Three Weeks

Three weeks ago today I'd awakened to the happy thought of going to the Braves game with Daniel, when we'd suddenly had to call 911 for Grandpa.

Yesterday was Grandpa's Memorial Service, and today the rest of our family members will head to the airport, or drive back home.

In between has been a whirlwind of the hospital, Hospice, tending to Grandpa, being with him as he passed, and then the preparations for his service.

I've spent the vast majority of the ensuing time over on their side of the house, and we've all been the beneficiary of some staggering generosity and kindness, culminating last night in my friends, Chris and Barbie, bringing over a delicious supper, as we shook off the stress of the past three weeks.

I stayed up late with my family, crawling out of bed this morning, a little blue over everyone leaving, but facing my children, who've held up remarkably well, knowing that today is the major festival at church that they've looked forward to for the entire year.

What started off as an alternative to Halloween has evolved, has been what we do for some 30 years now, I've never not gone except that year after surgery, when Grandma followed up my own hospital stay with a heart attack, four years ago. Grandpa'd never missed it since Jack's been born.

Pastor Chris is following the shindig with Movie Night for the teenagers, which is good since my kids are reeling from everything.

They all behaved beautifully at the Memorial Service, perfectly so, I was amazed and able to sit in the front, with my back to the rows of my own immediate family members.

Back home we had a few shutdowns, some oppositional refusal moments, but overall, stunned into silence, and at the UMC building, rather than our own familiar church, maybe it was the intimidation that did 'em in, who knows, whatever it was, it worked.

"It felt awkward not to stand and clap," CW told me in response to my childhood friend, Alison, who sang so beautifully that I nearly swooned, reminding me why I so enjoyed the enthusiasm of our church, versus the contrasting staid, traditional atmosphere I'd grown up in long ago.

Their pastor is a super nice guy, their church members warm and loving, welcoming my oddball family with open arms, showing me why my mother prefers the Methodist church, rather than our own charismatic services over at the Church of God. I get it, I really do, and I fell in love with her church family immediately.

My parent's church then hosted a wonderfully Southern delicious dinner afterwards, a church potluck of which is only found in the deep South, with a dazzling array of dishes that are indescribably delectable.

Sarah's taken Grandpa's death very hard, having had him as a major role model for almost 37 years of her life, today her dad will leave, compounding her blues, but she'll grieve appropriately while my other children will be less capable of doing so.

My other older grown children have been supportive and great, Yolie and Chuck have carried huge loads here, the void Grandpa left will be huge, but again, the hope of reunions in Heaven carries us all. My faith remains solid.

Glad Jesse's Home

A better day yesterday. Jesse, 28, running errands for me, and accompanying me to the last soccer game of the season, time to wash and put away all their stinky socks and apparel, and get to stay home on school nights.

For us, it wasn't the best season, emotional stuff interfered, the blows kept coming, my kids didn't react very well, hopefully lessons were learned and remedies will be applied for next season.

Their U17 coach was there last night wistfully watching the final tournament game, talking college football with Jesse, who'd told us all that no one in New York is very interested in it, other than his Tennessee pastor, the two displaced Southerners happy as clams to have found each other up north.

"I'm thinking 'bout coaching your boys again," Coach let me know.

"Nobody else wants to," Jesse cracked, later giving all my boys the stink eye for their failure to be of much help around here.

Red Ribbon Week, the elementary kids needed orange shirts. Orange? Honestly I had trouble determining the difference between yellow, rust, orange and light red. "I sure don't wanna wear blue (jeans) and orange," my SEC son mentioned, putting on his UGA sweatshirt to counter. This is the big Gator Hater weekend, the Memorial Service planned around kickoff.

Our smoke alarm blared last night, the one connected to our security system, sending me running downstairs to check, my bare feet slapping the hardwood, waking the two scaredy cats, JoJo and Allen, who cowered behind me. I couldn't smell anything burning so I shut it off, praying they wouldn't send fire trucks in response, fell back asleep, only to have that recurring dream in which I dumbly sold this house and land and moved away.

I always wake up frightened and disoriented after that dream, nearly sweating. Go figure.

I love this property. It holds so much promise for me, so many future plans for when my kids are grown

Tomorrow is Dad's Memorial Service, friends and family coming in, most of Dad's peers are long gone, an 80 year old man has outlived so many people, I'm certain he's still glad-handing all his former congregations up in Heaven, glad for his new lungs, and his new existence.

When losing a loved one, one naturally clings to hope in reunions in Heaven, glad my Bible backs up the claim. I really am doing fine, I'm very strong, I've grieved for three weeks, watching him slip away, trying to breathe, and unable to do anything. I'm emotionally handling this, it's some of my children I need to be very attuned to this weekend.

Abounding in Frustration

It's the thousand or so sabotaging behaviors that are taking me down and out piece by piece. Children who are unable to properly grieve, or who are unreasonably frightened that Mama too might leave, as that's been their experiences before adoption, well these same children attack and advance, taking out windows and walls as they go, leaving a trail of destruction that is shocking to an adoption newbie.

They try and ignite each other, provoking anger in everyone, melting down, demonstrating behaviors that must be immediately addressed, although I do pick my battles, there are also uncrossable lines and very unacceptable behaviors.

God forbid I should shed a tear.

The ensuing stress is everywhere, all over the place.

Fortunately I had big ole Jesse with me yesterday, as again Allen was difficult, yet he did not amp himself up with Jesse, who's 6'4" and full of his military bearing.

Lena, Jesse and Isaiah had driven from upstate New York, the first of quite a few that are on their way, we're using Sarah and Yolie's homes as back-up guest rooms.

I really didn't cry all day long, too busy to dwell on losing Dad, but I got a call from yet another very, very longtime friend. Dad had once founded a church in Norfolk, Virginia and has stayed in touch with everyone ever since. We're talking 1955, dragging my one year old cloth diapered butt out of Georgia and up north to Virginia, where I'd stayed for the next 22 years before high-tailing it back down here in 1977, here where I belong.

Joanie had called to tell me they were putting a red rose on the altar at that church for Dad this Sunday and I bawled. I've also talked to Joanie's mom this week, a woman who'd joined my mother for years and years taking the combined seven of us to the beach every day when we were all toddlers.

Or get this...a reader who'd gone to high school with Grandpa back in Greenville, SC, emailed me yesterday. Miss Betty Jo, sending condolences, making both Grandma and I smile as I read it aloud. How cool is this?

We still have another playoff game tonight in soccer, Sabrina has a JV game that just arose, and the high school goes into playoffs also, while there's a competition cheerleading event Saturday morning in another county just hours before Dad's Memorial Service, and yet again, another of Sarah's high school classmates, now a superb teacher, Miss Jolaine, is stepping up to the plate as an honorary Bodie, getting Sabrina back home in time, not even waiting on the awards ceremony.

And Miss Debbie, sweetly listening to one of mine who had a nasty case of PMS last night. I later sat up with her, the teen, not Miss Debbie, eating Dole's Real Fruit Popsicles on my bed last night, talking it all out.

The offers to help are pouring in, but as I told Lisa last night at church, while she fed my children, these same children work very hard to sabotage all help offers, often embarrassing me in the process, making me not even want to accept it, knowing I'm the one who'll eventually pay the price, because in my traumatized children's eyes, it appears Mama doesn't wanna do the work for them at the moment, so they escalate negative behaviors to bring the attention back upon them.

I get it, I really do. Deep sigh.

Fortunately I'm both eating and sleeping right well, good enough to maintain the strength I need, knowing also this is Halloween weekend, and I still want to make sure my younger kids get to their annual Firehouse Festival and the Sunday afternoon church festival. These events are very important to my children. I have to keep some semblance of normal for them.

I really am abounding in frustration right now, could use some prayers to erase the stress load, putting one foot in front of the other, plowing through my chores, and trying to keep afloat.

I can do this, I really can, yet, on every level, I'm missing my dad that I was so blessed to have in my life for so very long.

Storm Warnings

Grief and loss in traumatized children is manifested in rude and irritable behaviors, in rages and outbursts, and in provoking others to blow, as it is then therefore acceptable, in their minds, to lash out.

There's absolutely no comprehension that Mama might need to grieve. Rather there's a huge inner fear, that is expressed aggressively, that Mama might leave also. Grandpa did. It's possible. A huge fear that they oppositionally try to provoke into happening, what they secretly expected would happen all along.

When one has lost an important figure, one assumes Mama's next, as in their earlier lives, folks rolled away with impunity, vanishing forever, much as Grandpa has just done.

Grandpa abandoned them. Period. They trusted him and look what happened. See? I knew it.

The grandbabies keep asking when he's coming back from Heaven, my teenager's capacity for comprehension is about at this toddler level.

I've slammed shut my own mind, a cross between denial and I don't have time to grieve. If I dared shed a tear while cooking or doing laundry, they'd just amp up their negative behaviors in order to get a reaction from me that is focused on them. Positive or negative, doesn't matter to them.

