My younger brother, Brian, was this great influence on my life. He taught me so many things that he probably never even knew about. He taught me how to love unconditionally, he taught me what hard work really meant, he taught me what it meant to overcome obstacles in life, and many more things. He was this beautiful, very talented , kind, gentle soul with a great future ahead of him. He truly meant the world to me - whether he knew it or not. Even though he was 3 years younger then me, I really did look up to him in so many ways.
After moving to Memphis, he found his independence at a young age and simply blossomed. He opened his own restaurant with a friend and quickly found out his chef talents were more of a great hobby then anything else. He WAS a wonderful chef - most of it , I believe, was inborn talent. I have no idea where it came from - since I cannot cook a single, solitary thing! He blew me away with fancy dishes with wonderful flavors my mouth had never tasted before. I have to admit I looked forward to the times when he came home. It always meant a great, huge, home cooked, fancy meal would be awaiting me! The last one, I believe was a wonderful steak fillet with fancy potatoes that I have no name for and sauteed vegetables! Awww, how incredible that meal was! He truly was a gifted chef. However, his talents also lye elsewhere. He found a challenge managing a night club in Memphis. If you have ever been to Memphis, then you know this is no easy task! Many late nights a week and late days sleeping in. His days turned into nights. Taking care of the local drunks, under -aged drinkers, the irresponsible drinkers, the staff, the owners, making sure everyone got paid, making sure everything got ordered, and the list goes on... It was a HARD job! However, he did it well and he loved every minute of it. His second family was there at the club. They meant everything to him - they loved him and he loved them back.
After mom died, things got rough for both of us. Neither one of us was sleeping well or coping well at all. We needed each other more then ever. He took off as much time as he could to be with me. We simply took care of each other and did a whole lot of nothing. We stayed up late, watching movies, we ate, we did everything possible to get through the next couple of weeks together. I guess you could say we held each other up. What I didn't know was that he went back to Memphis very concerned about me. He thought I might be suicidal. I'm not exactly sure why he thought this. I didn't even know until after he was gone. I found out from his friends in Memphis that he was very worried about me. I so wish I could take back that time and worry from him. To somehow let him know that I was going to be alright However, that I did need him here with me, but I understood he had to go.
He continued to look after me via phone calls and made plans to come home as soon as he could. I knew he was in as bad of a shape as I was. I don't think he was sleeping well - neither was I. The house was so lonely and empty after he left. I saw my mom's memory everywhere I looked. It was not an easy task living there - it still isn't by any means. Brian seemed to do what most men do - he threw himself back into his work. He was always there for me, but was working a lot of hours on little sleep. I was worried about him. Ironic, because he was worried about me! However, that was just his nature. He had always looked after me and worried about me. He took care of me in so many ways - kind of like a big brother would do. In some ways, he was filling James' shoes. I was lucky that way - I had 2 wonderful brothers who loved me very much and I loved them back just as much if not more. They were both a little reckless and both had their lives ended way too early.
I had so much I wanted to say to Brian. I can still see that gleam in his eye, that happiness in his smile, and hear his laughter that filled the room. He was so special and so beautiful and talented - he had a future. His death came way too soon. I often wonder if it was some sort of mistake - if maybe he wasn't supposed to have died. He had so much going for him - so much life in him, it's difficult to accept that his death was meant to be. I suppose God has a plan for everyone and there is a reason for everything that happens. I hope to one day understand and accept this plan and reason.....because right now I just don't.
Friday, October 8, 2010
Monday, September 27, 2010
Addiction
Addiction. Yarn addiction to be more precise. A subject I have tried many times to explain to others and have always been met with the same old stare - deer in the headlights - I just don't get it - look. The only people who do get it are my knitting buddies and favorite yarn-a -holics. They know who they are! They are mostly at the LYS ( that would be Local Yarn Shop for you non- yarn -a-holics) and some on FB and Ravelry. Awww Ravelry! The mecca for knitters! The place you go to find any pattern, yarn , gauge, whatever you want or need in a yarn or pattern! If they don't have it, you don't need it! Back to the yarn....there is something about great yarn. I don't mean the cheap stuff either. Great yarn is hand spun wool and cashmere and silk and alpaca! All in brilliant colors - solids and variegated! Walls and walls of yarn in every gauge imaginable....from thin sock yarn to bulky wools! To pick a favorite would be like telling an artist to pick a favorite color! My favorites change by the hour, to say the least. Currently, it's a dark almost black, purple sock yarn made from merino wool and silk. Beautiful!
