Willow spoke to me yesterday.

   So this is going to be the entry where you are going to start wondering if I am losing my mind. Let me start your wonderings by telling you simply this. I had a conversation with Willow yesterday. I will alleviate your minds by telling you that no, it was nothing audible and no, I did not see her face but the conversation we had, well. in the same way that God speaks to you, Willow spoke to me. If you want to get the full effect of what I am trying to tell you then it would be best to go to youtube and listen to Jono Manson sing "I'm almost home." http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RhjSScAIylo  There, I even gave you the link so you have no excuses.
   Yesterday was like most days have been. I woke at 2 A.M, checked my email, showered, went to work and slung milk all over Baton Rouge. I did have one unfortunate incident when a customer who only receives an order on Mondays called me and asked me to bring 60 half pints of milk to her. I told her that i simply couldn't right now as on Friday mornings I had three grocery stores waiting for their weekend deliveries and she was at least a 30 minute drive one way and I couldn't put myself behind by at the minimum one hour to bring this to her now but I could come between 12 and 2. She replied by telling me that everyone is going through a hard time in their lives and that I needed to get off my little pity party (Willow) and bring her some milk now! Obviously she did not get any service from me that day. It was about 3:15 when I finally got back to the dairy and began to unload my returns, wash out my truck and prepare to load milk for Mondays deliveries. For any of you who have known me for 5 minutes or longer you know that I sing a lot. The song going through my head as I was washing out my truck was "I'm almost home" from "The Postman" sound track. I was singing loudly, I really have lost the ability to care about what people think of me, and I had one of those moments that plow through me like a freight train. Everywhere there are reminders of Willow. Sometimes I see a school bus and hear her scream out "school bus!" with joy. She loved seeing them and I was always on the look out for one, at times driving out of my way to where I knew one was parked so she could see it. There are so many different "land mines" out there as I call them, things that I come across blindly and am suddenly blown away by the surge of emotion that overcomes me. Yesterday, on the back of my milk truck I stepped on one such land mine. (I shall not create a paragraph break in honor of Adam Smith.)    :-)
   The lyrics to the song I was singing, which I had probably sang through ten times at this point go as such. "Well its said that you can never, never go back home, and if you're bound to wander, you're bound to be alone. You say I've got no right to feel what I feel when I look into your eyes, but that I dream of you most every night comes as no surprise. But I've been out on this road for so long. Far and wide do I roam, but something in your smile tells me I'm almost home." That is the first verse anyways. As I was singing through it for the umpteenth time, and I cannot tell you how real this conversation was, not audible, but as if my soul was conversing with her soul Willow spoke to me. "You don't." I was stunned. She was referring to the lyric that says "you say I've got no right to feel what I feel when I look into your eyes." I cannot look at a picture of Willow without being overcome with grief. Her eyes were so beautiful. They were brilliant. The day before I was trying to change the picture on my facebook away from her so that I didn't have to step on that land mine as often when I came across one that I dearly love but had forgotten about. Her hair was in these little balls on the side of her head, she was wearing a yellow dress and her head was slightly tilted down and her eye brows furrowed as if she were mad at me. It is the most beautiful picture. I remember taking it because the look she was trying to hold she just couldn't and I broke out with laughter at how cute she was, although she was "chastising" me at the moment and she broke out with laughter too. "Willow?"
   "Why do you get so sad all of the time?"
"I miss you baby!"
   "There is a shepherd here that I talk to a lot." He says you know Him."
"I used to."
   "He said that you don't talk to Him much anymore."

   One of my land mines is the thought that although Willow and I spoke a lot, we never had a thoroughly developed language conversation. She wasn't there yet and still here I was, seeing her in my heart and she was speaking to me as if her language was developed to the fullest.

   "You shouldn't cry so much."
"But I miss you lovey. I miss you so much!" I was fully weeping by now and completely overcome. Still, she smiled and had none of the looks that other people give me when they see me break down. There was no pity, there was no sadness, just that twinkle in her eyes and that contented smile."

   "The Shepherd wants me to remind you of something He told you a long time ago."

   This is where shame crept into the moment. I don't speak with Him anymore. That is a relationship that I have let slide as I sought out answers from pastors, books, creation science, evolutionary theory, anything I could get my hands on to give me solid, concrete answers that were not arguable. Proof. I was talking to and seeking out everyone except Him.

   "Do you love me?"
"Oh! Willow! Baby! How could you ask me that? Of course I love you!"
   "Feed my sheep."

   Willow loved sheep. They were her favorite. The one she clung to the most, dirty and missing an ear, the one I nick named "Van Goat", was her favorite. I could've sworn she was wearing that yellow dress, sitting in a green field with Van Goat in her lap. Again,

   "Do you love me?" She had this look on her face as if she were searching me out, trying to bring me closer to a truth that was so very necessary for me to see.
"Of course I love you Willow! I love you so much and I miss you! (Tears streaming by now.) I miss you so much that I can hardly go a minute without thinking about you. I'm so lonely for you!"
   "Feed my lambs."

   I was so lost. So confused. Here i was speaking with my baby whom I missed so much, and she was calm as I've ever seen anyone, not a hint that she had missed me or was even capable of any type of sadness and she was speaking to me. Not just teaching, but the roles had been reversed and I was sitting at her feet waiting to learn and she was a teacher with more wisdom than anyone else in the world.

   "Do you love me?"
"How can you ask me this Willow? I love you more than I can possibly say and you have to know that!  I love you! I love you so much!"
   "Feed my sheep."

   At this point I just stopped. My head was swirling and I needed to get a hold of myself, stop crying and really listen. I needed to know what she was asking me or telling me or trying to tech me. I just stopped talking and I calmed myself, and I listened.

   "My mommy needs you. Mawmaw needs you. Carpenter needs you. Feed my sheep."

   There was no question now. I knew exactly what Willow was telling me and I knew exactly at that point that there was a change that needed to happen now. All of this time I have been embracing my grief, my sorrow, my loneliness. I have been keeping myself busy so as not to have down time when I would inevitably revisit my grief. What I had not been doing was assuming my position as the shepherd in my home. My sheep were lost and I was lost and I was not looking for them. It was time for me to stand up, dust myself off, and go find my sheep. It was time for me to lead them to their safe place. It was time for me to stand watch at the gate and keep the predators away. In the Bible, John 10:10-15 says "I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep. The hired man, since he does not own the sheep, leaves them and runs away when he sees a wolf coming. The wolf then snatches and scatters them. This happens because he is a hired man and does not care about them. "I am the good shepherd. I know my own sheep and they follow me, as the father knows me and I know the father. I lay down my life for the sheep."
   So this was my message from the shepherd. His example to me of who I am needed to be. All of my life I have sought out what it truly means to be a man and a good father and never could understand it until Willow sat down and asked, "Do you love me?" and then passed on a message from the shepherd that she has come to know.
   I don't even know what to write now. After relating what happened yesterday, what Willow said, what the Shepherd said, my own words seem so hollow and pointless. There is no way that I could add to the message I received yesterday so i will just stop now.

The many tears a man can cry for what he'll never know.

   There is so much to say, so many topics, but today I found myself stunned upon remembrance of something I wrote a very long time ago. When I was in high school, one night I was sitting next to my mom, she was playing Tetris, and I said, "I never realized the many tears a man could cry for what he'll never know." It was just a line, just the start of a poem that had no inspiration, until the day I was walking down commercial street in Springfield, Missouri. I don't know what it is like now, but back then it was where the homeless congregated. I saw a man, likely insane, perhaps just drunk, sitting in an alley, rocking back and forth and hugging his knees, talking to whoever he thought was in front of him. I couldn't stop thinking about that man and what life had dealt him to get him to this place. Then, this poem.