I've cried enough, I'm OK with moving on and tending to everything here. It's what I do.

Lily, however, due to being bonded and raised here from birth, was standing in my room talking to me last night, holding her beloved Yorkie Tia, Princess and Pudding, the other two curious Yorkies, sniffing around suspiciously, as if they're miniature bomb detection dogs, on the job, oblivious to anything else. Lily's normally talking through her feelings. What a blessing, what a sweetie she truly has been to me.

Oh sweet dogs, the emotional time bombs erupt faster than one can sniff 'em out.

It's hard to see it coming sometimes.

Allen, a miniature Edgar, is making me plumb crazy with the most ridiculous demands that no one could ever meet, angry then as a result of my noncompliance, and feeling very justified in being so.

I'm the angry one, angry that he purposefully just missed the bus again. No, making him walk would only result in him storming off to his room to jump back into bed. The theory of natural consequences doesn't really fly here, as there are few natural behaviors in traumatized children, who also simply do not have the ability to make the connections, matter of fact, he just told me, "I'm not gonna go anyway."

Is he grieving? Or is this just his cycling of angry behaviors? Every few months we have periods of extreme anger and hard-heartedness from him.

If I refuse his irrational demands, he escalates. Appeasement is what he's seeking. Good luck with that in the real world.

He's going to have a tough time at 18.

That some of my older children are acting rude, disrespectful and inappropriate makes me rue the fact that we'd put Dad's obituary in the paper, indicating times for the memorial service. Do you all think I really need your self-imposed drama at a time like this? I need to keep my blood pressure steady. Go dump somewhere else please.

I just pray that those who show up that day, do not ready themselves via self-medication.

The school guidance counselors are aware of all this, they also know that, unlike more normal children, my children won't cry at school, rather they'll explode.

My friend, Janet, came by yesterday, having known me since Sarah was 3 years old, she's also been to my parent's former house in Virginia with me, she's also lost her father in recent years, knowing what I was experiencing.

"Had you read my blog?" I asked her, knowing I'd forgotten even to notify out-of-state cousins, both Grandma and I wrongly assuming the other had done so.

Turns out Janet never reads my blog. After 30 years working for DFACS, she isn't about to read another word about troubled children. She'd remained childless just for that one reason as well.

So we sat on Grandma's porch being silly, which was what I needed.

Again Pastor Chris and some folks from church showed up to support my boys in their soccer games last night, making me very aware of how blessed we truly are in real life.

Tonight, via Lisa and Tracy, Pastor Chris and Pastor Brandon are meeting at the church to eat pizza with my teenagers, a safe arena in which they may, or may not, detonate. Likely they'll save that for me, preferring to enjoy the company at church.

Another Generation Who'll Not Have Many Memories of This

Coming back matter of factly to blog this morning, after yesterday's loss of my dad, seems weird at best.

The world goes on in spite of birth, death and other life-altering events. No more so than around here with the massive needs of my kids and the routine demands on my life...so you gotta know I'll be expunging random thoughts here all week. I feel long discourses coming, as I emotionally grapple with Grandpa's death.

The critical care night Hospice nurse had returned, after only one night of being away, calling me at 1:30 yesterday morning, by 1:45 Grandpa drew his very last labored breath, dying so utterly peacefully, surrounded by Grandma, Sarah, Yolie, Jimbo and I.

Tears flowed, but allowing someone to leave, knowing they're entering Heaven right in front of one's eyes, literally feeling the soul leave the body, is both enlightening and comforting.

His final act of generosity was to leave his body to medical science, something he and my mother had long planned to do, maybe someone examining Grandpa's ravaged lungs will come up with a cure, a preventive measure, or even a comprehension of its cause.

The final clank of the gurney wheels around 3:30 a.m, the two men in black suits, nice young men appearing in Grandma's living room, shaking our hands, it all seemed so discongruous.

Grandpa was 80, this was not an unexpected tragedy, but rather a natural progression of life. Not many 56 year old women have both of their parents still living. I've been extraordinarily blessed, but as I write that compliment, my heart lurches a bit, because only when he'd slipped into a non responsive state, did he cease reading my blog each morning.

I'm sure gonna miss him.

I slung myself into all the work I'd neglected while I was sitting by his side, no more tears, busy with the distractions of my children. Sadly Grandpa passed away on Allen's 15th birthday, but I'd tried to distract Allen from the thought, since it had seemingly happened overnight, Grandpa was simply gone by the time Allen rose to start his birthday day.

Nevertheless, and I don't feel like delving into the frustration, Allen's demands and oxygen sucking behaviors sent his darling girlfriend and I into a tailspin of anxiety. He's refusing school this morning, stressing me out with his dark and unreachable hard-eyed stare, his total inability to get a grip. My first response is anger and frustration, but I know he's not wired properly enough to process all these emotions.

Yolie eventually pointed out that no matter what I did, didn't, or continue to do for him, Allen or others still often flatly just choose to be unhappy, their relentless and often irrational demands can never be satisfied, and that's not the real issue anyway. Their inner grief and loss issues are compounded at a time like this, they're extremely adrift emotionally.

I fought tears at Nando's final soccer game of the season last night, Grandpa loved to come and cheer for Nando in particular. Pastor Chris literally materialized by my side and thankfully stayed with us long into and through the next game, the final finish in overtime, where my teenage sons had 8 on the field compared to the other teams 9, surprisingly brought back my burning tears, when they lost in overtime in this tournament, in spite of everything.

The losses this fall have been extraordinary.

I'd hardly slept two hours the night before, by ten last night my leaden legs, over-taxed emotions, and heavy heart dragged me so emotionally battered and shattered upstairs, a long, long day done and gone.

I've shuttered my brain lately, focusing singularly on Grandpa, the impending knowledge of my friend, Linda's beginnings of congestive heart failure, is more than I could absorb or bear. Sweet, sweet Linda and her grown children, Chip and Michele, had sent piles of pizzas here, cracking my non crybaby resolve. Both kids had been in youth group long ago with Sarah, I can't begin to say what a church family can mean to people, the years, the depth of the friendship, the deep beliefs, and astounding love and compassion that is poured out is nearly overwhelming. Her friends, also from that long ago youth group, Jessie and Beth, are coming today to help with Hazel and Ray.

Y'all's emails and comments came through over my phone, sustaining me during a long process in which there was no hope, other than in Heaven. You all have blessed me so much. I think of your own trials and tribulations that you've shared with me over the years, hearing from Cindy Adams' sister, Julie, early this morning when I'd looked at my Blackberry, again made my eyes sting with tears, knowing the horribly tragic loss their family has endured.

I'm Ok, way OK, I won't fall apart, nor will my grieving mother. I will still cry at times, but I won't not function. My baby brother is here with my mom, folks are coming for Saturday's Memorial service over at my parent's UMC church.

Dad had asked me to speak, I'd passed the buck on to Sarah, if she's up to it, I'm so not a speaker, a klutz who'd rather slink into the back and slither out when it's over. It might end up being Preston who steps up to the plate.

"Really Dad?" I'd asked, "You want me to tell jokes, or what? I'm a goofball, not an appropriate public speaker.

It's weird here without Grandpa, he was a presence, a pillar, and a blowhard bastion of knowledge, uh kinda like me and my own big mouth, that I will miss every day.

And dadgum, I now am positive I'll blubber through the service as my childhood friend, 55 years of knowing her, flying in from Chicago, Alison, is coming to sing All is Well With My Soul, a song that moves me immensely whenever I hear it, and Will the Circle Be Unbroken.

My only cousin on my dad's side, Debbie, also will be there with us, my brothers and my nieces.

Yep, I'm gonna cry in public, likely unrolling long strands of toilet tissue, as I never carry Kleenex.

Waterproof mascara, my foot.

But first, pig that I am, I'm gonna breakfast on pecan pie, my BFF, Emily made it with cane syrup rather than corn syrup, lessening the usual insipid sweetness. Sarah swooned when she'd taken her frst bite, a massive seal of approval from a delicate palate. I wish Emily had witnessed Sarah's blissful appearance that evening.

I took Allen in, late to school, seeing my beautiful front office buddies, Debbie, Barbie and Faye, all such gorgeous women, me in pjs. no makeup, and non brushed hair, but hey, I have 39 children.

This is just about the best I can muster up at the moment.

Good-Bye Dad, I Love You

Raymond Bodie
1930-2010

Here On Out

We have a newer kind of normal for the foreseeable future. Grandpa is lingering, non responsive, but not uncomfortable, as far as we know. There's no movement, just a long, slow, sad decline with an inevitable outcome.

My brother Jim was visibly shocked when he arrived, we've never seen Grandpa unable to converse, discourse or otherwise assert his opinion.

Five out of the original 7 in their sibling group were here yesterday, making me miss my very attached Viper Girl who's living over in Alabama. The baby, JoJo, clearly the tallest, pulled out all stops yesterday, hoping to make me laugh. He was very successful.

