A Broken Heart Even the BeeGees Can't Mend

If you've been visiting me for a while, you've heard a thing or 2 about how 'dangerous' I am on anesthesia.  IV morphine apparently has as impressive an effect as well. I remember little of the next 2 weeks.  Quick snatches here and there emerge from time to time.  Before I was loaded onto the EMS van, I made sure that my sister would take my then 6th grader and see to it that he finished his schoolwork for that day.  I remember telling Son #1 that he should go on to classes as there was nothing else he could to for me. What a hero he and his brother had been that morning.  He finally relented and tried to collect himself enough to be a college freshman the rest of that day.  I will always fear that I destroyed what was left of his 1st semester of college. Maybe my inner fraidy cat rules the roost on that one?

 Once the IV took effect, I began to shake violently and continued to do so for several hours. The paramedic apologetically asked could he do anything for me when I cried out in pain. I asked him to hold my hand.  I remember I kept saying, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry..." to no one in particular.  I guess I had said it a bazillion times because he finally asked me why.  I told him that we couldn't afford the expense or inconvenience of what I had just done and that I couldn't believe I had been that careless. I know I managed to see to Son #2's school work in the days between the fall and the surgery that would put enough hardware  in my leg to guarantee my reserved spot in a TSA body scanner.  I guess the rest was like labor. I forgot it as soon as it was over.  I am sure that drug induced ignorance is bliss in this case.


They patched me up and sent me home to await surgery on October 30th. The otherworldly sobbing began.  I remember sleeping.  I was vaguely aware that my husband got home from Tennessee, but it was as if he was a dream. I remember knowing he was there. I remember knowing he took me home from the hospital after surgery and headed back to our new, never to be home, in Tennessee. Other than that, I'm clueless.


A few weeks ago, Son #1 and I were reflecting back over that day and that week.  He said, "Mamma, I've never seen you cry like that. You cried and you cried and you cried. I don't just mean you cried. I mean you BABY cried....just like a little baby. You'd doze off for a while and then wake to insist you had to call Becca. We'd tell you that she had been there, and you'd talked to her. You'd dose off and wake again only to have to be reassured again."

 It's been almost 2 years.  I can look back at those early days with a little objectivity now. Not much, but some.  I'll tell you about that 'baby cry'.  I think the IV pain killers, and the oral ones that followed, opened the flood gates of my wounded soul.  All the stress that I had held back between 1999 and 2009 finally had a way of escape. I wasn't crying out of the pain of a broken leg as much as I was crying out of the pain of a broken heart and spirit. When I could finally get to a window to look out at the scene of the 'crime', I couldn't. It was months before I could bring myself to stare out at the spot because I knew my broken heart was out there still waiting to be reclaimed.


The Becca I had asked for over and over again had rushed dinner over to my family that night.  She was the 1st of an army of friends who put food on our table 3-4 times a week for 7.5 weeks.  Their thoughtfulness extended to Jeff even tho' he was 6 hrs away. When he came home every 2 weeks, we had frozen 'TV dinner' type meals for him to take back to his new home. It wasn't a fresh out of our own oven home cooked meal, but it would have to do for a family living in 2 states. And, it was beyond what we deserved or could have hoped for.

One of my BFF's, Sally, came 2-3 mornings a week to bring breakfast and coffee from our 2nd level down to the 1st where I lived for most of a month.  She has Rheumatoid Arthritis and came even when her condition flared and damp, cold weather heightened the flare. My sister was there every single weekday from October 27th until Dec 22nd. She helped me make the arduous trip up 2 flights of stairs so that I could shower.  When I could joke a little bit again, we'd laugh about me having bat wings of steel that could be registered as lethal weapons before my ordeal was over. Another group of friends came twice and cleaned a bit. My boys were doing ok in that regard, but you know how it is....kids don't clean like a mom does. My brother helped keep Son #2 occupied as did another BFF, Anne and her boys. Our next door neighbor mowed our lawn when she mowed hers.  All in all, it took an army to make up for my careless, hasty decision to go where I had told everyman not to go.

Looking back, the faithfulness of those folks still amazes me.  My head knows they were God's hands extended and that their blessing upon my family was incalculable.  I often told myself my situation was temporary. I would walk again.  It would be 6 months before I stood alone on my own 2 feet, but I would walk again. Maybe, just maybe I'd run up the stairs again.  Funny, after I had mowed our 3/4 of an acre the day before I fell, I had spent a lot of time patting myself on the back for being such a tough old broad.  Son #1 said, "Mom...you know what they say...pride go-eth before a fall." Sigh...apparently, the saying, "From your lips to God's ears" also applies when we least expect or want.

