Are you talking to Me?

One night--literally, she was only there for one night--my sister Mary was in a hospice center. As the family was all gathered about, my other sister and her daughter discussed who would stay with Mary that night. Although I could hear every word said and was a mere three feet away, they talked as though I wasn’t.

This morning as I pondered my prayer life, I recalled this incident. Funny, isn't it, how our Lord uses common things to point us to Himself? He gently spoke to me about how I talk a lot--intending for Him to hear the conversation yet...yet I don't speak directly to Him.

Hmn, Stef. You mean you spoke at Him but not to Him? Seems like what we have here is a failure to communicate.

Okay, I see it, Lord. Although Your presence is always surrounding me, You still desire my undivided attention. Just as when my sister wanted me to hear her words, I wasn’t invited into the conversation. And when I'm not a part, I wind up being apart from talking with someone who can help.

As I continue learning, Father, thank You for these simple truths. I am to go to the Source for help in my times of need. Concentrating on You keeps my prayers from just being useless words that are bandied about in hopes of being responded to. May I be more direct instead of subtly hinting when I need answers is my prayer. Amen. +

Mary Memories

Mary Memories

Greetings from a cold, chilly, and captivating Myrtle Beach!  Brr.  The things one does to catch the glimpses of the brilliant and beautiful sunrises around here.

As I braved the cold way-below normal temperatures for this wondrous place, I couldn’t help but think of all the sacrifices my dear Lord made for me.  Seriously Stef:  you are just mere steps away from a well-warmed hotel room so that you can enjoy this spectacular sight and you have the audacity to complain about your fingers going numb while you take a few photos?  Brat!  Just think of what Christ endured so that you could have this privilege.  I think a few moments of “harsh reality” you can take.

After I stopped berating myself, I noticed the seagulls, out for their morning nourishment.  As their elegant flight was all about me, it reminded me as the sun was quickly approaching that one day I too shall spread my wings in flight.  I too shall bask in the luminosity that is my Lord’s, as I circle in the air towards Him.  My sister Mary loved the beach!  We grew up in California and spent a bit of time at the coast though truthfully, I can’t recall those times.  However, after she had been diagnosed with the cancer that took her from me over eight years ago, we did get to revisit the Pacific Ocean and share some sweet memories there before she passed away.

Mary’s favorite hymn was “I’ll Fly Away.”  As I watched the seagulls circling around, I remembered Mary.  I remembered the lyrics to this song.  I rejoiced as I reflected that some glad morning, I too shall fly away.  When the shadows of this life have gone, I get to rise to my Jesus.  Just a few more weary days...just a few.  And in the spirit of not being whiny, they really aren’t so troublesome.  Nah:  my life is great and I am thankful for my many blessings.  But...should the Lord call me home--whether in the morning or the still of the night or sometime in between, I’m ready.  Will I meet you in mid-air, friends?  Hope so!  

Moments

Ahh, family pictures.  Such great reminders of times past when things were…

When things were what?  Happier?  Simpler?  

Yes!  Contrary to the devil’s trying to make me sad and think my whole past was rotten, there were some good times spent with those who brought me into this world and helped to raise me and then later procreated themselves to continue a legacy that--in spite of the devil’s best intentions--lives on through the next generation and offers hope for more pictures like this one with their kids and grandkids, more nieces and nephews, and lots and lots of love.

This photograph is from 1997.  Nearly twenty years ago and so much has changed.  You see the first three women on the left?  The lady with her arm extended?  That’s my Aunt Bo.  She’s reaching to her mother, my grandmother:  Mom.  And just below her?  That’s my sister-in-law Christina.  What’s so special about these five ladies?  Sigh.  Sadly, they have all passed on.  Today marks the eighth year of Mary’s victory.  Mom was next.  And then my sweet Bo.  In a week, the death of my mother will be in its fourth year of her loss.  And Christina?  Not quite a year ago she left us for greener pastures.

Notably missing in this picture is my dad, who died a month before Mary did eight years ago.  He was off on one of his annual hunting trips, which he tended to take around Thanksgiving.  That explains in part why we were all happy in this picture.  I’m not being mean but he tended to be a hard man at times and when he wasn’t around?  Things were just more pleasant for us all.

Also missing from this picture is one of my nieces who was a bit camera shy  Besides, someone had to take the picture!  My Aunt’s son is also not here.  I can’t recall why right now.  

