No Begging

For all my whining and belly-aching about keeping Brad's big dog Max for the last several months, my house felt so very empty yesterday after Brad coaxed his big old chocolate furball into the front seat of his car where, unbeknownst to Max, he would remain for the next 28 or so hours. According to Brad, Mr. Max did really well in the car yesterday, alternating between sleeping and standing with his head hanging out of the passenger window. But today, however, not so much ... when Brad called earlier today, I could hear Maxie whimpering, begging for the long, long ride in the car to be over.

It only took Max a few days to settle into the routine of life at my house when he came to stay with Ollie and I for a couple of months ... he learned especially fast when it came to Cheetos at bedtime, treats before I left for work and going for long walks each evening on my beloved trail. Many nights, I walk with my friend Jeanne, and old Max dog took an instant liking to her ... in fact, after the first few nights of meeting up with Jeanne to walk, the minute Max saw her, he would almost rip my arm off tugging on the leash as he tried to get to her as quickly as he possibly could. While I could attribute Max's affection for Jeanne to her sparking personality, her quick wit and great sense of humor or her genuinely caring and giving nature because all of those are definitely true of my dear friend, alas, I must confess that Max loves Jeanne for a far more simplistic reason ... Jeanne always has dog treats with her when we walk.

I didn't have to tell Max to sit when we met up with Jeanne on the trail, and I didn't have to tell him to lift his paw to shake with her ... he did those things without being told because he knew that Jeanne would always give him a treat. Whether he was begging or just being his adorable self ... well, I suppose only old Max dog knows the answer to that. I personally think it was both ... looking up at Jeanne with his golden eyes and his best sad dog face would certainly qualify him as a beggar, but lifting his paw to shake or sitting up and waving his paws in the air cemented his cuteness factor for sure. It doesn't really matter whether Max dog was begging or being adorable, the final outcome was the same ... he got treats, and that's all that mattered to him.

As much as I hate to admit it, I got choked up when I had to say goodbye to that big brown beast yesterday, and saying goodbye to Brad and Shelby was ... well ... suffice it to say there were plenty of tears shed by Max dog's three favorite humans. Ever since they drove away, I've been thinking a lot about begging dogs, probably because there's a little wiener dog in my house who's been over-the-top clingy and needy for the last couple of days. Little Ollie has been begging nonstop for my undivided attention because he doesn't understand where his pal Maxie went. And the more he's begged, the more I've thought about the ways we humans do the very same thing. We beg to be seen and heard ... we beg to be loved and cared for ... we beg to be recognized and appreciated ... we beg to matter ... we beg to be respected ... we beg to make a difference.

Here's the thing, friends ... maybe, just maybe, if we simply treated one another the way we would like to be treated, there would be no need to beg for any of those things ... maybe there would be no need at all.  

Perfect Timing

I'm not gonna lie, I don't feel much like writing this evening ... truthfully, I haven't felt much like writing for the last week or so. But when I don't write during a time that you, my faithful readers, know is tough for me, I get a whole bunch of messages asking me to write. A lot of you tell me that writing is good therapy for me, and for the most part that's true. But sometimes there are emotions too deep to express through words, both happy and sad alike. Sometimes my heart is all jumbled up with feelings ... feelings of happiness and pride and sadness and fear and excitement and loneliness and a gazillion other feelings and emotions all fighting against each other.

Tonight is one of those times ... one of those times when there is so much going on inside my heart it feels as though it might explode. As many of you know, tomorrow morning, my son, his girlfriend and Max the big brown dog hit the road to embark upon a new chapter in their lives ... tomorrow morning, my Braddie boy moves to Maine. Seriously, friends, my heart is pure mush tonight ... pure old, undeniable, slogged-up-like-applesauce Mom mush. Applesauce ... he used to always ask for applesauce instead of a salad when we ate at Red Lobster. Pure mush tonight, friends ... my heart is pure mush tonight for sure. 

