Tonight, I cry. I cry lots and lots of tears because I know tomorrow is coming. Tomorrow is September 12. Tomorrow my Papa would have turned 85. Tonight I cry because I won't send him a birthday card this year or call him and hear his voice. Samuel and David won't gather around my phone and sing "Happy Birthday" to my Papa. I cry because I hurt. I miss him so terribly that it burns. I have tried to prepare myself for tomorrow, but it's not working. I have tried to keep busy and distracted today, but that's not working either. I started crying on Sunday...well, let me back up...I cry every Sunday. I have cried every Sunday since Christmas Eve. Not kidding. It usually hits me when I am getting ready for church. I cry in the shower and try to get myself together before my boys see me or before I have to put on stinkin' make up. I think it hits me so hard on Sundays because I know my Papa loved his church. He loved being an usher and greeting people at the front door. He loved to serve others. I am sure that the ushers at our church think I am the most horribly rude person ever because I squeak out a good morning, grab a bulletin, and rush past them. I can't look at them...they remind me of Papa. If he were still alive, he'd be greeting people at the door with that big smile and those beautiful blue eyes. And so, I cry on Sundays...every Sunday. I think about my Papa every day. I miss him every day. So tomorrow, on my Papa's birthday...I will cry. Probably lots and lots of tears. And that's ok... I'm ok with the tears because I am blessed. I am blessed because I know first hand what it feels like to be loved unconditionally and to love someone very deeply. I am blessed because of all the lessons that I learned from my Papa. I am blessed for the 33 years, 4 months, and 14 days that I had with my Papa. I am blessed that I grew up with the influence and wisdom of David Carlton Farmer in and on my life. Praise the Lord. Thank you, Jesus, for that sweet wonderful man that I called my Papa. And so, I will still cry. A lot...and probably for a long time. Because I miss my Papa. I miss everything about my Papa. But within this hurt and grief, there are blessings. I see those blessings very clear through the tears and the hurt. I know that there are good, happy tears within the sad tears. So, tomorrow on September 12 - I will cry, I will mourn, I will grieve...but I remember...remember countless memories of my Papa and the endless love that he gave to me...and for that, I am forever thankful. Happy Birthday, my Papa. I love you with my whole entire heart forever.
This has been the hardest week of my life...
This week, I lost my Papa. He passed away on Christmas Eve.
He was there as I drew my very first breath, I was there as he took his last breath.
He was there as I formed in my mother's womb and my heart began to beat, I was there as his heart beat for the very last time.
He was there as I grew and my body grew stronger, I was there as his body grew older and as he moved on to his heavenly home.
I have never felt pain like this...ever. I have lost loved ones, but not like this. My heart is broken and I have never felt grief like this...ever. My friend, Rob Barge, posted this on his Facebook wall:
"GRIEF IS AN HONOR
Accumulated grief and sorrow, no longer to be held at bay, have swarmed
up and blown the hinges off the gate. Grief and sorrow have flattened
me. After the gate flew open, I
learned the most important lessons of my life.I learned that grief is
precisely equivalent to love, and that the terrible grief felt after the
loss of a person one has loved deeply is a necessary consequence of
that love and represents its survival in another form. However bitterly,
grief is an honor.
I learned that grief universally saturates
and enriches our world, for sooner or later loss of an almost
unimaginable order transforms everyone. Parents die, brothers and
sisters die, even children die, and these deaths create irreparable
wounds that shrink over time but never heal. On all sides, tears lie
just beneath the surface. The emotion that gives rise to those tears is a
connective tissue extending far, far down into our common humanity and
our individual beings, and in those depths it becomes indistinguishable
from joy."
