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  • 03.18.2008 Tales from the Foxhole
    12 Comments
    I am not sure any of you will want to read this, because its going to be depressing (especially you Dad and sisters). Mainly, I’ve been lying in bed for the past hour, unable to sleep because there are so many little memories from the time when Mom was really sick that I am scared I’m going to forget.

    Tonight, I thought I was safely drifting to dream-world,, when I suddenly saw the way Mom would hold her shoe halfway on her foot and jiggle it back and forth while she was talking. Stupid, yes, but I was trying to take a picture with my mind, hoping I wouldn’t forget that little nuance, when one memory after another from her very sick time started jabbing their way into my mind, begging not to be forgotten either. So, I finally decided to come here so that I would know they would be recorded some place a little more trustworthy than my mind. Maybe then I’ll be able to get some sleep.

    Walking in to Mom and Dad’s room to find my big, full-grown husband lying with his head half on Mom’s pillow and half on her shoulder, with his arm thrown across her middle. Both of her arms were curled up around holding his. I thought, wow, she really does love him like her own son.

    Mom, Dad, Taylor, John David, Jeremiah, and me all piled in their bedroom watching a movie. Mom decides she wants a supreme pizza, so Jeremiah and JD jump up to go pick one up. Then, as we’re all sitting there eating, she sits up stick straight and pops her eyes open huge (they looked so much bigger because her face was so thin) and says, “Ohhh! there’s grease in this isn’t there!?” We all just died laughing. She looked so innocent and funny, and who doesn’t realize there’s grease in pizza. (She’d recently found that late-night grease gave her stomach problems, but claimed she’d forgotten)

    The way Mom was always trying to look over my shoulder at Mary Aplin to catch a glimpse of her smile.

    Dr. Maddox handing Mary Aplin into Mom’s arms (not realizing she’d been too weak and swollen to hold her for almost a week) and Mom looking at me like, please don’t take her yet. I know it must have been horribly painful to support a wriggling baby on her distended, cancer filled belly, but she just wanted to hold her so bad.

    Caroline and I taking the night shift with Mom and both of us trying to hide our frustration and fear as she feebly asked if she could walk outside. She was just so weak and she might collapse on you at any minute–it made me so nervous to let her walk around but that’s all she ever wanted to do. She must have sensed our impatience and she looked at me and whispered, “I’m sorry.” It nearly broke my heart in pieces to see her try to apologize for wanting to go outside.

    Late night, all four girls, each at an arm or leg, either massaging or tickling, trying to make her comfortable. Looking at each of their faces and thinking, God knew exactly what he was doing when He gave her four daughters. Then looking up to see a picture of Aunt Alice and Mom on the table behind Mom’s head and laughingly saying, “Look Mom, all your girls are here.”

    Reading Streams in the Dessert and Mom’s daily encouraging cards to her on the back patio with Grandma and Aunt Alice.

    Dad asking Mom 20 questions at once (he was just trying to figure out how to make her comfortable) when she had just stumbled back inside from getting a blood transfusion. She cut her hand sharply at him and burst into tears. Dad threw his hands up and said he didn’t know what else to do. I said, “Dad she’s not mad at you. She’s just so weak she doesn’t know what she wants right this minute, and she’s crying because she’s just so worn out.” Later, when she was resting in bed she whispered, “Thanks for knowing what I’m thinking, when I’m too weak to say it.” and she squeezed my hand.

    The way Pace instinctively knew to be gentle with her. She wanted to rest her head on Mom’s leg, kiss her booboo’s (where the IV had been), lay beside her on the couch, hold her hand, and bring her baby dolls and blankies. She adored her.

    The last restaurant she ate at was the Waffle House 🙂 Sometimes you just need it.

    The last food she ever ate was Carolyn West’s roasted red pepper soup. Most people who are so weak they can hardly open their mouth eat things like ice cream or Ensure, but not Mom.