Fabian, 18, and Miriam, 21, had not seen Grandpa for awhile, both of them dissolving in tears at the sight. Grandpa is 6'2", an imposing, regal man, and seeing like this is heartbreaking.

Grandpa would've been the one helping Allen dress for Homecoming, tying the tie, making sure he wore a belt...which he did, wearing Grandpa's belt, white shirt and dancing shoes. Grandpa and Grandma took dancing lessons for years and years.

Allen is pictured here, and his beautiful, very intelligent, girlfriend, Camille, whose wonderful parents took all the driving duties last night, allowing me to be home with Grandpa. Allen's tattletale sisters telling me of Allen's anxiety at the dance later.

Sabrina's friendboy, Luis, has a driver's license but she's only 15 years old and I'd balked so his father drove them. It's just a mile from my house, but that's not my point. I really like his family and their overprotectiveness of Luis as well.

Miriam had come to help with hair and make-up, no one would ever wanna leave that onerous chore to me, good day or not, it's not my forte. Having cried through any non-make up all week, I sure didn't feel like putting any on to go to church today, and we stayed home, because being so close to the end scare me. Checking through the nurse's hospice notes, there've been three times when they felt death was imminent.

Mom woke me up at 3:30 thi morning, alarmed at Grandpa's very shallow, irregular breaths, but we've been told his vital signs will go up and down, the apnea will be severe, and he could, or might not, linger.

We do not have a critical care nurse anymore as Grandpa is not agitated, nor requring much care. We only have an on-call nurse for today, and for here on out.

My kids have been pretty darn good overall, allowing me beaucoups de tiempo, mixing my French and Spanish, lessons in a hillbilly mishmash. Tony however had run down the battery of the van at the soccer fields yesterday, time I'd spent lolling in the sun, shocked at how long I'd sat in Grandpa's room, pacing the sidelines of the U17 game.

Sweet Davidson, friend of the Bubbas, clearly already anointed by God, a teenager with an uncanny, amazing ability to use absolutely correct and very soothing words, had sent a message that particularly spoke to mom and I. His dad, Tandy, coming to my rescue to crank the van along with Sabrina's previous boyfriend, whose dad had a battery booster just when I needed it.

CW, Chuy and Martin went over to Chuck and Yolie's house to watch movies, spending the night, which was good, as staying here with me on the verge of tears is nerve wracking at best. However, I'm strong, I'm not emotionally distraught at all, just living with an undercurrent of sadness at knowing I'll soon lose what I have left of my dad.

And then there's JoJo...'nuff said. He was trying to convince Dillan he'd be a better date than Mayra.

Impulsive Agression, Grief, Corn Bread, and Grandpa

The Rangers beat the Yankees in the ALCS?

I'm so out of it, having hardly left my Dad's bedroom in nearly two weeks, chores going by the wayside, my wide-eyed frightened children watching my every move, both afraid and suspicious, nervous and apprehensive, yet playing and going to school, struggling, and sometimes being incredibly appropriate, sometimes not so much.

Hospice Nurses are wonderful, advising me to keep the kids lives as normal as is possible while I'm not wanting to miss any time away from my dad, the man I've truly spent the majority of my lifetime squabbling with over everything. We have basically the same religious and political bent, it's all the minutia we find necessary to differ upon, my mom's really spent decades arguing with him, sad now that he can no longer communicate because we're all very certain he'd have an opinion.

We've been told to say our tearful goodbyes on several occasions, then he rallies somehow. Literally down to his last breath, he'll stop breathing, all of us holding our own breaths in response, and then he'll somehow strengthen, the nurses explaining to us how up and down the active dying process can be.

This is very new territory for me, very personally uncomfortable as I wanna fight the issue, not embrace it, but the necessity of letting go, of allowing Dad to die is something we must do.

Last night's nurse explained to me the 6 degrees of separation, she's married to a cousin of a birth father of three of my children, pegging one correctly the moment she met him, so similar is he to that side of the family.

These nurses are truly wonderful and I'd be so afraid here without them. Yolie and Sarah both went home last night to sleep, both of them ragged, spent, and tired, my baby brother, Jimbo, comes today, maybe Dad's been holding out in order to see Jimbo one more time?

Allen'd just asked me to make cornbread recently, knowing that for me, it's a wintertime food, it just seems too heavy to digest in the summer, and I'd promised him I'd make some soon.

Coincidentally, and without prior knowledge of this conversation, my dear friend, Chris, brought corn muffins over yesterday along with my favorite pinto beans, leaving Allen both surprised and happy, as JoJo'd immediately snagged Allen's share and zipped back over to our side of the house. I'd hardly said, "Thank you," to my friend, before grandchildren and children's hands were snaking into the affectionately labeled cone bread. Say it that way.

Daniel arrived in time for the tears, yet was, as always, extremely comforting to us. He's named after Grandpa, Raymond is his middle name, Daniel Raymond has soooo lived up to it.

Grieving is both physically and emotionally exhausting, we were told by Hospice, to which I'd say, "Well, Duh." These amazing women have offered insight, comfort, hugs, and a knowledge of an area in which I generally prefer denial.

I'm slap worn out, hardly changing clothes, crying off any makeup I'd be dumb enough to try and apply. CJ'd run into Grandpa's bedroom yesterday after school saying, "Oh! Grandpa's still here, he didn't go to Heaven yet!" while my Jack flips between tears and memories. Ray seems to be stunned into silence, clearly affected, yet a normal child grieving versus my traumatized children.

Sarah was Grandpa's only grandchild for the first 14 years of her life, now absolutely bereft, yet tending to his real estate, his email and faxes, soldiering on while trying to maintain her own family's schedule.

And life goes on y'all, somehow.

My tiny little beautiful Gina has been amazing, stepping up and tending to my errands, groceries, and getting children to and fro all week. "Did she quit her job?" Daniel'd asked in surprise, in response to Gina's schedule here. She'd taken several days off from inspecting restaurants over in Gwinnett County.

Dr. Mandy was coaching me through a particularly difficult moment yesterday evening, when I'd become so dang fed up. A mean teenage girl carrying on so rudely last night, she apologized some six hours later, but I know I'm not emotionally up to this level of unnecessary drama. Dr, Mandy labeled it impulsive aggression, likely taken aback by my immediate show of a literal physical illustration of an aerial light bulb detonating.

"You nailed it!" I practically hollered, "That's exactly what I see in that entire sibling group," here we are some ten years of witnessing this behavior.

Impulsive aggression, as opposed to planned aggression, can take many forms in children and adolescents—irritability, temper tantrums, punching a sibling, striking another youngster or teacher.

And further, hearing from clinicians, families, and researchers, that severe impulsive aggression was a problem for youngsters with a number of DSM illnesses, not just with conduct disorder. He also observed that impulsive aggression often landed young people in inpatient, juvenile-justice, or residential-treatment settings

Impulsive aggression is not just a problem for “bad kids,” but for many youth with attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder (ADHD), autism, bipolar disorder, childhood psychosis, depression, disruptive behavior disorders, posttraumatic stress disorder, and other psychiatric illnesses. In other words, impulsive aggression is not a symptom of a specific diagnosis. Like fever and pain, it is a symptom of numerous illnesses, and also like fever and pain, its intensity may serve as a bellwether for the extent of illness per se.

Jeepers, and oh my goodness, we're on to something.

Everyone, and everything, then crashed, including Grandpa last night, yet this morning his ragged, faint breaths of yesterday have improved somewhat, we're learning that this is very up and down, very unpredictable, one nurse likened it to labor- to waiting on a baby to be born, but in a sad reversal of the outcome.

Our only Saturday soccer games of the year fall on today, we're nearing tournament time, and I'm going to go with the teenagers to cheer their games. I've said good-bye several times now, Grandpa knows I love him, knows I'll miss him terribly, but he also knows what the loss of him is going to do to the 43 grandchildren and his 19 great-grandchildren, he knows that grieving takes many forms in my children, it isn't just gonna result in tears, but in rages, profound sadness, and wildly conflicting emotions that are unpredictable, and yes, even impulsively aggressive.

I'm very cried out, and I need to emotionally regroup, and be strong for Grandma and all my kids and grand babies.

It's cornbread and coffee this morning for me, having wrapped one up for safekeeping, knowing I'd enjoy it most when I had a little time alone, like this morning, to eat slowly and mindfully.

Now I gotta find soccer uniforms, cleats, shin guards, and socks, and get a grip.

Thank you all so very much for all the prayers, the comments here, texts and emails. They've so ministered to us all. Grandma'd remarked last night about how comforted she felt by the prayer covering that's nearly visible and tangible, so strong and mighty for us all, as we hold Grandpa's hands and wait with him.

And, no kidding, Allen just came and reminded me about the Homecoming Dance tonight. "Mom, I need some dress shoes."