This week, I have tried to remember that my grief is an honor. I have tried my best to remember how very blessed I am to have be given the gift of knowing and loving my Papa for 33 years. Not everyone has such a privilege. Not everyone knows a grandfather's love like I have known and experienced. I have tried to focus on good memories. My Papa taught me how to ride a bike. He had a swing in his front yard, and I can not begin to total the endless hours he spent pushing me in that swing. I'm quite sure he had other things to do, but when he and I were together, it's as if time was frozen and nothing else mattered. While he was in the hospital, he told the nurse, "this is my granddaughter. She's my #1. She's a teacher." I always knew he was proud of me. Always. I will forever be proud of him. Forever. In November, I made the trip to Georgia to be with my Papa. He was to have a routine surgery to remove what we all thought was a benign mass in his colon. After several hours of surgery, our family was hit hard by the news that a malignant tumor was found, which caused major complications and required another surgery. I don't know if I can adequately put into words the shock that ran through our family. It was devastating, to say the least. Papa never made it home. We thought things were getting better as he made his way to a rehab facility, but the cancer was too aggressive and other complications made things worse. Christmas Eve (with my Grannie, his children, and some grandchildren gathered by his bedside), Papa went to be with the Lord. My Papa loved Jesus more than any man that I have ever known. It was evident in the way he lived his life. Part of me was celebrating that Papa was with Jesus, that he was no longer in pain, but my heart hurt. I suppose that I have always believed that my Papa was indestructible...that he would live forever here on earth. I mean, that's how we perceive our super-heroes, right? My Papa was definitely a super-hero. It gets to a point where you don't think you can cry anymore...but still the tears come. I have moments where I cam completely overwhelmed by missing him already. Trying to sleep this week has been a challenge, and I often found myself in my grandparent's living room in the middle of the night, sitting in my Papa's chair...trying to sink further and further into that chair hoping that I could feel him again...just once more. I found myself standing in the middle of his closet...hoping to smell him again...just once more. Sitting at their breakfast table, just wishing that he would come and pat my face like he had done so many times in my life...just once more. On Thursday night, we had visitation at the funeral home. The line was long. So many people came to pay their respects. I can't count the times I heard someone tell my Daddy or my Grannie that Papa was a "good man" or how much they loved his smile or what a difference that he had made in their life. On Friday, I was getting ready for the funeral...and a song came to mind from the Lion King musical. I looked it up on my phone and listened and cried...
I'm not sure why this song came to mind...I think God sends us little pieces of comfort during times like this...many times my comfort is found in music. As I watched the video, I remembered the story of the Lion King. To make a very long story short, Mufasa (the king) was killed and his son, Simba, had to realize that his father lives in and through him so that he could fulfill his obligations as the next King.
My Papa touched MANY lives...and I think that Papa's legacy will live on through people that have been changed by my Papa's actions and love. I felt him this week every time I hugged my Aunt Carolyn (his baby sister and who is cut from the SAME, EXACT cloth as my Papa) or laughed with my family about a silly memory. I know he lived on as members from his church took donations from the meal they fed us before the funeral to feed over 35 people at a homeless shelter. He lives on through my Daddy as he steps up to lead our family and help take care of my Grannie. I can see the reflection of my Papa through my Daddy's eyes. He lives on as my husband, Brad, cleaned out my Grannie's cabinets and took out the trash. He lives on through my Uncle Ted as he fixed everyone a glass of ice, washed dishes, and helped my little brother fix his roof...he lives on as my Aunt Dianne prepared a meal for all of us, and picked out just the perfect pictures for the slide show at the funeral home. He lives on as my Momma read the Christmas Story through her tears on Christmas Day. He lives on every time that we have joined hands as a family this week to pray. He lives of through the blue eyes of my sweet boys. Even though he's gone, he's still with us...because he touched each and every person in our family - and we each have a piece of him somewhere inside.
My friend, Rebekah sent this poem to me:
Death is nothing at all...I have only slipped away into the next
room...I am I, and you are you...whatever we were to each other, that we
are still. Call me by my old familiar name, speak to me in the easy way
you always used. Put no difference into your tone; wear no forced air
of solemnity or sorrow. Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes
we enjoyed together. Play, smile, think of me, pray for me. Let my name
be ever the household word that it always was. Let it be spoken without
effect, without the ghost of a shadow on it. Life means all that it ever
meant. It is the same as it ever was; there is absolutely unbroken
continuity. Why should I be out of mind because I am our of sight? I am
waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near just around the
corner...All is well.
-Henry S. Holland Oxford Professor of Divinity
There is still pain and sorrow. There is still grief. But what a privilege to have him for as long as I did...my life was changed for the better because of my Papa. I love you always and forever, my Papa.
"Gray hair is a crown of splendor; it is attained by a righteous life."