My addiction ranges in price from around $6.00 to $45.00 roughly for ONE skein of yarn! That's around 150 yards of worsted weight yarn! 400 yards of sock yarn is about $25.00 for my precious merino wool and silk blend and I've seen 70 yards of bulky weight go for over a $100 before! So, yarn addiction comes with a price and yarn-a-holics usually have a "stash" somewhere in their homes. I can only imagine the price of a stash - maybe in the thousands of dollars! However, one must have a stash for emergencies, shear boredom, and for those times when that perfect project pops into your head.
I've knitted for myself, for others , for charities, you name it. However, I get the most out of knitting for other people. I love seeing how people react to getting a homemade gift - something I have made myself. It is especially great to give to someone in need. My charity giving is usually to a Cancer Charity, because it is close to my heart. They are always in need of scarves, chemo hats, blankets, etc.. I know what you're thinking - why not just buy them a scarf, hat, or blanket? It's not the same. A handmade gift comes from the heart. It's special and is made with love. Each stitch is made with thought of the other person in mind - whether it be a friend or a stranger. You can't buy that kind of thing in a store - ever. You simply can't buy love.
So, this is how I justify my addiction. By knitting for other people. I simply can't knit in cheap yarn for someone else. It wouldn't be right. So, as my stash gets larger and my addiction continues and my LYS continues to be my second home.....I will continue to knit on with my fellow co-dependents.
My addiction ranges in price from around $6.00 to $45.00 roughly for ONE skein of yarn! That's around 150 yards of worsted weight yarn! 400 yards of sock yarn is about $25.00 for my precious merino wool and silk blend and I've seen 70 yards of bulky weight go for over a $100 before! So, yarn addiction comes with a price and yarn-a-holics usually have a "stash" somewhere in their homes. I can only imagine the price of a stash - maybe in the thousands of dollars! However, one must have a stash for emergencies, shear boredom, and for those times when that perfect project pops into your head.
I've knitted for myself, for others , for charities, you name it. However, I get the most out of knitting for other people. I love seeing how people react to getting a homemade gift - something I have made myself. It is especially great to give to someone in need. My charity giving is usually to a Cancer Charity, because it is close to my heart. They are always in need of scarves, chemo hats, blankets, etc.. I know what you're thinking - why not just buy them a scarf, hat, or blanket? It's not the same. A handmade gift comes from the heart. It's special and is made with love. Each stitch is made with thought of the other person in mind - whether it be a friend or a stranger. You can't buy that kind of thing in a store - ever. You simply can't buy love.
So, this is how I justify my addiction. By knitting for other people. I simply can't knit in cheap yarn for someone else. It wouldn't be right. So, as my stash gets larger and my addiction continues and my LYS continues to be my second home.....I will continue to knit on with my fellow co-dependents.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
September 30, 2009
September 30, 2009 was one of the two worst days of my entire life.
Throughout the whole month of September my mom was getting sicker and weaker. We knew her heart was not working properly - -the infection was back. Five years ago she had two valves replaced and almost died recovering from the surgery. She spent close to a month in the CV ICU unit at Brookwood Hospital hooked up to every known machine made available. After being discharged, she spent at least another month at my grandparents house recovering. I never wanted to see her in that position again. However, I believed she was stronger now and the infection was not as severe.The valves had stopped working properly again and had to be replaced as soon as possible. We really were not given a choice - she was going to die if she did not have the surgery.
That day was a Wednesday - at an ungodly hour, I drove her to the hospital and had her checked in for surgery. One by one, my family arrived to wait for the 6 hour surgery. Even my younger brother, Brian, was home from Memphis for the surgery. We were allowed to see her in the pre-surgery waiting area, one at a time. We all took turns going back to see her. I could tell she was scared that morning when she was getting ready to go. She even said the words. Before they took her in - I whispered in her ear.."mama, everything is going to be ok. I love you."
6 hours later she was still in surgery. Brian and I became very worried, but tried not to let on to everyone else. Pretty soon we got a call from the nurse saying everything was ok, but they were still in surgery. We calmed down a little bit after the phone call - we relaxed some knowing everything was alright. Another hour passed, then another. Something wasn't right and we both knew it. We never said the words, but we just looked to each other with worry and concern in both of our eyes. Finally, we were called again. This time we were called to the waiting room upstairs by the recovery room. The nurse came in and said the surgeon would be in soon - that's it, not a word about my mother or how she was. The surgeon took his time coming in and when he finally made it, he said very few words. "I'm sorry, but she's just not going to make it." I sat there in complete and total disbelief. I couldn't have heard him correctly. My mouth was literally dropped open and my eyes were wide with disbelief. I finally got the courage up to glance at Brian, who had tears in his eyes that were slowly coming down one cheek. The surgeon asked of we wanted to see her and then he left for a couple of minutes and came back. He said "I'm sorry, she's already gone."
