Rebecca H. Cooper's Blog, page 3

Falling forward

For a couple of years after 2007 ended like it did, I would flinch about the time November started to roll around. If you've read "Hey, God? Yes, Charles.", you know that my husband died unexpectedly the Monday after Thanksgiving and my mother died four weeks later on Christmas Eve. But in those years right after 2007, I was also benefiting from wise counsel. Some I paid for, some was a gift one friend to another, but two of these people once answered the same question in essentially the same way. I had asked, "What do I do with my history? My life? My memories?" Or, as the Eagles say, my heart? Both the professional and the friend who'd been there (twice) basically told me, in separate conversations, the same thing. You can hold on to all that stuff and you should. Park it in a corner of your heart (said the girl), your head (said the boy.) Either way, bring it out any time and take a look. But that will also leave plenty of room in your heart and your head for you to make new memories in your new normal.In the past nine years, I've thought about that a lot. While it made academic sense at the time, I've now had time to actually live this good advice. It took a while, of course, but it's been priceless. I remember all those moments of being unrealistic and desperate and absolutely certain that God could just undo those holidays of 2007. In fact, I once totally and seriously and out loud gave God that option. But instead of that, God gave me the understanding that my husband and my mother were doing just fine in Heaven and it was going to be okay for me to start getting fine again too.Family and friends still check on me when the leaves of November start to fall. But they don't do it now out of worry or concern. They just want to let me know that they're there, and they haven't forgotten. They want to be reassured that after all these years, I am in a good place.And I am. I'm in a place where grief no longer makes the demand to bring it back. Instead, peace issues the challenge to bring it on.

A century of memories

Next year is my 100 year class reunion.  Seriously.  Well, okay - reunions.  Either way, I've been around a while.Because of Daddy's job change right after my junior year in high school, I had to move an hour away from all the school friends I'd ever known.  I won't even pretend that I did that graciously.  But doggone if I didn't meet Charles at the new school.  In fact, the photo in the back of "Hey, God? Yes, Charles." was taken at one of our reunions by a classmate. She, by the way, is still married to her high school sweetheart, also in our class. A batch of us continue to hang out all these 50 years later.But as good as that move turned out to be in future husband and friendship terms, it didn't mean I hadn't left behind other wonderful people and close friends in my hometown. I went back and forth so much during my senior year, even during school hours, that one of my old teachers once asked me if I had really moved.I heard from some of these original classmates recently, just a couple of days after meeting with a few of the succeeding ones to plan our 50th reunion next summer.  My first-through-11th-grade bunch was also planning a 50th, this one in the fall. They were rounding up everybody for current contact information. As my updates posted and began to filter across the closed Facebook page for that graduating class, the floodgates opened. I've kept up with lots of these guys but now I was hearing from folks I haven't seen in, well, 30 or 50 years. One gal called me the next night. We met when she moved to my elementary school in fourth grade. As we talked, the years fell away.Sadly, I've also been looking at the list of deceased classmates from both schools. To be honest, seeing all those names in one place is a little shocking. A lot of kids (my late husband included) won't make it to their 50th year class reunion, much less two of them.  I know that high school experiences vary greatly from person to person. But whether yours was good, bad, or indifferent, you've still had years of a lot of people in your life, both before and after graduation, in and out of school. Don't wait to find those you miss or care about or the ones who made a difference.  If nothing else, these reunions are a reminder of how fast 50 -- or even a hundred -- years go by.

Heroes among us

Blood and guts movies are not my thing and, if that’s allHacksaw Ridgeis, I’d still have the $9 seniorcitizen ticket money in my pocket. But I'd heard enough buzz about the movie that I had to find outmore. Then when I learned the story – and that it was true - I thought, my goodness, if someone couldlive that, the least I can do is watch it.This is not a movie review. I'm not here to debate whether it's a Christian flick (hmmm, good question,maybe, but maybe not), whether or not I like the producer, Mel Gibson (not all that much, but I don’tknow him), or even whether any of the blood is gratuitous (depends on point of view but then whatdoesn’t). There seems no doubt that this tale is not just BASED on a true story, it IS a true story. Theheart of the movie is literally in a man named Desmond Doss. His story tells how he walked through hellto serve his country during World War II as a Conscientious Objector. And that was just basic training.The battle at Hacksaw Ridge in Okinawa and his role in that hell defies belief.I'm crushed that this man was alive until 2006 and I never knew his name until now. There are so manylayers to his story which is beautifully, horrifically, heartbreakingly, and upliftingly shared in this movie.How this brave man was a witness to his faith and still became the first conscientious objector to everreceive the Medal of Honor is nothing short of remarkable. But the ultimate testimony of the tough guysin his rifle company who first considered him a coward is the true victory.Cover your eyes in the theater at times if you must. But you will still walk away humbled anew for all thesacrifices that the horrors of war require, and for the miracles that can still happen therein. Never wouldI have ever considered that this much gore could possibly be a feel-good movie. Desmond Doss and hisdetermination to live his faith has just changed that, but then real life heroes and truth can changeanything.

