Pretzels and Ramblings

Today is pretzel making day.  I grabbed the ingredients, bowls and spoons and went to work. When it was time to knead the dough, I reached for my wooden dough board and as I kneaded my mind began to wander (which it does a lot as I have gotten older). 

Most young people today (20s and 30s) don’t have the sense of appreciation for things passed down through families.  I once had a thirty-ish young man say to me, “Why don’t you throw that old board away.  It looks awful.”  I replied, “That board has great meaning to me.”  I didn’t elaborate because he wouldn’t have “gotten it.”  That board was the only thing my former father-in-law ever gave me.  It came from Mar-Bax Shirt Company.  He worked there for many years.  The company was replacing the floor of their trucks and a few smaller pieces were left over.  He brought them home for his daughters-in-law.  I’ve used it as a dough board, cutting board, and it has burn rings where I’ve set hot pans on it.  Yes, it’s ugly, but it never leaves my counter top.  Henry and I didn’t like each other very much.  We disagreed on 99% of things – most of which had to do with Ryan and Misty.  Not long before he passed away, I called their home to talk to my kids' Granny Faye and Henry answered the phone.  I hadn’t spoken to him in years but he recognized my voice.  He was already in the last stages of cancer and had become a Christian.  He wanted to talk to me a little and I got the sense that he was trying to make everything right between us.  I think he left this earth with a more clear conscience.  I’m bird walking here – back to my story.

My family has done an amazing job of keeping and preserving items from our lineage.  I love my great-grandmother’s bedstead that is in my guestroom.  I have my Aunt Ethel and Aunt Joyce’s desks, bookcases, coffee tables, plant stands and occasional tables.  They are old and worn but I love them.  I had a former (praise be to Glory) family member once say to me; “Why do you have this old stuff?  You know you could finance some new furniture.”  (And finance yourself right into bankruptcy, I thought to myself).  I told her that all that “old stuff” had meaning to me.  She just wrinkled her nose.  As I am typing this, my computer rests on my Aunt Joyce and Uncle Carl’s desk.  It sat in the corner of their living room.  It’s scarred, but I don’t care.  Also, on it sets my Uncle Carl’s pen and pencil holder.  It was in the drawer when I got the desk and I imagine it was the same one he used in the County Clerk’s office.  Also, on here is my Uncle Jack’s wooden card file – probably sat in the Sheriff’s office all the years he served there.

I use family dishes.  I love to use my Grandma Thelma’s beautiful fruit bowl, all my Aunts’ old Fire king dishes, my Aunt Opal’s orange and yellow striped Kool-aid pitcher and colorful metal glasses. (Kids today have no idea what a brain freeze is, until you’ve gotten one from a metal glass).  I serve meals (and get strange looks) in brown stained and cracked bowls and platters.  I don’t see the stains or cracks – I see all the good food from my childhood that went in those bowls and on those platters.  I see my company look over toward my china cabinet which holds the good china and then back at my table. I don’t care and they will never understand unless they come from a family that believes in preserving their history.

We sleep under old quilts – many friendship quilts that have the names of family and friends, who have been gone a long time. “Why don’t you buy velour blankets?”  “Why do you have these old pillowcases with names embroidered on them?”  It goes on and on.

I know they talk about me and say that I am an odd duck.  Again, I say, I don’t care.  Because what I have is a strong sense of who I am and where I came from.  I was fortunate enough to have family who loved me unconditionally and I loved them unconditionally.  I want to surround myself with things that reflect that.  So barring a fire or tornado, these things will keep their places in my daily life.  There’s nothing that Pottery Barn or Restoration Hardware, to name a couple, could sell me that would give the feeling of love that my “old stuff” does.

Misty has started asking for and receiving many old pieces to use in her home. I am taking bookcases and an old mirror to her when we go to her home for Christmas.  She has that sense of lineage and the importance of preserving it.  I hope that she will pass it onto her children.

The green dish in the picture was given to me by Mom. It rests on the old battered dough board.

Meltdown

This is a blog that may never be read.  I won’t be sharing the link on Facebook so unless someone who follows me on here opens it, it will never see the light of day.  “Why am I writing it?”  I need to let out some emotion and that, for me, means writing.

Today I attended a funeral.  It was for a lady that I have known all my life and attended church with all my life as well.  She was also a family friend and grandmother to one of my dearest friends. Not to be disrespectful, but, this blog isn’t about her.  It’s about the emotions that hit me at the funeral.  I grew up attending the First Christian Church of  Flippin; was baptized there, married there, and raised my children in that Church.  My children were also baptized there.  It is what I consider to be my home church. 