Were this picture to be “re-created” today, there would be an additional twenty-five folks in it.  We’d definitely need a wide-lens camera for that!  Plus, we’d have to find a mutual meeting place since our matriarchs are all gone now and many of us have grown so far apart.  It’s a nice thought though:  to think of my remaining sister and her family, Mary’s family, Billy’s family, and my uncle and cousins--along with my own brood--to gather, to eat a big meal, to watch some football (go Cowboys!!), and to watch our children play together.  To think that these kids would learn from our lessons better how to love, how to forgive, how to family.  Ahh.  Perhaps one day.

Children are a heritage from the LORD, offspring a reward from him. Like arrows in the hands of a warrior are children born in one’s youth. Blessed is the man whose quiver is full of them. They will not be put to shame when they contend with their opponents in court.

Psalm 127:3-5

Not again

Thursday, December 27, 2007

Well, here we go again. Sigh. I got the call on Monday morning. My sister Mary was crying so hard I could barely make out her words. Her cancer--the cancer we had hoped would leave her alone--has spread. To her brain. Over the past couple of days she has found out she has 2 tumors. They are on opposite sides of her brain. She was ordered to start radiation treatments yesterday but her brain was too swollen for them to be able to continue. Her doctor recommended surgery but she is adamant that she wants to be cut on no more. So, for the next 3 weeks, 5 times a week, she will go with our dad for his radiation treatments for his lung cancer. She asked the doctor if they could get a group rate. At least they obliged them by allowing them both to get their treatments at the same time so 2 trips to Asheville each day wouldn't be needed. Mary goes today for an MRI to see better (the doctor hopes) how large her tumors are. Sigh. She has been having horrible headaches and has been hallucinating as well. Her newest grandson is in the hospital (he's a little over 2 months old) for pneumonia, which adds to her stress level. If you feel so led, please pray for my sister. The melanoma was tough on her. This won't be easy either. She is 45 years old, mother of 2, grandmother of 5, with 1 more on the way. She's my sister and I love her.