Spending Days in Grandpa's Room

Pastor Tony remarked on my sons-in-law, Preston and Chuck, complimenting Sarah and Yolie on their husband choices, knowing how strong the men have been, as we're losing our original Number One Man, Grandpa, who's still defying all medical odds and hanging in there with us, in spite of no food nor water for days now.

I've vacilated between copious tears streaming down my face, and absolute hilarity as my family's so dang silly, even on tough days. Many of my grandbabies are running around here, and that's helped us all immensely.

Marcela and Gina've been doing all my running around for me, driving kids everywhere, they've been indispendable, allowing me to stay here constantly with Grandpa.

A delivered hospital bed has made all the difference in the world for Grandpa's comfort as has his medications that would alleviate any pain. He's non-responsive, but the many nurses here have told us that he hears everything, that the hearing is the last to go, telling us a story about a widow-to-be discussing future dating options to which the spouse rallied and responded to the verbal threat, and did not die, but recovered.

Lisa A, a fellow blogger, adoptive mother and online friend sent three mongo pans of mac and cheese, a favorite of my children, and even I ate a huge helping this morning for breakfast, as she'd used cayenne pepper perfectly along with the cheddar. Oh. My Goodness. I'll have to get, and publish, the recipe here, as the quantity was perfect for us large families.

As I spend every waking moment over here next to Grandpa, even Yolie and Sarah'd spent the night, Yolie waking me up this morning because so exhausted I'd overslept until 6:40. CW was running throughout the house looking for me, alarmed that I was missing, not thinking to go check my bed. Duh, son.

And again, my real life intruding when the Parole Office called to question me about Joey. "You're not letting him out?" I'd yelled into the phone in disbelief.

"Oh No, we're just verifying what he's told us," she reassured me, as she checked his original bullcrap answers against my, "He's lying!" responses. I'd busted out laughing at some of the stuff she'd told me.

He'd told them he was born and adopted down in Brazil, nope it was Texas, and that I was eager for him to come live with me as soon as he got out of prison, where his terroristic threats against me put him, along with probation revocation due to assault charges.

"Oh heck no," I informed them, I have a restraining order against him, a prohibited entry that a deputy had served him with over a year ago.

"He lies like a rug," I'd reiterated, but this isn't their first experience with a liar.

I hadda answer these ridiculous questions, stepping out of the room, knowing this'd just irk Grandpa, who's about out of patience with criminals, can he not even die in peace?

Hospice is incredible, we've had so much help, so many folks, so many medical professionals, we'd have been sunk without 'em all.

I've had carpenters replacing two bathroom floors and my upstairs bedroom ceiling is in bad shape, somehow I've got to rip out the sheetrock and cover the plants or move the thousand of them, or something, but again, I like, I need to stay busy. I'm not avoiding nor denying what's going on, I'm coping and that's how i cope.

Whoa Boys

Kinda of a tough night into the morning, I found one runaway literally in the ditch, in shorts and a tshirt, crying and unable to cope with the thought of Grandpa leaving us. This teenager was not angry with me, he'd gone with a friend to the Powder Puff Football Game, became overcome with his anger and grief, pushed the friend away literally, told him, "I'll walk home."

But he didn't.

"I was afraid of all the cars," he wailed at me, 15 years old and afraid of our very sparse traffic?

"Why didn't you call me?"

"Waaaaaaaaaaaa," was all I got back.

My other kids had gone to Youth Group, Tony'd come home and gotten into a serious squabble with Mayra and had run off into the night, while I stood angrily in the driveway, knowing this wasn't their issue at all. They're emotionally frustrated at death, abandonment and rejection, but are taking it out on each other. Welcome to my world.

A very late night ensued, I talked the kids down from their respective ledges, fell into a fitful sleep for just a short time around midnight, before the night Hospice nurse called my cell, and told me Grandpa's breathing had become very irregular.

We didn't think he'd pull through. It was a long sad morning.

But he did.

He's failing, he's not conscious anymore, and we'd all had a meltdown all morning, this time the kids didn't make it to school, Marcela later got two of them there, but the other kids were seriously grieving, and I was kinda afraid they'd punch out someone later in their rage over all this.

We have a hospital bed now and plenty of Hospice help, these ladies are beyond wonderful, caring and empathetic.

Pastor Tony came by and made us laugh.

I'm so bleary eyed and tired now.

Seriously? Now?

And am I ever allowed to grieve? With no payback?

I didn't cry at all today, consumed with setting Grandpa up in a hospital bed with all the necessary paraphernalia, being blessed by five different phenomenal nurses out here today, Gina running all of my errands, my friend Emily tending to Yolie when she fell apart yesterday, the Biggers touching base, calls from grown kids, help from a dear friend and a great big ole man-hug that I'll coast on, Grandpa sinking fast, Yolie and Sarah by my side all day long, a superb grief counselor, and a nurse will stay here tonight with us thankfully.

Two runaways tonight and a third teenage son with a chipped bone fragment.

Really?

Y'all wanna amp it up now?

Grandpa's Twilight

Why am I blogging at a time like this? Duh, it's a coping mechanism for me.

I have to start with my friend Alison's email, I check my emails on my phone as I sit with Grandpa, she's known him since 1955 when my family went to serve a church in Norfolk, Virginia. I was just a baby then, Alison was two years old and our parents became instantly bonded, lifelong friends. Our mothers were transplanted South Carolinians, her dad was a handsome airline pilot, and now, sadly, both of her parents have passed on already.

I do not have a clue how folks face death without a strong faith. My dad is minutes, or hours, away from again seeing Alison's sweet parents. Dad's daughter, Ellen, is waiting on him in Heaven, as are the majority of his family members. I told him yesterday through my tears that I envied him the opportunity to see so many loved ones soon. He smiled in response.

Alison had written, "I tried to comment on your blog but couldn't so here is what I said: You say your parents "never bemoaned the fact that you adopted so many damaged children" Boy are you right about that!!! They are SO PROUD of your BIG heart and believe so strongly in the work that you do. For years, they have spoken so proudly about your children and about THEIR love for them too. You, your family and your adventures have made for many a good story amongst our parents as they share stories about "the kids" (that's you and me, Cindy) and what we are up to. Oh no...your parents wouldn't have missed your "wild ride" through life for anything...they THRIVE on it. I believe they see themselves in you sometimes and in your children too. I certainly do. Love, love, love to you all...Alison"

I'd read it aloud to mom, making her smile as well. Her big beautiful brown eyes are showing the strain of this difficult week. I've been sharing all the comments, texts and emails to her.

My children all traipsed through after school, individually telling Grandpa good bye, and expressing their love for him. He will soon be virtually unconscious, we know he'll just close his eyes and leave us. We are profoundly grateful for this chance to say good-bye. Preston'd wisely remarked how fortunate we are in this blessing.

On one hand though, here it is again, my children daring and risking to love someone who's now leaving them, just like everyone else in their life had done. I have the bereavement counselor coming late this afternoon.

All of my children sobbed, the Hospice Social Worker advising me to send them off to their soccer games, to keep normal routines, so it fell on Chuck to get the two teams to their games. I've not ever missed a game, other than my surgery four years ago, some folks from church joined Chuck to cheer them on, our new youth pastors and several adult leaders showing their support for my grieving sons.

They predictably lost the games, came home subdued, didn't touch the kitchen for their usual chow downs before bed, and everyone quietly slipped off to their rooms, other than CW and Martin who slept on Grandma's side of the house, on high alert, knowing one of them would run to Grandma and the other'd run to get me at any sound of distress.

Neither grandparent can be left alone at the moment, fortunately we do excel in numbers.

Holding sobbing teenaged sons in my arms, me at a loss for words, but reminding each of them that we'll get through this, we get through everything, don't we? Me wiping last Sunday's waterproof mascara dredges on their shoulders from my racoon eyes.

I've been prepared for this, surprised at my copious tears.

"Do we go to school today?" Sabrina'd asked through her tears.

"Yeah, you do," I'd told her, this could be over by this morning, or last a few more days.

Grandpa ate and drank nothing yesterday, little the previous two days, measured only in tiny sips. He was still lucid yesterday, but fading and drifting away from us, an 80 year life very well lived

We're sure gonna miss this man.

When I Grow Up

(I'd written this blog much earlier today and had then been called away. Grandpa isn't doing great)

A sunset at the soccer park last night that transfixed me completely.

Jack, Grandpa's best buddy, had asked me on the way home from church, "Mama, what do you wanna be when you grow up?"

Ain't I already? Maybe not, not with this sophomoric sense of humor and complete inability to not fall down laughing at fart jokes.

Self-protection?

More than a few of you all have remarked that my experiences now with my Dad are ripping the slightly healed scabs off of your own hearts, as you remember the pain you'd then endured over losing a dad, or a parent, wincing inwardly at my words.

That's what trauma looks like.