   I walked down a lonely avenue, seeing faces no one knew and asked this huddled, dirty man why he was crying so?
   He looked at me, he dried his eyes, and said "I never realized the many tears a man can cry for what he'll never know."
   He said "I miss her more today than the death I died for her yesterday. My love and I, my darling May, our life was short but sweet.
   For here is where she ran to hide. I could not help her, though I tried, and in my arms my true love died down this empty, lonely street.
   And ever since she went away, tomorrow's just another day. I look back on my yesterdays unsure of what I see.
   Confusion is the path I chose. I'll walk along this winding road, not quite content to walk alone. There is no love for me."
   And as he spoke I soon remembered, cherished moments, quickly embered from when I held you last December as we sat beneath my tree.
   The lights reflecting in your eyes, when all at once I realized the folly and perish of the so called wise. My guilt and pain in harmony.
   You are the one I love the most, and though I've tried to kill your ghost, my mind's eye still plays host to these cherished memories.
   And years from now, if I survive, I'll sit alone, I'll sit and cry, and through my tears they'll hear me sigh, there is no love for me.

   Certainly it is in need of some grammatical and punctual corrections and is the ramblings of a teenage boy, but the words are haunting to me now. In the poem I was the observer. In my life now, I am the "huddled, dirty man." The phrase, "I never realized the many tears a man can cry for what he'll never know." In my last last entry I wrote a lot about the things I'll never know. There is a whole life full of memories that will never be, and I have cried so many tears over them. I never realized the extent of the sorrow of losing such a deep love. My first thought is to say that I have not lost the love but the loved one. Sappy people will say that I've not lost her if she lives on in my heart. Tripe. I have lost her and the question now is where has that love gone? It is no longer an active thing. I cannot show her my love and I cannot feel her love in return. It has been turned into a memory, but it's still there. Maybe it is like the huddled dirty man said when he said "although I've tried to kill the ghost my mind's eye still plays host to these cherished memories." Then there is the line, "I could not help her, though I tried." One thing I will never forget is finding Willow lying in the floor, lifeless, lifting her body and feeling her as fluid and limp as a newly dead body can be. I could not help her, though I tried. She was already gone. When you are deprived of oxygen your lactic acid in your blood rises. At a level 7 you are critical. She was at a level 17. She was gone, I could not help her, though I tried. I called 911, I stood aside as Alice did CPR and I ran next door to get my neighbor, a paramedic, who was not home. I jumped in my truck and raced up to the main street to meet the ambulance to bring them back as we have no land line and I had called from my cell phone. I raced back and tended to my family while the EMTs and first responders worked on little Willow's lifeless body. I drove my family to the hospital where Willow had been flown to. I prayed, but I could not help her, though I tried, and in my arms, in her room, on the floor, my true love had died.  "And ever since she went away, tomorrow's just another day. I look back on my yesterdays not knowing what I see." Every day seems to be a blur. I could not tell you what I did a day ago or two days ago had I not written about them in this blog. My yesterdays, the days I shared with Willow, I just don't remember them. I try and bring her back in memories. I try and look at this part of the house and think "what did she do over there?" That other part of the house and think of what she may have done over there? Sometimes I think I see things, sometimes I think I have a memory come back but am unsure if it is real or if I am creating it. "I look back on my yesterdays unsure of what I see." How terribly prophetic. How could I have, maybe 20 years ago, written so clearly about the man I would be at 35, about what that man would be like? How did I know what to write to describe how it feels to have lost someone I love so very much and in a similar way. Holding her dead body in my arms. "Confusion is the path I chose." If that doesn't describe me at this point in life nothing does. All I am certain of is that I am not certain of much at all. God, Jesus, the meaning of life, why we are here, why we live, what or who we live for? Mysteries. I never seem to have an answer for any of those questions. I don't seem to be able to accept anything on faith, I need evidence, and I do not accept the evidence I do find, so I end up confused. Is confusion the path I have chosen? "Not quite content to walk alone." At this point I am far from content in any way. I cannot imagine that I will ever be content to live a life knowing that Willow is dead. I will learn to deal with this. I will establish a new normal and will someday face the choice of life again, as a friend put it to me today. I am not ready to face that choice yet. I need to embrace my grief. I need to find a way of working past the times when I want to just quit trying. There really are times, less and less frequent, when I want to just lay down and never get back up. That is an option I have all but put behind me by now, but there are those times. "There is no love for me." When I read that last line from the huddled, dirty man, I think that maybe he is right. Then, I think that there is no way he could be right. Then, I know that I am not the huddled, dirty man. I know that there is love for me. (Ironically, Shelby, who is sitting in the next chair doing Calculus just let out an exasperated, "I love you" to me.) There is love for me. My daughter loves me. She is one of the few 18 year old girls who wants to spend time with her dad. She went for a walk/jog and my son and I rode along with her on our Schwinn Stingrays. Oh yeah, his favorite bike in the world is his original blue Schwinn Stingray and yesterday I bought myself, okay him, a brand new reproduction Schwinn Stingray, and we rode together. You should have seen the look on his face. He thought we were the coolest duo in the world! I have the love of my son. He is 11 and starting to hit those pre-teen psychotics but he still loves his dad. Then there is my wife. I can't say that I understand her or why she even tolerates me, the two of us being as drastically different as we are, but she's not going anywhere. I am fairly certain that someday I will be a Pawpaw again. Maybe I will choose another name to go by because that was what Willow called me and she will always have my very heart and soul. I am hers.
   The rest of the poem goes on to describe a man remembering his past love that he shared a Christmas with whom he let go of. I do remember this past Christmas when I was helping Willow open her presents. She did so love those lights and those ornaments. We had to keep them all above her reach because she kept taking them off. :-) She had this way of running her hands all over the wrapping as if she were tearing it as I was running my hands all over it too, mimicking her movements but slyly ripping the paper so that she thought that she was doing it. She loved that so much. She loved helping me. She loved helping me open my presents too! i will never forget how on the days when I would come home from work after she was already home, my first action was to sit down and take my boots off and she would run her hands all over the shoe strings as if she were untying the boots herself, as I slyly untied them while mimicking her movements. She would then carry my size 12 Doc Martens, one at a time, struggling under their weight, to the closet to put them away for me. I think of it every time I come home and have to go through that process all by myself. My boots never make it to the closet anymore. I sit and look at them and picture Willow bending over, struggling to find the right grasp so that she could pick it up, and then  stumbling all across the living room until she made it to the closet. No one ever told her to do it. She just loved being a helper. So years from now, if I survive, I'll sit with my family, my wife, my kids, their spouses and perhaps even more grandchildren, and through my happy tears they'll hear me tell them how blessed I am and how dearly I love them. They'll hear it everyday, every one of them. There is so much love for me.

