Mark Myers's Blog, page 21

Dear Kylie,

Dear Kylie, I can’t believe it’s been almost a year since we said goodbye. Since I held you in my arms and carried you out of the house. To say I miss you is an understatement. I think about you every day. I wonder what you would be like now, almost fourteen. I wonder if […]

Run Daddy Run

I decided to put a purpose behind the first four marathons I ran. I chose a daughter for each and focused on that one during my long training runs and even on race day. I called them prayerathons – but not out-loud because that sounds really cheesy and cliché. To take things a step further, […]

Winston’s Holes

Winston’s been digging again. The dog often takes geological surveys in the yard but this time, he isn’t going for depth but quantity. He doesn’t spend a ton of time outside, but is very particular about the groundcover. Lately, it seems, he has a problem with grass. I came home to find the pockmarked surface […]

Gun Control Solved

It isn’t often that I take on political issues here – especially such a weighty one as gun control. I don’t do it because I find it useless to complain about issues for which I have no answer and I rarely have answers for even the simplest of questions. However in the matter of gun […]

I’m Glad I Danced

Friday held our school’s annual Father-Daughter Dance. I am guessing I attended ten of them with different combinations of daughters. There were a few years when all four were in school that I had to call in reinforcements – my brother-in-law and nephews. A Man Can Only Dance with so Many Women (Autobiography title – […]

Repurpose

I wonder if ants have names or can tell each other apart. When they form their lines and begin marching, do they have a predetermined order or destination? They always seem to have a purpose. If you have ever put your foot in their way to stop their progress, you will know that they don’t stand […]

The War on Superfluous Hair

Living in a house full of women, it was inevitable that some level of concern about personal grooming would be forced on me. It just took a while. I am the odd man out of glamour discussions – the thorn among roses. I wouldn’t say beast because that implies hairy and I’ve never been a hairy bloke… until lately.

All of the sudden, I am finding hair in the oddest places. While my scalp might be shedding it, my ears and nose seem to be growing it at an alarming rate.

It must be the cartilage – that stuff acts like a weird hair magnet.

Cartilage [kahr-tl-ij] – a strange word and even stranger substance. Did you know that the cartilage in your ears and nose continues to grow long after your bones and muscles stop? Seriously, it does. That’s why cute old men have those bulbous noses and floppy ears. With that in mind, you would think my cartilage would be a good bouncer and at least check ID to make sure I’m geriatric before allowing the hair in. Instead, cartilage must be French for “Come on in, guys. The party’s in here!”

And so, my body is showing preliminary signs of capitulation.

But this I will fight!

Round 1: Shaving. There may not be a ton of nerves in the ear flap (and certainly no conscious), but there must be capillaries out the wazoo – oh, the blood.

Round 2: Tweezing. Initial success, but soon it became a full time job like cutting the lawn with fingernail clippers.

Round 3: Out of options, I made an impulsive decision to join the women and wax. After all, women do it. It can’t be that bad. Put in on, rip it off… smooth. Easy.

I had a willing volunteer to help. My third daughter, JB decided that since there was a potential to cause me pain, she would be happy to help. (This one looks like a china doll, but can snap like a piranha when agitated.)

We read the instructions, heated the wax and slathered it generously on my ear. That part wasn’t so bad. The application of hot wax did hurt a little, but I sucked it up. It was the next part that made me doubt both the sanity of my decision and all things holy…

She ripped it off.

At first, I thought my ear was gone for sure. It was a moment of pain like no other and I’ve been through the birth of four children (where my wife squeezed my hand really hard)! The pain of childbirth (such as I experienced) never approached what I just felt! I actually thought I saw Mike Tyson’s teeth out of the corner of my eye as a chunk of my ear went sailing over the ropes into the audience. It was awful until I mercifully blacked out.

I regained consciousness only to look up to JB’s sadistic smile. “Ready for the other one?” she asked.