I guess at that moment it made it all too real and maybe for Brian ,too. Very soon after that he got up and ran out of the room. He had to leave - it was just too much for him. I stayed for a little while, trying to absorb what had just happened. It was all too surreal for me. There simply was no way I had just lost my mom. There were so many thoughts flowing through my mind at the time. None of it seemed real. Finally, I started crying and said things to my family. Things like, how am I supposed to live without her? What am I going to do? They had no answer for me - they were silent. The surgeon had no answer for me. He simply told me that he tried but he couldn't stop the bleeding. He said he tried for a long time, but it just wasn't possible. It was her time - her time to go. I got up, picked up her overnight bag and said "I have to find Brian." I left my family in the waiting room, walked quickly through the hospital, crying, looking for him. I found him, sitting against a wall outside of the hospital. He had stopped crying, but his eyes were red and his cheeks were swollen. I sat down beside him and we didn't say a word for a long time. Finally, we decided we wanted nothing more then to just leave - to get out of there as quickly as possible. Our mom was gone. She wasn't there in that hospital anymore and we both knew it.
There were many days after that I recalled that day and remembered every single detail. There was a certain moment when I felt a part of me die. There's not a day that goes by, not an hour that goes by that I don't remember her. She was the strongest woman I ever met. She went through hell and back and survived long enough for me to see how wonderful of a person she was. I will miss her forever.
Throughout the whole month of September my mom was getting sicker and weaker. We knew her heart was not working properly - -the infection was back. Five years ago she had two valves replaced and almost died recovering from the surgery. She spent close to a month in the CV ICU unit at Brookwood Hospital hooked up to every known machine made available. After being discharged, she spent at least another month at my grandparents house recovering. I never wanted to see her in that position again. However, I believed she was stronger now and the infection was not as severe.The valves had stopped working properly again and had to be replaced as soon as possible. We really were not given a choice - she was going to die if she did not have the surgery.
That day was a Wednesday - at an ungodly hour, I drove her to the hospital and had her checked in for surgery. One by one, my family arrived to wait for the 6 hour surgery. Even my younger brother, Brian, was home from Memphis for the surgery. We were allowed to see her in the pre-surgery waiting area, one at a time. We all took turns going back to see her. I could tell she was scared that morning when she was getting ready to go. She even said the words. Before they took her in - I whispered in her ear.."mama, everything is going to be ok. I love you."
6 hours later she was still in surgery. Brian and I became very worried, but tried not to let on to everyone else. Pretty soon we got a call from the nurse saying everything was ok, but they were still in surgery. We calmed down a little bit after the phone call - we relaxed some knowing everything was alright. Another hour passed, then another. Something wasn't right and we both knew it. We never said the words, but we just looked to each other with worry and concern in both of our eyes. Finally, we were called again. This time we were called to the waiting room upstairs by the recovery room. The nurse came in and said the surgeon would be in soon - that's it, not a word about my mother or how she was. The surgeon took his time coming in and when he finally made it, he said very few words. "I'm sorry, but she's just not going to make it." I sat there in complete and total disbelief. I couldn't have heard him correctly. My mouth was literally dropped open and my eyes were wide with disbelief. I finally got the courage up to glance at Brian, who had tears in his eyes that were slowly coming down one cheek. The surgeon asked of we wanted to see her and then he left for a couple of minutes and came back. He said "I'm sorry, she's already gone."
I guess at that moment it made it all too real and maybe for Brian ,too. Very soon after that he got up and ran out of the room. He had to leave - it was just too much for him. I stayed for a little while, trying to absorb what had just happened. It was all too surreal for me. There simply was no way I had just lost my mom. There were so many thoughts flowing through my mind at the time. None of it seemed real. Finally, I started crying and said things to my family. Things like, how am I supposed to live without her? What am I going to do? They had no answer for me - they were silent. The surgeon had no answer for me. He simply told me that he tried but he couldn't stop the bleeding. He said he tried for a long time, but it just wasn't possible. It was her time - her time to go. I got up, picked up her overnight bag and said "I have to find Brian." I left my family in the waiting room, walked quickly through the hospital, crying, looking for him. I found him, sitting against a wall outside of the hospital. He had stopped crying, but his eyes were red and his cheeks were swollen. I sat down beside him and we didn't say a word for a long time. Finally, we decided we wanted nothing more then to just leave - to get out of there as quickly as possible. Our mom was gone. She wasn't there in that hospital anymore and we both knew it.
There were many days after that I recalled that day and remembered every single detail. There was a certain moment when I felt a part of me die. There's not a day that goes by, not an hour that goes by that I don't remember her. She was the strongest woman I ever met. She went through hell and back and survived long enough for me to see how wonderful of a person she was. I will miss her forever.
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