Even tho' my head knew all these lovely and true things about my friends being God's hands extended, my heart...was not in the game anymore. I looked at my bookcase full of treasured books by Elizabeth George, Kay Arthur, Beth Moore, Donna Partow and all the others.  I looked at my multiple translations of the Bible.  I couldn't bear to look for long. I could no more make my way to that bookcase using my walker than I could get out of the house without help. I have never, never felt so lonely, forlorn, and abandoned in all my life.

The cheerleader in me was scathing.  She poked. She prodded. She cajoled. She sermonized.  She berated. I was numb, and her words had no effect.  I had lost my heart and my good God, and I not only didn't know where or how to look for them, I couldn't even work up the gumption to try.

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

"God, we had just started over. We were finally free of the monster that had hidden in the shadows of our marriage all these years.  We had a home to call our own again. For the 1st time in our marriage, we had the ability to work together as a team to fix it up. Now he lives there, and I live here.  How can we recreate a marriage that never was living in 2 states? What are you doing to me? To us? What have WE done to you to deserve this? What are we too stubborn to learn?  Why do we need a post-test? I'm so tired of being the flannel board story of faith in everyone else's life. Do you hear me? I'm tired.  If you are out there, you are going to have to come find me. I've looked and looked and looked for you, but you won't let me find you. Have I ever been anyone to you? I wanted to be your chiefest cheerleader -- the one that could tell everyone you would restore all that you had taken away when your time was right. Why can't THAT be the story I tell instead of this sorry tale?"

What about you, fraidy cat?  Where is/was your breaking point? Everyone has one, I think.  I used to think my life was so weird that no one could understand. Then, I went to the writer's conference and heard stories that make mine pale.  In fact, a former runner up to Miss America told how her own brother-in-law had shot at her only a short while before the conference in 2010.  Hah! I didn't get the chance to meet her, but I didn't have to. I knew she'd 'get me' in a skinny minute. Another keynote speaker told us, "As a writer, I don't have crises, I have anecdotes."  Lord knows, I've got a million of  'em, I feel like.  I am humbled that you keep coming back to share them.  Some days you come in droves. Some days you come in a trickle. But come, you do. And, I thank you for it.

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

I'm writing my way back to God.  I hope before I'm done, we will all know something about him that we can't even imagine now.  In fact, I'm desperately depending on it.  I want my heart back.....so...I'll keep writing. See you tomorrow?

Ezekiel 36:26  (KJV c. 1769)
A new heart also will I give you, and a new spirit will I put within you: and I will take away the stony heart out of your flesh, and I will give you an heart of flesh.

I Wish I'd Left My Heart in San Francisco

We quickly embraced the idea of the move to TN and enjoyed a giddy celebration meal with our boys. News was that Jeff's new company would send him to France, Poland, and maybe Germany. We might even live in France at some point in the future. If I hadn't been a fraidy cat, allergic to passports and all, it would have been a homeschooler's dream come true. What an education!

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

I took a lot of huge gulps of water but made a mental note that I probably could use something a good deal stronger! I sang the re-invented version of my Willie Neslon theme song, put my head down, and decided I'd go inter-continental when the time came. I figured I'd pass out from hyperventilating before fear killed me. Even then, I knew my inner self wanted to suffocate the fraidy cat that has haunted me most all my days. Good a time as ever to slay the dragon-cat. Long in the tooth as I was even then, I was running out of borrowed time for such a lofty undertaking.

The mover came and did an audit to determine the size truck we'd need to beam us into our future. The home inspector came and sized up our house with good bones. We knew it was going to be tight since it had been a no down payment loan. We weren't sure, frankly, exactly how it would work this time. We'd always moved with a hefty amount of principal attached to our name before. Those days of being the darling of the real estate industry were long over. We'd shrug and say, “Tomorrow will take care of itself. We survived! YEA! GOD!” 

Two realtors came – one of the company's choice and one of ours. We made hurried explanations of how the bones needed new paint and new carpet. We pointed out that the good bones had outweighed the cosmetic stuff that needed doing when we had moved in 9 months prior. Both individuals seemed a bit more nervous than I recalled realtors seeming when we sold any of the last 5 houses we'd owned. Hmmm....

