That's Where All the Love Starts--and Uncle Seldon

My Uncle Seldon died suddenly on Sunday, and I’m having a

really hard time processing it. I realized why this morning.

I have never thought about the world without him in it. I have never thought about him dying, not being there for family celebrations, and particularly not being there for Cousins’ Weekend.

And that’s weird because his health wasn’t always good.

And not to be morbid—sorry Mother and Daddy—but I have thought about them dying and what life will be like without them. I have thought about how I will process my grief (which we all know is ridiculous because you don’t know what you’re going to do until it happens), but I have thought about it.

John Prine, another soul gone to soon, wrote a song entitled “When I Get to Heaven.” Last summer my son told me the line “I wanna see all my mama's sisters, 'cause that's where all the love starts. I miss 'em all like crazy, bless their little hearts” helped get him through some of his most difficult days. And I know he was talking not only about my sister Meredith and me, but also our cousin Beth.

Thinking about that this morning has been hard. I know about sister relationships starting with my Gangan and her sister Auntie (who Sarah Katherine is named for). They reared their children in close contact. Then my Aunt Donna and my mother made sure we all were reared as cousins but as more like siblings even though we lived in different states. Now Meredith, Beth and I have continued that tradition, and it looks like the next generation will too.

Now this is not to say our husbands aren’t a big part, and they don’t just do what we say. (Man, I wish that were true). But it is true we “Newell women” can all be a little bit bossy and controlling, and we definitely cling to tradition, the husbands go along until it gets “too much” and then they take a nap or find some manly thing to do—like drive to the dump. (I say all this with TOTAL LOVE and they knew what they were getting into before they married us. We’re pretty transparent.)

I don’t remember a world without Uncle Seldon, and I don’t want to. I can hear our children whispering upstairs, “Let’s get Poppa to take us out in the boat.” “Okay, who’s going to give him a rub (massage), so he’ll do it?” Words we said as children for similar reasons. And for the record, it always worked. Uncle Seldon did like his massages, but I think he also loved being with us and with our children, and I think he would have done just about anything we asked even without our bribes—he just didn’t want us to know he was a softie.

These last few days, memories are flooding my mind—some I haven’t thought of in a long time. Uncle Seldon was always up for a joke—loved to make us laugh. He loved to “get something started” with the younger generation. I’m going to miss hearing Aunt Donna say, “Seldon, stop. Do not let them do that.” I’m going to miss seeing that twinkle in his eye and the wink he would give us.

But there are even more memories that go way back.

Uncle Seldon loved a deal. One summer years ago when we were all at the beach he went out to get some groceries. He came home with a dozen fly swatters. “They were only .25 cents each.” He exclaimed, “One for everyone.” I love to tell that story, and I have never bought or used a fly swatter since when I haven’t thought of Uncle Seldon.

The first Episcopal church I ever attended was with my Aunt and Uncle. I was 8. Uncle

Seldon was an usher, and Aunt Donna taught me when to kneel and when to stand. “Just watch the priest and do what he does,” she whispered. Who knew one day I’d be a priest? Uncle Seldon was there the day I was priested. I will always treasure that.

During Cousins’ Weekend, Uncle Seldon and I were always the first up—or at least the first ones on the porch. He’d give me grief about the “too strong coffee” I’d made, ask me how far I was going to run, and share his paper. We also had some in-depth conversations. We didn’t agree on everything politically or about the Episcopal Church, but he cared what I thought, and he listened intently. I got to see a side of him all those mornings and to have conversations I’ll never forget. I’m going to miss that. He made me think; he made me practice expressing myself; he was proud of me.

In the summers I worshipped with Aunt Donna and Uncle Seldon at historic Christ Church in Kilmarnock, Va. Before we’d leave he would usually make some sort of comment like, “Can’t we just do this here? What good is having a niece for a priest if I still have to get dressed for church?” And then I’d get the wink. We would go to the early service before most people in the house were awake. It was always the Rite I service, and I loved it. As we sat in those pews that had been there for hundreds of years, I got to witness a man whose faith ran deep. I got to pray the ancient prayers with him—prayers he knew by heart—a liturgy that was a part of his mind, body, and soul. I’m going to miss that.

On Sunday when my cousin called me while she and my Aunt sat with Uncle Seldon just moments after he stopped breathing, I prayed the litany of death for him over facetime. It was an amazing honor, and I will never forget it. He looked at peace, but I did have to stifle a little giggle as I imagined him saying. “Make sure you get this right, Katherine. Definitely want to get into heaven.” And then he would have concluded with an “Amen.”

Uncle Seldon could be serious, but even when he was, he always had a lightheartedness that broke through. I often say the blessing, “Life is short and we have too little time to gladden the hearts of those who travel with us. So be swift to love and make haste to be kind.” That takes on a whole new meaning today. Life is definitely too short, but Uncle Seldon did gladden my heart.  I will never again say it without thinking of Uncle Seldon.

I had hoped writing this would help me process. It has a little, but it hasn’t stopped the grief. I leave now to celebrate the noon Eucharist wearing the cross he and Aunt Donna gave me for my ordination. I wish I had a picture of us together in the recent past.

