoes. Quietly and unabashedly.  It poured.  Crying is not a sport I am good at.  At all.  I am happy sitting on the bench in this game.   It's just not natural for me- and that's ok.

There is nothing left for me to give her.  I can continue to do volunteer work in her name.  I can tell stories of her to share her life with others.   I can offer pictures of her and sign her favorite songs loudly, but there is nothing that she really needs.  

 I cried more when I realized that I do have a  gift to give her after all. 

Then, it hit me.  It was right before communion when I realized that I DO have one more real present to offer: it's the sunrise.  The only thing I can do is to keep getting up every day and doing what I can to continue.  I have to keep getting up.  Damn it.  I have to go "on and on" for her, for Mariah, for me, for all of us.  So there it is.   This is the gift.  "Sing Loud, Fly High, and Be Brave."

This weekend I went to the Happy Cemetary and was grateful for the opportunity to be there with her beautiful headstone.  It is a lovely place to visit as my mom and dad are both there as well.  I haven't been in Happy since my exodus in April, and I have missed it.  Prayers for the blessing of health and happiness for the people in Happy.  

Now is the time to decide that it isn't a mistake that I am surviving the departure of our Liberty.   This road is terribly hard to navigate, but it is also vital.  I have a gift left to give, and I will continue to try.   

"On and On"

On this day, may we all remember our love and live fully. 

You are loved.  You are important.  You are a gift. 

Thanksgiving Letter to Liberty and More -2022

Thanksgiving Letter to Liberty and More- 2022

This is a mottled grab bag of love, grief, and gratitude. 

It has been 295 days since your homegoing.  Some Days it doesn’t seem real, and other days I wear your passing like a shield. Much has changed, much of it is good.  I live in Amarillo in a tiny apartment with only Monkey (Frankie) as my companion.  I find that I have much to do and yet there is nothing to do except to get lost thinking about you.  Taking care of you was a blessing that definitely kept me busy.  In hindsight, I realize that the most painful part of letting you go is what I am most grateful for today.  I rarely wake up on a pill schedule any more, though I still reach out for you in the middle of the night.  Loving you through all of your medical needs is one of the greatest beautiful and hard things I’ve ever been a part of.  I am grateful for the long hard road we tripped down. 

I wanted to write to you during this time of thankfulness. 

 

 I am grateful for the chance to be your Mom especially since I wasn’t supposed to be able to conceive a second time.  I am grateful that you made Mariah a Big Sister. You must be so very proud of the woman your sister has become.  She is a truly amazing person who is kind, strong, determined, hard working, and hard loving.  She is the other half of my heart.  I am grateful for the times that you teased then loved your sister and your cousins.  I am especially grateful for the time you put the tarantula in your sister’s bed. 

I am grateful that you are exactly who you are throughout your life.  I am grateful for your laugh- even when it changed. I am grateful for how you love Rachael and your grandparents.  I am grateful how you love all animals and are going to be our very own  Steve Irvin. I am grateful for your love of being outdoors. I am grateful for the movies you will watch with us over and over.  

I am grateful for your memory and love of music. I am grateful for your love of art.  I am grateful for your love of hawks and wolves. I am grateful for the way you love your aunts and uncles. I am grateful for the community you created who love and support you.  I am grateful for how you cried and laughed when you need to.  I am grateful that I was able to hold you most nights in those last months. I am grateful I got to hold you when you began sundowning. I am grateful for the hospice caregivers we brought into our lives.    I am grateful for the time you were with us as a healthy Liberty, and after your body and brain changed. I am grateful that I have a memory of all of this and so much more.  I am grateful for my friends and family who let me talk about you, and those who don’t make me talk about you.

I know I was and am  blessed in so many ways for loving you.  Thank you.  Libby, please keep coming to visit us.  Please.  

https://youtu.be/KiypaURysz4 “Holy Now”

In case you are wanting to visit with Liberty, or want to sit in peace she now has a tree planted.  It is perfectly  planted in the south side of St. Andrew’s church grounds.  I am deeply grateful for David Stidham who heard what I needed and took care of getting it planted. It is a hybrid of four different kinds of apples that will pollinate itself.  Praying that this tree flourishes.  I need it to, so very much.  

 

The time around Thanksgiving has always been my favorite part of the year. In the last few years it has been a bit of a struggle.  Even with multiple stumbling blocks we’ve always been able to come together, or mostly together and celebrate.  In a year of firsts, my Thanksgiving will be in Amarillo.  It will be hard, different, but it will also be blessed.  I know some of the changes I have made have been hurtful, and for that I am sorry. As so much has changed, I needed to change as well.  I am grateful for my loving and accepting community.    

