Jubilee

My friend Lee has been gone now going on two years. Everyone who loved him is learning life without him in it. I often think about those that were the closest to him—his children. There are three of them. He had two boys and a daughter. It’s my feeling and belief that they need more support in their grief over their father. The support they do have is strong and from afar. I have so many hopes for them all, specifically for Lee’s daughter, Jubilee. I put her name in this entry in the hopes that she one day “Googles” herself and finds this. Here’s what I want to tell her about her father and about Marching Fourth.

Lee wasn’t perfect. I’m sure you’ve been made aware of that. He made so many mistakes when he was a younger man. Some of it was age. Some of it was because he loved with no fear and thought that everyone else did the same. Some of it was simply bad luck and poor choices. Here is what I can tell you for sure. He learned from his mistakes and his missteps. This was all behind him when I met him, yet he still told me all about it. All of these events in Lee’s life had made him who he was—loyal, forgiving, and compassionate. Throughout all of his stories, there was one thing that always came through. He loved and wanted you and your brothers so much that I think it actually made his chest hurt. His heart couldn’t manage all of the emotion he had for you guys. He told me on several occasions, “They are my heart from my chest.” You and your brothers made him a better person. You were his reason for being a changed man. And a changed man he was.

Love...

and more love

Lee had scrimped and saved to make sure you were taken care of. I know you won’t see evidence of this. I’ve seen it, though. He had gone to great lengths to secure a future for you and your brothers. The only thing I know to tell you is that sometimes adults can only look out for themselves. Once your father wasn’t here anymore, then it was a lot more difficult to ensure that you received everything you were supposed to. My hope for you is that you have the work ethic and the determination that your father had. If you do, you will do well in life. You carry him with you. When you need that strength, you call on him. He’ll hear you.

Lee was a fierce and loyal friend to me and to my husband. As a kid, we rarely pay attention to or get a chance to see our parents with their friends. I want to share with you what your father was like as a friend. Your father loved nature and the trees. It’s why he was an arborist. He had his own business, and the trees were how he connected with people. I initially met your father through Penny. I know you remember Penny. After that initial meeting, he showed up in my front yard and gave me some advice on my very old oak trees. And, then he met my husband. My husband and your father became fast friends. Your father had a knack for what I call collecting people. He loved people, and he loved to help them.

At one point, I found out that I was very sick. Rather than ask me what he could do for me, your father just started doing things. I can remember being very ill and not being able to get out of bed. I woke up because it sounded like someone was on my roof! It was your father’s boots that I heard. He had come by and decided that my gutters needed cleaning. So, he cleaned them. He did things like this all of the time. He would take time away from his business to help others.  There was another time that he just showed up at our door with food. He had decided that we weren’t eating enough vegetables to stay healthy, so he came over with a healthy dinner to share. That was your father. Lee was fiercely loyal to so many.

I wish I had some advice for you that would solve the situation you find yourself in. No child should lose her father before she is even in double digits. I think about you a lot. I think about your brothers a lot. I wish and hope for so many things for all of you. I hope you can remember your father’s laugh. I hope you can remember how he would smile so big that his eyes almost closed. I hope you remember how much he loved Penny and what a supportive partner he was to her. That’s how boys should always treat you. Don’t forget that one. I hope you are able to feel his spirit with you when you really need it the most. I know he’s there.

My hope is that you know it’s ok to be angry. Feel it. Work through it. But don’t let it overtake you. Don’t get stuck in it. My hope is that you know it’s ok to feel heartbroken. My hope is that you can still feel how much your father loved you because I witnessed how much he did. My hope is that you know your father didn’t disappear from your life just because he isn’t physically here with you. Even if no one else in your life ever talks about him, know that it’s ok to love him and miss him. It doesn’t mean you love anyone else less. Know that there are other people who will forever miss your father. We talk about him all of the time. We will all be here for you and your brothers, if you one day decide you want to know more about Lee. My hope is that you know your father’s family and friends would love to see you and be in your life.