No salve for my soul

I saw something amazing today. On www.wimp.com there is a video showing a time lapse of a girl from birth through 12 years old. I hesitantly clicked play and watched as she grew from a newborn, grew hair, developed her smile, thinned, chubbed, thinned again and grew taller. Just like Willow. I watched and as she reached her birthday a 1 would appear, then a 2, then a 3. I watched a little further but just couldn't continue. It's just not fair. It was so sweet to see this little girl turn two, and as beautiful as she is she doesn't hold a candle to my Willow. When the three appeared, I saw the phase that Willow would have reached. It is amazing the growth that happens between 2 and three and it makes me so mad that I do not get to see her there. WHY!?!?!??!?!?!?!??!?!?! I want to scream it and run and pound my fist into something and scream why. Why do so many others get to see their children grow up and I don't get to see Willow? WHY!!!!!!! I want her back so bad and there is nothing, NOTHING I can do about it! I can weep in silence, I can look at pictures and watch videos. I can try to remember moments that I haven't brought back yet. I have certain scenes that play over and over but I want new ones. Ones that I have forgotten. I want them to come back. I WANT THEM BACK!!!!!!! I want my memories! I want to smell her hair. I want to tickle her and feel her claw her little nails into my neck as she squeals with laughter. I want to rid myself of this God forsaken emptiness, this loneliness and this ache I have that cannot be eased. There is no salve for my soul. There is only weeping, and wanting, and pain. Dammit its not fair!!!!!! Some whine about staying up at night with a crying baby. Some whine about their kids misbehaving at school. Some whine about the cost of this or that or the inconvenience of their children. What do I have? Take it! Take it all! Give me years of no sleep and poverty and deprivation of everything else in this world I want but give me her hand to hold! I don't care about writing anything that someone might get inspiration from. I don't care about being meaningful or insightful or funny or comforting or wise or anything! I want my baby girl!!!!! I want to see her hair grow down her back and hear her speech develop and have a conversation with her and hear her back talk me and anything, ANYTHING BUT THIS!!!! I don't want to learn to live with the grief. I don't want to honor her memory. I don't want to teach others how to deal with the loss of a child. I want WILLOW!!!! Why did she have to die? SHe died. She's dead. I don't want to hear about her being in heaven. Screw the streets of gold and crystal sea. I've got a back yard with a paralyzed tricycle. I've got a front yard with her swing hanging from it that no one can swing in. I've got a room full of play doh and Barbies and sheep, dear God the sheep and the Hello Kitties and the little clothing that only my little Willow could have fit into, that she likely would be outgrowing. I have money that should have been spent on diapers and Lucky Charms and cute clothes and more sheep. I've got everything except for my Willow, and everything means nothing. I don't want to hear about how I need to be there for my wife and kids. I know I have them and I will get my head straight before they get home and they won't read this and they won't know that this is happening and I will delight in them when they return but right now, in this moment, I am as lonely and full of bitter anguish as any man can be and all I want, all I want is my sweet little 2 year old who will never be three or four or five or a kindergardner or a best friend or a crush or a graduate or a wife or a mother or a driver or employed or anything ever again because she is gone. WHY!!!!!!!!!! Don't talk to me of fair or God's grace or heaven or grace. These might become real to me someday but right now, in this time and in this place, Hell is all I really know.

Thats wisterical

So hereI sit, needing to take a shower and head out to the KOA to see Uncle Dan and Aunt Kay but something struck me and I need to write. Please bear with me as this may seem like a long rambling gardening talk but there is something I need to say.
   I recently built a pergola for our Wisteria to keep it off of our telephone pole. Being addicted to building and a perfectionist about such things I decided that the Wisteria was too big and needed a second pergola to make it look right. Then more ideas took hold, decking the pergolas, building benches, a fire pit and more gardening. Today I set out to start the second pergola and I dug the hole for the first post. Having gotten it set and cemented in I took a good look at the Wisteria. It is a mess. The base cannot be seen due to all of the new growth sprouting out everywhere and there are so many vines coming off of it that I had no idea which were going to go to which pergola. I had an idea that I would take some of the younger vines, strip the new sprouts off of them and braid them to add the lagniappe (a little something extra) that I am always looking for. Having braided a five foot section I saw that the base of the vine was starting to become more visible. I imagined in my mind the finished product with the leaves and flowers at the top showing the delicate nature of the wisteria and the strong, rugged nature of the base of the wisteria showing how much strength is needed for so much beauty to develop. So I began to clear away more young growth. At this point it occurred to me that I needed to have Shelby there because as our resident master gardner she would be able to tell me if I was doing too much and hurting the plant or if it was all okay. The resilience of this plant though reminded me that in all that we have done to chop away at it I was certain to be okay. I found a second place where I could braid another section, about 4 feet long, and it looks just beautiful. I started to separate the vines as to which was going to go to which pergola and I had a moment that took my breath away. I stopped, stepped back about ten feet and looked at what I had done. The beauty of this plant was always there, but certain aspects were unable to be seen until the young life was stripped away. My family.
   I have a wife who drives me crazy. My daughter is so "hidden" in so many ways that it frustrates me at times trying to find her heart. My son, he is pure fun and adventure but when it comes to getting him to do something so simple as wash the dishes he becomes one of my biggest challenges. They all have at times frustrated me to the point of anger, acting in ways I never should have, saying things I never should have and behaving in ways that I should be severely ashamed of. I love them more than I could possibly put into words, every one of them, with all of their quirks and things that make them not like me, so very different and so hard to understand. Our family is beautiful. At our base we are strong, rugged, and at times in need of pruning. The further out we stretch, in our relationships with our friends and family we are beautiful but very few will ever see the strength it takes to keep us alive and flourishing. So many thing we never saw or never knew, only assumed, until our young life was stripped away from us. There are so many beautiful flowers that will never grow on that wisteria because the new life is gone. My pruning will make it beautiful and stronger, more beautiful than it could have been without the support of the pergolas and the tender loving care that we all put into its maintenance. My family.
   If we are to be successful, I need to be that base of the wisteria. The strong part that my family can glean from. I need to rely on an extensive root system of friends and family who will feed me and nourish me so that I can be strong for them. We all need to absorb the life giving water so that we can feed the trunks of the trees that we are intended to feed. In my family I am the trunk, but I may just be a root in your family tree that feeds you and helps you to be that strong trunk that your vines and flowers need in order to grow and be stronger and more beautiful. Perhaps God, the master gardner had to strip away our young life to make us what He intends for us to be. Properly braided, stretched in the right directions, and given a strong place to hold on to. I have been remiss in not saying thank you enough to my root system out there. Many have written and I have not responded. Many prayers are going up for me and mine. I want to say it now that I love you all for who and what you are and have been to me. I have gleaned so much from your thoughtful words. Ray, Dana, David, Tim, other Tim, Jackie, Frosty, Michelle, Dutchtown Baptist Church, and so many more stretching out over seas and countries, my root system stretches around the world. I love you all and thank you for being a part of my life and for hurting with my hurt and for learning from my pain. In all humility I ask that you continue to feed me and let me know how I can continue to feed you.