When Ryan passed away I chose to have his funeral at the funeral home chapel. It was easier for everyone and we hadn’t attended church at the First Christian in many years.  The kids got out of school and moved away and I also moved away.  I knew today going inside that church would be hard, but nothing prepared me for the emotions that I felt and quite frankly – I lost it.  As I looked at the stage all I could see were my kids up there singing, or acting in a play, me scolding them for “runnin’ in the church house.”  I tried to slow down my breathing, I looked at the cross above the baptistery,  and the pictures of Jesus on the walls.  Nothing helped.  Silent tears streamed down my face.  Once the service was over, I walked outside and some of the “little church ladies” tried to hug and console me.  It only made it worse.  This was the worst public meltdown I’ve experienced.  Mom and I had to leave and I felt terrible about my breakdown.

Some of my family and friends think I need to be medicated.  I just can’t bring myself to do that yet.  I want so much to be strong and do this on my own terms.  I don’t know if I’m grieving worse than others – I don’t have a ruler to measure it with.  I just can’t imagine anyone not feeling this awful pain that I feel if they’ve lost a child.  People will tell me that I need to be strong and move forward – quite frankly – I want to slap those that say that to me.  I want to yell at them and tell them if they had buried their child, they wouldn’t be in any better shape than me.

Back to my story.  After I dropped Mom off and began the hour’s drive home, I cried and cried.  I was barely able to drive.  I decided that I was losing my mind.  I prayed.  I talked to Ryan and I just talked to the air.  I have no idea when it will get easier or if I’m going to stay sane of mind until it does.  And I wasn’t just crying about what happened at the church.  There are those that have treated me badly.   There’s a family member, by marriage, who has yet to say one word to me about Ryan’s death.  Not a word!  Then another family member by marriage who sent me an ugly text message because their feelings were hurt about something else.  Something that I had absolutely nothing to do with.  And even if I had, it was wrong on so many levels to send me that message.  I guess I was crying about that too.

Next week is Christmas and dear Lord I don’t know how I will get through it.  I will do my best for Misty and her kids but it is going to be hard.  Every day when I pray I ask God to let me feel Ryan’s spirit and I hope that he will allow that over the next few days.  I need to feel him around me.  Someone close to Ryan visited a medium and she found some peace.  I wasn’t raised to believe in those things but at this point in time, I’m willing to try it, if I thought it would ease some of this pain.  Is that crazy or is it on the same level as taking medication?  I don’t know. 

If you’re reading this, please keep me in your thoughts and prayers. I need them.

Three Months

Another month has come and gone. Three months since Ryan left us. Thanksgiving was our first holiday without him.  It was easier than Christmas will be.  Ryan hadn’t been with me on Thanksgiving in many years.  Living so far away, he couldn’t make the trip here or to Misty’s home very often.  In fact, I had not even spent Thanksgiving with Misty’s family in 6 years.  Jason’s family celebrates their Thanksgiving and Christmas together on the weekend following Thanksgiving so the kids usually spend Thanksgiving at home in Texas, then travel to East End, AR the next day for his family’s celebration.

Ryan and I would always Skype or Facetime on Thanksgiving. He would tell me with whom and how he was going to celebrate and I would share what our plans were.  I missed that time with him this year. Having Misty and the grandkids here made it a lot easier. 

We invited my family here for a hayride and fun activities for all the little ones.  I think it was the first time that my Mom had all her great-grandkids together in one place.  Watching the little ones have fun brought me joy.

The day after Thanksgiving (Black Friday has a whole different meaning for me now), Misty and I went out to the Ott cemetery.  She hadn’t been there since Ryan’s funeral and hadn’t seen his grave, since it wasn’t filled in when she left the service.  I had ordered a concrete fox and turtle to place at his grave.  Ryan loved foxes and he had a fox tattoo on his forearm.  For many years he also had a turtle named Greta.  We placed them on his grave and I watched with such sorrow as my  beautiful, 34 year-old daughter lay down on his grave and sobbed.  I had to walk away for a while.  I saw her take a stick and write “I love you” in the dirt on his grave.  Our pain is still so great and our emotions so raw.

Things get easier in some respects and worse in others.  I no longer enjoy getting the mail or e-mail.  I got a letter from the student loan foundation informing me that I was responsible for the balance of Ryan’s student loans because I had co-signed for them. I have been paying them for 16 years and have 4 years left. His social security number had been flagged and they wanted to make sure I knew that the debt is still owed.  Thank you Guaranteed Student Loan Foundation.  I also got an e-mail from Arkansas Governor’s School, which Ryan attended and I have also taught at AGS, wanting Ryan’s address.  They are putting together a “Where are they now” book.  I sobbed and sobbed. I still haven’t answered that one.  On “Black Friday” I got a bill from the LA Coroner’s office for $372 for transporting Ryan from the hospital to the Coroner’s office.  Ryan would record songs and store them in an online account, which Misty and I can access.  Today I got an e-mail that said “Hear Ryan Rorie’s latest music.”  I was at school, on my plan period,  when it popped up on my phone.  I just sat at my desk and cried.