A world without Mary

Saturday, January 19, 2008

I have known Mary my whole life. She is my older sister; well, one of them anyway. She and I have been through so much of our lives together. We went to school the most together, we shared a room most of our youthful lives, we fought the most of us siblings (I also have a younger brother). There were times we shared a bath, a toilet (hey, sometimes those trips back and forth to Asheville were long and the first one to the pot often had to scoot so there was room for two). We shared a lot of things. We once (or twice) liked the same boy. We both liked Air Supply and Marie Osmond. We played on the same basketball and softball teams at Clearmont and then later played b-ball at Mtn. Heritage, although she was much better than I. With her being older, I emulated much of life habits from what I witnessed her and Kassie do. Mary is a prankster. At Clearmont, as we tried to fit in and adjust to life in the country, she used to make fun of our teacher, Mr. Lusk. She said he looked like GI Joe so much that one day he finally asked her how she'd like to write that about 100 times. That put an end to that. I lived in Mary and Kassie's shadows so much, mostly Mary's 'cause we were only a grade apart. I had never been to a school where she hadn't made her mark first. My 8th grade year was the first time I was on my own at a school where she hadn't been, thanks to the consolidation of the middle schools into a high school. That one year of no comparisons was great--until I became a freshman and it all started again. How many times was I called "Mary" or expected to excel in the areas she had, especially in math? Mary got her driver's license and car the next year. I had to beg her to let me ride with her to school. I also had to pay for gas. I couldn't walk in the same door as she did though. Sigh. If we met in the halls, she'd look the other way. The big thing back in our day was on the weekends to ride around town. Sometimes she'd let me go with her; sometimes not. We used to tape songs off the radio with our tape recorders. Whoever was ready for bed first usually got to listen to her music. I'd always act mad but was really glad deep inside when she turned hers on first because that was the rare time I got to listen to her tapes and her songs. She liked to listen to Boston a lot but I wasn't a big fan of theirs. When we were younger, we went to Brownies together. I remember this time we got in a fight and I was slinging my Brownie belt around. It wound up hitting me in the head and I had to get stitches. Another time when we were older and had moved to Burnsville, we got into another physical fight. It was fundraiser time at school and Mary seemed to always have money. This was back when you actually had the goods on hand before taking people's money. She had bought something in a tin can and the lid had come off. After wrestling around on the bed and slapping each other, she pushed me off. I landed on the can. Barefoot and bleeding, I told her I was hurt and to stop. She said she wasn't finished with me yet and continued fighting until I gave up. I've got a tiny scar to this day to remind me of that fun day. One night, Mary came home, crying and upset. It was very late and I was asleep. Groggily I watched as she threw some of her things together and left. I didn't know what was going on, didn't realize she was moving out. It was years later that the truth came out but looking back, that was the start of a loss of innocence that I can never regain. That was the loss of Mary as I had known her: silly, ambitious, carefree, and unhard. Frank Byrd stole my sister's heart and for the next fifteen years or so continued breaking it and/or making her the happiest woman he could. Two children, daughters, were born to them. Frank liked the liquor and the ladies and was a mean drunk. Mary had him arrested several times but kept on taking him back, dropping the charges, and they'd try and try again to make their marriage work. Drugs entered the picture and one night Frank finally went too far. After nearly killing her, Mary had had enough; her girls had had enough. Frank was arrested and convicted and sent away. He got out after a while and continued making her life hell. He still pops up every so often but she has learned her lesson and learnt it well. Mary is now a grandmother, at the ripe age of 45, to three beautiful granddaughters by Cristi and Scott, and two handsome grandsons by Chastity and Jason and LaValle. Cristi is expecting her fourth child in July and--and here's where it gets tricky. Mary has cancer. She has been battling melanoma for the past three years and we were all hopeful she was victorious. Now, sadly, she has it in her brain. Two tumors there and now also two or three have been found near her stomach. Brain surgery eased some of the fluid build up on New Year's Eve and radiation is supposed to be helping to shrink those pesky brain tumors. Nothing has yet been done for the stomach ones, although chemotherapy is being investigated. Long story short, Mary is living on a lesser time span than most of us hope to. Kassie told me today Mary's doctor told her yesterday two months to a year is expected. We three and Ash got together today and had lunch since Kassie was in town. Although snow was predicted, Ashley and I drove to B-ville so I could see my sisters. We had a nice lunch. They both had club sandwiches and when Kassie saw me looking at hers, asked if I'd like a bite. I smirked and said, "You and Mary don't seem to have any trouble opening your mouths that wide but mine is so little I'd never get a bite." Yeah, I set myself up for that one. But it was fun. It was nice being with them for the short time we had together. Will it happen again? How much longer will my world have Mary in it? I cried today. It's been a while. I had lain down with Steve for a nap but couldn't get the pictures we took out of my head. The tears came, hot and furious, while my body shook with pain. He held me and let me weep. I soon calmed but couldn't sleep. So, here I am, writing about my sister. She's trying so hard to be brave! During our phone conversations she has been talking more and more of heaven. I'm so glad she's saved! Thank You, God for making her place ready. While we were saying our goodbyes, I noticed an urn on the shelf above the cashier. It said, "Ashes of unhappy customers" on it. I pointed it out to Mary and said maybe we'd get her one like that. Joking about her urn? Gosh, Stef! But it wasn't as bad as it first sounds. Mary and I have already discussed her final arrangements and this was another opportunity to finalize some of them. Not exactly what I had in mind but it worked. We all group hugged, said our "I love yous," and snapped a few pictures. Will this be the last time I see Mary? If so, it was a good time. Yes, her face was swollen and misshapen from the steroids and the radiation. But she was calm. She doesn't act afraid or bitter. She acts normal. She smooched me on the cheek, if you can call it a smooch. Ever the comedian, she made a loud popping noise against my skin. With others she can be loving. With me, she holds back. But I know she loves me. Even though I have to say it first when we say our goodbyes on the phone, I know she does. Even though she often puts me last on her list of calls, even though she takes her frustrations and anger out on me, I am grateful. She is free to be herself with me. Nothing is off limits. No pretenses are made. She's Mary. She's my sister. I have never known a world without her. And again, she's blazing the trail for me. She's going to see Jesus first. I bet she'll tell Him all those fights were my fault! Good thing He knows the truth though. She's going to get her mansion first. Par for the course, huh? On earth I got her hand-me-downs. She set the mold for my schooling. She got married and had a kid before me; became a grandma before me. She's done many things that I would have never attempted to do. She raised her girls the best way she knew how. She has forgiven much more easily than I have been able to. And she's sought restoration for the harms that have come her way, the wrongs that were committed against her. She's more of a woman than I am. No wonder You are taking her, Lord. She's almost perfect. She's nearly ready. I will miss her horribly but to be with You, for her to have no more pain, for her to enjoy the fruits of her labor I will let her go. She will be safe with You. Take her gently, I pray. She's my sister. You are our Father. It's only a temporary separation. But oh, God, I am gonna miss her!