The traveling book

How fun is this : )  In some remarks addressing a group at Belmont University a couple of weeks ago, I included much of the back story to "Hey, God? Yes, Charles."  In sharing many of the things that have knit this journey together, I also pointed out that no credit is mine, that I didn't even write the book - Charles and God took care of that.  Nonetheless, I confessed to a favorite part, and that's all the messages and responses I have received from folks who have read it. On Sunday afternoon, I was blessed with another great story. This one about "the traveling book."I’ve come to know a wonderful neighbor on the street behind me.  She had told me some time ago that she has so many friends near and far who could benefit from reading my story.  But instead of sending out individual copies, she lends each of them her own book - one at a time and in person or by mail - and asks them to take all the time they need but, when they're done, to return the book with a note of their thoughts written inside.So on Sunday, she wanted to talk to me after church to report in from Minnesota. The book is still there, but that friend had called to thank her and to let her know that she had already read the book twice, bought her copies for her own friends, and, if it was okay, might just take the time to read it a third time before dropping it in the mailbox for its return route home.  Once back here, the traveling book will pick up its next assignment.  How fun is this : )

Life's mergers

The year before Charles died, we put our house on the market (it was a great time financially) and bought a 40 foot motor home (is there ever a good time financially?) We were both working and, to this day, I don't know what brought that on. We knew nothing about that kind of travel and less about problem- solving during that kind of travel. But if ignorance is bliss, we were blissed up.We did know we could hook up all the technology needed to work from the road, and since that worked, everything else just somehow seemed like a good idea. We shopped for the right vehicle, wanting enough miles to get the price right but not so many that we couldn't sell well at the end of our travel year. Our sales guy assured us this was a lifestyle and we would do this forever, and we assured him it was for 2006 only and he would have another sale to handle at the end of that year (we had a blast, we were right, and he did good!)  And we did have a bit of a goal. Along with prior travels, we wanted to take our bus to all the states left so we could know we'd seen all 50 (mission accomplished).But first our guy had to give us some basic driving lessons in the big parking lot across the street from the dealership. Charles drove the thing like a pickup truck. I took out a couple of tree limbs. But they were low so, once on the road, we agreed that I could handle some straight interstate time. My husband promised me I would never get put in the position of having to drive through any town. That lie is a story for another day.When the time came for my inaugural interstate gig, we had stopped very near the exit so, at first, my confidence was high. I slid behind the wheel, pulled and punched all the right buttons, and headed down the entrance ramp. All of a sudden, and in real time, I realized I was dealing with whizzing cars, west coast side mirrors, and no rear window which I quickly grew to realize I really, really missed. And then I had to merge.In a panicked voice, I said to Charles, "Oh no, no, no!  I can't see. How can I tell when it's clear?!!!"  Charles replied with his usual calm, unimpressed with my sense of urgency, and in the way he had where nothing ever sounded like a cuss word.  "Oh hayel, Becky, you're bigger than everything else on the road.  Just pull on out there.  They'll get out of the way. "Turned out he was right, and I learned something that day.  Sometimes, it's okay to just let certain lanes take care of themselves.  Then all you really have to do is drive the bus.

Pumpkins and punkins

Pumpkins are never on my radar until October.  But then boom! I'll remember how much I really like them, maybe partly because they make me smile and because they're so resilient.  First incarnated as friendly or fearsome jack-o-lanterns, they're fun until the end of October.  And then deconstructed as plainer ole pumpkins, they can be perfectly beautiful marching toward Thanksgiving.  That pumpkin patch can be decorated lots of ways. Or, shoot, you can even eat 'em!  That is nothing but win win.I'll tell you something else that's win win. Years ago, fall was unbearable, really, because it led up to November 26, the day my husband died. If you've read "Hey, God? Yes, Charles.", you know the angst and the agony of my 2007. But in the intervening years, I've had lots of intervention.  Heavenly at times, of course, but also plenty on the ground - kids and grands, girlfriends and guy friends and good friends who aren't hesitant to dig up old photos and good memories.  Family and friends who remember way back when October led to November which led to Thanksgiving with wonderful gatherings before anybody was absent.Over the years, that same family and friends have created new traditions - yes with nods to some empty chairs - but more with gratitude for all we've had, and still have, with each other.  Like the pumpkins of October and November, these guys -  kids, grands, other family, friends - these punkins of my heart - make me smile and they have staying power.  Win. Win.

