Into the Celebrity Fray

I'm not much for blogging about celebrities.  There are a few reasons for this but the most important is that I am not clever enough to pull it off.  I've written the odd post about Paris Hilton (as a wordsmith) or Mel Gibson (as a drunk driver) but for the most part I am content to let others be clever and I laugh.

Today, though, I read a more serious article about Michelle Williams and her grief over the death of Heath Ledger.  I think one reason this article stood out to me today is that I've had a few conversations with people about grief lately.  (The caveat here is that I take everything I read online about a celebrity with more than a grain of salt.  For the sake of this post, let's assume she was accurately quoted in a reasonable context.)  

When asked about how she was doing, she said this:

"I guess it's always changing," Michelle finally offers. "What else can I say? I just wake up each day in a slightly different place -- grief is like a moving river, so that's what I mean by 'it's always changing.'"

Then, as her eyes well up again, she notes, "It's a strange thing to say, because I'm at heart an optimistic person, but I would say in some ways it just gets worse. It's just that the more time that passes, the more you miss someone. In some ways, it gets worse. That's what I would say."

I knew someone once whose young daughter died unexpectedly. About a year later, he and I were talking and he said that someone had, in frustration, said to him, "It's been a year."  My friend looked at his friend and said, "Yes.  It's been a year.  I haven't got to see my daughter in a year!"  I'm not sure how easy that idea is to understand unless you've lost someone.  The best way I can describe it is to imagine that your child/spouse/friend is somewhere and you can't see them or talk to them in any way.  Would a year seem like a long time?  Would it be hard to go that long?  Should you be over not talking to them after that long?

I know that things get better after you suffer a loss--eventually. I know that.  It is a years-long process, though.  Not a months long one.  However, I think that unless you've experienced it, you cannot grasp the enormity of it all. I am sorry for Michelle William's and her daughter's loss.  I'm glad though, that she shared so openly about it. I hope that her words reach out to others who have experienced it.  People who can say, "A moving river! Yes, grief is a moving river.  It is always changing."  I hope there will be a little comfort for them to know that someone understands.

(I have suffered many losses and have written about them ad nauseum, but I haven't lost a child, spouse or close parent.  I don't want to compare my losses to that of a child or spouse or close parent.  Without taking away from the signficance of my grief, I think those losses are more significant in a way than mine.)

25 down, 5 to go

This post brought to you hours early by my daughter's sore throat/fever and my son's stomach ache. I was afraid if I waited until later to post, I would miss the deadline due to vomitus eruptus.

Memoria: The Final Posts

I know I already posted once today but I am feeling a little antsy and these are the last of the Memoria posts.

Originally posted on April 7, 2006

Uncle L.T. - 1971

This is my Uncle L.T. and his first wife, Paula. It is an old Polaroid I scanned. I think it looks pretty good considering that. On the back, there is a date stamped August 21, 1971. I don't know if that is accurate, but it seems likely. They would have been around 19 years old. I'm not sure if this is before or after he went on his tour of duty but imagine this baby-faced young man experiencing the things I shared in the post "Why I am Writing, cont."

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Originally published on April 18, 2007

Aunt Margaret

I dreamt of Aunt Margaret the other night. I woke up feeling like she has been neglected in this blog. Now, she hasn't really been neglected; I just haven't made it to her yet in these posts. But, because I dreamed about her, I thought I'd at least mention her briefly. Her name was Margaret Louise. She was the fourth of five children and the youngest daughter born to Tommie Lou and Loyd Hoke Reddick. She was my sometimes babysitter, a wonderful aunt (she was my steady supplier of Nancy Drew books for many years) and, when I was older, a dear friend.

Here is a picture I recently scanned of my mom's family:



My mom is in the back--the tall redhead. Next to her is my Uncle Jimmy, then my Grandma, my Grandpa and my Aunt Lea. Kneeling in the front row is Aunt Margaret and Uncle L.T. The adorable blonde in the tire swing is yours truly.

This picture was taken in the summer. It was a last minute get together before my uncle left for the army (or Vietnam.) I remember it was last minute because my aunt was babysitting us. My aunt received a phone call and suddenly she was getting my sister, cousins and I cleaned up. That outfit I'm wearing belonged to my cousin, Candace.