Hair today--no, wait, that was yesterday

Tuesday, January 22, 2008

Well, it's gone. Hard to believe it left so quickly. You can see it in the last picture I posted. Mary said at the radiologist's office yesterday before her treatment her hair started falling out. By the time she left, it was gone. And get this, oh irony of ironies: the nurse offered her a hat that some woman made for cancer patients. Mary didn't say anything but did ask to pick another color. Why didn't she speak up? She was the one who made the hat, made dozens and dozens--probably hundreds and hundreds when she got sick the first time. Her heart ached for the balding patients she had been in contact with and took it upon herself to make a difference. She bought yarn by the shopping cart full and went to work. She'd ship boxes off to different places that they could be used at. No money was exchanged: this was a labor of love. When Mary and I talked when she was first diagnosed with the brain tumors, this was one of the things she wanted to be remembered for: that she cared about others. At her home was a box of hats, almost ready to be shipped but she was still working on some. Oh, the hours my sister puts into these hats. She gave me and Steve one. I wore mine to church Sunday and got lots of compliments from the women, and insults from the men. They were just jealous though. Mary's voice caught when she told me her hair was gone but she quickly regained composure. She's so brave. So matter of fact. Could anything be done? Hardly. So why cry about it is Mary's philosophy. Her daughter is getting her some wigs and a turban. When we were younger, Mary and I used to see bald people and we'd say, "Hey Mister! Shine your head for a quarter?" I reminded her of that and she said she'd thought of it earlier too and asked Terry if he'd shine hers for her for a quarter. See, there's humor in everything if one looks hard enough. I told her the plus side too was how much money she'd save in shampoo costs. She has about five or six radiation treatments to go. She's still sick on a daily basis and tired. Her spirits remain good and she's looking for good news when her treatments end. Her grandkids continue to be the highlight of her day. She may not have her hair, but she still has heart. Oh, God, please bless her sweet heart! Remind her she doesn't have to be strong on her own. She has You and so many others to help her. Amen.

Yesterday

Monday, February 11, 2008

Yesterday instead of going to church Steve and I went visiting. First stop was to see Mary. Then we went to see my dad. Lastly, we went to see my grandmother. Here are the minor details. My sister is not good. This week she was diagnosed with shingles, a common side-effect of cancer. Also, her bladder has fallen and needs to be tacked. Sigh. She is still so swollen. We went to see her yesterday and she looks like a caricature. Actually, more like a snow woman 'cause she's wearing a cap on her head and was all bundled up in winter apparel, trying to stay warm. With her newfound plumpness from the steroid use, she'd be comical if it just wasn't so doggone sad. She's had a cold and a hacking cough for quite a while. I took her a few presents to try to cheer her. One of them was a clear heart-shaped rock with the Bible verse from Proverbs 17:17 "A friend loveth at all times." It's her favorite. I told her I could be her rock if she'd let me. She said she didn't me; God was her Rock. I don't know how long Mary will continue nor what other ailments will come to torment her. I told her God wouldn't put more on her than she could bear and I believe that. For whatever reason she has these additional sufferings, He has a plan and a purpose for them. I trust Him with her. I don't understand all that she is being tested with but I thank Him for these trials in her life and the way they affect those around us. Why? Because it brings us all closer to Him. Too often we forget our need of Him and need gentle reminders. Next, we went to visit with my dad. He was actually in good spirits (Steve has that effect on him). He was pleasant and, although the radiation treatments haven't been as successful as he'd hoped, he looked good. For him. He hasn't had a haircut nor a shave in who knows how long. Remember the tale of Rip Van Winkle? Yeah, that's who he looks like. He will finish this second round of radiation this week. Then we'll just have to see. His prognosis was for six months. That was before Christmas. Other than being on oxygen for his COPD, he doesn't seem to be suffering any adverse effects from the cancer. My mother soon arrived from church and then my brother, Billy, came over as well. His son and daughter Hayley came over a smidge later. Lastly, we went to see my grandmother, who is in a nursing home in Madison County. She's had Alzheimer's for quite a while. She smiled and mumbled (her speech is really impaired) at us. We had taken some Valentine cupcakes. She's always loved sweets and enjoyed hers thoroughly! Billy, Hayley, and my mother also were there so for a while we sat around, trying to relive old times that will never happen again. Mom kept dozing off and then would awaken each time and be glad to see us. Sigh. All in all, it was good to see for myself these that are in my family. They all have their pains, trials, and tests. They all have made professions of faith. So, in a little while, their hurts will be no more. They'll be in Jesus' arms and content. A new understanding will be theirs and someday soon, I'll get to be there too. What a day that will be!

