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.