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

We picked thru the employment contract knowing that those 'no down' deals had dissipated with the economic earthquake. Hey, we'd survived! It would work out. Our realtor of choice came back with a friend who was an appraiser. I think that's what they said he was. We gathered in the entry hall. They coughed and stuttered and stubbed at the floor with their toes. They had a hard time making eye contact. I smelled blood in the water...and I was the chum. Deja vu starts feeling real familiar after a while. Pun intended.

With all the moving we'd done, I had developed a hobby, real estate. About every realtor we'd ever worked with asked me why I didn't get my license. I figured once the boys were old enough, I would. I figured out how to use public information to run my own comps when my folks bought the house a mile from us. I was within $3,000.00 of what their realtor came up with. We went with my numbers, and they got the house. I had a sense about these things. I watched those fellas looking like they were bugs run thru with mounting pins.

Jeff said, “Something's wrong?”

I said, “We are under water (a term meaning you owe more than the house is worth). How bad is it?”

Shock registered on their faces as they glanced at each other. The realtor asked how we knew. “It's a hobby...look...we've already talked with the bank and have worked out a short sale or deed in lieu of foreclosure if that doesn't work. We had already let go of the house in our minds. What you are saying is less shocking than if we were losing it. We'll figure out something.“

The 2 men let out long, slow sighs of relief. The cohort spoke up. “At least you two had an idea. About everybody we talk to these days expects to make the profit they would have made last year this time. We are spending our time telling them what we were going to tell you. Only, they are clueless. At least you all had a clue.” Then, I noticed, really noticed for the first time. Those fellas looked like they had been beat to a pulp emotionally. It was hard enough to hear the news. I couldn't imagine being the one to deliver the news to unsuspecting folks like us who had a house they needed to unload quickly. I couldn't help but feel sorrier for them in that moment than I did for me. They left as we all agreed that things might pick up in a few months, and we'd try again. Hahhahahahahaha as they say on facebook.

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

$30,000.00. Our house with good bones had lost that much in equity in 9 months. Every dime of it hurt since we had moved in the month before the crash with no down payment. Time to regroup. We survived. We'd figure out plan B. Yea, God. Jeff spent a lot of time communicating with his new company. In any other economic climate, their hiring package would have been like wining a Powerball lottery to a modest, just getting back on our feet again, family like ours. It was a dream come true that seemed surreal. Or, it would have been if reality had not been more surreal.

We were, again, a statistic. I heard about us on the news almost every night. The good news was Jeff did have a job. We decided to rent the house here and rent one up there. Our older son had opted to attend his 1^st year of college in town but would move in with my folks. That would be good. They'd have a younger person coming and going daily. Yea, God! Plan B would work. We'd lose a lot of those perky moving benefits as renters vs buyers, but we'd survived. Whew! I could still be the cheerleader!

Unbelievably, the numbers again started looking really dicey. It boiled down to our losing money on the rental plan. Rental rates had plummeted along with the real estate market. Who knew? Not us. No, we wouldn't go in the hole as much as if Jeff were unemployed. However, when you have only one credit card, you can't afford to go in the hole any. We began to feel like dogs chasing our tails. We went round and round trying to figure out how to make income match outgo if we rented in both towns.

Surreal. We snagged a job in the worst economy since the great depression. Not any job. A dream job with benefits to die for. Ok...we'll take the job even if we can't have all those fancy-schmancy benefits. Who cares. We will be together. But, how do we keep going in the hole every month? We wrestled with the dilemma from June thru mid-October. We decided to go for broke as we were going to go broke one way or the other it seemed. We found a wonderful homeschooling family with lots of little kids to fill up our house with good bones. They had experience rehabbing homes and were happy to do the painting we would not get to do. They were coming over on Wednesday the 28^th of October, 2009 to ink the deal. YEA! GOD! On the road again...on the road again...I just can't wait to get on the road again....

I mowed grass on Monday as rain was expected on Tuesday. I'm OCD about not moving the mower back into our workshop till it has cooled some. Early Tuesday the 27^th, I told my just turned 19-year-old college freshman that I was heading to the grocery store to get milk. I'd be back in a few. He was home studying for test. I had time. He had skipped a class to study. What a fateful decision.

I plopped my keys, phone, license, and debit card on the front seat of the van. I glanced down the back yard at my freshly cut grass and realized the mower was still parked in front of the workshop. ERGH! The rain was starting. No problem, I'd run down and put it away. I will never know why I took the path I took. Being a good Presbyterian, I'd have to say it was Providence. Sigh. I had no idea that I was going to fall. I had no idea that when the EMS squad picked me up to head for the hospital, we'd leave my heart behind in the rain and mud.