I whimpered, but sometimes you can’t go back. I slowly turned over and offered her the other ear. At least she could have found me a bullet to bite or given me a final request before dying. Instead she just giggled and ripped.

I swooned again. When I came to, I didn’t have the joy of a bouncing baby girl to hold, just some hairy, leftover wax.

I will say that my ears are smooth as a shark. But at what cost? What price is too steep in this war? Should I keep fighting or resign myself to live with more hair on my ears than on my head – like an aged member of Loverboy who used to top the charts but now only plays the occasional Bar-Mitvah?

After due consideration, I decided I would have to face the pain again in 4-6 weeks because my aged butt is way too big to fit in those red leather pants.

Filed under: Humor

Tears in My Stocking

What did Santa bring you?

This might be the first Christmas in my life where his visit brought me tears. I don’t blame the big guy – he’s really got nothing to do with it. He didn’t set his elves to build them in his shop, pack them in his bag, or stow them on his sleigh. Santa is like a magnifying glass for all things joyful and when that joy is lost, he magnifies its absence as well.  

I’m sitting here in our den alone at 7 am, drinking my coffee and watching the sun peek through the trees. This could have never happened before. Any other year, I would have been up for over an hour, yawning and probably scratching my backside after staying up well into the night assembling toys and applying stickers. For the past eighteen or so Christmases, there has been too much excitement bubbling and brewing to sleep this late. The girls always sent a messenger to our bedroom to let us know that they were awake, a fact that couldn’t slip past us as we listened to feet on stairs and a chorus of giggles. The presents in our den would be covered in bedsheets so prying little eyes wouldn’t see what Santa brought. Nice of him to keep that tradition today even though all I hear from their rooms is snoring.

When I got out here this morning, there were two stockings up: Mom’s and Kylie’s. I filled Mom’s and set it with the others, leaving just one. We have been entertained over the past few days by watching videos of Christmases past. On one, there was a point in the morning carnage where one of the girls noticed stockings that hadn’t been touched and Daddy Santa had one of those “oh crap” moments before he admitted that he forgot. Mommy Santa didn’t forget. She never forgets.

I am sad that my children are past the Santa age. This change was inevitable, but we had a year or two stolen from us. I love the Christmas morning energy, excitement, and wonder. That is just fun, unbridled joy. We could certainly use more of that.

I am also sad that Kylie’s stocking is still hung by the chimney with care.

It is not full. It is as empty as her room, her chair, and that chamber of my heart where she used to reside. She will not be dancing up our stairs from the basement where she slept with her sisters on Christmas Eve. I won’t get to see her wide smile and starlit gaze. I miss her so much right now that I’m just about ready to push Santa’s fat butt up the chimney with his cookie-stained beard and magnifying glass….

… or maybe I should go wake up the troops and see if we can find a smile that will soak up a couple of the tears that the fat elf brought. It is nearly 8 now and I figure there’s got to be some joy around here somewhere. I think this year, we might have to search for it.

Merry Christmas from Portsong!

May you all find joy, even if you have to look high and low for it.

* * * * *

Updated 9:16 am – I woke them up – joy found.

Filed under: From the Writer

A Hard Christmas

My family is separated by roughly 600 miles. When it became time to leave the nest, my sister went west while I came south. During the past two years, we have enjoyed a rekindled relationship as I am sure is common when a family member sails turbulent seas. Tragedy has a way of stripping away the veneer of the inconsequential and revealing that of true worth. Family, friends, love, goodness, joy, fellowship – those are things of significance.

We quit exchanging Christmas gifts between adults long ago and focus on the children instead. I once came upon a toy so loud and obnoxious that I knew her home was incomplete without it. It was an ambulance that screamed, “In an emergency, dial 911” at an outrageous decibel. I considered it my service to her. My nephew could barely talk at the time, but after he got the present from Cool Uncle Mark, he certainly knew who to call if mommy took a fall down the stairs. That gift paved the way for cash-only Christmases.