There is a song I listen to a lot. It reminds me of how your father talked about his relationship with you. I’m going to leave that song here for you. It's by The Avett Brothers, and it's called A Father's First Spring. Take care.

Just Dance

March 2000. That’s when I found it. It being the Clemson Jazzercise Center. My sister had actually introduced me to it. I had gone to visit her, and she made me get up and go with her to a class on a Saturday morning. I begrudgingly liked it—a lot. I left that weekend and had already found out that the Clemson Jazzercise Center was about a mile away from where I was living.

I showed up to my first class at Clemson Jazzercise and was a nervous mess. I was first greeted by a woman who immediately welcomed me and got everything ready for me to join. Her name was Nancy. I was then approached by the instructor for the class that day. I didn’t know it at the time, but this was also the owner. Her name was Verna. I was very young and really had no idea that these ladies would not only be a part of changing my life, but they would still be with me today. But, I’m jumping ahead.

I had always thought of aerobics as dated. This thought was overpowered, though, by all of the fun I was having. When I attended a class, it was like being an In Living Color Fly Girl. I couldn’t be stopped! And no one wanted to stop me! I had just started graduate school and had become engaged. I was very stressed. As the weeks went by, I began to use Jazzercise as my stress release touchstone. I knew I could go to the center and for 60 minutes all would be right again. All was not right with the rest of my life. I was engaged, and I knew from the beginning that it was probably not a good fit. But, I was too scared to ever say anything. As usual, I was determined to just make it work. Didn’t everyone feel like this? Graduate school was so hard. It wasn’t the content so much as the faculty. Again, though, Jazzercise came to the rescue. Just as I was feeling pretty hopeless about making it through graduate school, one of my professors showed up in Jazzercise. I had a connection. It was like a lifeline for me. Jazzercise was the vehicle that let me see my professors were more than just professors. I could talk to them. They wanted me to succeed. And, we had seen each other in spandex. That always lightens the mood!

Years went by. I bought a home. I advanced in my career. I ended up getting a divorce. Through all of this, Jazzercise was there. When I went there, no one cared that there was a major failure on my record well before the age of 30. I came to dance. And, they let me dance. Throughout this time, I had some major adjustments to make. At times, this meant that Jazzercise wasn’t on my list of priorities. I wasn’t forgotten, though. I would receive postcards from the center letting me know that I was missed. This wasn’t just mass-produced. Verna and the other instructors would always write a personal message for me on those cards. I still have them.

I got through those tough times, and I met a man who would become my husband. Life was good. It was going to change. I was diagnosed with cancer. I was scared. I wallowed in uncertainty and fear. I also beat it. The first thing I did when I started to feel like a living person again was go back to the Clemson Jazzercise Center. I showed up with a little bit of hair on my head and just looking a colossal mess. This is how I felt, anyway. Verna and all of the ladies greeted me with literal open arms. They even introduced me to another jazzer who had fought and survived cancer—Sue. She probably has no idea how much I depend on seeing her at class, but I do. Just her presence sets me at ease. Watching Sue lift heavy weights and smile as she bounces around to the music, reminds me that cancer doesn’t have to stop you in your tracks. You can move forward and be strong again.

Going back was not as smooth as I had hoped. I bumped along for a good year. My immune system was shot, plus there were major changes happening in my life…again. Job changes, family obligations, losing loved ones—all of these things were excuses I used to not exercise. Finally, one day, my husband remarked that I was always the happiest and least stressed when I jazzercised. I had been exercising. I would run. I would lift weights. But, it always felt like a chore. He really encouraged me to go back, and I did.

Today, I’m much older than I was in 2000. My body doesn’t look the same, and it doesn’t move the same. Jazzercise doesn’t care. Just show up. All of the women I exercise with have their own stories. They all show up for their own reasons. For 60 minutes each day, I let go of the everyday chaos and stress. I’m part of something so much bigger than an exercise center. Jazzercise and the ladies who make up my center have saved me so many times in my life. They have pushed me forward. They have kept me Marching Fourth. Actually, they have kept me dancing. Thank you, ladies.