Worst Day Yet

     Today was the worst day yet. It just serves as a reminder that this can hit at any time over any circumstance. I worry some times when I have gone a few days with no emotions that I am forgetting her but then a day like today happens. It all started with a comment that someone put on facebook about having lost a nights sleep to their baby crying. I posted a reply, "Count your blessings." It was simply my intention to give said person a different perspective and for them to see that it isn't so bad to lose a nights sleep over a baby who needs you. It seems that my point wasn't well received though as I got a response along the lines of "I'm sorry but waking up three times a night to a crying baby is not my idea of a blessing." I cannot quote exactly because the post was removed or I was unfriended or whatever. It hurt me to hear someone not understand how they should appreciate the cries of their baby, of their baby needing them. I am no longer needed by my sweet angel and would give anything to have her keep me up nights crying. I miss her tears. I actually heard her crying the other day, as if she were in her bed waking up from a nap. I almost scolded Carpenter for being too loud and waking her, but I heard her so clearly. I'm scared that I am losing my mind. Anyhow, my response to said persons reply was to say that I wanted to give her a different perspective and to reiterate my point that she should count her blessings that her baby was there for her to hear cry and to comfort. Her friend lit into me and then she lit into me, and in a private email was told how she couldn't believe what I had done and that I should mind my own business and how dare I have the nerve and so on. That I was inappropriate. This is where that demon inside of me rose up and anger grabbed ahold. I replied "Good thing you are not a man and within arms reach. How's that for inappropriate?" Certainly that was uncalled for, but it was just hurting me so badly that she was not appreciating every aspect of her baby. I would give anything to have my sweet Willow crying for me. I went too far. I let my grief and anguish get the best of me. I became overwhelmed though and broke down weeping. I was stopped at the fuel pump at the dairy and became so overwhelmed with grief that I fell to the ground weeping, sobbing, so empty inside and yet so full of pain. I just sat there for a while, oblivious to the fact that I was open to the stares of many people, and wept violently. A sales rep came over to me and asked me to talk. I couldn't. I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, that falling down that you don't get up from. I sat in my truck and wept and wept. In the midst of it all, my good friend Tim called. He is the kind of friend where I could just sit there and cry and he would listen and wait until I was ready. There are times when I wonder what the point to life is anymore. If all we live for is to pay bills and fulfill pleasures and responsibilities, and there are so many different ideas as to what "live for God" means, what is the point. Then my son does some goofy thing that makes me laugh or my daughter needs me to help her plant her staghorn ferns I bought for her, or even the chance to bring my wife lunch at work, and I know that there is still meaning. I need to pick myself up, dust myself off, and find a new reason to go on. It is so hard without Willow here. At times I am an unpleasant person. At times I leave a lot to be desired. I need to get my head straight. I need to overcome this loneliness. There has never been a better example of "easier said than done." As much as this was the worst day yet, I know that there are many more to come and it will only get worse before it gets better. God grant me the strength.

Karma

     Karma. The definition is: "action, seen as bringing upon oneself inevitable results, good or bad, either in this life or in a reincarnation." You get what you pay for. It all evens out in the end. I used to think that there was a certain merit to this idea, if I were good to people and kind then people would be good and kind to me. To a certain extent that is true, but there is a stark new reality I am faced with. No one deserves to endure the loss of a child. What could I have possibly done to have merited this kind of suffering, grief and anguish? Its just not possible, hence, karma is a newly rejected idea for me. That was my random thought for the moment. Now on to other things.
     I went to a group grief recovery session at Healing Place Church this past Sunday. I was really hopeful that being with others that had been through something similar would help. Ends up only two people besides myself and the facilitator showed up. One was a lady who had lost her husband after 31 years of marriage. The other was a woman who lost both of her parents, ten years apart. At the risk of sounding arrogant, there are different types of people in this world. Some are in my estimation naive and will believe a lot of what they're told without evidence and then there are those who need to know for sure. I am in the latter group. I cannot accept things unless I know they are true. This is what makes faith so hard for me. I need evidence and not just pretty words. I introduced myself and told my story. I broke down and wept and told of my deepest fears and sorrows. Anguish. I heard a lot of "you were a good Pawpaw" and "she's in a better place." I have heard a lot of this and I thought that people who had suffered loss would not give me these token words but apparently our grief was different enough that they couldn't understand. We had to adjourn early because Dr. Spivey, the facilitator, had to go be with a family whose 4 year old had drown. They gave me a bunch of cookies. As I was leaving they all wanted to hug and say that they were proud of me. I didn't want that. I don't know these people and could care less if they are proud of me. I am not a child who needs encouragement like that. I am a man who needs to know if there is an end to the anguish and how to deal with it without simply closing off a huge part of who I am. I don't want to be two people. That is what I feel like. I am Stephen the milkman, happy go lucky with a personality for giving great customer service, and then there is Stephen, the man who wonders why we live in the first place if the end result is so much heartache, grief, and anguish. What have I done in life that was so wonderful that it counterbalances this anguish? Damn you karma. 
     I saw a wonderful video today. My friend Matt, one of the greatest men I have ever known and a true friend, put up a picture of his daughter, approximately the same age as Willow, trying to pet a kitty that wasn't in the mood. She must've said "kitty" a hundred times, but the kitty was not interested which further leads me to believe that cats have evil souls. ;-) I was so envious watching that video. I wanted so badly to pick little Chloe up and hug her so gently, smell her hair and whisper I love you. No, I wanted to pick up Willow and do all of those things. I hope that in all of this that the people who have children will take time to further love them, more than they thought possible and give more time than they think they have. Smell their hair. Tickle them. Give more hugs and kisses and I love you's than you ever have before. I just want everyone to truly understand that while you can you must. I don't have that opportunity with Willow anymore and I would trade my life to bring her back. 
     I had a horrific scare this morning. I got a call from a neighbor saying that my sons bus driver had called to say that she had seen Carpenters backpack at the bus stop but Carpenter was no where to be found. I asked her to please check on him and let me know so I could rush home and call the police to find my kidnapped son. Ends up, after 5 minutes she called back and my knucklehead son had fallen in the ditch while trying to catch a turtle and was at home changing when the bus came. He couldn't find any uniform pants or clean shoes. I cannot describe the panic while I waited to hear her call me back. I was already planning the remainder of my life, or if I could even go on if he were gone. There is only so much one man can take. I was so glad to see him when he came home from school today. I celebrated by beginning the works of building another pergola on the other side of the telephone pole and I think I am going to deck them both and build on benches too. Anyhow, much more to say but I have to wake up in 4 hours for work. Big day tomorrow. 
     The stars were brilliant tonight. Willow would have loved them.

No easy answers

   I find myself pulled to this blog. I feel like it is a place that I can escape to and say what I want to say, regardless of how anyone else might feel about what I say. I can just let it out, knowing that others will read it but really not caring anymore about how anyone's opinion of me is shaped as a result. No offense dear ones, but screw what you think. ;-)
   Poetry. Writing. These were major facets of who I was back when I felt I had a better grasp of who I was. Maybe I need this so I can go back and re-read and find out just what is coming out of me? I am horribly guilt ridden over the fact that I am forgetting Willow. Alice tells me that she read about it being a typical emotional response to such a tragedy and is not unusual, that the memories will come back someday, but I just don't know. I go back to her pictures and videos to remember her, and then some random thing happens that sends her surging back to me so quickly that I suddenly find it hard to breath. Such an event happened today. After work I went to Lowes to buy material to build another pergola, a bit smaller than the first, when Alice called and asked me to pick up something from the store. As I was walking through the aisles I spied a woman walking away from me with a 2 year old girl in her cart. She was wearing a diaper. I haven't seen a diaper since Willow passed. Everything rushed up and a huge lump formed in my throat and it was all I could do to keep from breaking down right there in the store. I miss my baby girl. I want her back so badly and it still hasn't become my reality that not only will I never get to see her grow up, but I will never even again hear her call me Pawpaw. We were with some friends the other day and their daughter referred to her Mawmaw and Willow came rushing back again. It is over such little things. Things that come from no where and paralyze me. I never see them coming. From what I've heard this is something that will never go away. I just want this to all be over. There is a song lyric that comes back to me. "If you have to leave, I wish that you would just leave because your presence still lingers here." What a sad thing to say about my lovey girl but sometimes I wish that we could all just forget her and never again have to deal with this.
        I spoke of one of my unanswered biblical questions in my last post and I thought I'd address one of the recently answered ones. We are taught that we are born with a sinful nature. If that is true and we aren't redeemed of our sin debt until we are come to the realization that Christ is real and accept him as our savior, what about the babies that die? The prevailing theory is that there is an "age of accountability." Only problem with that is that the bible does not once mention an age of accountability or even a similar theory. I spoke with my pastor about this as I had no answers as to if all of this is real, where is Willow? If she was born with a sin nature and never accepted Christ as her savior is she now in Hell? What a horribly unfair fate, but that has been my question with Hell all along. It doesn't seem right. Jason, my pastor, directed me to a verse in II Samuel chapter 12:15-22. It reads as such.