It never seemed like a big deal until this year. I suggested to my lovely wife that instead of sending cash through the mail, we could put money under the tree for our children and they could do the same for theirs. The problem didn’t hit me until she said, “We would still have to send them $20.”

Why?

They’ve got four kids, we’ve got… we’ve got…

Oh yeah… We’ve got three.

We used to have four.

Christmas is hard.

* * * * *

Christmas is like a tumbler full of mirth at its finest. When family and friends come home to celebrate the cheer of the season, you drink to your heart’s content and are filled by its warming sway.

When you are hurting, the tumbler has a jagged edge. Your attempts to avoid the broken glass often fail and you are forced to drink your cheer from the chipped side of the cup. You can still get the expected, pure taste of joy, but you might cut your lip taking it in. Other partygoers with intact glasses assume that it is easy to spot the barb before letting it touch your mouth, but often it slips past your sight and the holiday warmth is replaced by the metallic taste of blood.

* * * * *

I knew getting decorations up this year would be hard. I also knew we would run into special items that brought Kylie’s sweet face to mind. I was prepared to be sad when the carousel, large plastic Pooh, and her ornaments were unpacked. The Santa hat she wore for years was bound to cause a tear and her stocking makes me pause each time I pass.

But there have been so many holiday surprises – jagged edges.

For instance, it always took two vehicles to get our Christmas tree. I would have it loaded in my truck which only seats five, while mom hauled the kids in the minivan. This year as I walked to the truck expecting to be alone, I noticed the rest of the family following me. While I was surprised, they had done the math and knew we would all fit.

I hated doing the elf on the shelf thing! I hated it with a passion… yet now I miss it so badly.

I didn’t like tiptoeing around the Santa issue either. You have to be bright to keep a secret of that magnitude and I have never been accused of luminosity. Over the years I let slip so many stupid things that nearly gave the whole thing away. We made the decision to let our children be children and believe as long as possible… even if one quite possibly got to high school unsure. At last check, Kylie believed and thought people who didn’t believe were just wrong. Never one to be judgmental, they could be wrong if they wanted to – it was okay with our little elf.

A typical December 23rd would find us scrambling for the final presents. We joined Amazon Prime one year because it was the only way to get Christmas delivered on time. The fact that this year we were done shopping on December 8th should be a good thing. Only it isn’t. It simply reminds us that was have a quarter less presents to buy.

Christmas cards. Such loving reminders of people who care about us. Our mailbox is full every day. The cards of impressive families were delivered in early December while ours were almost always a kind of New Year’s surprise. I do enjoy the cards. But now when I see their smiling faces all I can see is complete families whereas ours is not. Don’t stop sending them – this is a “me” thing, not a “you” thing. Forgive us, though. There will not be a reciprocal card from us this year.

Gatherings are nearly impossible. I want people to have a Merry Christmas. I really do! But being surrounded by joy at a party is nearly suffocating. I’ve never be claustrophobic, but I can now imagine what the overwhelming urge to break out of a confined space feels like

 * * * * *

I know I am not the only one hurting at the holidays.

As I have considered this aching I have for Kylie, I have stumbled upon four truths about Christmas this year that I would like to share with others who are hurting, grieving, or lonely.

Christmas will be hard.
You aren’t alone in your hurting.
Sitting in a fetal position crying doesn’t change truth number 1, it just gets uncomfortable.
December 26th will come.

 

So let us raise our glasses to the smooth side, drink in every bit of Christmas joy we can scrape together, knowing that the decorations will soon come down and maybe, just maybe, next Christmas will hold a bit more merriment.

 

God Bless and Merry Christmas.

Filed under: Kylie

Thankful (or not)

My nephew-in-law, JP is in the poultry business. Usually here in the south we just drop the formalities and welcome a boy into the family with the “nephew” title as soon as the vows are spoken. But not JP – he’s the nephew-in-law. I’m keeping him at arms’ length for now because I’m mad at him.