My friends, who have lost children or are grief counselors, will say that I am in the anger phase now.  There are a lot of things that I don’t like to see.  Those Facebook shares, “share if you have son that you love” and that stuff.  I realize that people can’t walk on eggshells around me and I try to just scroll by quickly.  I get irritated when people complain about trivial things.  I don’t spend much time reading posts anymore.  I check Misty’s page and that’s about it most days.  

I don’t like going shopping anymore.  I run into people who want to talk to me about “it” or they don’t know and “stick their feet in their mouths.”  I have openly cried in stores.  I’ve run out of stores, leaving my cart behind and cried in the safety of my car.  Once I forgot my purse in the cart and one of my students brought it to my car.   I just can’t do it anymore.  And there are those that Misty calls the “Looky Loos” who just want to see my reaction.  They haven’t seen or talked to me in years and yet they stop in Wal-Mart to chat!!!  Now my shopping is in the early morning hours and online. 

Ryan’s high school class of ’94 held their class reunion a few weeks ago.  They were so kind to let Misty and me be a part of it.  It was both good and painful, as it was for the parents of 3 other classmates.  I saw pictures of him that I had never seen and was touched by the memorial video. 

Now the time has come to set the record straight on some things that have been extremely hurtful to our family.  There have been rumors that have gotten back to Misty and me as to Ryan’s cause of death.  We have remained silent on this, not because we are hiding anything, but because we loved him and have respect for him and his memory.  But…as the rumor mill continues to crank out incorrect theories, I will discuss it.    Ryan had suffered from acid reflux and irritable bowel syndrome since he was a child.  This was an embarrassing topic for him so we didn’t discuss it outside our home. As he got older, he suffered greatly from stomach problems and had developed ulcers. He was always on the run and didn’t eat properly.  He was a Starbucks fanatic and drank a lot of strong coffee.   That day, he had gotten sick, I don’t know why – maybe just a bug, and began vomiting.  His heaving caused a couple of ulcerated areas to bleed and he began to hemorrhage.  He was home alone and waited too long to call for help.  By the time that EMS arrived he was bleeding profusely and was too weak for the doctors to try to do surgery.  They later went in and tried to cauterize the ulcerated places but his blood pressure dropped too low.  Ryan bled to death.  It is hard enough to suffer loss then have to hear the horrible things that people say.  Shame on those who have spread rumors and mis-information.

Now on to positive things.  Kitchen 24 in West Hollywood recently donated money in Ryan’s name to the Angel Food Project and their management and staff helped to cook and serve 1000 meals to those in need.  This touched my heart.  Ryan was concerned about the homeless in LA, especially the kids.  He would show me where they slept and where they could go for a meal.  He would tell me stories about  some of the people that he saw on a regular basis.  He couldn’t imagine anyone living that way.  It is Misty’s and my goal to raise money to help out youth in need.  We are writing people asking for funds to help us start a foundation in Ryan’s name to do this.  We’ve enlisted the help of one of Ryan’s good friends from Little Rock to “get the ball rolling.”  He has given us a lot of good advice.  His scholarship fund is already set up.  I kept all the donated money for that and will continue to raise funds to keep it going.  Misty and I want to make sure that good things can come from our loss.  Ryan was a good hearted, kind person who had so much to offer society and we want to share that with others and that through this foundation many will be helped.  This will be a legacy that would make him proud.

Two Months

  It has been two months since we lost Ryan.  People ask me how I’m doing and I still don’t know how to answer.  The best way that I know how to describe it is that I feel like a refugee.  I’m just walking and walking.  I don’t know where I’m going; I just know that I need to get away from where I’ve been.

   I have returned to school and when I’m busy, actively teaching, I’m OK.  But once things are quiet “It” returns.  I don’t know how to properly define “It.”  It’s the feeling of loss, pain, fear, worry, sorrow, anxiety – all rolled into one big emotion.  It is a physical pain too.  My head constantly throbs, my eyes burn, and my chest feels like a train has run over it.  When I get home from school I physically ache all over.  I take an Alleve or Tylenol and the aches disappear followed by this intense shaking of my insides that won’t stop.  I suppose it’s anxiety.

   Getting the mail has become a bittersweet task.  I still get beautiful cards and some of the kindest, sweetest letters but the other mail comes too.  I now get “official” letters addressed to Ryan in care of me or they say “beneficiary of” or the dreaded “next of kin.”  The day that his death certificates came in the mail was indescribably bad.  I saw the big manila envelope with the funeral home return address and I knew what it was.  I shook so badly that the envelope looks like it’s been chewed open.  I didn’t want to see it but I had to look at it.  Seeing his name on it was so bad!  I fell to my knees crying uncontrollably.  I cried until I couldn’t even breathe.  JC found me on the bed shaking when he got home and quietly took the certificates away.