 ¹⁵ After Nathan had gone home, the LORD struck the child that Uriah’s wife had borne to David, and he became ill. ¹⁶ David pleaded with God for the child. He fasted and spent the nights lying in sackcloth^[a] on the ground. ¹⁷ The elders of his household stood beside him to get him up from the ground, but he refused, and he would not eat any food with them.

 ¹⁸ On the seventh day the child died. David’s attendants were afraid to tell him that the child was dead, for they thought, “While the child was still living, he wouldn’t listen to us when we spoke to him. How can we now tell him the child is dead? He may do something desperate.”

 ¹⁹ David noticed that his attendants were whispering among themselves, and he realized the child was dead. “Is the child dead?” he asked.

   “Yes,” they replied, “he is dead.”

 ²⁰ Then David got up from the ground. After he had washed, put on lotions and changed his clothes, he went into the house of the LORD and worshiped. Then he went to his own house, and at his request they served him food, and he ate.

 ²¹ His attendants asked him, “Why are you acting this way? While the child was alive, you fasted and wept, but now that the child is dead, you get up and eat!”

 ²² He answered, “While the child was still alive, I fasted and wept. I thought, ‘Who knows? The LORD may be gracious to me and let the child live.’ ²³ But now that he is dead, why should I go on fasting? Can I bring him back again? I will go to him, but he will not return to me.”

   This child was too young to have reached the "age of accountability" but David was at peace, knowing that he would see his son again. SO according to that, if I have accepted Christ as savior then I will, I WILL see Willow again. If I decide to fully commit to a belief in Christ as savior based on seeing Willow again then it isn't actually accepting Christ as savior, it is just hoping in seeing Willow again. No easy answers. 

Only God knows why

   Today is April 12, one month on from the passing of our little Willow. I am sitting in the floor of Willow's bedroom on the exact spot where I found her lifeless body on that horrific day. I think I am trying to create something. I am having one of those "in between" days. I spoke with my aunt Vicki today about Willow. I told her all about that night, about the CPR and the medi-flight, about all of the details. I have done everything I can today to make it all about remembering Willow and yet, no tears. I have had a boring, regular day. I haven't written in a few days because our last power cord for our computers finally broke and I was waiting on a new one to come so there is certainly a lot of ground to cover to make up for lost time. A lot has happened, good and bad. I have no idea where to start so I will just let this entry be totally random and not at all thought out. Here I go.
     I was listening to a song today called "Only God Knows Why." It struck me because there is a baby buried near Willow and the inscription on her bench says "Only God Knows Why." My prevailing thought has been the same, only God knows why. There is a lyric in that song that says something like "they say every man bleeds just like me." That rather random lyric struck me pretty hard today. My family is not specially equipped to deal with this. We don't have anything that you don't have. The greatest imaginable tragedy has struck our family, only God knows why, and we have no way of knowing what to do or any special powers of healing to get through this. We are messed up. I have heard the phrase "God never gives you more than you can handle" more times than I can stand and I firmly disagree. People are driven mad every day by the circumstances in their lives. If handling it simply means that I don't drop dead under the pressure then yes I suppose I am handling it. However, there are those in between days and there are those happy days. It is a strange ting to be a witness to your own loss of sanity. Some days I just sit and look back at my emotional break downs and think to myself, "Wow, that must have been really hard." It is as if it were someone else going through it. That leads me to one of the major highlights of the last few days. The way that we deal with it. I am a very different person from the rest of my family in one peculiar way. I am not afraid to unabashedly weep over this pain. When it comes on I don't try to hide it. I don't care who is there, although I do try to find a quiet, hidden spot where I can not put others through it with me. I want to talk about it. I want to get it out. Alice, Carpenter and Shelby on the other hand are quite stoic. Alice has her moments of crying, but they are private moments when no one else is around. Shelby, I have only seen cry once since we left the hospital, although she says she cries in the shower. Carpenter waits until he is in bed, the TV is off and he thinks everyone else is asleep, and that is his time to cry. Otherwise you would not know there was anything wrong by just watching them throughout the day. They internalize, and they think on the good things and the hope that one day they will see Willow again. There we find another major difference. I was born and raised in church. Three times a week I was in services. I was taught the independent, fundamental Baptist way of thinking and I never fell in line with it. I came to believe in God very easily. I studied darwinism, i studied scientific creationism, I studied the King James bible, I studied the NIV, I met with pastors of Baptist churches, Pentacostal, Catholic, Mormon. I attended church at all of these denominations and more and some could answer some questions and some could not. I learned a lot and I came to terms with a lot but there are a few things that I never did or have come to terms with. Thats the thing about the Bible. The more you learn the more questions you have. I have found peace with most questions but there is one prevailing thing that I cannot get peace about. If God is never surprised, is all knowing and all seeing, then when He created Hell for lucifer and his angels then He must have known that some of us, His children, would end up there. He had to know that His children whom He loves with a perfect love, a love greater than anything I am capable of, would spend eternity burning in torments. My sweet Willow, it broke my heart when she got a boo boo. The thought that I would create a scenario where if she didn't get it right then she would be condemned to an eternity in flames in unconscionable. I would never and I would absorb her death ten thousand times over if it would spare her from it. If God loves us as He says He does, why did he create a scenario such as this? I have yet to come to terms with this and if I die before I do, do I burn for eternity? This is a question asked in all seriousness. I don't understand why even if I spend a lifetime trying to get it straight and just not quite being able to get there then I will be subjected to such a punishment. My pastor has helped me with some of the other questions that I have been afraid to ask, he really has given me quite a bit of peace about some things, but this one still weighs on me. I need to get it figured out. I need understanding. The Bible says, "If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God who giveth to all liberally, and upbraideth not." I am not quite sure what upbraideth means but it seems God doesn't do it. EVER. So now I ask of Him. God, I am lacking in wisdom. I do not know why you have allowed a way for us to end up in Hell's flames and I need to understand why it is right. As a father, it boggles my mind. Perhaps, only you know why.

The "in betweens"

      Today started out just like any other. I woke up, too tired to put a proper thought together and walked out into the living room to turn on the news and read my email while trying to wake up. Instead of email, I clicked on iphoto and looked through a huge selection of pictures of Willow. Shelby has taken thousands and I am so very grateful for that. As I looked through them, seeing her smiles and adventures i kept having one overwhelming thought. Why am I not crying? I had no emotional responses to seeing her, so full of life, so happy, so beautiful, so gone from my life. I tried to make myself weep, make myself be overcome and mourn but there was nothing. I just do not understand these times.