Rest in peace Uncle Seldon and rise in glory. May your soul and the souls of all the departed through the mercy of God rest in peace.

P. S. And I'm just going to say it--this SUCKS (and y'all know I hate that word). I want/need to be with my family. I know I'm not alone. Prayers for everyone who is going through this. You are not alone.

I Lost My Sh*t and Found Grace

So Tuesday night I sort of, might have, maybe had a flinging fit. 

Okay, that's not true. Tuesday night I totally lost my shit.

The back story....

It had been 10 days since my outpatient surgery from which I didn't recover as quickly as I thought I would or as quickly as I wanted. I had not cooked a meal; I had not vacuumed or dusted, and I had not exercised. In my world that is the trifecta of you are a failure as a wife and mother--or basically a human being in general.

Monday evening Chris said, "I'm so tired of planning menus." I heard, "Why aren't you doing what you should do?" So, I stayed up until 2 am planning meals for the next week and ordering groceries. Tuesday morning I started dusting and vacuuming. I had to empty the vacuum several times there was so much dog hair. I heard the voice from the past, "You're just not the homemaker I am/was. I would never have allowed my house to get this dirty, but I guess we're just different. It mattered to me." After cleaning I decided to go for a run/walk where I heard, "Those clothes you bought recently aren't going to fit and once again you are not responsible with your money you'll never keep your weight off. You're just big-boned." And the absolute worst, "You are not enough."

Fast forward 10 hours....

I was cooking dinner and simmering--me and the dinner. With little warning, my simmer turned into a boil--me not the dinner. I started spewing at anyone who walked into the room. "Why don't y'all clean up your rooms?" "You haven't unloaded your cars. Do that now." "I'm sick of you just sitting around." To which one child who had not taken cover when the onslaught started was looking at his phone. Me, "What are you doing?" Child, "I am looking for pizza delivery jobs." Me, "You can't get a job now; you're about to go to the beach house." Said child looked at me and said very calmly, "Mama, I don't know what you want. Just be clear about whatever it is and I'll do it."

Grace

I stopped, walked outside, and breathed deeply a prayer of gratitude for a family that extends grace.

Because here's the truth--it wasn't about the dinners, or the dirty floors, or the exercise, or the clean rooms (although it would be nice for a little help). It was about the loss of control. Loss of control because of the pandemic and loss of control because of the surgery. And the absolute worse, loss of control of my coping mechanisms that keep my deepest insecurities at bay.

And I was met with grace.

Five days later here is my take away. We have no idea what other people are going through. We have no idea what scabs are being ripped off because of this pandemic or life in general. We can extend one another grace.

Mostly I'm trying to extend myself grace. Grace to accept just because I've buried those demons doesn't mean they don't exist and that doesn't make me a failure. But they don't have to continue to exist. Now that they are unearthed, I can choose. I can choose to put on my big girl panties (regardless of their size) and face the hard work it will take to defeat them, or I can have gourmet meals every night, a spotless house, and a warped body image.

My choice....what choices do you need to make?

Hope, Fear, Addiction, Recovery, and Truth

Saturday night, the night that should have been the conclusion of a funfilled day of Derby festivities, our entire family sat outside around our patio table. We were laughing and telling stories, poking fun at one another, and just enjoying being together which would not have been the case if this pandemic had not erupted. I am grateful for this time to be family. But, suddenly, I felt myself beginning to lose my breath; I felt my body tensing up and I knew I had to go. I couldn't explain to anyone what was happening because my mind wasn't entirely sure, but my body knew.

Chris followed me and kept asking what was wrong, what had happened. What my body knew was happening was only beginning to be understood by my mind--it took another 24 hours for it to become clear--well as clear as it could.

The day before I saw a picture that was in my Facebook memories. I couldn't stop seeing the picture.

2015

The picture I once thought I loved was now haunting me. It was from an Oaks Party in 2015. It was a picture of my son and me. My body shuddered as I looked at it and my mind said judgemental things to me over and over. It tortured me with thoughts of, "How could you not have seen? You failed. You looked away. Everything that happened is your fault."

Here's the truth. I didn't look away, or I didn't always look away. Sometimes I saw and sometimes I didn't. Sometimes I failed and sometimes I didn't. And sometimes I believe all that and sometimes I don't.

May is the month that for the last five years has been the beginning of a spiral over which I had little to no control. I hate that. I mean I really hate that. I don't trust May because my truth is that no matter how glorious it has started, every year since 2015 by the time we were well into June and July, May was only a memory of the beginning of heartache and pain again and again and again. I didn't know on the day of that picture in 2015, but I was about to begin a journey into a world I didn't know existed.

And here is where that world took me.