I'm not exactly sure why...but, I've been thinking about a lot of special memories of special people lately. This was possibly brought on by my Uncle David's birthday on October 17. If you don't know this, my Uncle David passed away in June of 2007. June 25 and October 17 are tough days because my mind and heart are always flooded of sweet, funny memories of my Uncle David...but let's go back a little further...we'll come back to Uncle David for sure...
My Aunt Susie was my Mom's older sister. My mom is the youngest of three. Aunt Susie was the oldest, then Uncle Sam, then my Momma...yep, Mom is the youngest of three (and my Uncle Sam claims that she was spoiled rotten, however my Mom says that Uncle Sam was rotten because he was the only boy...yadayadayada...). Anyway, I have very fond memories of spending time in the summers with my Aunt Susie. She was a librarian, and she would set me loose in a middle school library when I was only in elementary school. I completely blame my love of reading on her...she loved books and loved to read too. She gave me so many fun experiences as a child...we went to Disney World (and I got in BIG trouble because I managed to slip away from her during one of the parades...I was just trying to get a closer look, but she was SO mad because for just a brief second, she didn't know where I was - I think that's the only time I remember her getting REALLY upset with me). We would go to the mountains and go "mining" in those gem mining places where you ran the dirt through the water to find the gems. I loved doing that, and for years I kept all the sapphires, rose quarts, amethyst, and even a few small emeralds that she and I found together.Her house was always...and I am not kidding...always messy. She saved everything and just made piles and piles of stuff everywhere. I never remember eating a meal at her house - probably because we wouldn't have any table space and she couldn't find any clean dishes to cook with...but we ate lots of Hardee's butter biscuits for breakfast. She never married...and I'm glad because I had her all to myself for those precious summer visits. Her world revolved around her nieces and nephews. She always showed up to birthday parties with gifts for everyone...she got everyone goldfish one year! Once we moved to South Carolina, she visited a lot. One year, she was there for Easter. Mom & Dad got up to head off the sunrise service and they let Brandt and I sleep late. Of course, when I got up, I was looking for what the Easter bunny left...but there was nothing! Of course, she quickly told me to go back to bed...that the Easter bunny was running late! Then all I heard was frantic scurrying around and the rustle of the plastic covered Easter baskets. She and I were kindred spirits...I knew she loved me and we loved our time together. When I was in late elementary school, Aunt Susie was diagnosed ovarian and cervical cancer. My last memories of her are very vague...not nearly as clear as the happy memories, and for that I am thankful. I remember she was very weak...and I didn't visit her in the hospital. When she was staying at my Grandmother's house...we went to visit. She looked so frail, but she wanted to know all about 6th grade and I brought my shiny, new clarinet to show her - she even tried to play it. She wanted to know what book I was reading in English class and we talked about "Where the Red Fern Grows." I remember the gown she was wearing that day...it was pink with little flowers...and I remember thinking that she looked so small and weak. We buried Aunt Susie on Christmas Eve of my sixth grade year. I remember what I wore to the visitation and funeral. I remember the dress that Aunt Susie was buried in. I remember getting stuck sitting beside my cousin, Chris...and his knee shook up and and down the entire funeral. I don't remember what was said or sung. And that was it. I often wonder what would have happened if Aunt Susie would have lived. I know that she would have been so proud of all that my cousins and I have accomplished. She would have been the one to edit my thesis for my Masters degree and Chip's doctoral dissertation. I know that she would have loved my husband, Brad...and he would have loved her. I know that she would have been crazy about my boys and my cousin's children. I know that she would have still been burning up I-20 to get to South Carolina every moment that she could. I hope that God has maybe given Aunt Susie a sweet, little glimpse into our family's lives...she'd be so proud and so happy. If not, we'll have a lot to tell her one day.