I don't know why it still surprises me when something totally random happens with seemingly perfect timing just when I need it most. Like a couple of days ago when I received an anonymous card in the mail ... a card that couldn't have come at a more perfect time. Totally random ... completely unexpected ... out of the blue ... at exactly the right moment on exactly the right day ... perfect timing in a perfectly random way.

To the sender ... thank you ... thank you from the bottom of my all-jumbled-up mama's heart ... thank you.

Shake It Off

A couple of nights ago, I received a call from one of the sweetest ladies I've ever known. She's literally known me my entire life, and every time I see her or talk to her on the phone, she reminds me of how she used to stand at her kitchen window and watch my dad play ball with me in our back yard. Just typing those words, I can hear say in her strong Southern drawl, "We loved your mother and daddy so much, Terrie. Your daddy was a good, good man, honey ... I've never seen a daddy love a child the way your daddy loved you. And I miss your mother and think of how she would smile and laugh when we brought her biscuits and gravy from Hardee's. We sure did love your momma and daddy."

When Mom and Dad's longtime neighbor called the other night, it was the first time she didn't talk about how much she misses them or of me being the apple of Daddy's eye ... she called to let me know her beloved husband of many years had passed away last weekend. Tears filled my eyes as she spoke in a hushed voice ... she sounded so weary, so fragile, so sad. Those same tears splashed onto my shirt as she ended our call with the words, "I love you, sugar ... come see me sometime soon." I'm not sure how many years this dear woman and her sweet husband were my mom and dad's back yard neighbors, but I can't remember a time when they didn't live in the small white house. And tonight ... tonight, my heart aches for her as she grieves the loss of her compassionate, loving, gentle companion ... tonight, I wish I were back home in Tennessee wrapping my arms around her and telling her how very much she and her husband have meant to me and my family over the years.

Taylor Swift had two concerts in Kansas City this week, both to sold-out crowds at the Sprint Center downtown. I'd probably be a bigger Taylor fan if I still had a teenage daughter living at home ... I guess Ms. Swift is an incredibly huge hit with that group ... young teenage girls. I'm really only familiar with one of her songs, the wildly popular Shake It Off, and ... true confession time ... I'm only familiar with that particular song because Coraline and Amelie most definitely get their dance groove on and quite literally "shake it up." The hype leading up to the concerts was huge, and the people who had tickets were over-the-top excited for the night to arrive. Three of my friends went to the concert, two of the three with their young teenage daughters. All three of my friends were in agreement that the concert was great, but I must admit that I'm struck at the differences in their description of the event.

My first friend when I asked how the concert was replied with a simple, "It was great, very fun!" My second friend spoke for several minutes about a short speech Taylor directed to the young girls in the audience about being themselves and looking out for each other instead of backbiting and bickering. My third friend, however, posted her description of the concert on her Facebook page today ...

"Taylor Swift concert takeaways: 1.) Tell people, your family, your friends, and those you influence, that you love them. 2.) Be vulnerable, with people you love and whom you influence. 3.) Don't let people's opinion of you change who and how you are. It's easy to throw criticisms from the sidelines of life. It takes courage to bare it all on the world's stage."

Those are beautiful and challenging words, friends ... words that immediately made me think of the sweet elderly couple who lived just across the yard from Mom and Dad ... words that made me appreciate even more the love they shared for each other and for those of us who've been blessed to know them. Knowing the two of them, I'm quite certain the last words they spoke to one another before they went to bed on what would be his final night on this earth were, "I love you." I know they were vulnerable with each other and with others because I witnessed that vulnerability firsthand. Though there were those who thought they shouldn't marry following the passing of his first wife and her first husband, they disregarded those opinions and subsequently had decades of happiness together that they would have never experienced had they allowed those outside opinions to change who they were or how they chose to live. And courage? Two of the most courageous folks I've ever known ... without a doubt.