   I have a clipboard stacked with documents and tasks that I need to take care of.  Ryan was 38 and had lived in California and been on his own for many years.  Until you’ve dealt with settling someone’s affairs you don’t realize how many things have do be done.  He had a life of his own.  There are his business dealings, his apartment, utilities, bank accounts, and since someone took things from his apartment, I’ve had to call the DMV and all major credit bureaus to flag his social security number.  Then there are my personal affairs that have Ryan listed as a beneficiary – and it’s heartbreaking to remove his name.  I have had to call and order forms to change all those.  I can only bear to take care of one item a day – the emotional toll is too great.  There is still a large stack of papers on the clipboard.  One of my friends asked me how I was going to feel when the clip board is empty.  I don’t know. It will be another bittersweet situation.

   Misty and I talk daily and we alternate between crying and laughing.  Every day we vow that this will be the day that we move forward; but so far we haven’t kept that vow.  We are struggling.  You see, it was just us three for so many years.  We were a team trying to survive with little money and many demands.  My parents helped us or we would probably have been on welfare, but my day to day life as a single parent was so hard.  I had to be a mom, dad and breadwinner all rolled into one.  Ryan filled in the gaps.  He became Misty’s babysitter, father figure and mentor.  He walked her to her classroom, helped her with her schoolwork, reminded her to do her chores and disciplined her when I was working.  Selfishly, I wish that Ryan would have had a child.  I wanted a little dark haired, dark eyed grandchild.  But in a way, Misty was his child. He helped raise her as much as I did.  Ryan started working when he was 13.  He cleaned houseboats, pontoons, and bathrooms at the marina.  After he turned 13 he pretty much took care of all his needs as far as clothes and things.  He never complained.  In high school he went to school and worked two jobs.  In college there were times that he held 3 jobs and still graduated with honors.

   When the kids left home they left behind many things. I have their toy boxes, a big football and a strawberry, filled with their toys.  I have many Sterlite tubs labeled and filled with things they wanted to keep.  I don’t snoop through their things. I’m a big proponent of respecting other people’s privacy.  I share a lot but if I don’t share it, don’t ask.  And this is how I felt about my kids’ privacy; but I needed to find some of Ryan’s papers from college so, I opened his college “tubs.”  While going through them I was excited to find many things that I hadn’t known that he saved.  It was a treasure trove!  I ran on to the following letter that he had written to me the summer before his senior year of high school.  I don’t know how it got in the college tub and I think it was just meant for me to find it that day.  He attended Arkansas Governor’s School and had just competed his second week when he wrote me this letter.  For those of you who aren’t familiar with Governor’s School, it challenges the way kids think and forces them to consider other options. Ryan was clearly struggling when he wrote me this letter.

Mom,

   I know that it’s out of the ordinary for us to get mushy with one another.  We’ve always relied on laughter to get us through the roughest of times.  But for some reason, right now I feel the need to tell you a few things that I should have said a long time ago.

   First of all, I want to thank you.  In the last couple of days, a lot of my beliefs have been questioned, and I have been forced to defend them. I can never tell you how much I appreciate the fact that you taught me to do that.  I have thought of you many times in the past two weeks and the conviction with which you’ve lived your life.  I also want to thank you for instilling so many of those beliefs in me.  Thank you for taking me to church, teaching me right and wrong, and bringing me up in a home free of hatred.  Having been confronted with a lot of hate recently, in the form of art we have viewed, I realize that not everyone was taught equality the way Misty and I were.

    Now, I need to apologize.  I’m sorry for all the times I should have called and didn’t.  I’m sorry for not spending more time with you and if I have ever made you feel unwanted, I never meant to.

   I love you, Mom.  If I can be half the parent you’ve been, I’ll be happy.  Anyway, I know that we’re not into this mushy, card-writing stuff, but I though this time it was appropriate. 

Love,

Ryan

  I feel that this letter was a gift.  I will frame it and keep it where I can read when I need to.  Things weren’t always rosy between us and we had some “screamers” when Ryan was in college. We refer to his junior year as the year Ryan majored in “stupid decisions.”  But those things passed and we settled into a comfortable place as mother and adult son.  I have a few regrets when I look back on Ryan’s life but I can’t change those now. 

   The last day that I spent with Ryan was in late June and we had dinner at Georges at the Cove in La Jolla, California.  It was a beautiful night, and we had a great time. It is a very good memory.  Our last phone, a couple of days before he died ended with loving words and I will always treasure that.

Thirty Days

Today marks 30 days since we lost Ryan.  It doesn’t seem possible that this much time has gone by – maybe because I didn’t sleep for so much of the time.  The rise and set of the sun meant nothing to me for days.  I sleep better now, except for Fridays. I know that 3:48 am will come – that is when I received the first phone call.  Then the dreaded 7:14 pm – that’s when it all became final. 