Earlier, I mentioned my Uncle David. Uncle David was my Daddy's oldest brother. Daddy is one of four children...Uncle David, Daddy, Uncle Dean, and Aunt Dianne. Uncle David passed away in June of 2007...and I was not ready for that phone call. First, let me give you a few memories...there are way too many to tell...I was born in a time in Uncle David's life where he needed someone to love him unconditionally...and who better than a cute little baby girl. Stories are told about how my Uncle David had a super-long beard and I would snuggle up in his beard and go fast to sleep. He would walk up and down the hallway at my grandparent's house, walking me to sleep while I snuggled up in that beard. I think he was proud to be an uncle. At this point, he did not have any children of his own, so I guess I filled a little void for him. When we lived in Georgia, there was a big field between our house and Uncle David's house. We always had horses that stayed in the field. I remember setting off across the field, all by myself...well, I felt like I was all by myself and that field felt SO HUGE...but Uncle David was always watching me and waiting for me at the gate. I can still see him standing there. Uncle David was the first person to get me on a horse...and after I rode with him, I loved it. I remember he came up to the house to get me...and I was going to ride down to Grannie and Papa's house with him. Apparently, I had been in my Momma's make-up and Uncle David pitched such a fit about that red lipstick and how I had better not get ANY of that stuff on him. I rode his motorcycle with him...and I remember going places in his El Camino. I trusted him with my life. I wasn't afraid of anything when I was with him. When we moved to South Carolina, I was terribly sad to leave my family, especially my Uncle David. I rode all the way to Myrtle Beach in the moving van with him. Just me and him...all the way to South Carolina. Finally, he became a father and I was so happy that he would get to experience that kind of love - and I love his daughter, Becky. He would often tell my Grannie that Becky reminded him a lot of me when I was little. As I grew older, I began to not only love my Uncle David, but to appreciate him. As a college student, I found myself sending Father's Day cards to him...because next to my Daddy, he was like a father to me. He told the funniest stories of his time serving as a deputy in a prison or about teaching his dogs not to tear up the Kleenex box. Uncle David would tell stories and have me in stitches...crying my eyes out because I was laughing so hard. I can still see the little smirk that he always had on his face and I can still hear his laugh. I can see his blue eyes as he told a story...and he loved to pick on me! He loved to grab my knee and say "horse eatin' corn, horse eatin' corn!" He would hide the rice krispy treats from me before we got to Grannie and Papa's for Christmas and EVERY year, I started off my time in Georgia searching for those dang rice krispy treats. My wedding video is the best - Uncle David dancing to the Hokey Pokey with Becky. I was so glad that he was there to be a part of my special day. He met Samuel - and he loved him. There are a few pictures of them together. I wish I would have known to take more. I can still smell him sometimes...combination of leather and cigarette smoke...and even though cigarettes are terribly bad...that combination smells good to me because it reminds me of him. I never got to tell Uncle David good-bye. He was found in his home by some of his police deputy friends because he had not called into work. He died alone. That still rocks me to the core. It breaks my heart, but it doesn't surprise me. He didn't want anyone to worry about him, ever. When I arrived in Georgia for the funeral, all my Papa could do was hug me and say through his tears "oh, he loved you so much." Maybe that was his goodbye to me sent through my Papa. When the family cleaned out Uncle David's house, they found the Father's Day card from that June and many of the notes that I had sent him through the years. I loved that man. I still cry and miss him. I still wish that he would have seen his daughter graduate high school or met my David. And yes, my David is named after my Uncle David...and my brother. I couldn't think of a better name for my second born child...David Brandt. My Uncle David would have been proud...and I am proud that God gave me such a special man to be an important part of my life.
Both of my parents have lost a sibling. I can't begin to image the hurt that comes with that...but in times like these, when my mind and my heart take a stroll down memory lane, I choose to think of the precious, sweet memories. The laughter. The smiles. The hugs. The love. The blessings of my Aunt Susie and my Uncle David...how blessed I am for having them in my life for a short time on earth, but forever in my heart.
So, lately I've been thinking about a lot of memories...
Just an example:
Picture this: a really cute little 4 year old girl...oh, let me give you a visual:
Now, picture a Papa with legs longer than you can imagine. To this little girl, he was the tallest person ever. He's in his 50s...a young grandfather...and he has one granddaughter. His #1. This little girl follows those long legs where ever they go...to the barn, to the garden, to the back yard, to the truck...you getting the picture?
She'll go where ever he goes...even to take the trash to the dump. In fact, riding to the dump is one of her favorite places to go with her Papa...because they get to go in the truck...just the two of them. And her Papa sings their special song...
Papa starts: "Here we go, here we go!"
Little girl: "Here we go, here we go!"