Mary

Friday, August 15, 2008

I just got off the phone with Mary for the second time this evening. Earlier today she was admitted to the hospital. She couldn't talk as much as we did the first time 'cause she kept coughing. Obviously I fret and wonder if this is her nearing her ending on this earth. She told me recently that she'd asked God to not let her die at home, so that her kids would have just good memories there. Are You listening and answering her, Lord? She also asked if she could go quickly. Will she? Did I just have my last conversation on this earth with her? I know I can be a pessimist but no one is here to talk to so I am pouring out my thoughts in this blog. She's been living on "borrowed time" according to her doctors. This cancer has eaten her up and there's not much left it hasn't invaded. Lord, will You please give Mary a good night's sleep, a happy day with her daughters and her grandkids tomorrow when they come to see her? Will You comfort her through this night and fill her with so much peace that she just radiates, as Moses did after spending time with you on the mountain? Whatever time she has left, will You shine through her, leaving those she touches to know she is Yours and there is no sorrow in her homegoing? Help us to celebrate her life and to anticipate our next meeting with her as a joyful reunion. Mostly Lord, will You hold her? I wish she wasn't alone right now but for whatever reason, You have her in the hospital bed with no one else but You. Isn't that enough, Stef? Yes. Lord, You are enough. Sweet dreams, Mary. I love you.

In My Father's House

Sunday, August 31, 2008

Jesus said in John 14:2, "In my father's house are many mansions; if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you." On Thursday, August 28, He put the final touches on Mary's place and she is now there, with Him. How happy she must be! Her cancer is gone, as are her fears, her pains, and any other thing that could be construed as negative. She is at peace and the cares of this world are no longer hers. Today, folks will gather to say their last goodbyes to my sister. Stories will be exchanged. Some will tell of things I never knew about my sister. Some will only cry, shake my hand and/or hug me, and tell me what a blessing Mary was to them. Some will express outrage that she was too young, had too much going for her, and that it just isn't fair. They will be right: it's not fair. It's not fair that we get such a reward for the lives we lived while they were entrusted to us down here. Mary wasn't a saint and I imagine she will have many regrets as she stands beside our Lord and looks back at the little she did for Him. "Criticizing the dead? How awful!" That's probably what some of you are thinking but please don't misunderstand me. I'm not putting her down; I'm putting me down. For you see, I too am dying. I have a cancer of my own that is slowly eating away at me and taking over my life. I have the cancer of bitterness, strife, and hate. At times, it consumes me and spreads throughout my body. I have found that when I let the Lord radiate through me and allow His restorative medicine to flow through my blood, replacing it with the blood He shed for me on Calvary, that I am better. I need several transfusions though, 'cause I often slip and allow the sickness inside of me to well up again. As His child, I need to do so much better. Today I will be surrounded by mourners, even though it's called a "Celebration of Life." I will have another opportunity to do some good while here on earth so that when my room is ready and He comes for me, I won't have so much shame when He asks what I did in His name. The disgrace that I feel about all that Mary wasn't during her last days is a reminder to me that my next breath isn't promised and that if I am to leave behind a good report there is much work to be done. I have to be more diligent, more compassionate, more loving and less judgmental. I need to be unconcerned with my hurts, my feelings of rejection and dejection, my petty annoyances of again being left out of what should be a time of togetherness. I need to be the example that Christ has called me to be. Today will be tough as I am surrounded by folks who loved my sister. Emotions will run high and I must be in control of mine. "Thy rod and thy staff will comfort me." I need a good spiritual whoopen to be in shape for the road I am on today. I need my armor on and I need my shield of protection around my heart. For today isn't about me. It's not even really about Mary and her death. It's all about You, Lord. My prayer is to not disgrace You but to be a blessing. May You be high and lifted up today, Jesus. This is my prayer and my hope. Amen.