I lost friends and I gained friends. I was shocked and hurt by people who disappeared, and I was surprised by some who didn't. I spent some days laughing and many days crying. I buried my feelings and I let my feelings rule my world. I saw some of the darkest parts of humanity and I saw bright lights of goodness. I blamed myself and I blamed others.  I hid my truth from people and I overshared. I was lied to repeatedly and I lied. I doubted and I trusted. I was there for people and I let people down. I relied on God turning to scripture and prayer over and over, and my bible sat covered in books and papers and dust and my heart turned to stone for days on end. I made mistakes and I did some things right. I felt like a coward, and I did some of the most brave and courageous things I have ever done. I put up walls and I opened doors. I went some days without fear and I spent many terrified. I was lifted up and I was ground down. I succeeded at some things and I failed at others. I pushed people away and I wore people out. I held grudges and I forgave. I loved and I hated. I dreamed dreams and I lived nightmares.  I felt weak and I felt strong. I felt like I was dying but I survived.

2020

It is May. I thought I was in one place, my body says I'm in another. I thought I could talk myself out of or write myself out of my fear, my body said no can do. But here's what I do know. I can live in the paradox of hope and fear. Some days hope will be the conquerer and some days fear will give her a run for her money. I don't have to like May. I may never like May again. May may always bring forth beautiful flowers that I cannot fully appreciate because I remember the weeds of life and pain and addiction and recovery. But that's okay.

I may still be triggered for days, months, or even years by memories, pictures, places, or sounds, but I can tell my truth. Triggers hit me at the strangest times and often out of the blue. But I do believe one day my words and the Word, my truth and the Truth together will set me free.


Disclaimer: This is my story; this is my truth. My son's story of addiction and recovery is his to tell, but I share mine and the part he played in my story with his permission. 

The Electronics and The Outside Toys

Computer and video game heard the squeals of laughter through the open window. They peered

through the blinds and saw the children running and playing and being happy.

"Look," said Computer, "Even the big boy is playing on that standing thing and his feet are almost touching the grass as he hangs on that bar. It doesn't even make any noise. It doesn't do anything except stand there while they climb all over it and slide down. But they are smiling and happy. I miss them smiling and being happy around me."

"I can't look at that." whined video game, "I'm looking at the driveway where the girl is racing around on that metal thing. I don't understand why she is smiling so much; that metal thing is covered in rust! It's not shiny. It doesn't have lights and sounds."

Computer sadly nodded, "I know and I don't get it. They're sweating and smiling. How does that happen? Don't look over there, but the parents are CLAPPING and cheering them on. They are smiling. They never did that when the children played on me no matter how many hours went by."

They continued watching alternating between feeling sad and feeling angry. Why was it that suddenly they were unimportant and forgotten? Why were they no longer the most important things in the children's lives? It just wasn't fair.

They sat and stared as the sun started to slowly descend behind the backyard fence. "It's time to go in," they heard the mother say. "NOOOOOO!" shrieked the little girl, "I don't want to go in. I'm not finished playing." The little boy climbed to the top of the standing thing. "Y'all can play tomorrow. Come on in now; it's getting dark out here." "You never let us play as long as we want," whined the little girl as she sleepily followed her mother inside.

"I remember when they used to cry when the mother made them stop playing on me. But this

morning when she told the boy to power me up, he slammed my screen down." computer sadly said.

Video responded, "You know what big boy did to one of my controllers? He hid it and not under his pillow like he used to so he could play when the parents weren't looking. He hid it at the back of something they call the coat closet. The parents won't find it for months and months."

Suddenly Switch yelled from another room, "You know what the girl did with me? She put me on her MOTHER'S bed with a note that says you can play animal crossing on this now with your friends. I'm sick of it."

Woah! That was bad. They all sat and thought about how this all started with the sickness everyone keeps talking about. Almost overnight everything changed. They went from being the most important to barely being noticed. The children didn't want to use them even when the parents encouraged it.

Computer and Video glared out the window. The standing thing and the metal thing looked up and waved. "Hi," the standing thing said, "I'm Playground and this is Bicycle. Scooter is over there. We are outside toys." They all smiled and waved. Computer and Video looked at each other very confused. "Why are you talking to us?" Video asked. "We are the inside electronics. We aren't supposed to like each other." Playground just smiled waved one of her swings. Bicycle answered, "We're sorry you're sad. We know how awful it feels to be forgotten. We know how much it hurts to have the children just walk by you day in and day out. We remember hearing the children telling the parents they didn't want to play with us, and it made us sad. We don't want you to be sad."

Computer and Video looked at each other with their buttons lighting up in surprise. "Did they just say what I think they said?" whispered Switch from the other room. "Yes," she heard back. "Do you think they really mean it?" she continued.

"We do," Scooter piped up, "We want the children to love us all. We want the children to think we're all important. We don't want anyone to feel forgotten, useless, and alone. We think everyone should be important no matter who seems fancier."

"I wonder if that can really happen?" Computer said, "I wonder if when this sickness is over it will be different. I wonder if they'll see we are all important and we all deserve to be useful and loved. I wonder..."

They stopped talking as they heard the littles putting on their pajamas and the big boy digging deep in the coat closet. "Let's play one computer game and do one assignment before we go to bed," said the little girl. "And I'll play video games until it's time for lights out," added the big boy, "but then I'm really going to go to sleep so I'll have energy to play outside tomorrow."

"Sounds like a good plan," the mother mumbled without looking up from Animal Crossing.

"I hope so." whispered Playground as she shut her eyes to get ready for another day.