Fraidy Cat Bucket List

Well, let me start right off by saying I'm afraid the term 'bucket list' is intellectual property and that blogspot will shortly be taking down my blog.  Since I am presently under the influence of muscle relaxers, I'm thinking I can plead insanity.  Lucky for me, I have all of  you that  I can call as character witnesses to plead my case! I knew this blog would be a win-win for me at some point in time! Where is that coupon for a get out of jail free card?


I know you are asking, "Why muscle relaxers?"  Because I am allergic to home renovation and knew better, but I still got up on my kitchen ladder and painted those cabinets. I think it is a repetitive stress injury. I'm afraid the doctor will call it old age.  I like my diagnosis better. I also think I see another letter in the near future for Martha and Ree.  Pretty soon, we are going to be on a first name basis. They really should practice truth in advertising!  I was going to try and make homemade marshmallows too.  Then, I remembered that old adage, "Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me." The grocery store had a 2 for 1 sale. Crisis averted.

The next thing you need to know is that I don't make lists.  I learned not to make them a long time ago.  I'm not exactly sure where I learned it or when I got so good at it.  If they gave gold medals for list avoidance, I'd have to go out and get some little gold lame outfit sorta like ice skaters wear, so I could stand up on that little podium and weep ever so delicately while all ya'll sing the National Anthem. Well, we'd ALL be weeping because once you saw cellulite from my neck to my knees, you'd weep  uncontrollably. How's that for taking off my fraidy cat mask and admitting the truth?

All joking aside, lists make me hyperventilate because, other than a grocery list,  I've never been able to live up to one. Sometimes, I've even failed grocery list 101!  When we first got married, a couple in our Sunday School class went away every New Year's weekend to plan goals for the next year. They had the audacity to spell it all out for us one Sunday. Yea, I hated 'em. In all Christian love, of course. Bless their hearts, honey.


I tell myself life stomped the ability to make a 'to do' list out of me.  I used to try to make them. As sure as I did, a son would come down with a 106F temp.  No, that's not a joke. If someone wasn't running a fever, I was preoccupied with the educational needs of 2 boys who learned in a-typical ways. Planning for that endeavor expanded to fill the time allotted, so nothing else got planned.  Or, I was facing a huge crisis like my husband's near fatal asthma attack or bout of sepsis.  Then, there was the loss of a home and Chapter 13 because of a protracted period of unemployment and COBRA payments that were more than our house payment.  After a while, my list went something like this:

Remember to breathe. 

So, here I am on the cusp of empty nest syndrome. I am trying to be who I've always wanted to be when I grew up. I am paralyzed by the fact that I can't make lists. Well, I can make them, but I'm afraid I can't make them happen! Betcha your bottom dollar my list aversion really has something to do with fear of success or fear of failure or both. If I make the list, I might fail. If I make the list, I might have to hold myself to a higher performance standard and then learn to accept success.  What a conundrum! So, everyone take a deep breath (but don't suck all the oxygen out of the air cause I'm gonna need some), I'm about to go on the record.

Wait...maybe not. No, I really think it's time. Hmm....I'm not sure.....AURGH!

  My fraidy cat bucket list:

* start  freelance writing business/sumbit 3 queries re freelance pools
* contact local Chamber of Commerce
* launch Fraidy Cat Homeschoolers blog
* attend writer's breakfast and critique group
* investigate fall writer's conference in New Mexico
* go to an indoor rock climbing wall and harness up...yea..me and ALLLL my cellulite

* look at an Outward Bound program for women
* make appts with 10 courageous people to interview for this blog

* submit 3 queries re freelance articles
* get back on the Vegan wagon which I fell off of the week of the conference

It's a good thing I'm on painkillers because if I wasn't, I'd pass out cold right now. Diagnosis: fear.  In some way, my entire future rests on each of those things.  Right now tonight, they seem as possible as my going on a shuttle mission--which I can't do since the last mission has launched! I'm afraid I won't be able to follow my dream or reach my goals. I'm afraid I'm not organized enough. I'm afraid I won't be able to work fast enough to give my husband the breathing room he needs as his health continues to decline. I'm afraid I'll try and look like a fool when I fail. 

Well, it's time to suit up again.  Nike's and scuba gear vs garden party hats and gloves. This week is going to come and go no matter what I do.  If I do nothing, the fraidy cat wins again. And, since I've delivered his eviction notice, I really have no choice.

So, what about you? What are you afraid of, and what are you going to do about it this week? 

1 Corinthians 16:13- Be on your guard; stand firm in the faith, be men of courage; be strong. Do everything in love.  (NIV)