When I messaged my friend to ask her permission to quote her in tonight's post, she replied with the words I'm going to leave you with tonight. Read them more than once and let them soak into your hearts and minds. And take care of one another, friends ... be kind to one another ... love one another. Tomorrow would be my mom's 96th birthday ... tell people you love them, friends ... tell them often, because you may not get another chance. Be vulnerable ... just be you ... just be awesome, irreplaceable you.

"And I was encouraged as someone who feels all the way, all the time, to continue to allow myself to be vulnerable even if it means being broken wide open by life. 'The crack is what lets the light in.'"

Even Though ...

His grip was strong and firm as he reached across the table and shook my hand, and his eyes brimmed with tears. I wasn't surprised by the emotion he displayed, but I was more than a bit stunned by the quickness of his response to the statement I had just made.

"I want you to promise me that if you're ever in that dark place again, you'll call me. I'll come get you and take you to a doctor who'll help you. I'm worried about you, my friend."

He showed me the scars from the three incisions made by surgeons to repair his broken femur, the result of a recent suicide attempt. He looked deeply into my eyes as he recounted the events which led him to that day a couple of months ago. He held my hand as he softly said, "I promise, Terrie ... I promise I will call." I hugged him tightly when I had to say goodbye, and instinctively did what I often did with my own sons when they were younger ... I gently tousled his hair and said, "You have a good heart and you're a good man ... it'll be okay ... it will be better ... I promise."

I spent a large portion of my weekend with this young man ... even though my yard looks like a jungle and will be a pain to mow tomorrow evening ... even though I'm just now doing laundry so that I have clean undies to wear ... even though there are two pouting dogs in my house because I didn't get home in time to take them for a walk ... and a whole stack of other "even though" things I needed to do this weekend. And you know what? If I could do my entire weekend over again, I wouldn't change one moment ... not one single moment, friends ... not one single moment.

Don't let your "even though" things keep you from doing what you need to do ... care. The "even thoughs" will be there tomorrow ... the person who needs to know someone cares may not be. Go ahead and think on that one ... think on that one a really long time, and then reach across the table ... yep ... go ahead and think on that one for a really long time, too.

. 

More Than Words

You know what I miss the most from the days when my kids lived with me? The late-night conversations. I'm not sure why, but it was those talks at night that always seemed to be the deepest, the truest, the sweetest ones of all. Over the years, each one of my three kiddos draped themselves across a couch or stretched out in a recliner and talked to me, sometimes for hours on end. And over the years, each one of them would come into my room and wake me up after they got home from a late shift of serving at the various restaurants where they worked ... they would wake me up and sit on the side of my bed and talk. Some of those conversations I remember as if they happened only last week, while the details of others have long since slipped from my memory. I may not recall every single word my children spoke back then, but I will forever remember the time we spent together ... talking, laughing, crying, sharing ... I will never ever forget the time we spent together.

My son Brad is home for a few days, visiting friends and packing up for his move to Maine at the end of the month. Brad's doing something else while he's here, too ... he's spending time with me. Both last night and tonight, we took the dogs for walks on the trail ... walks that made my mind race back to the days when Brad was a little guy pretending to be a fireman ... walks that made me remember how I felt when Matt, Bec and Coraline moved to Canada ... walks that made me proud and excited and happy for Brad and the grand adventure he's embarking upon ... walks that made me struggle to hold back the tears ... walks that made me dread the day he leaves. We talked as we walked ... of course we did ... and I quickly sensed something was different about my son. There's a peace about him ... a certainty about his life that I've never seen in him before ... he's focused and determined and excited about the journey ahead.