People ask how I’m doing and I usually say that I’m doing better – but I don’t really know.  Better than what?  I was better when I had two children.  Now, I have one to touch, smell, talk to and only memories of the other.  I don’t mean to sound bitter, I’m just being realistic. People will say “Are things getting back to normal?”  There is no “normal” – I haven’t found my new normal yet.

Having the funeral did bring some peace.  You are no longer in that “limbo” phase.  It marks the point where you must pick up the pieces of your broken heart and move forward.  I have ordered Ryan’s headstone.  This was tough.  A monument is forever and I wanted to choose one that would have pleased him.  It won’t be ready for a few weeks but I think he would like it.

Going to his grave was anguish that I cannot even put into words.  JC and I went there on the Sunday following his funeral on Thursday and raked a little bit.  Last Sunday Mom and I went, removed the faded flowers and raked his grave.  I don’t even know how to articulate how it made me feel to rake clay mud clods and rocks off of his grave.  The pain in my heart was so bad.  Mom and I both just cried and raked.

I have written “thank yous”, returned dishes, and placed all the potted plants around my house.  I have re-read all the cards and letters and put them in a safe place.  I have looked at the registry book to see who all was at the funeral – I was in a state that didn’t allow me to take note of who all was there.  Forgive me, I am so very touched for each and every one who came to pay their respects and honor Ryan, but my mind was not focusing well that day.  I spoke with a friend yesterday who has also lost a child and she referred to it as being “in a fog.”  That is exactly how it is.  I remember nothing of some of the conversations that took place in the first few days.

Today, JC, Mom and I are going back to the cemetery to plant a weeping cherry tree that was given to me by the Junior High teachers at Gainesville.  I am choosing to plant it there rather than at my home so more people can enjoy it. 

I have tried to figure out what it is that we miss the most about a child that we have lost but I can’t say.   I miss Ryan’s laugh – it was infectious.  I miss the sound of his voice.  The first 3 weeks or so I would wake up to his voice singing.  It was so real but it was gut-wrenching.  That has stopped now.  I touch his things and try to feel his spirit.  I have a little bowl that he made me in second grade art.  His little finger prints are all over it.  I put my fingers on his finger prints and tell him that I love him.

I begged God for a sign that Ryan was in Heaven and happy.  One morning I was praying as I left my house for school and the little foxes that used to play in my yard ran across the road in front of me.  Ryan loved foxes – he had a fox tattoo on his arm and he bought Lily stuffed foxes as gifts.  He had seen my pictures of the foxes and was hoping he would see them when he came for a visit.  I felt better after I saw the foxes.

Last Friday something happened that brought me to my knees sobbing hysterically.  Back in November of 2011 Ryan had found a poem called “The Boy with the Too Big Eyes.”  He e-mailed it to me and then called me and we discussed it.  It was about a boy who grew up in a little town, moved to a huge city, and then realized that his life hadn’t worked out as he thought it would.  Ryan had been so much in the spotlight growing up and then in college but when he got to LA he realized that he was just one fish in a great big pond.  That hurt him.  On Friday, I had woken up at 3:48 and decided that I needed to stay busy so I wouldn’t think.  I went to my computer room and pulled out a plastic bin that had science labs in it.  I thought I might take some to school and try them with my students.  While going through the stack of science work I ran on to that poem.  I guess I had printed it and placed it in the tub 3 years ago – I honestly don’t know.  I re-read the poem, cried, and laid it on the dining table to later be put with all the other things that are special to me.  On Friday afternoon, Misty called me.  She has been methodically going through folders and files on Ryan’s Mac Book.  She said, “Mom, I found this poem on Ryan’s computer and it’s called “The Boy with the Too Big Eyes.”  I began to cry inconsolably.  Was this a message to Misty and me?  I don’t know.  I want to think it was his way of letting us know that he is OK.  We need to believe that our loved ones are at peace and happy.

One of Ryan’s friends from LA had a dream recently.  He said that he normally never dreams of people, usually things – but he dreamed that he was at a party and Ryan walked in.  He said that Ryan was so happy and he told his friend that he was in a really good place. 

On Ryan’s Mac Book, Misty found a series of blogs that Ryan had written.  He writes about family and it leaves no doubt that he loved his family very much.  It was a gift to us to find and read them.  He had also made an audio recording of Reid and him.  Ryan was having Reid identify pictures on flash cards.  Reid’s little toddler voice is so cute and if you listen closely you can hear Ryan chuckle in the background.  This must have been important to Ryan because he placed it in a file to keep.

I wish there was some miracle potion that would make all this pain go away, but there isn’t.  I also know that I hurt so much because I loved him so much.

I also know that in so many ways I am lucky.  I’m lucky for the 38 years that I had with him.  I have many pictures, videos, and audio recordings that allow me to see and hear Ryan at all stages of his life.  Every time I want to have a pity party session I remind myself of Colleen Nick.  For 19 years she has suffered not knowing what happened to Morgan.  I remind myself of the mothers of those young men murdered by ISIS – what horror.  I cannot imagine their pain.