Our children, those we've adopted, all have experienced terribly severe losses, along with catastrophic neglect, abuse and abandonment. If you or I, moms in our 30s, 40s, 50s or whatever, are this consumed, or are this upset in our grieving process, doesn't this give us a very tiny glimpse into our children's damaged psyches?

Duh, Big Mama, this is why they act as they do...

Nando excitedly went to tell Grandpa he'd again won his soccer game last night, Grandpa can hardly speak, but did offer congratulations and a hug. I watched Nando, only 9, fight tears and fears over this, not understanding a lot, but knowing Grandpa is very ill, and that Mama's upset quit a bit lately.

Grandpa'd had a very rough day yesterday, so much so that my usually unflappable mother was rattled, we'd called the Hospice folks early that morning, the two wonderful nursing assistants arrived shortly and tended to Grandpa, which also eased our unproductive worry loads.

The entire process of this is so absurdly opposite of what my gut tells me I should be doing. I want this fixed, not managed. Obviously the Hospice folks have dealt with nutjobs like me who blindly, and against all medical odds, want an 80 year old man to live forever, they've been really good at managing my mother and I, the two unsinkables who feel as if they're going down for the count.

Grandpa simply cannot be left alone anymore, he'd pitched forward yesterday, knocking over picture frames, very little strength left, but a ton of independence, if only in his very active, still sharp mind.

"I didn't know what I was doing," he'd told me when I pitched a fit, "Dad, you go break a bone and they're gonna slap your butt in a hospital," knowing that's the last place any of us want him to be for any reason.

And back to trauma, my nerves skyrocket at the sound of the phone ringing - my mother generally calls the house phone rather than my cell - and now my grown kids are afraid to answer a phone call from me, fearing bad news. This is the only man who has ever properly loved them and been so grandfatherly proud of them.

Grandpa has never bemoaned the fact that I adopted so many children, he and Grandma financially boosted me way back then, at the start of this journey down in Honduras, when I was young and full of hope, optimism and was just dumb and big hearted. They've hated to see me treated so badly, sadly and often shocked at the negativity poured out upon me, but have emotionally supported me throughout all my trials, tribulations and triumphs.

They retired here to help me.

That's exactly what I wanna be when I grow up.

Nyah, Nyah, Nyah

"Shut up stupid bitch."

Really? You think I'm stupid?

"You made me mad," he glowered. I'd not even been in the room, I'd gone to check on Grandpa who'd nearly fallen, disoriented by the medication he needs in order to not be agitated as he wanes. Even knowing it's coming, it's still a lot to comprehend, one's physical body balks, struggles, cooperates, fights, and fidgets before surrendering.

Chuy'd quietly corrected Jonathan's behavior, who then felt justified in trying to punch a hole in the wall.

I'd read Julie's post this morning, linked by Claudia, and I'd been thinking 'bout it all day, as we tried to help Grandpa who really struggled, unable to swallow or take a breath.

This is predictable, this ugliness from Jonathan, a large 12 year old who's on DJJ probation for the second time.

This is how traumatized children act, and re-act, when there's a loss looming.

Heck, I wanna punch something too, but the difference is that I won't. I'll throw myself into a task.

I'd stood on the soccer field, captivated by the gorgeous sunset, thinking about Heaven.

Oh well, I enjoyed those brief moments.

Jonathan can say anything he wants to say to me, I can't change his behaviors via a power struggle. I know I ain't stupid, so nyah, nyah, nyah.

Julie - You So Nailed It Perfectly

I'm copying Julie's blog post, from awhile back, in its entirety tonight, she's absolutely on target and since more than a few people from my community read this, I just feel it speaks so clearly of our life. Julie at Not Just An Ordinary Life writes:

So you want to adopt through the foster care system?

Are you ready?
Are you ready to be lied to...to be stolen from...to be ridiculed...to be so exhausted you can barely speak in complete sentences?
Are you ready to hear words that you thought would never be spoken in your home...
Are you ready to be humbled at every turn?
Are you ready to give up most of your worldly possessions?
Are you ready to be hated for a season because of all the wrongs that were imposed on your child from others that came before you?
Are you ready to face the stares of others? or to face the parents of those your child caused harm to?
Are you ready to walk away instead of engaging in a battle that you certainly won't win? And are you ready to stay right beside your child even when every part of your being wants to just walk away? maybe even run away?
Are you ready to face the fear that you can't handle this and know that you can't..only the God of the universe can?
Are you ready to face feeling like a failure at this whole parenting thing?
Are you ready to know with certainty that you did not take the comfortable route in this life?
Are you ready to live a life that has not been wasted and experience immense joy in the smallest of accomplishments?
Are you ready to give up the privacy you once had? There are therapists, PCA's and law enforcement that will know more about you than you may have been willing to share? and they will all have their opinions about the way you are parenting..
Are you ready to show love to a child that you don't feel much love for?
And are you ready to get up the next morning and choose to show that love all over again?
Are you ready to accept that your child's future may not be anything like you had envisioned when you started on this journey? Are you willing to give a huge part of your life so that your child may have just a chance at fully living theirs? And if they fail, are you ready to know that it was worth it even if they do not come to know the Lord in the way you had dreamed for them?
Are you ready to trust that the Lord knew your every step before you took them..he knew what you would endure..he knew what your other children would endure..and he says "I am enough.."
Are you ready to deal with the realities that love is not enough but Jesus is..
If you are being called by God to walk down this path...
Are you ready? If you are not, but you are confident that you are being called to this--hang on for dear life and you will find a life waiting for you so worth living. You will experience the depth of God's provision and grace in ways you didn't even know existed. You will be amazed at all that God has in store for you..if you are ready to trust Him with all of your heart...then you are ready whether you feel like it or not. You will not walk this journey alone. God will always be there..always. And there are lots of us walking this journey alongside of you..we will be there too.
There is no greater place to be than on the path that God has laid before you. There are lots of us along the side of the road willing to come alongside of you as you take your first steps...If you are willing to step on the path God is calling you to, you are ready...

Coyote

Grandpa's gaining strength since being out of the hospital, how he's doing it I sure don't know, as he's had almost no food in about a week or so, turning down everything Grandma gives him.

When the ambulance took that skinny man away last Sunday morning, I deeply feared he'd never be able to come back home, eight days later he's surprising me each day by his gaining ground we'd thought he'd lost forever. Yeah I know I'm setting myself up with false hope, but I prefer the optimistic side of the road.

My pretty little Tabby absolutely adores her cousin, Lauren, simply and truly adores her. Having her here last week was a bonus for my youngest child, as she too struggles in advance over Grandpa.

Distracting the kids at the Fall Festival was perfect. Between the 8 of us, we'd split two funnel cakes, forgetting that the mountain of fried dough and powdered sugar would be spilt down the front of everyone, me included, as I then craved it also that afternoon.

Better yet was the bag of hot boiled peanuts, a favorite of mine, that afternoon being sold by Sarah's original bus driver back in the 1980's, who'd sweetly asked about her.

I ate the entire sack.

JoJo had a crying jag over Grandpa yesterday afternoon, an older son also struggling, telling me, "I've never lost anyone before," while I gaped at him in amazement at his lack of memory, me knowing his history of early childhood loss, but knowing also how deeply bonded he is nowadays to all of us and remembering how strongly his older birth sister had emotionally sheltered and protected him way back then in the midst of severe neglect and parental drug use.

My chores are piling up, neglected as I sit with my parents, men here working on two bathrooms, the last three weeks of soccer season are upon us, I'm dealing with some difficulties with some rather challenging older kids who might not ever comprehend that their law-breaking behaviors are the root of their problems. At the moment, their subsequent emergency is not at the top of my priority list.

Jack was awakened by his dog, Shadow, barking and running in circles on his bed. Looking out the window, he was surprised at the sight of a coyote baying on our back deck area in the sparse moonlight.

"Oh Honey," I'd responded this morning to his tale of night crawlers, "That's just not on my list of things to fret about today, maybe later."

The Train Station Late Last Night

It's been comforting to have my brother here, It was hardly a 24 hour visit, but he'll be back Thanksgiving. Gary's just 16 months younger than me, we've been very, very blessed to have two parents still married to each other, two 80 year olds who've always been vibrant and fun, who've encouraged us constantly, and always supported our dreams and goals. Even this cockamamie adventure I've been on for nearly 25 years, trying to guide my traumatized, sometimes uber challenging children to some Point B in their lives.

My niece, Lauren's been here as well. Jack and I took her back to the train station last night, the train was over an hour late and I'd not come back home, nor gone to bed until past midnight, waking up this morning when the alarm company called me to inform me a door'd been opened. Turned out to have been Grandma, but it's then hard to get back sleep, insomnia kicking back in full force.

I knew I needed church today and it didn't let me down, recharging my batteries to face next week with the strength I'll surely need.

We did make it to the Fall Festival that I'd been none too excited about attending, yet I ended up having fun, treating Tabby, Jack and Nando to treats that I never splurge on, including some crazy spider bungee ride in my attempt to get their fearful, grieving minds off of Grandpa.