I've thought a lot today about some of the things Brad and I talked about last night ... big things, little things and all kinds of things in between. But for all those things we talked about and all those thoughts that have been coursing through my mind today, there's definitely one thought, one realization, one truth that's most assuredly risen above the rest. At the end of the day, what's most important in any relationship is being there for each other ... listening ... talking ... walking ... being there. Whether it's family or friends or co-workers or neighbors or any other type of relationship, what matters is that I'm there. Without question, my biggest regrets in life are all centered around times when I wasn't there for the people I love ... times when I should've listened ... times when I should've cared ... times when I should've remembered ... times when I should've asked ... times when I should've talked ... times when I should've walked ... times when I should've appreciated ... times when I should've loved ... times when I should've been there.

I just got a text message from Brad ... "On the way home" ... I think I'll stay up until he gets here. I'm tired tonight, so there's a good chance I won't remember every word we say but I'll most definitely remember the time we spend together. That's the secret to life, you know ... that's the one big thing every single one of us needs to understand to the very depth of our souls, myself included ... it's about more than the words we speak ... it's about so very much more than the words we speak. It's about the time we're together ... it's about the listening and the caring and the remembering and the asking and the talking and the walking and the appreciating and the loving. It's the time, friends ... it's the time that matters most of all. 

Shall We Dance?

"Ghee, now you sit right dere and me and Amelie are going to dance for you, okay?"

"Okay, Coraline ... I'll sit right here and watch you and Amelie dance."

"Siri ... play Low Rider."

I'm not quite sure which was more amazing to me, the fact that my 3-year-old granddaughter knows how to talk to Siri on her parents' phones or the way they both seem to instinctively know how to dance or that Low Rider is 1-year-old Amelie's favorite song for dancing. I laughed until I cried watching the two of them ... Coraline, the master twirler and jumper and Amelie, the queen of head bobbing and arm flapping. My precious granddaughters obviously inherited their mom's dancing genes ... sorry, Mattie, but you know it's true. I'll be the first to say that I am not, nor have I ever been, a good dancer, though I've always longed to be. From watching Bobby and Cissy on The Lawrence Welk Show to John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever to Ellen ... Ellen's the best dancer ever, by the way, of course she is ... I've wished and wished and wished to magically be transformed into a dancing machine, but it just ain't happening.

Because of all the construction where I normally get on the interstate to drive to work, I've been taking a different route for the last couple of months in an attempt to avoid at least some of the logjam that is now early morning traffic in Kansas City. My new route takes me through several neighborhoods and allows me to jump on the interstate a couple of exits past the major lane closures and, in theory anyway, shaves a few minutes off of my morning commute. There's also the added benefit of better scenery ... several of the big trees in the neighborhoods are beginning to show signs of fall, and fall is absolutely my most favorite season of the year.

And then there's the people I see along the way on my "through the neighborhoods" drive ... like the young mom walking her children to school or the two friends jogging together on the trail or the elderly couple I see each morning as they walk together hand-in-hand. Actually, shuffling together would be a better way to describe their slow, tenacious pace as they move along the sidewalk. They walk together in the heat ... they walk together in the rain ... they walk together in the wind ... and I'm willing to bet my last dime they will walk together in the cold and the snow, too. I've grown accustomed to seeing them each morning ... always in the same location ... always holding hands ... always walking. Until yesterday morning ... yesterday morning, they weren't walking ... yesterday morning, they were dancing. Yep, right there in front of God and everyone who passed by, the old man and the old lady were dancing.

It's a good thing there were no cars behind me when I pulled up to the stop sign, because I sat there for a good long while watching the two as they swayed and twirled and moved to whatever imaginary music that only they could hear. And yes, the moment I saw them, my eyes filled with tears and before I pulled away, those tears were coursing down my cheeks like tiny rivers rushing toward the sea. They were absolutely mesmerizing to watch, so much so that each driver at the 4-way stop sign joined me in gazing at the beautiful scene unfolding before our eyes ... two people who refused to be halted by the boundaries of age ... two people so very obviously in love ... two people who didn't give a red hot horse's behind what anyone else thought about them ... two people who danced.