     Looking back on one incident in particular, I was in the hospital the day they were to take Willow's body off of the machines and harvest her organs. It had been so important to me not to break down in front of Alice, Carpenter and Shelby, and I had not been as successful as I had wished to be. This morning however, my dad was there and I knew he was going to want to talk and he is as close to deaf as is possible without being deaf so I took him, just the two of us, away from everyone else and went down to the cafeteria. We went through the line, got our food, sat down in a booth, and I began to weep. No, I began to wail. I know I must have been seen all over that cafeteria because I didn't hold anything back. I just kept saying, "My baby, my baby, no, no, no..." and crying out loud, unabashedly weeping. At one point a nurse came over and asked my dad if I was okay. Just one more of those stupid well intended questions people have been asking. Of course I was not okay, my baby was dead. There was no holding anything back and I didn't care who heard or who was there or what anyone thought. I needed to let it out and I did. I am okay with that. I have no regrets about that and do not question why I behaved in such a manner. It was healthy, it was pure emotion and no one who heard it had any question as to what was going on, although I didn't care. Inappropriate? Some may think so, but it was true and it was pure and raw emotion is cleansing. It was healing to let it all out. I don't question that.

     Just over a week ago we had two great friends drive all the way down to Michigan to see us. Our dear friends Tim and Vikki, whom I hadn't seen since we left Michigan in 2004 and Alice and the kids had seen a couple of times while visiting Michigan over the last several years, they drove all the way through to Louisiana just to see us. We had a great time with them. There was so much laughter and merriment. We went out to a little pastry cafe that I take care of and we had a fantastic time trying different pastries, drinking coffee, and making fun of me for being Mr. Sunshine. One of the chefs had been wanting to meet my wife and daughter for a while and told them that they have had other milkmen but there is something different about me as I bring sunshine in with me when I come. Of course, this well intentioned compliment led to me being teased mercilessly about being Mr. Sunshine and I loved every minute of it, although from what I hear my face turned several shades of red. We had so much fun, so much laughter, such a sweet time, and this makes sense to me too. In the midst of our loss, the greatest loss anyone will ever be able to comprehend, we had true joy and laughter and such a sweet and wonderful time. I understand this too because in all of our anguish we have so much to celebrate. It is like I have quoted Pooh bear as saying, "I am glad to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard." Willow was such a wonderful human being and brought pure joy and light wherever and whenever and she left this life before the evils of it got to her. She was spared from so much ugliness and evil in this world. She knew nothing but love and comfort and happiness. We had our dear friends with us. They had made a huge sacrifice to drive 17 hours straight to spend a couple of days and then drive 17 hours back. Such a gesture was so wonderful and meant the world to me. How could someone not be happy in such a time as this. This made sense.

   That Sunday morning was my first time to return to church since Willow's passing. It was the same church where her funeral was held. I parked next to the side door that we carried her little casket out from. I went through the doors that led to the sanctuary where her little body lay on display and saw the aching looks on people's faces as they greeted me. I also learned that if you're holding two cups of coffee you don't have to shake people's hands. (A personal phobia of mine.) I never made it to the beginning of the singing. It was all too much. I went in the back room and wept, wept such bitter tears and hurt so deeply that I felt as if there was no escape from this deep abyss I was sinking into. I started to feel like I was sinking beyond the point of coming back, which scares me. I fear that if I ever let myself fall far enough I'll never get up. So I got up. My wife was kneeling with me, comforting me. My daughter came and took me away. She asked me to take her for coffee, she actually took me, and we went away from that bittersweet place and we had a time of distraction. All of this makes sense to me. Of course I will have times of unspeakable grief, and of course I will have times of such deep heartfelt joy and love.

   Then there are the "in betweens." These are the times I cannot wrap my mind around. The times when I stand next to Willow's Willow tree in the back yard, the one we planted for Shelby's first mothers day and I feel nothing. The times when I look at the multitude of pictures of Willow and I feel nothing. The times, more often than not, when I cannot remember what she sounded like. Why can I not remember the sound of her voice? Why can I not remember the feeling of picking her up? Her hugs? Her kisses? Why am I forgetting her? Why is she slipping away? Why are there times when I can watch a video of her, like the video I shot of her on her last day, seeing her run with pollen all over her little bottom and not have an emotional reaction? How come I can see a video of me singing "Hello Brother" by Louis Armstrong to her and not be moved? No emotion. These are the times that I don't understand. These are the times that torture me and feel me with such guilt, such shame. I feel as though it is such a dishonor to Willow's memory to, less than a month from her death, not be able to remember her voice? She was my world! She was my angel. She was my reason for breathing. Of course, just one of my reasons. I still have my wife and kids and they are my everything and I would have laid down and died already had I not had them. But why are there times like these? Why are there these cursed "in betweens" that make me feel as though I've forgotten her, as though I am the most cold and wretched man alive? How can such a thing possibly be? I need help. I need someone to help me make sense of this. There are two options I've come across so far. One, I can go to a therapist and talk one on one. Two, I can go to a grief support group with other people who have lost little ones. No therapist will understand. They may have all of the book knowledge there is but unless they have burst into a room and picked their lifeless child up off the floor and lost a part of their soul as that child died, they have no idea. It is clear to me that I need to speak with some people who know what I am going through. I am blessed to have such good friends who are aching to help. A dear friend, Ray, called me today just to check on me. I didn't answer and I listened to his sweet voicemail where he was just encouraging me that whatever I need is fine and he understands but he hopes we can get together soon to talk. He is right. I don't know if I know of someone with a bigger heart than Ray and Sharon. No, he hasn't lost a child but he loves his as dearly as I love mine. It feels a bit selfish, but it is very comforting to know that someone hurts so deeply for me. I don't want anyone to hurt and I don't want to be a burden on anyone, but at the same time I have to admit that it does take a bit of that burden off of my shoulders. No one can bear this burden alone.

     There is so much more to say, so many more topics to go over and in time perhaps I will hit them all. Today though, I simply ask God to help me. Help me with the "in betweens." Give me more of the bitter tears, the painful wailing. Give me more of the laughter with good friends and love of people whose love I do not deserve. Give me the good times, give me the painful times, but dear God please help me with these cursed "in betweens."

   Today I am angry. Stop reading now if you want to be enlightened or cheered up. I have nothing good to say. People have tried to be supportive and said some incredibly stupid things. Case in point, one person who has referred to Willow as "practice" for when I can be a Pawpaw at a more appropriate time. Are you freaking kidding me? I didn't lose a puppy. I didn't take a stab at being a Pawpaw and it didn't work out. Willow was a human being, a soul, a beautiful person who was more dear and precious to me than my own life and for someone close to me to refer to her as practice or to say she wasn't appropriate is, well, I'm livid and wondering if I should close the door on this person. There is nothing, NOTHING that I would not have done for her, no sacrifice that I would not have made and I would have died a thousand horrific deaths for her. This same person saw fit to tell my wife that it wasn't appropriate for us to post pictures of Shelby on Facebook when she was 9 months pregnant. It just "wasn't right." Let me tell the world something now and set it straight forever. Shelby is a person who has had to endure more emotional confusion and hardship than any one person should have had to bear, being raised by one household that was trying to teach her one thing and in and out of another household who was trying to teach her another. She was confused and as a child who can fault you for not having all of the answers and trying to find your own way? She made some poor choices, sure. Haven't you? I have and mine, although different, were far more self destructive than hers and the unique thing about Shelby is that her decisions led to her having a baby, a beautiful baby who gave her a clear vision on what her life was about. Willow changed Shelby. Willow changed us all. Willow was the number one focus of Shelby's life from getting out of bed to returning to it. Sun up till sun down doesn't even come close. She worked to provide as much as she could for her, and we gladly filled in the gaps. It was our HONOR! Shelby strove to achieve a degree that could put her into a position where she could provide a wonderful life for Willow, without needing to lean on us or anyone. I have more respect and admiration for Shelby than for anyone I've ever known and for anyone to refer to her or some action she has taken in life and choose to tell us that it was inappropriate or not well timed, well screw them. You don't have the first idea. I am sure that I will regret some of the things I've written in this and am proud of myself at the same time for not releasing the name of the person who said these stupid things. I miss my baby girl. I am a shadow of the man I used to be without her and have no idea how I will ever kill the pain or fill the emptiness that she has left. My perfect, beautiful, funny, happy..... I am not going to try and put her into words because there has not yet been a word that can encapsulate just what she was or what she had. What good are my arms when I cannot use them to hold her? Why should I ever sing again when her ears are not here to hear the song? What good are my lips when I cannot use them to kiss a boo boo or my shoulders if not for her to cry on? Willow gave us all purpose, and yes I know that my wife and kids still need me, but my Willow, my sweet Willow, she doesn't need me anymore. But at least I got some "practice" for when "the time was right."