Aunt Margaret was funny, faithful, full of energy, fierce in her beliefs and a good friend to all. At the time she died, I was having in rough time dealing with a stressful situation that had lasted several months. I was also considering leaving my job. I wasn't able to visit her regularly that last year and after she died, I quit my job and shortly after found out I was pregnant. All that, as I look back on it, seemed to get in the way of my grieving her death. I would see women who reminded me of her in many places and for a moment, forget she was gone. I still catch myself thinking, "Aunt Margaret would think that was funny." or "I know what Aunt Margaret would think about that!"

She was something else and I can truly say I've never know anyone like her.

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Originally published on June 26, 2007

Where Things Stand

Uncle L.T. and his daughter

About two years ago, my Uncle L.T. died. I recently came across something a former co-worker wrote about him. It is obvious that L.T. Reddick had a big impact on many people around him. I like knowing that there is a person, living on the other side of the country, who cared enough to write about him, who knew and recognized a lot of the same things I knew about him and recognized in him.

Two years later, I feel like I have mourned his death. Just this past January, I wouldn't have been able to say that. In fact, I began this blog in January of this year to have a place to talk about my grief and to share about those I've lost, beginning with Uncle L.T. Over the last six months, I've written a little over a half-dozen entries. After starting this blog, I began writing more on my family blog and soon after started one more blog for me to talk about whatever was on my mind. I noticed recently that that strong urge to write here was gone. . . at least for now.

Why tell you all this? Just to let you know why I'm not writing much and, if you'd like, where you can go to see what I am writing about. I'll keep this blog alive in case I need to "talk" more in the future. I never did write about my grandma or my brother. I wanted to write more about my aunt. Someday. Maybe.

Until then, may God bless you and keep you. May he make his sun shine upon you.

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Originally published on October 1, 2006

An Unexpected Reminder

My daughter's class has periodic electives called mini-classes. There are usually 3 - 5 classes offered and they last five weeks long. Last year, in kindergarten, Marley wasn't able to participate. This year, however, she was very excited to sign up for one. She chose sign language.

After school one day this past week, I was catching up with one of her teacher's about a field trip. As the conversation continued, the teacher looked at Marley and asked her which mini-class she had signed up for. Marley told her and I was about to say that my Aunt Margaret knew sign language. I couldn't get the words out. As I started to say them they caught in my throat and tears welled up in my eyes.

I was so surprised by this. My Aunt Margaret died seven years ago. Although her death is one that I feel I grieved most inadequately, it seemed like I had come to terms with it in the last year. Maybe it was realizing that Marley never knew her--I found out I was pregnant just a few weeks after she died. I don't know. I just know that for a few moments the other day, the grief was awakened and I missed her so much.

This past Friday night in my small group from church, we ended up discussing the prayers of the saints. Can we pray to the departed and ask them to intercede to Christ on our behalf? Regardless of what the answer to that question is, I like to think of Aunt Margaret looking down and seeing her grandchildren and children and the rest of her family and friends. If she is able to intercede in prayer for us, I am glad--for she always had a definite opinion of what we should do and I know that her prayers would be enthusiastic!

Aunt Margaret, if you are reading this, I love you and miss you. You were a great influence on my life, a cherished aunt and a good friend.

Memoria: My Grandpa!

At the risk of complete bloggy maudlinness, here is the next transfer from my Memoria blog. It just happens to be another grandpa one. Short but sweet.

This is my grandpa, Loyd Reddick. It was taken at a birthday party for him just a few weeks before he died. I love it so much because you get something of his personality in it. By this time, his heart issues were worsening and he had apparently been having small, indiscernible strokes. Much of the time, he wasn't himself. But on this day as friends and family gathered at the Henryetta Free Will Baptist Church to celebrate his 73rd birthday, he was his old self, at least for awhile. Shortly after this, he suffered a severe stroke and was deprived of oxygen for some time. He stayed in the hospital for 2-3 weeks before succumbing to an infection on April 22, 1990.

Just look at that smile! It makes me want to hug him one more time. I love you Grandpa.

Memoria: The Old Rugged Cross

The latest post transferred from my Memoria blog remembers not only my grandpa (again!) but a song...