People have been so generous with monetary donations.  I have a good start on Ryan’s Memorial Scholarship Fund.  I will be having a webpage created soon and will share that once it’s done.  Ryan valued education and he would encourage anyone to follow their dreams and not get discouraged.  I hope that through our loss we can make positive impacts on others.  Ryan was a truly amazing person and touched many lives.

Ryan’s best friend from Flippin couldn’t be at his funeral but he sent this letter to be read.

I first met Ryan across a table in Mrs. Wade’s room. We wrote journal entries abut our mornings and mine was probably something about eating cereal and brushing my teeth.  Ryan skipped the mundane and regaled us with a tale of waking up early to climb a tree and drop a whipped cream water balloon on his sister, Misty.  I was impressed.  He seemed like the most sophisticated person I had ever met.  We were ten years old.

My family had moved to Flippin and I was still trying to figure out how to fit in.  It was hard, since I didn’t care much about sports or bow season.  I thought I had to pretend, until I met Ryan.  Here was a kid who didn’t fit the mold, and didn’t even try.  He taught me that the best thing you can be is yourself.

Like a lot of us who grew up in the Ozarks, Ryan didn’t start out with many advantages.  But he had a talent for turning nothing into something.  One day he was an awkward 6^th grader in an itchy band sweater tapping out “Go Big Red” on a snare and seemingly overnight he was the most amazing drummer we had ever heard, sitting behind a full kit making the rest of us look like a bunch of horn-tooting amateurs.  One day we were videotaping silly infomercials in my kitchen for a project in Mrs. Melton’s class, and seemingly overnight he was the star of the school play, with the rest of us in the cast watching him in awe from the side of the stage.

Ryan always had an unparalleled wit. He was never without a hilarious comeback or quip for any situation.  “I may have been born yesterday, but I stayed up all night,” I remember him telling me.  Of course, later he’d confess that many of those zingers came directly from his mom, Shelley. He also had quite a few sayings from his dad, Dody, but those are probably best left unrepeated.

Not all of Ryan’s decisions worked out for the best. I recall him wearing a red plaid jacket to prom one year which in hindsight may have not been the way to go.  But his decision to invite me into his life as a friend is one I’m very glad he made.  When there was no place for me, he made room. He did the same for all who were privileged to know him.  For someone who didn’t always fit in, he fit perfectly into our hearts, where he will always remain.

Christopher Martin

Love and Loss

Over the past two weeks people have told me how strong I am; have compared me to other strong women; and asked me how I can be so strong.  I don’t know.  I don’t think mothers know the capacity of their strength until they are faced with the unthinkable. 

When I received that 3:48 am phone call that Ryan was extremely critical and that I must get to LA, I went on autopilot.  I’m a task oriented person and I began a mental checklist of what I needed to do.  I couldn’t get a morning flight because we live so far from any airport – I couldn’t physically drive to any of the airports in a 150 mile radius in time to make the earlier flights.  My hands shook, I sweated and my mind raced as I checked Orbitz, Priceline, Travelocity…all the websites to find a flight.  The only one I could make was from Springfield to Chicago and then to LA – hours of wasted time.  The trip to LA is still somewhat blurry but yet somewhat vivid.  There was an elderly lady in the Springfield airport who hugged me tightly and held my hand until we had to board our flight to Chicago.  Chicago was a blur – I got news that no mother ever wants to hear as I sat in the gate area.  I kept thinking that maybe they were wrong.  I would get there and Ryan would be sitting up in bed laughing.  Our minds trick us that way to handle the pain.  On the plane to LA I was seated next to a beautiful young woman that told me she was an OBGyn.  She talked me through the 5 hour flight.

When I arrived in LA Wayne was in the pickup zone to get me and what would normally have been a short drive was a nightmare.  It was 6pm on a Friday night in LA – rush hour traffic – everyone wanting to get the freeway.  I barely remember going from the entrance of the hospital to Ryan’s room and then I had to face what no mother ever wants to.  I had to say stop the life saving efforts – there was no hope.  I can’t write about the next part.  It’s too private and personal.  But just know as a mother at a time like this, we don’t see in real time, we see what is in the depths of our mind and through our love for our children.  I felt weak – ice water in my veins and my mouth tasted like metal.  I know from my medical and science background that it was caused my neurons firing too fast – it is shock. 

Oh yes, I wanted to lie down and just lose control but then Misty arrived and I realized that I needed to be strong for her.  Even though I had just suffered an unthinkable loss, I am still her mom too.

Then began all the paperwork, red tape, whatever you want to call it - people in my face, papers to be signed.  Ryan’s apartment and personal effects had to be taken care of.  Then you remember that you bought a one way ticket – flights back home to be arranged.  You have no time to lose control.  It was four days later before Misty and I found ourselves alone in her home in Texas before it hit us full in the face. 