One more chapter

Last week the harmonies of a sweet voice and three stringed instruments wafted into myconsciousness.I was at Belmont University preparing to speak at the Auxiliary Partners luncheon. The program alwaysincludes a performance by some of Belmont’s own, and I realized that the group today had a quickrehearsal going on in the next room. And then I realized something else that stopped me cold  -- butbefore I tell you what that was, let me tell you this.I had been invited to talk about “Hey, God? Yes, Charles.” and my remarks were going to be less aboutthe book itself and more about the back story. The story of how God and my husband Charles somehowconspired to keep both of them in my life after Charles’s death…the story of how, along the way,scribbles transitioned from a raw, personal mess of a journal to a manuscript of sorts and then wasdiscovered by a publisher…the story of how perfect timing presented the opportunity to makesomething good come out of bad. I can’t tell you how many times I still just look up at the sky and shakemy head.And so, last Thursday, as I am catching up with Belmont friends while we wait to go into the room wherethe luncheon and program will be held, I realize I am hearing a talented group of four Belmont studentsrun through one of their two songs. I grabbed a friend’s arm and said, “I cannot believe what I’mhearing. Those kids are going to sing 'Give Me Jesus' before I speak today.” She gave me a kind, butclueless, look and I went on, “I did not discover this song until after Charles died, but I have claimed itsince. You know I can’t sing a lick, but there is no telling how often Vince and I crank his version up inmy car and belt it out together.” The flesh of my arm tingled. She said hers did too. And then I pointedup to the heavens and said, “YOU GUYS! STOP IT!”Well, I didn’t really mean that of course, plus, if I’ve learned one thing since all this business started, it’sthat those two are not about to stop anything. But still, for the record, and on one hand, I really hadcarefully organized my emotions before coming into this event. Well, that got blown up. But then,there’s another hand. Why would I be surprised that, on the day of telling the “Hey, God? Yes, Charles.” back story, “in the morning when I rise, give me Jesus” would provide one more chapter.

Wardrobe malfunction

You’re going to think this is about clothes. You know, girl talk. Hold on. Hear me out, actually aboutyesterday, today, and tomorrow.Tomorrow I get to speak at Belmont University. But today I'm trying to figure out what to wear eventhough I had that figured out two days ago. Because yesterday, I went to my dermatologist for a routinecheck. I'm so lucky with my health. I have sun and skin issues from time to time, but nothing major. Thistime, Doc paid attention to four spots - all on my chest and all hard to hide. As she finished threefreezings and one biopsy scoop, she warned me that they would leave four distinctive marks for a weekor two. And then she said, "I hope you weren't planning to wear anything v-neck for the next few days."Well, actually I was. Like tomorrow at Belmont in front of 80 people. I’ve already spent the requiredamount of time putting everything together, and now I've got to reconfigure my outfit. Which I will dogladly, gratefully. How fortunate am I to have had proactive medical care yesterday, to have 67 years ofgood health as of today, and to have the opportunity to share the back story of “Hey, God? Yes,Charles.” to a wonderful group of people tomorrow. I don’t know what will happen the day aftertomorrow. But I will certainly be content if the worst problem I – or you – have is finding another blouseto wear.

Provisions for the journey

Did you see the hunter’s moon this weekend? I only know what that is because of my smart AuntShirley (well, Charles is her nephew, but I claim her now, 100%.) But hunter’s moon? What IN theworld? Turns out, way back when the full moon would roll around in October, that was a signal to theIndians that it was time to start gathering provisions for winter.I love that. We need provisions always of course, but some and some times, are more critical thanothers. I was thinking about this because I was doing something else important this weekend too, andthat was enjoying our annual "Steel Got It Girls" fall trip. If you’ve read “Hey, God? Yes, Charles.”, youknow these are dear friends who came into my life within weeks of Charles’s death and none of whom ever left. Theyhave lifted me up and sorted me out and talked me down. They’ve provided love and laughter andfriendship and brute force. They’ve been up in my business, and they always have my back. Never andno is not an option. When we ran out of firewood this weekend, we just took to the woods and turned limbs into logs without an ax. With friends like that, you know the best part is how you can store it all up and pull out extra when current supplies are depleted, or the living really gets tough. Iloaded up this weekend on all these provisions, even banked a little extra.Thanks hunter’s moon – andAunt Shirley - for the reminder.

The good lie

There is one lie you should always tell while grieving and maybe during other hard times too. “Fake it ‘tilyou make it” is not just a clever cliche. There is victory behind that advice. I haven't researched it, butI’m thinking there has to be some science too. And while not strictly meeting George Washington’smoral code for axes and cherry trees, this is less a deliberate lie and more an assumed attitude.There are moments during loss when it is acceptable, even healthy, to just bow to the grief. But at othertimes and for the greater good, I suggest you give yourself permission to be less than candid. In themiddle of certain faith that you’ll never ever again be okay, look in the mirror and say otherwise. I knowyou know you don’t mean it. But say what you don’t believe. Practice being an impostor in your ownlife. When you aren’t, you won’t, and you can’t, then say "I am, I will, and I can." It takes a while, but eventually,part of the lie will become part of the truth, and part of your life will regain part of its worth. And thebest part comes when you finally feel good enough to congratulate yourself for the good lie. There is areal honesty in that.