So many of my grown kids have been out here as well, all of them just stunned at the impending end of this relationship with Grandpa, it's hit them all very hard, and we're at an explanation loss with my grandchildren who all adore their great Grandpa. Ray's shutting down, unable at age six to comprehend. Heck, I'm 56 and grappling with it all.

My teenagers returned today from their retreat, happy and tired. Mayra's boyfriend, Dillan took her and Sabrina out to buy their Homecoming Dance dresses with a strict budget and my debit card, stopping to pick up a few groceries, as neither mom nor I have hardly wanted to leave Grandpa.

We'll just keep getting up each day, tending to business, taking care of him, glad that's he's had a right good weekend overall, thankfully there's zero pain.

Fall Festival To Distract Tabby

Kinda outta sorts this morning, it's not easy to stand helpless as one's father fades away, insomnia mounting, making me toss and turn when I'd rather be sleeping, fretting rather than resting, but I stayed upstairs putzing around, irritated that both Tony and Allen didn't go on the retreat they'd asked to attend in the first place.

This inability to follow through on anything drives me bonkers, then Allen had the nerve to start whining about where he thought I should be driving him last night.

I don't think so.

Lily's sweetly asking me to take her to the Fall Festival, my most nondemanding child, of course I'll do so.

I've not attended this annual event in some 20 years, too bogged down by the needs of my children, and honestly totally disinterested in crafts, food, or the general public at large, but I told her I'd go with her this morning. I believe my darling niece, Lauren, will go also, she's not been out of the house since she's been here and tending to Grandpa is ultimately so sad.

I think we all need to get outta the house for an hour or so.

Tabby had a very predictable meltdown over Sabrina, her birth sister, leaving her this weekend, an abandonment in her mind. Normally she doesn't hang around anyway with Sabrina, who's 15 to Tabby's almost 8 years of age, but knowing Sabrina packed a bag to leave is just more than Tabby can bear, what with her history of being dropped off somewhere differently every single night of her life until she came here at age 2 1/2, always separated from her other three siblings.

She'd cried and squalled for over an hour last night, no amount of reminding her that Sabrina'd be back in less than 48 hours carried any weight.

Grandpa had a really good day yesterday, I'm trying to guide an already grieving ten year old, Jack, through this difficult maze. He'd gone down crying in a heap last night, taking me with him, but later he'd rallied and had been joking with Grandpa.

I'm old enough to function like an automaton throughout all this, taking my cue from my very strong mother who also lives here, hoping I'm demonstrating some semblance of inner strength and fortitude to my children who are also working very hard irrationally to push my buttons, as that's what they generally do in a crisis situation...amp it up.

My brother, Gary, will be here this afternoon from Virginia, my other brother, Jimbo, just went down with a back problem that's worrying me, as we're about out of anyone to go help him in Florida. I'm praying the care he received yesterday, after reinjuring himself, will result in rapid healing. I just don't like for him to be alone right now, stressing over Dad, while dealing with his own physical pain. That's my baby brother.

That we're all now in our 50s doesn't erase his baby status, that he's 6'4" and I'm the runt of the litter means nothing to Big Mama.

This little Southern Sissy abhors waking up to a low of 48 degrees, however our weather generally warms up nicely, allowing me my very necessary dose of warm sunshine to boost my mood each day. Lord knows I need it today.

This new replacement phone is super sensitive to the touch, and I heard myself saying, "I done butt dialed Sarah's dad 4 times already," as he was the first to respond to my request for the phone numbers and contact information I'd lost on Thursday. Sorry 'bout that, now I'm trying to remember to keep the screen locked.

And what're the chances of Chuck shaking hands with Terry Pendleton yesterday? 100 percent, and that's also how envious I am of Chuck regarding that chance encounter.

I have a few grown kids who do know what's going on with Grandpa, yet they've neither acknowledged nor visited.

On one level I understand their inability to face the facts, I also recognize severe innate selfishness and self-absorption - a what's in it for them mentality - yet, at the moment, I'm unwilling to deal with their issues, knowing they're out partying, likely breaking laws, and looking for an angle, continually wanting to scam someone out of what that person has worked for so very hard.

It's either extreme gullibility, or a deep desire to help those in need, but a few of my grown children are being taken advantage of by their supposedly adult siblings who are too mean and lazy to work.

"That's not helping," I'd admonished yesterday, "That's just allowing so and so to use people, that's enabling. What they're learning is that they don't have to work in order to eat. You're just accidentally reinforcing that cruddy behavior of theirs."

Here at home, my very closed off, emotionally unavailable Chuy is the one that's unreachable at the moment. CW, very bonded and nurtured, has been a rock in contrast. Martin's been sweet.

Chuy did not play in a well-run, unemotional soccer game recently, feeling above apologies, not connecting the dots, and I'm praying he'll have a spiritual reawakening this weekend. He'd been scarily rude to me and boneheaded in his response later to that behavior.

In many ways, I envy the teenagers this time away and with God. One of my brothers is flying in tomorrow to check on Grandpa, my niece's presence here with Grandma has been wonderful.

Sarah explained to us how uncomfortable she'd once felt after my brother-in-law passed away, what with all the well-meaning folks, especially me, sympathetically asking her, "How do you feel about all this?" Well, it wasn't what she needed at the moment. She simply didn't know how she felt, nor how she should feel then.

She was a right precocious child, well read and mature for her age. If she then was so lost and afloat in the face of death, how much more so for the rest of my children? Heck, I'm having a hard time with it too. I know Grandpa wants to stay on this challenging earth sphere, especially with his wife of 58 years, who's she gonna have now to argue with? He also wants to help me, to be with his best buddy Jack, and to continue forward, as no one ever feels their work is done in spite of having lived a wonderful life.

Then there's the thought of his sister, his parents, and his daughter, Ellen, waiting there on the other side...how tempting must that be? To give up the ghost and pass on into a better place?

We humanoids, at least this is true for me, grieve so much for ourselves, over our feelings of missing that person in our life. And duh, that's normal.

Of course I hope Grandpa lingers for months, he's fortunately not in pain, but there's no energy nor enthusiasm for life, his lungs are badly damaged, yet I selfishly want him to hang on for awhile. I'm spending a great deal of time over on their side of the house while my kids are at school.

Life Goes On

In the midst of what may come quickly or what may linger, there's still so much that goes on. Life can't just stop and allow me to deal with all this, grieving will have to be done on the sly nearly, as any sign of weakness in me invites trouble.

JoJo told me, "Dang, this candy tastes crappy," as he nibbled on a tube of lipstick.

Hazel was in last week's newspaper, being adorable as usual.

Jack and I went out for a bite to eat with Sergi, this is his birth uncle/brother, my oldest son, for those folks who have a tough time believing Jack is of Mexican descent.

Jack's the one that's really going to need help dealing with Grandpa's slide, they've been best buddies since Jack was a baby. I remember telling Grandpa, "Oh man, you're gonna love this baby," and indeed he did. Being retired, Grandpa was able to spend nearly ten years devoting himself to Jack's every whim, and Jack's now struggling emotionally to deal with all his grief.

Hospice has a bereavement counselor that I'm planning to use with Jack. Yolie's dear friend, Audrey, now with her newly minted LCSW degree has offered to work the kids through their feelings, and, of course, thank God we have Dr. Mandy and Pathways in place.

Jonathan got probation in court the other day, four out of five children in his sib group have gone down this road before. Now, at age 12, this is Jonathan's second experience with it, not having learned much the first time it would appear.

I'm super thankful my niece, Lauren, is here. Grandma and she have a very special bond. They're playing cards tonight, keeping an eye on Grandpa who's had a rough day, sleeping mainly, but the emotional wallop of everything has exhausted us all.

I'll likely blog often, as I process my own feelings and grapple with my complete helplessness, along with my children's feelings and reactions.

I Will Do So

Once again my short circuiting electro magnetic field took out another cell phone, leaving me with no contact numbers at a time like this. I'd gone to Gainesville to meet my niece at the train station, and am also neck deep refereeing some very difficult behaviors here at home, as my children act out the grief they are incapable of expressing.

The impending loss of Grandpa is a bit more than some of them can take.

I'd read the Hospice information last night and had spent hours crying and sniveling. It's just not in my nature to give up, nor even to accept the inevitable.

But I will do so.

Y'all's calls, emails, and comments have greatly ministered to me, I'm filled with a deep appreciation, alongside my dread, as we all try and tend to Grandpa here at home.

He is thankfully not in any pain and he is sleeping a lot.

Hospice and The Earthly End

Hey, free door, 'nuff said. My hens are happy.

I've pointed out before that it's no easy feat to feed the 15 of us each evening, the amount of food and people alone would be enough, but add in the time constraints, relentless demands, frenetic and oppositional behaviors, and general fussiness, and Honey, some evenings I wanna just curl up in a corner of the kitchen and hiss.