I've been thinking a lot about dancing since I saw the elderly couple yesterday morning ... no, that's not correct ... I've been thinking a lot about not dancing since I saw them. I'm pretty sure the last time I danced, unless of course I count the goofy dancing I do with Coraline and Amelie when I visit them in Canada, was with Matt at his wedding. And here's the thing ... I don't usually sit around and wish I had someone to dance with, but ever since I saw the couple dancing yesterday, I've felt more alone than I have in a really long time and I'm not sure why. Granted, I do think about growing old alone a lot more than I used to, and honestly, I'm not too fond of the idea. I'd rather grow old walking together with someone ... I'd rather grow old with a best friend by my side ... I'd rather grow old dancing together with the one I love on a sidewalk and not giving a red hot horse's behind what anyone else may think about me.

As I typed those words, Ollie the wiener dog snuggled in a little closer, and I received a text message from Brad letting me know he made it safely in from Maine. I had a sweet chat with my daughter earlier this evening, and my daughter-in-law messaged me some pictures of my grandgirls. You know what? Maybe I'm not such a bad dancer after all ... because, after all, dancing is really about love. 

Shall we dance?

Johnson, Party of One

There are a lot of things I don't mind doing alone ... I don't mind walking alone or shopping alone or going to the library alone or pumping gas alone or going fishing alone or even going to church alone ... but I will adamantly state that all of those things are much more fun to do when I have someone to do them with. But there are some things I simply don't do because doing them alone makes me feel really, really, really lonely. I won't eat out in a restaurant alone or go to a movie alone or sleep in a tent alone or go to a bar alone ... nope ... I just won't do those things alone, hence the reason I rarely eat out or go to a movie or sleep in a tent or go to a bar, because ... well ... because I spend a great deal of my time away from work alone. 

In my post last night, I wrote about today being World Suicide Prevention Day and the significance this day has for me now. What I didn't say in last night's post, however, was how deeply affected I am by this day this year. I truly have no idea why ... there's no reason for World Suicide Prevention Day to mean more to me this year than it has for the last two years, but yet it does. I woke up this morning thinking about the countless people who have written to me telling me of their own brushes with suicide or of losing a child or a parent or a sibling or a friend to suicide. As I showered, hot tears ran down my face and I sobbed as I thought of the pain I would have caused my own children and my precious granddaughters had I carried out my plan that day. All day, my brain has pulsed with thoughts of people all around the world lighting candles on this day in memory of a loved one lost through suicide ... of people all around the world lighting candles to pay tribute to and show their support for their loved ones who continue to fight against the darkness of depression every single moment with every single breath they breathe ... of people all around the world lighting candles to show how much they care.

It's been a stormy evening here in Kansas City, and though I detest storms, it seems very fitting on this night ... the booming thunder reminding me of the deafening voice of depression and despair ... the flashing lightning reminding me that within the deepest darkness, there is a light to help me find my way ... the torrential rain and the howling wind reminding me that even the fiercest of storms will eventually pass. Though my heart desperately wished to have friends or family join me this evening as I lit a candle in honor of World Suicide Prevention Day, it seemed somehow fitting that I pay tribute alone ... to remember another day when I was alone ... to recognize the progress I have made ... to offer up a prayer of gratitude for the gift of living ... to ask for comfort and peace and help and love for those who struggle, for those who hurt, for those who are alone and afraid and ashamed.

Johnson, party of one ... your candle is ready.

Six Feet Under

Before you pop a gasket or send me a gazillion messages telling me I shouldn't be thinking or writing about death or dying, let me assure you that I'm not planning on kicking the bucket anytime soon. The truth, however, is that from the minute we draw our first breath we begin the process of dying. There's no sense in trying to deny that truth or dance around it or fluff it up because there's nothing you or I can do to alter the reality that when we are born, the clock of our lives begins its ultimate countdown. And while many of you may think that's a negative or morbid way to view life, I would argue that it's just the opposite ... or it should be anyway. If I view my life in the context of a clock ticking constantly away toward my eventual demise, logic and reason would dictate that I'd pack as much living as I possibly could into every single one of those moments. In fact, perhaps I'd be much happier if I really did look at life exactly that way ... if I focused more on the countdown to the end, maybe I'd do a whole lot better job of living in the here and now.