The Little Things

   It is so hard to know what to say. I want to write out what I am feeling, my innermost pain and joy but there seems to be something holding me back. Maybe I don't want people to see the bad qualities in me. Maybe I don't want to ruin the good impression some have by admitting to things that would turn people away. I have friends and aquaintences from all walks, from staunchly conservative fundamentalists to far left leaning liberals to, well, all spectrums. Who am I? What mold do I fit into? Is there a mold that I fit into? How will I feel if I pour out the innermost and then see these people not knowing if they are the ones who read my blog and if their opinions of me have changed by what they read? According to the stats page 27 times my previous post has been viewed. It makes me curious as to who has read this and why there is an nterest. I am not an incredibly extraordinary person. I get up for work, Monday thru Friday, run my milk route as best as possible, and then go home and try to enjoy my home and family. Thats not entirely true. I don't always do the best job possible. Sometimes I am just tired. Sometimes I just don't care. Sometimes it is a miracle that I have even gotten out of bed and can stand on my own power and to put anything extra into what I do is, well, it seems like to much to ask. How much can you ask of one person? I used to always say that if I lost a child they would have to put me under the mental ward. Now that is my life, dealing with the lost of the sweetest little girl and my heart. I was not in Shelby's life until she was 6 so I didn't get those first few years with her and always considered it such a fantastic blessing that I got them with Willow. I always worried about how hard it would be on Willow when Shelby graduated and moved out. She would have been about 6, just the time I came into Shelby's life. I was the only father figure that Willow ever knew, but I was a far better father figure than most will ever know. That is not to say I wasn't without fault. I was often guilty of not having enough patience. I was often guilty of sloth. One thing I will never doubt though is that there was not a second of her life that I was not as much in love with her as any man can ever be for a child. I was perusing through some photos from the last year and came across a little video where I am sitting in my arm chair, my right arm off the side, bent at the elbow with my hand near my chest. I was talking with Willow who was standing in front of me in her little nightgown and she seemed to be only slightly larger than said arm. The audio was not good, I don't know what was said, but she climbed up into my lap, sat there for maybe three seconds and, being incredibly busy as she always was had to jump up and get on to the next thing. She brought me her chair, a hand made chair by a nice elderly couple. It is made of PVC pipe, the man's doing, and then a sewed section of LSU fabric to form the seat and back, his wife's doing. She loved that chair. She brought it to me and sat it down like she wanted to sit in her chair like Pawpaw had his chair and maybe talk for a bit. She sat it down on its back and I promptly sat it up right to which she promptly put it back down on its back. That is where the video ended. Who knows what we were talking about or where things went from there. All that mattered was that Willow wanted my attention and she had it. I looked into my face on that video and saw the complete joy that always accompanied her wanting my attention. I craved her attention and to know that she thought enough of me to take time out of her busy schedule, and she was one incredibly busy little girl, and want to learn something about the world from me? Well, hang it up. I was hers and she had me by the heart and whatever in the world I could do to give her what she needed in the moment was hers to take. I am certain that I was guilty of neglecting the rest of my family to give her so much attention, and I am not sure how to feel about that now. I don't regret a second of the time I gave her, but if I had lost one of the others of my family would I be regretting giving time to Willow that should have gone to them? There are so many questions and so few answers. Some things I know for sure. These things are very few, fewer as the years go by, but this one thing outshines all in certainty of truth. I miss my baby girl. I have never shed such bitter tears and I have never felt a pain like this. The loneliness, the emptiness, the lack of everything that she put into my life. Nothing or no one can replace who and what she was. Oh God how it hurts to refer to her in the past tense. Do I really say that I loved her? I still love her but she is gone so is there a her to love now or just a memory of who she was and hence I loved her? Has that love been replaced by pain? Has her presence been replaced by this overwhelming emptiness? It is so hard to see how we are all grieving differently. Shelby does not express emotion outwardly and I have rarely seen her cry. Alice cries, has her moments but then puts up her shields and carries on. Carpenter wants so badly to be a big man about this and be strong. Me, I want to weep like a baby and fall to the ground, tear at the earth and scream at God for taking her away from us. I have never been one to be mad at God for anything, knowing that His ways are ways that I cannot understand. I don't even fathom why He created us. He must have known how badly we would disappoint Him. He must have known what hatred we were capable of and how much we would hurt Him. What was it like for Him before mankind was created? I don't know if emotion is attributable to God but the only thing I can think was that He must have been lonely. I am well acquainted with loneliness. Sadly it has been one of the greatest motivators in my life. Ironic, I think. Loneliness has led me to action more successfully than ambition ever has. That is a sobering thought. I never realized it until just now, writing it out which I guess is why writing is such good therapy for me but perhaps I have just stumbled onto one of the greatest truths of my life. Loneliness has been my greatest motivator. I am not sure if this is a good or bad thing. I was never one to see a goal and reach for it. I was one who saw a problem and strove to overcome it. Either way you move forward I suppose and either way you conquer. It just seems that as the ambitious one you are the aggressor and I was, well, whatever the opposite of aggressor is. I don't specifically create, I respond and in doing so I create. I don't set out to make a better world, I set out to make the world better. Maybe that is a difference only I can understand as I write this and the reader, assuming anyone is reading this and has made it this far, perhaps they do not understand. I am passionately vanilla. I am very happy to be a nameless face in the crowd and at the same time be the face that brings a smile to someone for at least a few moments in their day. Yesterday I was at Highland Coffee with my son and spoke for a while with Amy, a fantastic person in her own right and one of those people that I interact with on a regular basis and whom I am always happy to see and who always seems to have a smile for me when I show up with my burden of milk and my desire for a piping hot chocolate cappuccino. I was proud to introduce my son to her and even prouder when he had his moments where he spoke up and talked. He is getting less and less shy as the days go by and for this 11 year old boy to open up and talk to an older girl was something I could not have done at that age. I was so painfully shy. We talked for a bit and before I left she gave me something that I will probably keep for the rest of my life. It was a card, beautiful in its simplicity, with a flower on the front made of layers of cut out flower petals on a blue back ground and inside said simply, "Thinking Of You" and was signed by all of the dear ones there at the best little coffee shop in the world. There were no attempts at trying to say the right thing, no awkward "Sorry for your loss" statements or "praying for you during this difficult time." Just simply each person taking their time to write their name, some with a little heart attached to the signature, each written out carefully enough to be clearly read. Each saying volumes. Then today at the same coffee shop I was able to pass on a case of Orange Carrot Naked Juice, everyone's favorite at Highland Coffee, and to see the look on Jess's face that was equal parts thankfulness and frustration at what she saw as too much of a gesture and that I "needed to stop doing this," she said with a smile on her face. I explained that I got so much more out of giving them that case of Naked Juice than they did in receiving it. There is a phrase that has come up recently in my life and has been born over and over again. It seems to be a sign to me that there is a clear direction that I need to focus on. About a week before my sweet Willow left this life I wrote her a message. I was on my route, delivering milk to a farmers market and thinking of the joy swelling up within me over the little girl who owned me from the inside out. I wrote to her. "There is nothing I would not do for you, not matter what the price, and would never consider it sacrifice for the joy is in the giving." That last part, the joy is in the giving, has come back to me a few times and from the most random places. It isn't a common phrase but has seemingly become common to me. It means everything to me. It is my connection to my new purpose in life. To make sure that people know that I love them the way that Willow never doubted and that they know that whatever I can do to give them even the slightest smile is a joy to me and worth whatever it may have cost. If you are reading this still at this point, that is your gift to me and I thank you deeply for it. It is your statement that you care about what I am going through right now and want to be familiar with me. That is a great gift and I am very thankful for it. I hope than in some way I will be able to return the gift to you, sevenfold, and if only for a moment to give you a smile and that momentary warmth one feels in their chest when they see an act of kindness. We need each other in this life. People are by nature desperate for one another, some finding it harder to see as life passes due to the ones who have hurt them, and make no mistake I know that I have been the offender on so many more occasions than I care to admit. Today, I am desperate to let it be known that I am, above all men, most blessed. A.A. Milne said it best I think when, as Whinnie the Pooh he said, "How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard." I say it best when I say to you, there is nothing I would not do for you, no matter what the price, and would never consider it sacrifice for the reward is in the giving.