You see, being in the poultry business, last summer JP heard about a coming avian flu scare and warned us that we’d better buy our holiday turkeys before the prices went through the ceiling. The industry was forecasting shortages, rationing, and all kinds of mayhem for November – he said. And this is where we ran afoul of each other. With my entrepreneurial spirit, I loaded up. Thinking that when housewives all over the south were clamoring for turkey that they couldn’t get, I would open my friendly freezer door and sell them turkeys at three or four times what I paid. Only the price hikes never came. There was no run on turkey and yes, my basement freezer contains 500 pounds of bird that is worth no more than when I bought them. I don’t even like turkey.

I am currently not thankful for JP.

To be honest, this year has brought me a host of things for which I am NOT thankful. As I consider our Thanksgiving tradition of going around the table and naming something we are thankful for, I wonder what I will say. How will I ignore the empty chair? I am not thankful that Kylie will be absent this Thursday and I feel that saying I am thankful for something that remains diminishes how supremely unthankful I am for what has been taken. Just like any thanks I could give for JP minimizes the plethora of turkey in my freezer.

Pilgrim Smiley Kylie

No God, I am not thankful this year.

◊

My mind conjures the image of an old southern preacher with a booming voice, white wispy hair, and thin fingers. He alternates pointing at me with pounding the pulpit as he rattles from the book of Job, “The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away.”  

Giving… Taking… I think we humans look for things to be fair, to stay in balance – or at least come close. Most people don’t legitimately foresee a windfall in their future, but they don’t anticipate losing it all either. The average man just wants to win a few more than he loses and have a little fun along the way. But this loss of Kylie – it can’t be balanced. I see no way God can giveth equal to what he tooketh.

You’re going to have to help me with this one, God, because I don’t know how to be thankful for what I’ve been given this year when so much has been lost.

◊

You might read this and wonder how I could feel that way. How could I allow my grief to overshadow the abundant blessings for which I should be thankful? To that I respond with something I learned early in my marriage. It took years for my patient wife to drum into my head the fact that I had no right to tell her how to feel. So I say to you what I was repeatedly told, “Don’t tell me how to feel!”

But even while I feel decidedly not thankful, I do see some things:

I see friends and family who have been our strength and support since our cancer journey began.

I see an abundance of new friends – people who have shared this terrible sadness with me and lived it themselves. While diamonds are formed through time and pressure, friendships can be forged with either. When I meet a parent who has fought childhood cancer, we have an immediate bond. When they have endured loss such as mine we have an unbreakable one.

I see children who are winning their fight against cancer.

I see my daughters, who not only loved their dying sister with everything they had, but made straight A’s, honor roll, and dean’s list in the process. How is that possible? Only because they are all three remarkable. If my work over the year had been graded it would have been a marginal D-, at best.

I see a wife who gets up every day, pushes through pain and loss and loves us completely.

I see a God who has provided abundantly in so many ways. I often feel his love, even while I question it in the next breath. He has made my table full, despite the hole in my heart and empty chair at my table.

I see a new calling and opportunities to engage in the future.

I see a fight we have to win.

I see many good things. And yet, it is still hard to feel thankful.

◊

Maybe your Thanksgiving brings similar emotions. Have you a loss or heartache in your life that leaves you less than thankful? You and I may wrestle with God for the rest of our days. My faith is often stretched to its limit when I consider this: I believe he had the power to change our course and yet chose not to. I will never understand that. In this life I do not believe I will find a patch that mends or a balm that soothes, but I am learning that people will bring out thankfulness. Love is all and it is not found in isolation. It is found among others.

So if I can stumble my way to thankfulness this year, it will be for you people. In fact, you might be the only thing I can raise in thanks this year…

 

 

Oh, and… do any of you want some turkey?

Filed under: Kylie