Now about the food…

I am going to share some of our favorite things.

Today would have been the 106th birthday of your GG (AKA Great Grandma/ Geneva Farley Bumpus).  The month of November belongs to her as all the fun we shared creating the Thanksgiving meal together.  She reminded me often to enjoy my time with both you and Mariah as our time will be short- much too short.  One of our favorite times in her kitchen was making the yeast rolls. You and Mariah would dip the hot buns into the mashed potatoes and gravy. We all loved those rolls. Sadly, I was not given that recipe, but I believe I have one that is close.  This first Thanksgiving I will be having the bread. Here is the closest recipe I could find.   Grandma's Old Fashioned Yeast Rolls

My godmothers, Aunt Gina and Aunt Verna, my fraternal Great Aunts loved to make different twists on family dishes. Most important was finding and crafting different recipes to share with their community of church ladies.  I was lucky to share weekends between my Grandmother and my Great Aunts, and sometimes with my cousin Tammy. One interesting variety I remember was being in the kitchen and perfecting a cranberry chutney recipe.  It was an interesting departure from the canned cranberry that I enjoyed.  This recipe is similar to what I remember.  (They may have made this for their Christmas meal; I can’t remember for sure.) This chutney is so good and you mix and match many of the spices to meet your tastes.  

Cranberry Chutney

I adore sweet potatoes.  I like them baked.  I like them fried.  I like them in the can or straight  out of the garden.  I will put them in salads, soups or as lovely sides.  I LOVE THEM!  Oh the happiness when I found this wonderful recipe for a casserole.  You can alter how much of the pineapple you add in, or you skip it all together.  It can also be altered into a souffle.   You can adjust to make it less sweet for your needs.  I love the crunchy and savory addition of the chopped pecans.  Almonds work as well.  I just wanted to share some of my favorite things along with the memories.  

Sweet Potato Casserole 

Libby loves Pecan Pie.   Loves it.   That is one of the pies that she would let me have the crust and she would ravage the innards. Both she and my Grandmother loved this pie even though it is always terribly sweet. They loved it.  There are many places that offer a great Pecan Pie, but I like the ones I have found at Sam’s.  They have a good bakery and offer huge pies.  Between holidays, I would buy her the little individual pecan pies and it never took her long to eat it all!  This last few years when Libby didn’t chew or swallow very well, I’d throw a piece in the Ninja and away she’d go. Especially when I was trying to keep weight on her.  Sweet stuff for my sweet little stuff.  

Pecan Pie

May you eat your fill and love more.  

Be blessed my friends. Until later, know that you are loved. 

Nine Months of First

 Nine Months of Firsts

I pray that the words of my heart ring true and offer healing, forgiveness, and hope. 

First February and Mariah’s birthday without Libby.  First Spring without Libby.  First Easter. First Mother’s Day without Libby. The first end of a school year.  First Summer without a family vacation altogether.  First New school year. First every day.  Every day is truly a day without Liberty, and some days that is very hard to reconcile when I am growing and healing on my own time. I am so very blessed to have an honest relationship with Mariah who has her own journey to traverse with her sister in her heart.   She strengthens me; she is a force to be reckoned with every day.

So much has changed in my world, and I know that I have been the catalyst of many of the changes.  It has been growing- a lot of growing.  It has also been a lot of aching hardships as I learn how to ride the waves of grief.  Liberty passed away on January 30th  with a beautiful hospice team, her favorite music, and her beloved family around.  So many of her loved ones were able to be there to say their farewells and offer support.  It was hard, and it was lovely.  I could not have asked for it to be more peaceful as she passed.  

Slowly my body is resetting, and I am no longer waking up multiple times a night to give Libby her meds or check on her. Now instead of getting up or reaching for her, I say her name and tell her I love her. I was blessed to have been part of her care team.   This time last year I knew Libby would not be with us too much longer.  Memories of last year are either convoluted or terribly clear.  There are many things I do not remember or don’t want to. For months, I would wake up mid-anxiety attack and/or crying. I knew my world was crashing and all I could do was what I could do: love the kid and support the others who love her.   

It was the letting go with grace and faith that was hard.  This hardness hits on and off like waves but hit full tilt in the last couple of weeks as my birthday approached.   It took a while for me to realize that the heaviness I felt was the fact that I am still here and Liberty’s is not.  Parents are not supposed to bury our children period. Losing a child in any way should not be part of the roller coaster we call life.  And even though it was a peaceful and perfect homegoing, it was still going away from our girl.  The child we all fought for and pushed to keep her happy and comfortable for so long is gone.  Still, I remain grateful to have been a part of her journey.  Grateful.