I love hymns. They may be old-fashioned but hymns remind me of my childhood, my grandparents and the small churches I grew up in. And now, the spiritual content of these songs resonates with me and I appreciate them in a new way. One of those hymns is “The Old Rugged Cross.” Along with “He Could Have Called Ten Thousand Angels,” this song is forever in my heart and mind associated with my grandfather.

The small Free Will Baptist churches in which I grew up had, what I know now, a very rural feel to them. They were churches planted by many of the Oklahoma and Texas transplants who came out to California beginning in the 30's during the Dust Bowl. If you’ve ever been in a small country church, you will have experienced the time during the service when someone sings a “special.” Well, this is one of the songs my grandpa used to sing during that time. He didn’t have the best voice, although he carried a tune better than some of the people I remember! There was a love in his voice though, for the Lord, for singing, for the song. What I wouldn’t give for a recording of my grandpa singing this.

As I grew up and moved on to bigger churches, I always cried when “The Old Rugged Cross” was sung. My grandparents had moved back to Oklahoma and hearing that song always filled me with longing for them. They were a huge part of my life and when they moved, it was one of the bigger changes in my life. The song doesn't evoke the same longing it once did, but it still causes me to remember. Years later, I am able to enjoy a new take on the song, a new arrangement on one of our church’s worship CDs. It brings the song into the present musically while still embracing the lyrics written by George Bennard almost 100 years ago.

The Old Rugged Cross

On a hill far away stood an old rugged cross,
the emblem of suffering and shame;
and I love that old cross where the dearest and best
for a world of lost sinners was slain.

So I'll cherish the old rugged cross,
till my trophies at last I lay down;
I will cling to the old rugged cross,
and exchange it some day for a crown.

O that old rugged cross, so despised by the world,
has a wondrous attraction for me;
for the dear Lamb of God left his glory above
to bear it to dark Calvary.

So I'll cherish the old rugged cross,
till my trophies at last I lay down;
I will cling to the old rugged cross,
and exchange it some day for a crown.

In that old rugged cross, stained with so divine,
a wondrous beauty I see,
for 'twas on that old cross Jesus suffered and died,
to pardon and sanctify me.

So I'll cherish the old rugged cross,
till my trophies at last I lay down;
I will cling to the old rugged cross,
and exchange it some day for a crown.

To that old rugged cross I will ever be true,
its shame and reproach gladly bear;
then he'll call me some day to my home far away,
where his glory forever I'll share.

So I'll cherish the old rugged cross,
till my trophies at last I lay down;
I will cling to the old rugged cross,
and exchange it some day for a crown.

Memoria: Calvacade

As I mentioned previously, I am consolidating my Memoria blog with this one. I've made minor changes to the wording here and there.


cav-al-cade n.

1. A procession of riders or horse-drawn carriages.
2. A ceremonial procession or display.
3. A succession or series: starred in a cavalcade of Broadway hits.

As I have had occasion recently to share a little about my life’s history with other people, I am struck by the number of persons I've loved who have died. It may not be that I’ve lost any more than your average person, but as I get older and the road behind me gets longer and longer, the weight of it all seems greater. Okay, is that a mixed metaphor? To keep mixing those metaphors, as I’ve thought about this, I keep the word “calvacade” comes to mind. My own calvacade of stars: Grandpa, Michael, Grandma, Aunt Margaret, Uncle L.T. (Death has always brought something of the absurd to me.) I want to share a little about those featured in the parade.

Loyd Hoke Reddick. b. 27 Mar 1917, d. 22 Apr 1990

Grandpa. I was married and 25 years old when my grandfather died. That was the first significant loss of my life (by death that is.) My grandfather was my hero growing up. Having never lived with my father, Grandpa was just the nearest thing to heaven for me. He was also a little frightening. He carried an awesome authority which refused to be questioned, but he was a man who loved the Lord, a joker and a man who was full of love for his family. By the time he died, I knew more about life and understood better how my grandfather was flawed but I loved him none the less for it.

He had beautiful blue eyes and a contagious smile, big ears and a little bit of white hair. I can picture him standing with his slacks and white collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He had one characteristic I’ve never seen so strongly in any other person: his eagerness to get to church. If he wasn’t 15 minutes early, then in his mind, he was late. This had nothing to do with a love of punctuality. He truly experienced the church gathering as being in the Lord’s presence--where two or more are gathered. His heart was full of joy on Sunday mornings, evenings and Wednesday nights. Even as I write this, I don’t think I’m able to express it well enough for you to see. I witnessed it and I will never forget it.