Transition

“You look fantastic!” “You are so skinny!” It was 2010, and I was going through my first of many chemotherapy treatments. I didn’t tell anyone except my family. Maybe two people at my job knew? Maybe. These were the reactions I was getting from people who had no idea why my body was betraying me. Yes, I was skinny. Well, I should say I was small. I’ve never been a skinny person. I have curves and lots of tits and ass. It’s just how I’m built. And, to be fair, these people really had no idea what was going on in my life. I tend to make jokes about stuff and just carry on. To be around me, you might think I’m outgoing. I’m not. I’m awkward, and I try to cover it up with humor. So, when I was diagnosed with cancer, I went straight for the avoidance tactics and the humor.

Fast forward to today. I am cancer free. I don’t say that lightly. I know how fortunate and lucky I am. I also know that it can come back at any time. There is no doctor that can tell me for sure that I will not die from this disease. Most days I don’t think about that. I live. The past 18 months have been a time when my body has tried to heal. There are some things that will never go away, like the scars from surgery. My immune system, which is still kind of wonky. My fears. I don’t want to die. Who in the hell does? My husband’s fears. My sister’s fears. I know all of that is there.

I am no longer skinny or small. I’m me. My body was/is healing and wants to be healthy again. I want it to be healthy again. At first, I was so excited that I could actually taste food and keep it down that I went a little nuts. A box of Kraft macaroni and cheese does not a healthy meal make. Even when you cut up little tiny cheese hot dogs in it. But, it sure was tasty! The weight has come back on. My hair has grown. There are days that I don’t know who this woman is anymore. I was so used to living with cancer and while it is a happy transition, it is still a transition.

I open the doors to my extra closet and stare at the cancer clothes. They are small—miniature—not mine. There are people in my life who don’t understand why I don’t fit into those clothes anymore. There are some people who have actually asked about it. Then there are those who snicker behind my back about it, and I still hear them. As shallow as it sounds, this has been hard, as well. It does not overshadow the fact that I have beat cancer. It’s just another step in this craziness that no one signs up for.

I have a support system like no other. My husband, my sister, my mom and dad, my workout peeps, my new work peeps—some of these people probably have no idea that they are a part of my support system. They all serve a purpose in helping me keep Marching Fourth. And I would not be true to myself if I didn’t say to those people that are snickering behind my back, fuck you.

Burn

New year’s resolutions—does anyone really like these? I have never been a fan. It creates pressure and stress for me, which eventually turn into some sort of failure. Who wants that hanging over her head? Not me. I gave up on resolutions long ago. There are things I would like to improve about my life and myself. I work on those things, but I don’t make them resolutions. Also, they tend to not be things that have an end. To me, resolutions are things you make for the year. I fully support resolutions for those people who they work for. That’s just not me.

Years ago, when I gave up resolutions, I embraced a new tradition. I call it “Burn, Baby, Burn.” We used to have an annual New Year’s Eve party that was always themed. There was an 80’s party where I dressed up as an 80’s mom and completely grossed out one of my in-laws. Oops. Oh, and my brother-in-law had the best costume that year. Check it out! 

Say Anything

There was the pajama party because, well, that just made sense. We had a “Very Swayze New Year” the year Patrick Swayze passed away. It was complete with classics like Roadhouse, Dirty Dancing, and Point Break. I also created a “Very Swayze” trivia game that we would play throughout the night. My personal favorite was the year we had a “Very Springer New Year.” People dressed up as Jerry Springer guests. We had a faux brick wall that people could have their picture made in front of. In attendance were strippers, hookers, and a variety of men from all walks of life. ;) We played a game called “Who’s Your Daddy?” I won’t go into details. If you were there, you know why! These were good times, and the partying was interrupted when I was diagnosed with cancer. I didn’t feel like much of anything during that time, and we just stopped hosting.