I’m past the lying on the bed, sobbing, crying gallons of tears.  Now the tears quietly stream down my face when I am home or in my car.  My heart hurts and I don’t sleep much.  They tell me that it will get better but you almost don’t want to get better because you’re afraid that means you don’t care enough.  Four of my sisters-in-law have lost children and they tell me that isn’t true, but the fear is still there.

Through this, I have seen the good in people.  The outpouring of love and kindness has been amazing.  We have received gifts of food, money, flowers...  There are a few things that have touched me deeply.  My cousin’s 90 year old mom cooked an entire southern meal for the day of the funeral. Ryan would have loved it.  One of my friends sent me a card with money but she also put a book of stamps in with the card.  She knew I wouldn’t feel like going to the post office to get stamps for thank you cards.  One of my friends brought me her laptop to use because mine is fried – she even brought me her wifi box.  My cousin who quietly went to the cemetery and cleaned it up without expecting any kind of recognition.  Another cousin who made sure the dirt road  to the cemetery was graded and chatted.  The amount of money that has been raised has been unbelievable – people that I don’t know have given so much.  Ryan had a lot of friends and I didn’t realize how many that Misty and I have too.

I can never repay my cousin, Wayne.  I called him at 4 am and told him to get to the hospital. I had to give permission for him to be the family member in charge at the hospital.  It was a horrible position for him to be put in.  He held me up at the worst moment of my life, helped me with all the paperwork, packing, flight arrangements, and other things that had to be done.  He is the one who made the call to Burns Funeral Home to see how to begin the long process of getting Ryan back home.  I need to clarify something here too.  I just thought all my friends from back home knew how Wayne and I are related but in recent days, I have found out that they don’t.  Wayne and I share a common set of great-grandparents.  His maternal grandmother and my paternal grandfather were brother and sister.  And as we say in the Ozarks, “we grew up just down the road apiece” from each other.

 I am not going to sugar coat everything though.  There have been things that have hurt me as well.  People that I thought were my friends that haven’t offered any type of condolence.  People that I see daily turn their head or hurry into another room so that they don’t have to meet my eye.  People who, again as we say in the Ozarks, “live right in my front door” have yet to acknowledge my loss.   Is it so hard to say simply “I’m so sorry” or put a card in my mailbox?  I don’t know their reasons but I pray that they never feel a loss this great and need the comfort of others.

I wanted to bring Ryan “home,” which for me is out on the Ott Family Farm.  There are now 6 generations of Otts in our family cemetery.  It’s a beautiful place and the view from the top of that hill is breathtaking.  He rests behind my Dad and next to my Aunt Opal.  She babysat Ryan from age 6 weeks until he was old enough to stay by himself before and after school.  Ryan called her Granny Opal and they loved each other very much.  It’s a place where it feels peaceful and the wind gently blows there no matter what time of year.  I may not have pleased everyone with my choices but I did what my Mom instincts told me to do. 

I love you Ryan – a bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck.  Your memory lives on in your music, your artwork, photography and theatre work.  I will be setting up a scholarship fund for a graduating senior from Flippin High School who plans to major in the visual or performing arts.  Ryan loved the arts so much and I think he would be happy for me to help a deserving student pursue their dreams.

From Sea to Shining Sea

Sea to Shining Sea

This 2014 year has been a busy one for me.  I have checked a few items off my  “bucket list”, achieved a professional goal and made some new friends and colleagues.  It has taken me a lot of years, many mistakes, and missed opportunities but I feel that I’m finally settling in to a good place in my life.  In the months between April and July I traveled to Boston, MA for the NSTA Conference, to San Diego, CA to attend a Honeywell Conference, and to the Texas Gulf Coast for some family time.

A little background.

I went into teaching, not because I wanted to, but because I was in between the proverbial   “rock and a hard place.”  I had a degree in Nuclear Medicine Technology that was suddenly useless, unless I wanted to move across the US to work.  I was a single mom with one child that was about to start college and one starting her freshman year in high school and I was in “a pickle.”  My sister, Judith, is a long time teacher – beginning her 42nd year as a middle school history teacher.  She encouraged me to take my science degree and go into education.  I was living in Arkansas at that time and the Arkansas Department of Education has a program that allows an individual who has a Bachelor’s Degree to apply for a teaching license and obtain their training through workshop hours.  The up side is that you can start teaching immediately (if you can get a school to hire you), and the down side is – most schools don’t want you unless they're desperate to fill a position.  I applied for the program, was accepted, but was not able to get a job.  In order to keep my provisional license I had to sub at least 100 days per year.   That’s a lot of days with low pay.  In order to survive,  I worked multiple jobs on weekends and some nights.  After two years I was finally hired as a certified science teacher (I think they were desperate. LOL)  Once I got the job I made a promise to myself that if I hated teaching or if the students were not learning, I would leave the profession after a couple of years.  That never happened and I’m glad that Judith “twisted my arm” into beginning my teaching career. 

