This website was started with the mission of sharing my chaotic, unfiltered life, all the while glorifying God. With a twist of humor added in. Flavored with rawness. It’s my goal that the reader hasn’t wasted 10 minutes of their life, but gained a little hope or been blessed.
One thing I haven’t been able to be in my blogs is fake. I can’t write it if I don’t feel it. So with that being said, I have written very little because I have been too busy wallowing in a Petri dish of discouragement, and yes, depression.
Yesterday, I exploded. Imploded is probably a better description. I found myself yelling and screaming at God. So much has been going wrong in my life and of those I love. I’m sick of this load given to me.
I love Preston with every fiber in me, but this 2.0 version can be very hard to deal with at times. No amount of “growing a thick skin” can prepare me for the “brain storms” that his brain injury causes. When they pass, we are both physically and emotionally drained. Though I wouldn’t wish them on anyone, I’m finding that seed of bitterness growing when some close to the situation have the ability to help, but choose to look the other way and not let the ugliness touch their lives. The brainstorms have been happening more frequently lately. I’m trying to juggle a household, work full time, manage medicines, be a mama, pay bills…. the hats are never ending it seems.
Poor pitiful me.
My Pop always understands. He’s wiped my 48 year old tears more times than I can count. He also struggles with having an invalid spouse. He battles Parkinson’s daily, in addition to a medical rap sheet that makes him a career criminal!
Two weeks ago today, an unfortunate chain of events had me sitting in a waiting room alone as my dad underwent a simple cystoscopy. My brothers, Ken and Kevin were supposed to be there, but the procedure was moved numerous times. And it was only by God’s grace that I was even there when they took him back. The plan was for the cystoscope to reveal something simple wrong within his bladder and for it to be fixed while the doctor was doing the procedure. That was THE plan. THE plan.
The surgeon came out and sat down next to me. He crossed his legs. I think that was when I knew THE plan failed. Failed miserably. I knew the word before he ever said it. Cancer. I thought I handled it like a pro. I’ve seen my brothers cry, but I really had not.
At one point in the last 2 months, we had my grandma with a broken neck in ICU in one hospital and Pops in another hospital in a county away.
Last week, Preston started coughing up blood again from the non-malignant mass he has in his own lung. Although we’ve been down this road before, it is a long scary one. Chase helped me at that hospital visit. More doctor visits are planned for next week. By now, the storms are raging around means I’m plugging the dam holes leak after leak. Each leak bigger than the last.
Yesterday, I received a text that did me in. I exploded. Imploded. Detonated. Totally lost it. Went Loco. Cuckoo. It wasn’t just the contents of that text that did it, it was the straw that broke the camels back..
I became a crazy, mad white woman. I screamed at God and beat the steering wheel of my car all the way home. The tears were unending. I have never asked God why He let Joseph die. Or why He let my boys lives be tainted with murder and so much death. I never asked God why He gave me Preston only to allow him to have a brain aneurysm when we were still honeymooners. I never asked God why Pop got Parkinson’s. I’ve tried so hard to find God in it all. I’ve been the one to reassure everyone else that God would be glorified in it all. Yesterday, I screamed that word so many times. I have no idea how I made it home through the tears. If God has never heard me before, I think Him and everyone on Hwy 521 has now.
This morning, just like scripture says, His mercies are new. I woke up a new woman with a new outlook. The bleach has been sprayed in that Petri dish. And my despair has been relaxed with memories of how blessed I am.
Pops. I think I could tell Pops I killed someone, and he’d love me same. And help me hide the body. He’s the most non-judgmental person I know.
Ken. My first and probably only best friend. He’s 3 years my senior. If I told him I killed someone, he’d love me the same. And he’d turn his head while me and Pops hid the body. Ken’s the one that makes things happen. Fast and efficiently. Perfect for the mailman he is.
Kevin. The baby brother 5 years my junior. If I told him I killed someone, he’d get us all drunk so we couldn’t remember where we hid the body! Kevin is covered in tats that make some look twice. Seriously, Kevin is the most tender hearted of us.
I’m reminded of the many times that Pop has shown up to take Preston to breakfast just to get him out of the house. I’m reminded of Ken, Kevin, and Pop working tirelessly to get me and the boys moved in our house after Joseph died. I see the quote that Kevin carved in the wet cement so that Joseph would be with us in a way. I remember all the years that we came together for the annual barbecue where we had dozens and dozens of our family and friends attend. Ken missed my wedding to Preston only because he was busy cooking the barbecue for our reception. Ken and Pop worked tirelessly with a short notice when a ramp needed to be added to the house so Preston could come home. I’m reminded of Pop sitting in the ICU room when Preston was in a coma…. holding his hand and tears in his eyes. I remember all the times my brother drove to Charlotte just to pick me up because I was too exhausted to make the trip back.
The memories are non-stop. One thing is clear…. there is no poor, pitiful me.
Our family has a tough and dangerous road ahead. Pop is having his kidney and ureter removed in just a few weeks. It’s a high risk surgery. We don’t know if it will be smooth sailing or full of kinks. What I do know is that my family will support each other 110%. History speaks for itself. I do know there are no unturned stones when it comes to us caring and taking care of each other.
I can lay my head down tonight knowing that when each of these trials end…. my Redeemer lives.
And Pop is proud of us.
I love you, Pop, Ken and Onionhead!