I was very saddened by my Grandpa’s death. A sadness deepened because it followed on the heels of a miscarriage I didn’t know how to handle. Maybe because of the miscarriage though, I was prepared for his dying, my emotional soil tilled and ready to plant. Maybe it was because he was so diminished by strokes that he wasn’t really Loyd Reddick anymore. I don’t know. But that was how his death, the first, was for me. Sad but acceptable. The others were different for me, each in their own unique way.

... to be continued

Memoria: a Continuation

As I said a couple of weeks ago, I am slowly transferring posts from my Memoria blog for the purposes of consolidation. In that first Memoria post, I explained that an email from my Uncle L.T. had fallen out of a old journal. Written almost two years before he died, he was responding to a letter I'd sent him. He had previously shared an excerpt with me from a book about one soldier's experiences in Vietnam. I must have written that the story seemed surreal to me and this is what my uncle said in response:

Yes, that story did have a surreal imagery to it, didn't it. But for me it rang true and clear. The banality and mundaneness of worrying over what you were carrying as violence and death were moments away. In the unit I was in, 101st Airborne we stayed out on longer missions. Typically we were in the bush for 3 to 4 weeks at a time. We would be light re-supplied with ammo and food every four days and then a heavy re-supply every 8 days. So you worried and fussed over ounces and keeping your rucksack as light as possible (even though it was always over a hundred lbs.) At the same time you lived with the daily possibility of firefights, ambush, and booby traps. It really was long stretches of boredom interrupted by moments of intense terror.

On one mission we had been humping the bush for days on end it seemed. It was hot, humid with the ground being marsh-like so our feet were getting in bad shape. The marsh had made the walking more difficult so everyone was tired and grumpy. We found a dry spot and took a break. I was sitting on my rucksack talking to Luther Ward who was maybe 3 feet from me sitting on his rucksack. Suddenly the right upper fourth of Luther's head exploded out splattering his blood and brains everywhere. Luther did not die immediately. Even though he was in shock he continued to gurgle and make sounds. I cut a tracheotomy on him so that he could breathe and put a field bandage on his head. He continued to gurgle and make sounds till the evacuation helicopter picked him up.

But once he was gone the banality of our existence continued as we put our rucksacks back on and walked and walked and walked. For hours that day and for days to come we walked. Extreme boredom interrupted by moments of intense terror. Word came down the next day that Ward was dead. Word came down over the radio and the news was passed up and down the line. And we walked.

That is only the second story I know of a specific event which my uncle experienced in Vietnam. I'll tell the other story another time. Both stories, however, have horrific aspects to them. He was only 19 at the time, I believe. He was this goofy guy who played practical jokes on people and liked to laugh all the time.

To imagine just sitting there when someone right next to you was killed.

To try to help that person but having to just do what you can and then move on.

To know that it could just as easily have been you.

It isn't difficult to understand that a one year tour of duty had a profound impact on his life. I think for years and years he never talked about his experiences. I believe only after he went through rehab, lost his marriage and was working on recovery that he opened up a little more about his time there. At least to me. I'm glad to know something of his experiences. It does help me understand part of what haunted him. I'm glad he shared with me. He was an incredible man--incredibly intelligent, funny, talented, flawed.

I wish we could still be sharing.

P.S. By the way, I'm kind of the queen of internet tangents... After rereading this email, I was poking around online looking up stuff on the 101st Airborne, eventually that led to a website for the Vietnam War Memorial. They have a "virtual wall" that allows you to look up names. I typed in Luther Ward and there were two entries. One died in the late 60s. But the other died on October 30, 1971. That is about the time my uncle was there. It is weird to see but at the same time almost reassuring. On that wall is a part of Uncle L.T.'s history even though his name isn't there.



March, 30 2006: A few weeks after finding that email, I was in Border's and happened across a book called The Things They Carried, a soldier's memoir of Vietnam. Because I had been writing about my uncle, I decided to buy it. As I started reading, I realized it was the book my uncle had shared with me.