Papa: "Down the little red road..."
Little girl: "down the little red road!"
Papa: "In the little blue truck..."
Little girl: "in the little blue truck."
Papa: "With my little Mary Anne..."
Little girl: "With my big Pop-eee."
I guess you've figured out that the little girl was me...is me. Sometimes Papa would drive me all the way into Athens to go to Dairy Queen for a Blizzard. They were my favorite. My Papa still makes sure that there are cinnamon rolls at his house every time I come for a visit...cinnamon rolls without raisins...because I don't like raisins. I love Reese Cups because my Papa always made sure there were some in the refrigerator.
There are so many memories that I have of my Papa. He drove all the way to Rock Hill, SC to be at my high school All-State Chorus Concert. Came all the way to Myrtle Beach when I had a lead in a musical. Didn't miss my high school or college graduation or wedding. My Papa drove all the way to Lexington, SC for the birth of his first great-grandson (because Samuel is in our #1 club!). He spends hours making rice krispy treats at Christmas time - because ALL of his grandkids love them. I can't think of anything that my Papa wouldn't do for me. I love his blue eyes. I love his white hair. I love the image of him on his Farmall tractor. I love the way he taught me to shuck corn. I love the way he rubs his hands when he's sitting on the couch. I love the way he answers the phone (Good morning! Good afternoon! Merry Christmas!). I love the way he prays. I love the way that his Bible is worn and tattered. I love the way he loves my Grannie. I love the way he walks us out to the car and waits in the driveway until he can't see our car anymore. I love the way he loves Georgia Bulldawg football - and gives me a hard time for being a Gamecock. I love the way that he spoils me rotten. I love the way that he immediately recognizes my voice over the phone. Come to think of it...I can't think about anything that I don't love about that man.
Last week, memories of my Papa flooded my mind and heart as I prayed against cancer in his colon. Like I said, I'm pretty sure that when God created the moon, my Papa hung it in the sky. I'm still praising God that there's no cancer because my Papa makes the world a better place...and has made me a better person. I love you, Papa.
My Papa and Samuel
Christmas 2011 - working hard on rice krispy treats - and he told us the secret!
David Carlton holding David Brandt for the very first time...I love that smile!
I know better than to be anxious. I know WHO holds tomorrow. I know WHO holds me. I know it in my head and I know it in my heart. Yet, one of the gifts God gave me is a vivid imagination...and it's also one of the things that the devil likes to use as a tool to send me right into a whirlwind of anxiety.
Two weeks ago, my primary care physician referred me to an ENT (Ear, Nose, and Throat doctor). I have been having some issues with hoarseness/tired voice, etc. I knew where this was headed - I had been down this road in college. But still...anxiety was waiting to pounce. I figured I would be waiting for weeks, but the ENT appointment was scheduled for Friday, October 26. I was a little shocked that it would be so soon...so, I planned to take the day off of work. Anxiety took it's seat - right in the front of my mind and made himself at home. Stupid anxiety.
On Monday, my Daddy sent me a text. Now, my Daddy is a man of few words, and his texts are very similar. The text said "Papa has a mass on his colon. He finds out Friday if cancer. I will be going to GA early on Fri." And just like that - not only was anxiety already in his favorite seat, but now he was dancing all over my heart. My Papa is my Daddy's father - and I love my Papa more than I can even begin to describe in words. I am quite sure that when God created the moon, my Papa helped Him hang it in the sky. There is no other man like my Papa...none. I am his first grandchild, and we have this #1 thing...because he's the oldest of his family too. He's special.
And now...anxiety began to reek havoc in my life. Both my doctor's appointment and Papa's appointment were on Friday...only hours apart. It was just Monday...so, I prayed. Every minute I found myself whispering a prayer for my Papa. Please, God...please no cancer. I held it together when I was distracted by work, piano lessons, doing things for the boys, etc...but when I was alone, I became a blubbering mess. In the shower, I cried. Alone in my car, I cried. Trying to fall asleep was nearly impossible - and always tearful. I mean, I'm the mother of two boys, so I didn't have THAT much time alone..not even in the bathroom, but when I did...the tears flowed. Thursday night was the worst. I kept thinking of my special "anxiety verses" from the Word...you know, we all have them...or maybe just me...those that I have memorized when anxiety takes his seat...and dances around in my head. I mean, anxiety was having a dang party this week.