   A wayfaring soul, set adrift on a notion, with course hypothetical in every way. With naught to provide and nowhere to hide, an anchor unseeming and drifting away.

   I wrote that about 20 years ago. It was during that time in life when I was growing from a boy into whatever I was during those formative years. Certainly not a man, certainly not a boy. I think we all lose our minds during those years. It was a time of adventure, recklessness, excitement, discovery, and loneliness. I thought I knew what loneliness was. I had no idea.

   This is the part where i put in the warning. Beware! If you read beyond these first paragraphs you will be subjected to complete and total honesty. You will get to know what is in the head of the man you know as Stephen, Dopey, or milkman, depending on what time of my life you came into mine. I intend to begin an exploration into who I really am, not just who I want to think I am. It has become painfully clear to me that there are many qualities that I possess that shame me. (The one that comes to mind right now is how I keep forgetting to capitalize "I" and have to go back and correct it, distracting me from my original thought.) I am unsure of how to do this, so i will begin with what is on my mind at the moment. Darn those lower case i's! (SP?)

   Today I did as I normally do. I worked a long day at work, a job that I love more than most could ever hope to, and came home exhausted. My intentions were to clean in the yard a bit, couldn't mow due to all of the rain, but perhaps get some straightening done inside. I have ever more frequently skipped these well intentioned aborted plans and taken a nap. Maybe I slept for an hour when I was awoken with a start by a horrific nightmare, one that will haunt me for the rest of my life. I was discovering my sweet baby girl, lying in the floor, lifeless. I picked her up, her sweet little body completely limp and void of my sweet Willow. I screamed, in my dream, and that transferred into my waking moment. Perhaps I will delve deeper into that someday but for now I will have to move on. Feeling void, wanting to be of use to someone, I asked my wife to take a walk with me. She has been having a terrible headache, a migraine really which has been the bane of her existence since well before our paths crossed. My son was busy playing on his new XBOX 360 Kinect, (seriously, how far will technology go?) and my daughter was in the shower so I decided to take a walk by myself.

   I love where I live. There is a 1/4 mile of road beyond my house completely surrounded by cow pasture and dead ending in a barn where there are currently perhaps a dozen calves. On the side of the road I snuck up on a young raccoon who was hunting frogs in the ditch beside the road and completely unaware of my presence. I posted a video to facebook of me observing him before finally saying hello and scaring him away. He ran away, and it seemed that I had some running to do as well. I went beyond the dead end, crossed over to 44 and turned onto 42 to turn my walk into a journey. My intention was to walk/run a route that I estimated at 5 miles. I must have looked strange, walking/running beside this busy road in my pajamas while holding my phone so I could listen to a new song that I have fallen for. The harder I ran, the more it hurt, and the better it felt. After a while I realized that I was running to increase my pain to try to replace my other pain but hey, its better than being a cutter right? Trying to keep from being a target I ran on the opposite side of the ditch from the road. There are times when people genuinely surprise me. Usually it is in a fantastic way that renews my strong faith that all people are inherently good and just need a chance to let it be shown. Other times, like today, I inwardly weep for the condition of mankind. As I was running, a man confronted me in his front yard. I was simply on his side of the ditch from a busy road but apparently this was enough to warrant causing me severe bodily harm. That is my kinder way of saying what he said. Apparently, it warranted him calling the police to haul off my dead body. If he only knew what had recently transpired in my life. I simply continued to run, knowing that there were no words and no reasoning and that any conversation would serve only to exacerbate the situation. I turned my attention back to the little girl I was running so hard to get away from. I started thinking about how much she liked going on walks and how she needed me to carry her part way, walk some, throw some rocks in the water, be carried some more, and jump into my arms whenever there was a car. Pawpaw was a place of security whenever there was danger present. About a half mile away Mr. Angry McNasty showed up in his truck and pulled in front of me. It seems that he was not convinced that I understood the extent of offense I had caused by crossing in front of his house and how serious he was that I deserved to die for my transgressions. Perhaps I should have been scared, or even angry, but I was just so heart broken for this man and the path that he must have taken in life to get him to where he is today.  I cannot imagine how it must feel to be so angry. I have been rediculously angry in my life at times, and to be honest I have a brain injury that requires medication that I didn't start taking for 16 or so years until after my injury to regulate my mood swings, and I hope that I have never been so mean to someone. In fact, I am sure that I have at times in my life reacted with an unwarranted anger and every time it has cost me dearly. Anger can be healthy in the right situations, but improper anger cuts at your soul and steals your joy. I am glad that I have had a chance to get mine under control. I do not judge this man. I hurt for him and for all of us who have hurt or been hurt. I have in my life contributed to the unhappiness of others and who knows how far the ripple effect has gone. My Willow never saw that in me though. Oh there is so much more to say but it is 9:02 and I have to wake up in 5 hours so it is time for bed. Today was a good day, I broke down and wept openly for the loss of my lovey girl, I screamed in fear in my dreams, I felt joy when watching a silly little raccoon rooting out dinner from the ditch down from my house, and happiness from the gift of a hot cup of coffee from a compassionate friend. There is so much to be appreciated in this life and I plan on embracing each and every one of those "little" joys. I don't have the option of embracing my sweet girl ever again and that pain is one that will never be quenched, but I will make sure to honor her memory in the remaining days I have by not passing up the chance to appreciate the little things that made her so happy. Hers was a pure heart, full of joy and love. She would have dearly loved that raccoon.