My guess is that many of you don't know that tomorrow is World Suicide Prevention Day ... I had no idea there even was a World Suicide Prevention Day until after February 4, 2012. And I'm ashamed to say that I didn't know not only because I've had friends and family who have struggled with suicidal thoughts, but because some of my friends and family have actually lost someone they loved through suicide. It wasn't until I was there myself ... it wasn't until after I came within minutes of committing suicide myself that I learned about the significance and the importance of tomorrow. The theme for this year's World Suicide Prevention Day is "Preventing Suicide: Reaching Out and Saving Lives" ... encouraging all of us to consider the role that offering support may play in preventing suicide. I love the following words from the WSPD website ...

"The act of showing care and concern to someone who may be vulnerable to suicide can be a game-changer. Asking them whether they are OK, listening to what they have to say in a non-judgmental way, and letting them know you care, can all have a significant impact. Isolation increases the risk of suicide, and, conversely, having strong social connections is protective against it, so being there for someone who has become disconnected can be life-saving."

I love those words because I know firsthand how very true they are ... you better believe I know how true those words are. Far and away the major theme in many of the emails I receive on the subject of suicide is that of feeling that no one cares ... that no one would miss them if they died ... that those whom they love and care about would actually be better off without them. I know firsthand how very true those words are because I know I have to make a conscious effort every day not to be consumed by feelings of being alone, unworthy and invisible ... feelings of no one would notice if I disappeared ... feelings of being a burden on those whom I love. I can't stress to you enough how very important it is to put arms and legs on the words "I care" ... you can't just say you care, friends, you have to show you care in real and tangible ways.

After my mom passed away, I bought a cemetery plot close to where Mom, Dad and my brother Jerry are buried back in Tennessee, thinking that was the most logical place for me to be buried someday. I've since decided, however, that I want to be cremated instead and so I'm going to try to sell my plot ... I like the idea of having my ashes sprinkled on a mountaintop somewhere way better than being buried six feet under the ground. Six feet under ... six feet under the ground ... six feet under. It's estimated that more than 800,000 people die by suicide each year, but most experts believe the number is actually much higher due to the stigma associated with suicide leading to inaccurate reporting and documentation. Think about that for a minute ... think about it and let it sink deeply into your mind and your heart and your soul, and then read these words again ... 

"The act of showing care and concern to someone who may be vulnerable to suicide can be a game-changer. Asking them whether they are OK, listening to what they have to say in a non-judgmental way, and letting them know you care, can all have a significant impact. Isolation increases the risk of suicide, and, conversely, having strong social connections is protective against it, so being there for someone who has become disconnected can be life-saving."

Be that game-changer, friends ... ask if she's OK and then listen with your heart ... invite him to dinner and then don't take no for an answer ... tell them you care and then do the things that show you really do. See here's the thing ... every single one of us needs to know we matter. It's not just the people who are in the midst of struggling with whether to live or die who need to know they matter or that someone cares or that they are loved or that they are appreciated ... we all not only need to know those things, each one of us possesses within us a deep longing to know those things.

Hmmm ... I can't help but wonder ... maybe if I thought more about the countdown to the end of my life ... maybe if I thought more about the countdown to the lives of the people around me ... maybe I would do a much better job of making sure people know they matter ... maybe I would do a much better job of caring about others ... maybe I would do a much better job of loving those around me ... maybe I would do a much better job of showing my appreciation to my fellow man. Maybe if I thought more about being six feet under ... maybe I would do a much better job of living.