Letter to my Sister

Wednesday, September 24, 2008

Dear Mary: Hey. I find myself thinking about you at the most inconvenient times. I can be watching tv, eating at a restaurant, or even at church and a thought of you will come from something said or seen. When I am cutting coupons out of the paper, I think of how you used to call me to let me know which grocery store had what on sale that week or if the Pizza Hut had some good coupons out. When I try a new recipe or food item, I find myself wanting to call you and let you know so you too can experience it. When Walker does something fun and/or cute, I want to share it with you. When something happens in the "family," I want to call you and us discuss it like we used to and share our thoughts and opinions about it. I look at your picture almost every day. It's still hard for me to realize that for over 44 years you were a constant in my life yet for nearly 4 weeks now you are gone. Yes, tomorrow will mark the fourth week that you left me. Ah Mary; I miss you so much. Even as I write you this letter, the tears are running down my cheeks so that I can hardly see or breathe. I know you are in a better place and I can't wait to join you and catch up. I am so thankful your pains are gone. As I read and reflected over my journal this morning, I saw the times I noted that we talked or that we visited. I am so glad I had that night with you in the hospital when you were first admitted. Nothing remarkable was said or done. We were just two sisters, sharing a room like in olden days. We'd wake up or be awakened by the nurses and chat for a moment or two. It's funny: I went there that night to be a blessing to you, to try to make you comfortable and it worked the other way: you were the big sister again and you were in charge. You made sure I had enough blankets to stay warm and offered me your food and drink. You even gave me a toothbrush that had been provided for you. Later that week when Steve and I visited you, we had another good visit. We talked about some old times as Steve asked you who was "the favorite" growing up. You insisted it was me and recalled some things I had no knowledge of. We laughed at some of the antics Frank caused and of course we talked about your grandkids and what they'd done that was funny. You let me rub your feet, feet that were so swollen and pained. For you to let me do this, they had to have been hurting a lot. And, miracle of miracles, you thanked me--in your round about way. Not directly, 'cause that just wasn't your way. Nonetheless, I was touched that for a moment I was able to bring some sort of comfort to you. The next day, you went "home." Your condition rapidly deteriorated and when I saw you on Saturday, the life was gone from you. You could barely stay awake for more than a minute or two and your words were sparse. I must admit, Mary, that I was mad at you. Others told me how you had talked with them yet with Steve and me, you made little effort. I know-- and I knew then-- that it was because you could trust us with your pain, your weakness. But I wanted more from you than you were giving. I didn't want this to be my last memory of you and I certainly didn't want to be mad about it. I wanted you to tell me that you loved me and that I'd been a good sister and that you wanted me to take care of your girls for you. I wanted you to tell me that I'd been special to you and that you appreciated me in your life--the good, the bad, and the troubled times. All of it. And there was so much of it, wasn't there, Mary? We shared some times that were filled with so many different emotions. Sometimes we hated each other; that's what sisters do. Other times, we couldn't stand it if we didn't get together often. We talked on the phone regularly. We got each other gifts at random times but rarely for birthdays. The next and last time I saw you was the night before you died. It was 4 weeks ago today. You had been moved to the Hospice facility. Your breathing was labored. Your eyes would only stay open for brief moments and the color of them had long been faded. I knew I wouldn't see you again this side of heaven and I asked you if Steve and I could pray for you, could pray with you. I'm not sure if I imagined it, if it was an involuntary reflex, or what but at one time while I prayed, you squeezed my hand. I again wanted so badly to be of some form of comfort for you. When I finished, and we were saying our goodbyes to you as a couple, I told you I'd take care of your girls for you. Steve confirmed that that time you flickered your eyes open and seemed to look grateful. I'm sorry to say that I haven't come through on that promise for you. I have tried to contact both of them but they haven't responded. I'm going to try again today because I realize that they have needed time to deal with their griefs themselves. You know how poorly our family is on communicating with one another. I'm going to try to do better with them, Mary. I am not in the least bit interested in taking your place. That would be impossible. But I am going to try to let them know I am here for them, not as your replacement but as their aunt, as your grand young'uns great aunt, and as someone who loved their Nona very much. I hope they will let me. There are so many things I miss about you Mary. I miss not being able to pick up the phone and chat with you about anything and everything and nothing. I miss sending you pictures and getting pictures from you. When I pass the Texas Roadhouse I always think of you. When we were at the beach last week, I thought of you and how much you enjoyed our last trip to the ocean when we visited with Ashley and Casey in California three years ago. I remember how you accused me of saying you were having a cow over something you did when in fact I had said something to Steve about making sure you had a clean towel. I miss going bargain shopping with you. I even miss you calling me up to rant and rave over things that had crossed you. Well, Mary, for now I am going to close. I just wanted you to know I think of you a lot and miss you so very much. I wrote a blog a while back about wondering how a world without Mary would be. I know now. It's lonely. It's sad. It's painful. I don't like it.