All is not lost, though! During all of these themed parties, we did have one tradition that I loved. We played “Burn, Baby, Burn.” Instead of resolutions, we would write down all of the things we wanted to leave behind that year. You could write down as many or as few as you like. Then we would wait until 11:59. Everyone would gather around the roaring fire we had built in the fireplace, and we would throw all of our nastiness into the fire and leave it behind. We started the year fresh. Baggage free! This doesn’t mean we still didn’t make it funny. In fact, even my dogs get in on the fun. Of course, I choose things for them because I don’t speak their language, and they have no thumbs to hold the pen to write anything down.

Funny dog notes

As another New Year’s Eve approaches, I am thinking about things I want to leave behind. Maybe some people? Maybe. As 2014 comes to an end, I will be Marching Fourth into 2015 with a few less things. Happy New Year, y'all!

Bypass

I woke up on a Saturday morning and realized I had forgot to ask my mom to pick me up some N.C. apples on her trip that day. Al and I were visiting that day and spending the night, so I wanted to make sure I got in touch with her. I called early. She answered and was upset. She started whispering. “Daddy’s really sick. He can’t walk. He’s been sick for over a week, and he went downhill fast last night. I don’t know what to do.” Let me explain. My dad has been to a doctor less than a dozen times since I have been alive. I don’t really know why, but it’s just something we were all used to—daddy doesn’t go to the doctor. I tried to get more information from my mom, but she was really upset. I got off of the phone and talked to Al. I told him we needed to get ready and get to their house pronto. I called my mom back, and she was almost in tears. “Daddy got up and tried to put his clothes on to go get apples. He laid down in the kitchen floor and told me to leave him alone.” I sighed and at this point was still unsure of how dire the situation would get. “Mom, you can’t let daddy lay in the kitchen floor and expire. I know he won’t get in an ambulance or let them treat him. Just get him in the car and to urgent care. We will figure something out. I’m on my way.”

We got ready quickly and piled the dogs in the car. I called my sister. She was taking my nephew to a play rehearsal and was on the road. I told her I was heading to town and would keep her updated. On the way, I finally got in touch with my mom. “They are admitting daddy to the heart center. He has lost a lot of blood from internal bleeding and needs a blood transfusion. They aren’t sure where the bleeding is coming from.” My mind was racing. Internal blood loss? Heart center? It wasn’t really adding up at this point for me. I was just scared, but I still felt that he would be ok. He’s so strong. I knew he had to really be in pain to go to the hospital. I was kind of shocked he was going.

I called my sister back and told her she better meet me at the heart center. She made arrangements. I rushed to the 4^th floor, and the elevator doors opened. There was my mother. It’s important to note that she’s 71 years old, but no one told her that. There she sat with her stylish hair, her red lipstick, and a black leather jacket trimmed in ruffles. The woman goes everywhere in style. I was in sweats and Uggs. I went to my dad’s room. He was so pale—almost translucent. He was in pain. My sister arrived shortly after, and we pow-wowed. Our daddy was not going to be ignored and left in that damn room. We were on those doctors and nurses, and I have to say that they responded calmly and well. They did exactly what they were supposed to do. I just wanted it done faster because I was starting to panic.

After a few hours, the blood transfusion began. That kept my panic at bay a bit. Daddy started complaining of chest pains, and for some reason it finally hit me. He was having a heart attack. There wasn’t anything they could do because of the internal bleeding. If they gave him the types of drugs you give people having heart attacks, then his blood would thin and he could bleed out. We sat in that tiny room and watched my father suffer a heart attack. There was nothing else we could do. He was talking to us, and he kept insisting that on a scale of 1-10 that his pain was maybe a 3. Bullshit. I had a hair appointment in town that day, and he was insistent that I go. So, I did. Al sat with me, and I alternated between just being able to talk and silent tears rolling down my face. My stylist was finishing up, and my phone rang. It was my sister. “You need to get here now. Right now. We are on the 2^nd floor.” Al rushed me there. The cardiologist had done a heart cath. My daddy had three major blocks. Emergency open-heart surgery was a must. The cardiologist was grim. “He may not live through the night for surgery.” That’s what he said. He was admitted to the critical care unit, and we waited to see him. As we were waiting, we ended up being able to talk to one of his nurses. My mother, who never really shows much emotion and hadn’t that day, spoke up to the nurse. “I like him. Please save him.” It was so simple and so sweet. And, it just seemed more powerful than I love him. He’s her friend, and she needed him.