Six feet under ... step up and step in, friends ... if you wait until someone is six feet under ... well ... then you've waited too long ... then you've waited far, far too long. Six feet under ... think about it ... step up ... step in ... be someone's game-changer.

What I Smell?

Though I can't remember what prompted it, I well remember a time in his teenage years when my oldest son Matt decided he was not going to eat any more pork ... no bacon, no chops, no roasts, no sausage, no ribs. I also remember being especially irritated with my suddenly meat-choosy son during his porkless phase. You see, back then, pork was one of the less expensive meat choices, and I had three seemingly always ravenous teenagers to feed. I don't recall how long Matt stuck to his "No swine!" mantra, but I'm betting that the amazing aroma of bacon sizzling in a frying pan had a lot to do with the eventual reversal of his previous pork-free stance.

I find it quite comical that my eldest son now has two daughters who love, love, love sausage and bacon ... seriously, those little gals can throw back some pork like you wouldn't believe. I'm relatively sure if it was up to the two of them, they would eat sausage and bacon for every single meal and probably for snack time as well. Though pretty much everything Coraline says is absolutely adorable, there's one exchange concerning sausage that her dad will probably never let her forget ... you know, one of those events from her childhood that will be mentioned at every family get-together for the rest of her life. Matt and Becca were in the kitchen cooking when Coraline suddenly came running in and shouted, "What I smell? Sausage?"

It's more than safe to assume that I've laughed a ton over my sweet little blonde-haired, blue-eyed granddaughter's "What I smell? Sausage?" question, but it's also more than safe to assume that laughing is the last thing on my mind when I'm told by other people that I need to "wake up and smell the coffee." Me being me, I did a bit of research on the meaning and origin of that phrase ... "wake up and smell the coffee" ... and discovered some interesting things. The meaning didn't surprise me ... "to face up to reality, especially in a difficult or unpleasant situation" ... but the person who is generally credited with it becoming a popularly accepted phrase in our society certainly did ... newspaper advice columnist Ann Landers (which was actually a pen name for two different women who penned the column over the years). The phrase became somewhat of a trademark for the beloved and well-respected Ann Landers, eventually becoming the title of a book containing some of her most famous advice-filled and wisdom-loaded columns. I had absolutely no idea that's where "wake up and smell the coffee" earned its wings, but it makes perfect sense to me now.

In my recent post "May I Please Be Excused?", I wrote about my tendency to be too loyal at times ... to be too trusting on occasion ... to believe in people to a fault more often than perhaps I should. I closed that post with these words, "I want to keep believing in people ... I want to keep trusting people ... I want to be loyal and committed and honest and true," and I stand firmly behind those words. What I didn't say in that post, however, was that I've been told to "wake up and smell the coffee" a lot lately ... a whole lot. And I'm pretty sure I'm not the only person out there who doesn't much like being told that I'm not seeing (or smelling, as the case may be) certain situations or circumstances or people for what or who they really are rather than what my too trusting, too loyal, too much believing in others to a fault nature wants to see (or smell, as the case may be). And way more than I don't like being told to "wake up and smell the coffee," I hate that those words force me to entertain the possibility that I need to do just that.

I went to a movie with a couple of friends last night ... it's been a really long time since I've been to a movie with friends, by the way, and I realized last night how very much I miss doing things like that. Not only did this particular film intrigue me enough to get me to spend 10 bucks on a ticket, it intrigued me enough to get me to ignore the bad reviews it's received. I'm glad I went for several reasons, not the least of which is that it was a great movie. It's the story of two old guys who set out to walk the Appalachian Trail from Georgia to Maine, and the film is both funny and poignant in its portrayal of their journey. This may sound crazy, but as I watched the story unfold on the big screen before me, I had a "wake up and smell the coffee" moment of my very own.