I'm still enjoying tons of peppers from my gardens and was processing another four quarts of Fire Hot Pepper Sauce, chopping and sauteing bell peppers which are gorgeously red and blocky, along with onions, when the man fixing the bathroom floor came running down the hall, "Where's the well cut off?" to the backdrop sound of water gushing, "We accidentally cut a pipe."

My cell phone was ringing from all my grown children, and church members of my parent's UMC, asking about Grandpa, and I just stared for a minute, totally forgetting how to do this one feat we've often done. Momentarily bewildered, I hadda call Chuck and ask.

How in the Sam Hill can I finish cooking supper and get us all on the ball field by 5:30?

I grabbed my largest pot and drove to Sarah's house, taking a few kids with me, leaving Mayra to watch the rest of them. "This is why you always need to be nice to white people," Sabrina told me, with a perfectly straight face.

"Who're you calling white?" Sarah, who's lived amongst Hispanic family members for 20 something years, snapped, leaving Sabrina unsure as how to respond.

Jesse calling me from NY, Alex from Atlanta, coordinating with my Florida cousin to contact the rest of our relatives, and making arrangements with my niece Lauren to leave William & Mary and travel on a train down here. Having lost her mother to cancer, she's clearly afraid to lose Grandpa, needing some Georgia time with him asap. I'm very glad she's coming, although I worry about her missing study time.

"Bring your books," I'd mama'd her, as if she wasn't already a stellar over-achieving college student.

Grandpa is coming home today via medical transport. A medical supply company came by late yesterday with oxygen and other paraphernalia.

No matter what all these hospital tests indicate, nothing can be treated, he's too frail to withstand anything. It's over, it's time to merely keep him comfortable, and Hospice will start tomorrow.

I remember my entire Sunday School class some 15 years ago, trying to gently explain to me, a dumb diehard optimist, what that meant in the case of my sister, my own inner denial was very, very strong. The end? What? Me give up hope? Not likely.

My 6'2" dad weighs nothing. Nothing. He weighs less than me. "This stretcher weighs more than him," a paramedic told me on Sunday, carrying him to the ambulance.

Mom, Dad, myself, and my brothers are all in complete, but ultimately sad, agreement over this inevitable turn of events. The pulmonary fibrosis has totally scarred his lungs, rendering them nearly useless, putting a horrible strain on his already damaged heart.

He'd used the word 'dying' when Sergi visited yesterday, competely dissolving Sergi into tears, the embodiment of a major family loss that's a bit more than even my grown kids can take, coupled with their severe histories of loss, grief and trauma.

Our sanitized and depersonalized society has over-institutionalized everything, being born and dying both should really should be done in the comforts of one's home, surrounded by family.

You know, our consolation is our very deep belief in Heaven, knowing that he'll be with Ellen, my sister, and all the family members who've gone on ahead is very comforting. He's had a wonderful life, we hate to lose him though.

I'm sending my ten teenagers this weekend away with Pastor Chris for the retreat, there's nothing they can do here, they'll benefit greatly from a spiritual outing. I'll spend that time with my niece and the younger children who are very attached to Grandpa.

A man from church showed up, at Martin's invite, to the fields last night to cheer them on in soccer, bolstering them with yet another layer of adults who care. This man had also been adopted, now with five daughters, he helps out with the church youth group.

This was my formerly belligerent U17 team that had endured several come-to-Jesus meetings this past week with significant adults. Chuy still refusing to apologize didn't play, a natural consequence, while a chastened CW played beautifully alongside Martin and Allen, handily winning the game 6-3.

Scotty and Jonathan won their game also, giving me a very good evening - a beautiful, warm and fragrant Georgia night in which I'd shaken off my fretting over Grandpa for the several hours the boys played their games.

This morning I have court regarding Jonathan's truancies, when I'd really rather be here to help Grandma with Grandpa, hopefully I'll be back in time.

A Class Act Retires

There wasn’t a dry eye in the place,” Jones said. “I don’t think I’ve cried in uniform since I was about 8.

I stood with my back to my sons, Chuy, CW and Martin, who I'd uncustomarily allowed to stay up late to watch a do-or-die game, a game that could send the Braves back to San Francisco, or cruelly cut Bobby Cox and his mighty, but injured team, out of the season.

They lost.

I am crazy about Bobby Cox and his managerial skills, I find baseball therapeutic and cathartic for me, and to think of no more Bobby, a man who put 51 years into his stellar baseball career, reduced me to tears. I couldn't even think about watching any post-game interviews, afraid I'd absolutely become unhinged between that and my dad's decline, inevitable, maybe even imminent.

I texted Daniel who was already back at Fort Gordon, and I went to bed where I tossed and turned until almost two in the morning before I could find any relief in sleep.

Sublimating my fears regarding Grandpa, crying over baseball seems less like I'm giving up on my dad's chances.

Deysi, Marcela, Joe, Gina, Preston, Chuck and Yolie had all traipsed to the hospital to visit Grandpa, and Sarah babysat my children so that I could go later with Daniel, taking a very sad Jack along with me.

Grandpa's looking better, now that he's bolstered up with tubes, oxygen, Plavix and other health props. It grieves me to see this stupid Pulmonary Fibrosis taking him out like this, he's never drank nor smoked, he's eaten very healthfully for a middle class white male, not one to indulge in steaks nor fast foods, he's always been busy and involved, and this slow slide down simply sucks.

"They're keeping me for a few days," he's said. We all know that in spite of any negative test results, we'll not unduly prolong agonizing treatments for him, his heart couldn't take it, and we're just praying he'll rally and stick around longer. He's already defied the odds, lasted a year longer than the original prognosis, plus survived last summer's unfortunate perforated intestine.

There's a very strong fiber running through his very devastated body, as if old age (80) wasn't enough of an indignity, his withered lungs and over taxed heart have combined to derail him.

Do we need my brothers to come? Should we wait it out? Can we afford the time passing that maybe would be better spent just making and keeping him comfortable at home?

"Am I just in denial?" Grandma asked me.

We dunno.

"Are you coping?" Dr. Mandy asked me yesterday, surprised at my gaping kitchen since the mongo middle island was gone, a dumpster's in the driveway as I dismantle what needs repairing, or shut of, she knows I throw myself into projects when the eventual result of an experience is unknown and out of my control.

My eyes teared up, I just told her that I had to be strong for the kids, they don't have any very functional coping skills, acting out is their first line of defense, a normal response in traumatized children, the threat of losing Grandpa is 100% a perceived act of both abandonment and rejection in their minds. Today we have a psychiatric appointment for Jonathan and JoJo, and dadgum if Nando didn't just go down in a heap.

He'd complained yesterday about a sore throat, he's a tough little non-complainer and I'd found him sound asleep at suppertime, I dosed him with children's Tylenol, he'd played his little heart out in a soccer game they'd won, came right back home and crashed.

This morning, even with tylenol, he just couldn't make it to school, thwarting my plans to spend time today at the hospital with Grandpa. I physically feel the sands running out of the hour glass, while I also have men that I trust coming to rip out and replace two bathroom floors that the children have literally destroyed.

I trust this guy from church, I know I don't have to stay home and hover over the job site, we need groceries after this three day weekend, and Grandma needs help tending to everything.

Two soccer games tonight, Preston had taken Jack to his Cub Scouts last night, a job Grandma usually tends to while I'm at soccer, I just need to take a few deep breaths and figure this all out today.

Without baseball to distract me, I feel at loose ends, unfocused and disgruntled. Daniel'd taken this picture at Game Three of the NLDS Sunday afternoon, of Bobby Cox, Jeff Porter, the team trainer, and Jason Heyward after Heyward's wall collision.

"Wow," he remarked, having spent his entire life following the career of Bobby Cox, "This might be a last photo of him in the outfield, checking on a player."

The end of an era, a very class act, baseball just won't be the same anymore. I can't imagine the Braves without Bobby Cox, just can't fathom, nor picture, it at all.

Grandpa's Ambulance Ride and Baseball

Easy to tell who was messing with my phone.

Getting 14 kids dressed and ready for church is no easy feat, I was up in my room finishing up the job, which entails me slapping one my regulation church uniform, black pants and random blouse when Grandma called the house phone, "I think I need paramedics."

I flew like a squawking bird over to her side of the house, Grandpa literally could not breathe, and I'd somehow had the presence of mind to send Tony down to unlock the gate for a First Responder, who I knew would be here in a matter of minutes and indeed he did so, dragging an oxygen tank to my Dad's room, telling us an ambulance was on its way.

I ran back to my side of the house, needing to make sure Mayra and Sabrina kept the younger kids from seeing all this, knowing Jack, who is particularly close to Grandpa, would have a melt down.

"When the ambulance doesn't race away, it's good news," the First Responder, Andra, a man who's been here before, told me, as they worked hard to stabilize my Dad.