I am putting that heaviness off, as I cannot undo or change the long, hard, and blessed road we all traveled beside Liberty.  Now, we all need to forge new paths without her physically here.  Since April, I have made some big changes in my life.  These changes were for me to create a way to grow and heal.  After over 13 years of being a caretaker, I needed to be able to find who I was and try on the new growth my spirit was craving.   

I moved out of Happy and got a place for me to live in Amarillo. I have never lived alone.  Never had a bathroom or a closet to myself. It has been a blessing and a new kind of being.  I am learning to simply be in my space.  I enjoy being close to the church, school, and even stores, but  I miss the open spaces in Happy, the beautiful friends, and the community.  I miss my dogs and other animals, so grateful to have Monkey with me in Amarillo.   

My move caused many people I love pain, and for that I am sorry.  I needed to breathe and heal my own pains. I needed to go. I separated from Rachael.  In therapy, I have learned that two disparate things can be true, such as I didn’t want to hurt anyone,  and yet I needed to go for myself.  Completing the steps to end our relationship was hard.  We had many, many years growing together.  Now I pray that we can each grow strong as the individuals we are capable of being.  

   

I changed my job as well.  I went from teaching Advanced Placement English Literature and Dual Credit to returning to my first love in teaching: Special Education.   I am a co-teacher for several wonderfully talented teachers.  My learning curve has been huge; I love the challenge.  The world of Special Education has changed greatly in the last 15 years, so I have great things to learn. I am trying. My short-term memory is not great partially due to grief.  I am excited to keep trying and learning in this new position.    

https://music.apple.com/us/album/graves-into-gardens-studio/1524503069?i=1524503568

 

I pray that all that have loved and cared for Libby can grow and continue to share the love.  As this is my first birthday without her, may we all keep moving forward in love and hope. Every day is a day without Liberty, and yet she is always with us.  I have carried this grief in a pregnant heart as we step past the nine months of changes.   I am sorry I have not been sharing for so long.   Been doing the work and processing it on my own time.   Thank you all for your support. 

Waves

In February, I had a talk with my principal and blessedly, he listened. I am continually blessed by my campus and cohorts.  I had been trying to find a way to get a transfer or a change in assignment.  I knew that this discussion could have gone several ways. I didn’t want to leave my school, but I needed the change.  Another change in a barrage of healing and grieving,  Another change to mirror the way I have changed.   

 I needed out of the coveted position of teaching AP Literature.  I have loved and enjoyed the students and the AP style teaching strategies, yet I wanted to return to my first love of teaching students with different abilities.  For months I haven’t known what or where I would be teaching next year.  I have been specifically praying that I would be placed where I am needed and where I needed to be.   

I am a planning, list making, checking off the boxes, get it done on time, but what if, kind of chaos manager.  Facing the unknowns in my career was disconcerting and a little exciting.  

I realize that I have lost my self-confidence and quit listening to my own intuition.  I have not been listening to what I needed for a long while, mostly because I was honed into what Liberty and the family needed.  The little voice that kept telling me that I needed a change in my professional world also told me that more changes were coming. My intuitive inner voice has been awakened! 

(More about changes later.)

 One of the things I have been doing to exercise that intuitive siren within me is part of my swim training.  I have been closing my eyes while swimming laps. Goggles on, belly button, and forehead in line with the long blue stripe on the bottom    At first, it was unsettling.  With repeated attempts, I have become comfortable trusting my body’s rhythm with the forward crawl. When in doubt, I can simply open my eyes to ensure that I am within the safety zones of the lanes and I am not running into the lane ropes or other swimmers. When in doubt, I check in with my body if I am within the safety zone of the lanes.  

This is similar to being on the track where I can run or bike and have to be hyper-aware of anything except what my body is doing.  I can completely zone and pray and contemplate whatever my brain offers up.

https://youtu.be/zIC_9CI-FVw  My current favorite artist.

Just like so much in life, if I can continually trust my faith and my intuition whatever is going on will be ok. By limiting my visual stimulation, I can zone completely out and “hear” what my heart and brain need me to listen to.  I have had many “Libby squeezes” where I feel that she visits. A cacophony of emotions roll over me and then I have a knock-down drag-out over catching my breath.  These waves of grief just have to run their race, just as I do.  As the Libby squeeze subsides, there is a peace that brings hope and returns love to me. 

 Having your heart squeeze with grief and love while in the water is a different experience.  If you haven’t cried and laughed while swimming with your eyes closed, I recommend to not recommend it.  Just try to make sure to not swallow copious amounts of water. 

Still taking Kitty with me. 

You are loved.