See, here's the thing ... when the main character's wife put her foot down and said he couldn't hike the Trail alone, he called a bunch of his "friends" with the hope that one of them would agree to go with him ... but not one of them did. Nope, not one of his rich and successful so-called friends would accompany him on his journey ... not one. Instead, it was a forgotten, ill-mannered, foul-mouthed, out of shape friend from his past who volunteered to walk with him. Volunteered is the key word there, by the way ... his less than desirable former friend wasn't among the ones asked to go along on the adventure; in fact, he wasn't even considered for inclusion in the invitations. Yep ... it was his long ago discarded friend who volunteered to walk the trail with him even though he knew he wasn't on the original invite list.

There's a ton of irony there you know ... a ton of "wake up and smell the coffee" irony for sure. The friend who didn't possess great wealth ... the friend who had lived the most difficult life ... the friend who had nothing but himself to give ... he was the only friend who volunteered to journey with his old pal. He was the friend who had every right to be angry and bitter over a friendship tossed aside, and yet he was the friend who made the call ... he was the one who braved ridicule and rejection ... he was the one who stepped up and made the effort ... he was the one who cared enough to go.

I'll leave you to mull that over for a while, friends, but be attentive as you ponder ... be watchful as you contemplate ... be open as you muse ... be mindful as you question. Be all of those things and more as you consider ... for you might just have a "wake up and smell the coffee" moment, too.

"What I smell? Sausage?" 

Roots and Wings

I can close my eyes and see him standing on the wide sloping driveway in front of the house where I grew up ... his ever-present hat pulled low to cover the tears that welled in his eyes. It was the day my little family was leaving to move to south Florida, and it was one of the toughest days of my life. I think it was in that moment as I stood on the driveway trying to say goodbye to my dad that I truly understood how very much he loved me. Daddy was already in the early stages of Parkinson's and Alzheimer's diseases as he tottered outside to the driveway to tell me goodbye. His wispy gray hair waved in the breeze, and I could tell he was a bit confused by all the emotion of the moment. For a brief second, I wondered if he could fully comprehend what was happening ... if he really knew that his baby girl was moving several hundred miles away from home. But then my sweet dad said something to me that made me realize that he indeed understood what was happening ... he said something to me I will never ever forget. 

"Sam," he said as his dark brown eyes gazed deeply into my vivid blue ones. "Sam, don't forget where you came from and remember you can always come home again if you need to." Tears streamed down my face as he wrapped his trembling arms around me and whispered into my ear, "You remember that, Sam ... remember where you came from and remember you always have somewhere to come home to."

I said that moment was when I truly understood how very much my dad loved me, but that's not completely true ... it was actually many years later when I truly understood the depth and scope of my father's love for me. It wasn't until I was standing in a frozen yogurt shop in Lawrence, Kansas, saying goodbye to my oldest son the day before he moved to Canada ... that's the real moment I truly understood how much Daddy loved me ... that's the moment I truly knew the pain he carried in his heart the day he said goodbye to me.

My son Brad has been working in Maine for the last couple of months on what he originally thought was just a temporary contract job for a film production company who works with a couple of well-known television channels. It turns out that my boy wowed them with his skill and expertise in filming and editing, and last week the company asked him to stay ... in Maine ... the company asked my son to move to Maine. So ... Brad will be coming back to KC in the next week or so to pick up his dog, his stuff and his girlfriend Shelby, and heading out to Maine to begin a new chapter in his life. I'm so very proud of him, and I want nothing more than for him to be happy, but I'd be lying if I said I'm not sitting here typing with a big lump in my throat and more than a few tears in my eyes.

Daddy gave me roots and wings ... roots so that I would know where I came from and where I could come home to ... wings so that I could fly as high and as far as my dreams could take me. I can only hope and pray I've done the same for my three amazing children.

Remember where you came from, Brad ... remember that you always have somewhere to come home to ... remember how proud I am of you ... remember how very much I love you. To the moon and back, Bradley ... to the moon and back, always and forever, buddy ... always and forever.