    Dad and I were having an argument and I was balling my eyes out. Mom, in an effort to make me feel better said, “Abby, you know what Dr. Edwin said to me today? He said all your girls are wonderful, but one is a jewel–cut straight from your back and that’s Abby.–He was right.” Then, Dad walked up and grabbed me into a hug. Mom, was bent over in pain, but she walked over and pressed the side of her face against my back and wrapped her arms around me too. That’s the last time I got a hug from both of them at once. Sometimes now, when Dad hugs me, I try to remember what it felt like to feel her holding on to the other side.
    (Sisters, if you are punishing yourselves and still reading I need to say two things 1-I could tell by the way Mom was holding her mouth and looking down as she said the above, that she didn’t really agree with it. We all know I am definitely not “cut straight from her back”, or a jewel for that matter. 2-Dr. Edwin said this after one of those question sessions where I’d fired off relentlessly. I think he was trying to find a nice way to say, your oldest daughter acts towards you about like a rabid dog defending her young. Still, it was a nice thing to hear.)

    All four girls dancing and singing Sarah Bareilles, “Love Song,” at the end of Mom’s bed and her bouncing her head and snapping her fingers along with us as she tried to ask (over the blaring music) what the song was about.

    After the Candlelight Walk, Jeremiah kept asking her if she was ready to get back in bed. She looked him in the eye and quietly whispered, “I’m ready.” How poignant that those turned in to her last words, even though she was talking about getting back in bed.

    The first time we thought she was about to meet Jesus, and the way it felt to see my whole family huddled around her and chokingly singing “Great is Thy Faithfulness” and meaning it.

    Just before the Candlelight Walk Mom was in a “deep, deep sleep.” We’d all been trying different things to wake her up for about an hour, when Dad came literally jogging into the room. He grabbed a “Best of Disco” CD (I still am not sure where that came from or why it was in their room) and turned up “Brick House” as loud as it would go. My sisters, always ready for a party, came running upstairs to see what was happening. Dad started dancing and reminiscing over the music about all the times they’d danced to that song, like at their prom. When she still wasn’t responding much, he took her hand, looked down at it and said, “I held this hand and led you to a lot parties, and you’ve always loved a party. I’m not about to let you miss the biggest one of your life, when you’re the guest of honor.” Then his body started to shake with sobs and he lay his face down on her hand. We kept dancing until he joined back in, and he was able to lead her to that party a short time later.


  • 03.12.2008 Not Rice Cereal!
    12 Comments

    I need to talk to you about my little Mary Aplin. She has just taken my heart and made it her own! Before she was born, I really worried about how I was going to be able to love another child with the immensity that I love Pace. I even felt some resentment towards that little creature growing in my belly who was going to come and steal away all of Pace’s attention. Even when she was a few days old, I remember crying to my Dad about how hard it was to know that Pace and my precious little days were over. The new baby–crying, feeding, pooping–basically monopolizing my attention would ruin the sweet little routine I had so come to enjoy.

    It must have been hormones, because that was just CRAZY talk. Yes, our days are different now, but just like adding Pace was a glorious adjustment, M’Apples addition has been the same way. She is just so lovable with her big toothless grin, that she is always ready to bestow on any who smile her way. Even when she is getting fussy and starting to cry, she will still smile. The wonder is still there too. I want to stare at her every free moment I have. Watching her get control of her hands enough to rub her little eyes or hold and examine a toy still mesmerizes me. She LOVES to roll. When I put her down on her play mat, I can pretty much count on her being stranded somewhere on the hardwood floor five minutes later, holding herself up on her elbows and grinning up at me like, “Look what I did!”

    Her favorite place to be is suspended in air by my left arm wrapped around her middle, resting against my hip bone and looking out at the world. If she can have one of my knuckles to gnaw on, then that is bliss. Some day soon she’s going to gnaw my thumb off, and you’ll all know what happened. I feel pretty sure that she may walk before she sits up. Her legs and body are always locked stick straight. It’s truly hard to force her to bend. If her balance gets a little bit better, and the bottoms of her chubby feet get a little more flat, I’ll be able to prop her up standing in the corner and go on about my chores :).