We went back to spend some time with him. Visitation was limited because of his condition. My sis and I just stood there talking as silent tears rolled down our faces. He was in so much pain. His surgeon came in and explained what would happen. If he made it through the night, then open-heart surgery would be first thing in the morning. If he started to lose him in the middle of the night, then he was going in no matter what. It was the surgeon’s version of a hail mary. He had no idea if my dad was still bleeding internally or where it was coming from. He just knew that if he opened this man up and performed open-heart surgery with all of the blood thinners he would have to use, then he could lose him. My mom, sister, and I stood at the end of his bed and prepared to say goodnight. We knew it was more than that. My dad smiled. He raised his hand in a small wave to us. He said, “Well, it’s been a good ride. I love you all.” It was sweet. It was wonderful. And, it was so, so painful and scary. I had come to a place in my life where I had to possibly hear my daddy’s last words to me. We headed back to my sister’s house.

We opened the door, and I saw Al. I lost it. I sobbed. I screamed. I snotted up the entire joint. My 11-year-old nephew wrapped his arms around me from behind. He has always called me MizAnt and spelled it that way. He said, “MizAnt needs some support.” And he just held on. I had Al wrapped around the front of me, and I had my nephew wrapped around the back. My sister and I tried to lie down, but we were up all night. She knocked on the bedroom door at 6:00 a.m. I panicked. She immediately said, “Daddy’s alive. He’s going to surgery soon, and we need to be there at 7:00 to see him.” He had made it through the night. Was it going to be ok?

We bundled up and picked up my mom on the way. She had wanted to be by herself the night before. We got there, and he looked the same. He wanted to live. I could see it in his face. He wasn’t giving up. This was good. Very good. We spent about an hour or so with him and talked about old movies we liked. We talked a lot about The Quiet Man. We both love the visuals in that movie. He would lay there and wince in pain, but continue to feed me quotes from the movie. Everyone began to gather in his room and get him ready. We had to say goodbye again.  And we waited.

One hour in and there was an update. The bleeding was from 3 ulcers. It had stopped on its on. No bleeding going into surgery. This was the best news we could expect at this point. Two hours in and another update. Surgery going well. Yes! Over three hours had passed, and here came the surgeon. “It went very, very well. It looks good. I did three bypasses, and it looks good.” I am not a hugger, but I jumped up and latched on to that man. My sister did, too. My mom took a minute. She still wasn’t showing much emotion, but I knew something had to be going on in her. We grabbed something to eat while they got him out of surgery and in his room. We spent the next three days waiting on him to be strong enough to wake up. We would go for our limited visits that we were allowed and just talk to him and touch him. I think somewhere in the state he was in that he knew we were there. On the third day, I rounded the corner to his room and there he sat. In a chair. And staring angrily at some grits that he deemed, “Bad. These aren’t like my grits.” He was still very out of it, and I don’t know how much of it he really remembers. I know he would get emotional at the quality of care he was receiving from his nurses. He just couldn’t believe that they would take such good care of him. I really had no idea what they do either until I witnessed it. They sat on a chair at the end of his bed and tended to all of his needs. They never left his side.

He was transferred out of critical care, and he came home days later. Home.  He was fixed. His first order of business was a shower, and then he gave a soliloquy on how hell was a Hill-Rom adjustable hospital bed. He didn’t like the hospital bed. Today, he is getting back into his walking routine. Before the heart attack, my dad ate a well-balanced diet, didn’t smoke, didn’t drink, wasn’t overweight, and he walked 7 miles a day. It was just genetics. He couldn’t control it. He’s going to live. This experience has changed all four of us in so many ways. Probably in ways that I will never even really comprehend. I just feel the ways. My daddy is different. My sister described the change best. “He’s still daddy. He’s just his best self.” And he is. And he’s here—Marching Fourth.