Professional Goal – Boston, MA

 Now to get to my point.  In Arkansas schools teachers are required to complete a yearly professional growth plan.  It is something that you want to accomplish that school year. Early on in my career they were simple – learn to make a Power Point presentation, use Excel – things like that.  Later it was to take a geology course.  As time went by, those goals accomplished, I needed new goals to aspire to.  I wanted to become a respected educator that could pass on information to other teachers that would help them in their classroom.  I needed a platform to do this and in the world of education, this is accomplished mainly through workshops.  But, once again, life intervened and I found myself teaching in Missouri.  The Missouri Department of Education is a bit different than Arkansas and I’m no longer required to complete a professional growth plan, but I decided that I wanted to go ahead and make one – just for myself.  I feel that I owe it to my students and my district to never stop growing as an educator.   Once again I felt the desire to be a workshop “presenter.” I had done some “local” workshops but nothing on a state or regional level.    A colleague, who was on sabbatical, approached me about a presenting with her at an upcoming conference.   We wrote a proposal, submitted it and were chosen to present at a Missouri statewide conference.  Other than a snowstorm that nearly prevented us from getting there on time, everything went well and it was a positive experience.   With that under my belt I was fired up to try for a national conference.  Over the years I have developed a strong networking system and made some great friends at Arkansas State University, Jonesboro.  Through my association with them I was asked to be a co-presenter at the National Science Teachers Association conference in Boston.  It was an amazing experience and I came home once again, fired up to do more presentations.   I have just begun what I hope will be a long and successful endeavor.

Educator Opportunity – San Diego, CA

Late last winter I was alerted to an educator opportunity.  The Honeywell  Corporation sponsors a Green Boot Camp for teachers of mid-level grades.  I love environmental science so I jumped at the chance.  I was chosen to attend and I have to say – this is a conference that all teachers should apply for.  Many of the eco conferences that I’ve attended in the past consisted of a lot of handouts/note taking from PowerPoints and “here’s my e-mail address if you have questions later.”  Boring!  This was not the case at all.  The teachers became the students.  It was all hands-on, and we were presented with activities that we can actually use in our classrooms.  We were treated with respect and that’s something that teachers don’t get enough of.  The trip was fully funded, airfare, a room of your own (I’m used to sharing with 2-4 other teachers), meals, a flash drive with all the lesson plans, activities, power points, etc. ready to use in the classroom.  We were taken on field trips and sight-seeing tours, and fun activities.  I can’t say enough good things about Honeywell and the Green Boot Camp.  There were 70 teachers from 12 countries in attendance and that is a lot of networking opportunity.  We have a Facebook page where we share lessons, ideas, upcoming workshops and camaraderie.   I made friendships with amazing teachers that I hope will last a lifetime.  These are the kind of people that hugged you when we parted and said “If you’re ever in my area of the world, call me and we will show you around.”  It made a lasting impact on me and provided insight as to how workshops and presentations need to run.  It made me more aware of how I could become a better presenter.  Another plus that came about from this trip was a visit from my son and my cousin.  My son, Ryan, lives in the Silverlake area of LA and my cousin, Wayne , lives in West Hollywood.  They drove down and stayed the night in San Diego.  We went to George’s at the Cove at La Jolla for an amazing dinner.  The sun was just setting over the water when we were seated.  It was absolutely beautiful and a memorable experience.

Family Time – Port Aransas, TX

I have 3 grandkids of my own and they are the world to me.  They live in McKinney, TX, which is a 9 hour drive away.  I don’t get to see them very often and they grow so quickly.  My husband and I have always taken a yearly vacation.  We’ve been fortunate to be able to travel within the US from east to west and north to south.  Three years ago I asked my daughter if her family would like to vacation with us.  It would be a chance to kick back and relax and spend time with the kids.  They agreed and we chose Port Aransas, TX which is on Mustang Island as our destination.  It’s an 8 hour drive for them and 16 for us but we usually have more time to spend on the road than they do.  This was our third summer to vacation there and I can’t imagine a beach vacation now without the kids.  I think that when the kids get older they will look back with fond memories of the beach vacations with Nana and Papa.  JC and I love the Texas Gulf Coast.  It’s not as pretty as AL or FL but there’s just something about it that lures us there.  Each year on the drive home we contemplate what it would be like to buy a winter home in one of the harbor towns.  We love Port LaVaca and Rockport and maybe someday we can become a part time resident.

It wasn't an intentional plan to travel from the Atlantic to the Pacific and to the Gulf all in a 4 month period but I’m certainly glad that these opportunities allowed that.  I love life and try to live it to the fullest and hope that I have many more years to enjoy all that it has to offer.