    I think Mary Aplin may also be my free spirit. When Pace was a baby, I never read a book, but she just sort of fell into a schedule. All I had to do was pay attention to the times she was falling asleep or getting hungry, and she just sort of let ME in on her plan for how her routine was going to go. Not so with this little girl! Just when I think I’m getting her figured out, she’ll throw a kink in things. So what if she woke up at exactly 5am 7 days in a row, she may decide to wake up at 6 for a couple of days just to change things up a bit. For those of you who don’t have kids, I know you’re thinking, “Big deal, she slept an extra hour!” But you can’t feed and put a child back down for a nap at their “routine” 7:15 if they’ve only been awake an hour. The rest of the “schedule” falls out of line in suit. I really am OK with it. Who needs a schedule anyway, right M’Apples!

    So the picture above was taken after Mary Aplin’s 4 month check-up. I was calmly talking to Dr. Farr about how great things were going, when suddenly he said, “Well, its time to start offering her some rice cereal, and next month you can start trying baby food.” I felt my heart clench and tears welled up in my eyes as I replied, “I just don’t think I’m ready for that yet.” I know he thought I was nuts. He started to kind of laugh and said, “Why, does that mean she’s not a new baby anymore?” He nailed it! I didn’t even know myself why I was about to weep until he said it, but he was right. To me, she still feels like a newborn, a baby completely dependent on me and my milk supply to sustain life. I didn’t want her to have anything else but me. I actually asked him if I had to start giving her that junk. I thought he knew I was kidding, but maybe not since he went into a long lecture on his most recent readings on babies and food allergies.

    Maybe its because of the whirlwind time with Mom that I feel like Mary Aplin’s new-born time passed in a moment. Maybe that’s just the nature of all babies…to grow too fast. All I know is that each night when I’m mixing up her rice cereal, I find myself wanting to freeze time and keep my toothless grinner right where she is.

    These are pictures of Mary Aplin and Pace (respectively) at about the same age. I just wanted to show y’all how much they favor.



  • 02.23.2008 Savoring Tranquility
    8 Comments

    This past Thursday night, I had the honor of staying in the home of my friend Lanier. She invited Lauren and I to come and spend the night with her and then attend her book club. I knew as soon as the invitation was offered that there was a treat in store…I just could not have imagined how great a treat it would be.

    Lauren has said that turning into Lanier and Philip’s driveway is like stepping into another time. One moment you’re driving through Atlanta suburbia and the next you’re winding down a gravel drive towards a white, wooden farmhouse, framed with green shudders, that is old enough to have been used as a hospital during the War of Northern Aggression :). Thursday was a cold and dreary day, filled with gray mist that hung too heavily to even form a decent rain. Lanier welcomed us into her den, where a warm fire blazed in an oversized cast iron stove, and antique books peered out at us from their love worn covers. I fed a sleepy Mary Aplin as Lauren and Lanier prepared a tea tray: crisp blue and white china, a plate of sweet red apple slices and sharp cheddar cheese, a tea pot steeping the loose leaves of white tea from her favorite tea-room. What a contrast our toasty little tea party was to the cold, damp elements nature had served.