On Friday morning, my Aunt Dianne posted this verse on her FB "When my heart is overwhelmed, lead me to the Rock that is higher than I" - Psalm 61:2. Yep. I have been listening to Tamela Mann's "Take Me to the King" A LOT lately. Powerful song.
Funny how God gives you just what you need when He knows you are supposed to have it. I was all by myself on Friday morning. I sent a FB message to some of my most precious friends, asking them to cover my Papa and me in prayer. I couldn't read their replies because I knew it would make me cry...I read them later and cried anyway. I knew I had to keep myself together for my doctor's appointment. My Momma called..tried to keep it together. Got dressed...walked downstairs and there was my Momma standing at the front door. That turkey! Yes, I just called my Momma a turkey. See...my Momma knows her daughter...and she knew I was scared. And God sent her to me that morning...because He knew I needed her. And yep, I cried.
But...when I got to the doctor's office...there was peace. I can't explain it. I was fine throughout the examination (well, minus the gagging and carrying on when the doctor tried to stick a mirror down my throat four times, then the tube down my nose...yes, lovely). And I'll tell you, there was even some laughter...like when I asked Mom was SHE ok...sitting back in the corner of the room listening to me gag my head off had to be a bit traumatic. The doctor verified that I do have two small nodules (like small blisters on my vocal cords), but he said they were small. I have a little bit of a journey ahead...speech therapy consultation...maybe even surgery. He referred me to another doctor in the practice that deals with vocal cords. I have an appointment with her in December. The news could have been much worse...and I was at peace. Just have to take gentle care of my instrument...had to have a blood test to rule out some other possibilities...still waiting on that...
Momma and I ate lunch at Pawley's Front Porch...Momma said there was no way she could eat that whole burger, but she did. And all those sweet potato fries too! HA! As Momma blessed the food, she prayed for Papa. We knew that the rest of our family was at the doctor's office with Papa - waiting...then Daddy sent a text...remember, man of few words: "No cancer. Surgery soon." Praise the Lord! No cancer. Hallelujah!
All weekend, I have been praising God for His grace, His faithfulness, His provisions...praising Him for the friends that prayed for me when I didn't feel like I could pray for myself. And do you know what's crazy!? Tonight I had to run out to CVS and Publix...and as Tamela Mann was singing "Take Me to the King," so was I...just once...didn't want to overdo it...but I was getting my praise on because God is good...so very good to me. And I kid you not, I have not had much a voice in weeks, but tonight I sang out to God for a whole four minutes...and I gave Him everything I had...because it's His anyway...the glory's not for us, it's all for You.
Well, here goes...
I read so many blogs...so many.
I tried a blog...once.
And after reading 3 blogs today I thought how therapeutic writing a blog must be for these people...so, here goes.
Make sense to start with a brief introduction...my name is Mary Anne. Yes, a southern-double name. Yes, like the chick off of Gilligan's Island...and yes, my best friend's name is Ginger. I am not kidding.
I am married to Brad. We met while I was on staff at Seesalt (a Christian youth camp where we ministered to teenagers through music, drama, Bible study, and recreation). The first summer we were on staff, we liked each other...the second summer we were on staff, we fell in love. And I'm not kidding...that summer, I knew I was going to marry him. We've been married for a little over 10 years, and for the most part, it's been really wonderful. :-)
We have two boys. Samuel is 6 and David is 2. I'm sure I'll post lots more about them, but they are the most incredible gifts that I have ever been given. There's not a moment that goes by that I can wrap my my around the fact that God has blessed my life by allowing me to be the mother of these two, amazing, smart, energetic, crazy little men. While I am definitely not perfect, by God's grace, I am perfectly their mother. They rock my world...and I love being the only lady in my house. 'Tis good to be queen!
I am a music teacher at the best elementary school in the world. I have been teaching music at my school for 10 years...that's hard to believe. It's even better that Samuel goes to school with me every day and has had the super-best teachers at my school! I love teaching music - reaching children through music makes my job so much fun. Seeing the difference that music makes in their lives drives me to give them the best I have...music changed my life...but that's another blog for another day.