"Remember me Miss Bodie?" another guy asked, knowing I knew his mama, he then allowed Jack to ride in the front seat of the ambulance taking Grandpa to the hospital. The siren blared Whoop Whoop, prompting JoJo to tell us all, "I bet Jack did that."

By then, Sarah and Preston had seen and heard the ambulance coming down our dirt road, as had Chuck and Yolie, so we all kinda stood there in shock. Sarah fortunately having the presence of mind to go with Grandma to the hospital, and I turned back to face some shook up children.

"Tell Cindy to GO to the game," Grandpa'd told Grandma, knowing Daniel was taking me to the NLDS play off game that afternoon in Atlanta, my favorite team, the Braves going up against my great-grandfather's favorite team, San Francisco.

What we didn't know then was that Grandpa had also had a heart attack, and possibly a small stroke.

I did go to the game, Chuck and Yolie babysat, and I'd spent the remainder of the morning flip flopping in my mind over going or staying home.

Grandpa wouldn't have wanted me not to go, this I knew, he later ended up watching the game himself from his hospital bed, the Braves blew a lead that they'd waited until almost the end of the game to earn, one player with three errors, Lord Have Mercy, I wouldn't have wanted to wake up being Brooks Conrad's mother this morning.

The stadium was monstrously loud and totally packed out, former President Jimmy Carter and his wife were there along with Danny Glover, Jason Bateman and Ted Turner all in attendance, and Giants' fans wearing heavy black hoodies when it was 86 degrees, the playoff atmosphere was super charged and absolutely fun, even with the heart breaking loss, which I shook off faster than usual, worried about Grandpa.

Chuck and my sons ripped out my kitchen island while I was gone, it has served its original purpose, the counter top badly cracked, and, seriously, who needs 8 more long, deep drawers to put stuff in, usually to be swallowed up and lost forever? The extra stove is also no longer necessary, as I happily wind down my Big Mama parenting years.

I want large empty spaces, cavernous even, I'm sick of maintaining stuff. Now my large kitchen has a dance floor.

If my kids were grown, you best believe I'd have my yelling self back down at Turner Field tonight, instead Nando has a soccer game that'll end just in time for me to get home and see Game Four on TV. Last night was soooo much fun. I hope when Daniel gets married, he'll still drag me along with him to games.

The kids have a school holiday today, I need to figure out how to get to the hospital to see Dad, plus I have a man coming to replace bathroom flooring.

I feel weird having missed church yesterday, yet I'm thankful to Pastor Chris for coming to get Chuy and spend quality time with him, technically double-teaming him with Pastor Brandon also. Daniel's coming by today for the icing on that hot-headed cake.

I'd called my brothers and my favorite brother-in-law about Grandpa, Kevin making me feel better then, a Yankees fan knowing the Braves team's Cinderella-like abilities, "There's still a long shot World Series match up chance," he'd reminded me, knowing a Yankees-Braves face off would be stupendously fun. BTDT before and had a blast. Baseball prevents me from stressing over that which I cannot control, like Grandpa's health.

I'm trying not to stress out about Grandpa, he's where he needs to be right now, getting medical care, and, hopefully, recovering.

Psychiatric Concerns, Police Visits and Fear Provoking Irrational Behaviors

If you give a boy a caulking gun, you're gonna see some work get done. CW spent all day with it, alternating between sealing spaces and patching up various wall holes. Growing up in a family of six, I don't ever remember anyone putting their fist, foot, or any other handily available item through sheet rock, but here's it's a regular event.

I have someone coming out tomorrow to replace two, not one, but two bathroom floors, that have literally rotted out, simply due to kids not tucking in shower curtain liners. Why on earth would they obey such a lame rule when they can flood the floor and be endlessly amused by mama's conniption fits and the resulting impromptu water park features?

I think back to long, long ago when I only had one child. I remember being briefly irritated at times that her room was messy. Oh what I'd give for simply messy bedrooms nowadays...

That my house is still standing is miraculous enough.

I cannot begin to convey how much easier, how much less stressful, but more importantly, how much safer our family now is with Paloma in a residential psychiatric facility. Her counselor informed me that that Paloma's refusing to attend school sessions, and is being as disruptive there as she was in the public school setting and in our family. That it is not me having to monitor an impossible situation is such a relief.

I still have my last 14 other children living here who deserve family safety and my attention that is not constantly drained away into crazy-making situations that have no resolution. The children still at home are pretty darn good kids with only a few issues amongst them, mainly due to early childhood trauma.

I know that psychotropic medications are not enough, nor is behavior redirection, sticker charts, nor talk therapy. She is a very disturbed child, and as I read this news story of a child poisoning her adoptive parents, my stomach began to ache, as I deeply feared, and still distinctly remember, the despair and fright over Paloma's constant and explosive, usually dangerous, wrath.

Even more so was the way I feared I'd be treated by professionals who'd counter with, "What made her do this?" were it ever to happen. It seems as if fingers are always pointed at the parents, because generally this does not happen in normal families, only in those families who are trying to parent severely disturbed children that may very well be un-parentable.

As I was emptying out my kitchen, cleaning, sorting and eliminating, I came across a large knife that I'd hidden years ago, deeply afraid during a period of extreme violence that it would be used against us. These fears are born from my own trauma and from threats made against the other children or me. "I'm gonna f$%&ing stab all of you," is a threat I take seriously, yet if I called the police every time I was threatened by someone, we'd have a full time deputy stationed here.

It'd be treated, and dismissed, simply as a family disagreement, rather than as a viable threat, because the police are trained to think, and to deal, logically regarding dysfunctional families, not functional families with seriously dysfunctional children who are very capable of carrying out their murderous rages.

I believe on some level that Paloma does miss us, but she's now very entrenched in her severely disturbed behaviors and in her fixations that completely and irrationally preclude normal attachment. She's not RAD, but rather she is exhibiting very severe and challenging mental health issues.

She's often spoken of the voices in her head, and I'm going on record as repeating I am deeply afraid of that singular extreme indicator, as it is significantly bizarre enough to warrant attention.

Even though the severely disturbed and dangerous children no longer live with us, I still don't feel comfortable with large knives in our home. I'd rather saw through my fresh veggies with a dull butter knife than have any kind of opportunistic implements available. I simply cannot let my guard down, because tempers flare, and mixed with zero control impulsivity, I feel it behooves me to remain incredibly vigilant.

The kids and I ended up our night again in downtown Athens, at the UGA Stadium after a phenomenal victory over Tennessee that I'd listened to on the radio, later absorbed in gleaning all the recycling materials in a massive seating section of the stadium, raising money for the adoption agency, trying to teach my children to give back. Pretty good attitudes overall, "It's fun," Martin had stressed, and I don't mind it a bit. If anything, it's a perfect example of the internal reward I'd once possibly been seeking in the adoption arena.

Fall Cleaning & NLDS

How 'bout them Braves? A phone call early this morning from Daniel, a late night 11th inning miracle win, Bobby Cox ejected again, but, hey, folks, it's post season excitement at a fever pitch.

Sometimes I feel as if I'm drowning in crapola. Everything has been taken out of my kitchen and pantry, I'm deep cleaning and evaluating, is this stuff I really need? Superfluous stuff's gotta go, so I don't feel so trapped and smothered.

Ray and Hazel spent the night while Sarah and Preston took a trip to celebrate their tenth wedding anniversary. I've already forgotten how demanding a three year old can be, this one's as cute as they come, Ray's having a blast with Nando, having gotten to go yesterday to the used game store where Nando found himself in hog heaven, getting to choose Game Boy games. We'd gotten him an entire game boy setup weeks ago at a yard sale for just a few dollars, but dango if these games aren't kind of expensive, even the used ones.

All three kids, Martin, Mayra and Allen, were accepted into the work-study-tutoring program, the paperwork paid off, as did my income divided by mouths to feed. On paper we're as poor as church mice, when, in reality, we have all that we need, and it's not just because we've lowered our expectations, it's due to the generosity of others and our ability to ferret out excellent used stuff.

Miss Kimberly's husband, Travis, hero extraordinaire, brought the kids two videos last night, they were instantly sucked into quietness, watching The Karate Kid absolutely enthralled, buying me a bit of free time to do laundry.

If I'm asked once, I'm asked a thousand time, "How do you stay so small?" as if, with age, an automatic 50 pounds is meted out per woman. Honestly it all boils down to not eating greasy oil-drenched fast food. I eat real food. And a lot of it, another benefit to being a vegetarian, mainly because the fat content in meat is absolutely deadly to one's heart and circulatory system, over burdening one's digestion, and slowing down metabolism.

Read this article and watch the disturbing video and tell me that you think it's a good idea to eat that bull that passes for food.

Intermittent treats are fine, but a steady diet of this? Yucko. When Miriam worked there, she told me of regulars, those who ate there for every meal, or even every day.

And folks think I'm weird for eating close to 1000 bell peppers a season? We're still getting tons of them and I'm thrilled.

In 30 more hours, I'm gonna be even more ecstatic...first pitch...NLDS.