    After tea, I retired to my room to put Mary Aplin down for a nap. As I stepped inside, I gasped at how beautiful it was. The creamy blue walls stretched twelve feet and offered a beautiful contrast to the clover honey hue of the hardwood floors. To my left, a staunch armoire rose close to the ceiling and its top held whimsical hat boxes and ostrich feathers. Next, nestled between two 6-foot windows with wavy glass panes, stood the antique wooden bed. The bed was shrouded by white tulle cascading down from the ceiling and adorned with white, embroidered pillows and a faintly colored quilt. The marble top of the bedside table held a small vase filled with a cluster of fresh peach roses. A vanity was pushed against the wall beside the bed, and on its surface the silver combs and brushes begged me to sit down and take my time dressing for dinner. The wall opposite the bed had a large fireplace–on the mantle was the bust of a Victorian woman and two tall silver vases that also held peach roses. On the same wall, there was a closet, and the closed door had an antique white lace dress hanging loosely from a silk hanger. It looked as though its owner had just plucked it from the closet as her choice for the day. Finally, a beautiful iron, antique cradle stood in the center of the room, swaddled in white eyelet and a canopy of its own. Beside it sat an oversized antique rocker whose plush, rose-colored velvet seat was pushed close enough to the fireplace to offer Mama and baby warmth during their late-night moments together. I felt like I was in a beautiful dream.

    Dinner was refreshingly simple and tasty. Lanier poured her smooth potato soup into bowls with a toasted baguette slice and garnished each bowl with a healthy sprinkling of Gruyere cheese. A green salad with a tangy homemade dressing offered a nice contrast to the soup. Lanier, her husband Philip, Lauren, and I lingered a long time over our cozy table. We were surrounded by flickering candles, scattered amongst handmade Valentines that were displayed on the large roughly-cut wooden mantle of the kitchen fireplace. The soup was warm and delicious and offered a happy reprieve from our still-cheerless weather. We talked about fascinating topics–such as educating girls, Philip’s family business, the joys of entertaining, and the prospect of raising sheep on their land.

    After dinner, Lanier steeped some soothing chamomile tea and brought each of us a slice of her homemade apple pie with ice cream. We ate and talked some more by the fire in the den. Once our bellies could not hold another bite, we each (except for Philip :)) picked up our respective hand-work and were able to be productive as we laughed our way into the night.
    As we talked, I pondered what it is about Lanier that makes her so intriguing. She is the first person I have ever met that had the foresight, as a 17-year old girl, to say that she felt God calling her to be a homemaker. Because of that calling, she spent the four years that most of us spend going to college, cultivating her skills as a wife. She apprenticed herself under ladies who were skilled in areas such as cooking/baking, gardening, and sewing. She continued her voracious reading and honed her skills in piano and ballet. In essence, she had the discipline to self-train herself in the areas that she still uses every day of her life. Obviously, all women are not called to homemaking and she is the first to cry out for the value of college education for young women. However, I think it is worth pondering the direction we steer our little girls. I am thankful for my chemical engineering degree, and I am sure that the benefits run deeper than I can see on a surface level. It does sadden me though, to think how little I knew about how to take care of my husband or children when I got married… Can we have both? While this may make Lanier interesting, I think what is most intriguing about her personality is her uncanny knack for making life beautiful. Its as though she has spent her life observing things that would seem to most of us like romantic idealism, and she has been willing to put forth the effort to make those ideals reality. For example, she throws a Christmas party every year, where all of the guests come in period attire. Each room in their home has a roaring fire and it is all lit by candlelight. Other examples would be the chickens she raises for their fresh eggs, the garden she keeps to provide vegetables and herbs for her table, or the fact that Wednesdays are baking days–where she makes fresh bread, rolls and pizza crusts. It has to exhaust her, but it creates this ideallic home setting that challenges me to strive for beauty in my own home.

    It was nearing midnight when Lauren, Lanier, and I put down our handwork, stopped talking about all the books we’d recently read, and forced ourselves to bed. As I walked back into my beautiful bedroom, I discovered that Philip had prepared a fire in my fireplace. I was so excited about this luxury that I could hardly go to sleep for grinning. I brought Mary Aplin into the bed with me for her midnight snack, and I was thankful for the excuse to lie there and watch the warm, orange glow dancing across the walls. The sheets had hidden scents of lavender and chamomille, the bed sunk deeply and hemmed me in, while the extra quilts I pilled on top of the duvet completed my cocoon. I finally drifted to sleep, and dreamed about the book club meeting I’d been anticipating, and those fresh eggs with homemade toast that I knew would be waiting on me the next morning.