Visiting Aunt Frances in Assisted Living

  Pictured are my late Uncle Fred E. Crain and my Aunt Frances H. Crain, during their younger days.


On Friday, Jan. 17, 2020, I drive to see Aunt Frances Crain at Spring Park, an assisted living facility in Travelers Rest, SC.
  
I sign in on the foyer sheet and walk a long hallway to the memory care portion of the large Spring Park facility. A slender young lady with a pull-along suitcase holds the door to the memory care unit. Because she lets me in, I don’t have to punch in the four-digit number in order to enter. She heads off with her pull-along.
  
I don’t see Aunt Frances Crain in the sitting area, so I walk toward her room. The young lady I’d just seen is standing at Aunt’s door, knocking. The memory care supervisor, Nicki, tells me that the young lady is there to give Aunt Frances an ultrasound test on a lower legs that tends to swell. I’ll have to wait to see Aunt. 
  
“Okay,” I say, and I sit on a bench near Aunt Frances’ room.
  
In maybe 12 minutes, the young lady exits Aunt’s room and walks toward me.
  
“She’s okay. No blood clot,” the nice young lady says, as she hurries past.
  
“Thank you,” I say.
  
I knock on Aunt’s door and she lets me in. She mentions being lonely and says she’s glad I came. She and my late Uncle Fred had no children. We sit and talk about old times — she remembers those pretty well. She sits in her recliner. I sit in the one Uncle Fred once used. His memory was good, but he entered the memory care in order to stay with Aunt Frances. He passed on Feb. 21, 2018.
  
Aunt Frances talks about her childhood.
  
“When we lived near your mother [Eva Fowler Crain], we was the only family that didn’t own our home,” Frances says. “We rented. Daddy was a share-cropper. He and Mother raised six children. I was the youngest. I don’t know how they did it.”
  
“McDonalds owned their house,” Frances continues. “He owned a store in town. And there was the Bradleys. Mr. Bradley was a supervisor in the mill. They had two children: Ophelia and Daffen (a boy). They’d drive to town on Saturdays. We’d see them go by. They sort of seemed above us in a way. We seemed kind of out of place. Everybody owned their own place but us. We were renters. The Moons owned their house. Mr. Fowler drawed a pension from the Spanish-American War. He kept a pretty new car. He drove a Huson, a big car. Me and Mary would ride to Sunday school at Double Springs Baptist Church with the Fowlers.
  
She continues, “Eva and Edna buddied with me and Mary. Eva was older than me but we were good friends. Mary was over three years older than me. Edna was younger than Eva, but Edna wanted to buddy with Mary. Seems like Edna wanted to be older than she was.”
  
(Eva Fowler Crain was born in April 1921. Frances Hawkins Crain was born in April 1927. Edna Fowler Sloan was born in 1926. Mary was about three years older than Frances. Eva and Frances were good friends. Mary and Edna were good friends. The four all buddied together.)
  
“Where did you live first during your life?” I ask.
  
“We lived up on Hwy. 25,” Frances says.
  
“Where’d you go to school?”
  
“Was it Belview?” she says, adding, “Mary finished school when she was 15. She was too young to get a job, so she worked on the farm. She started school early. They say she got up one morning and fixed her a lunch and put it in a sack and said, 'I’m going to school and I don’t mean maybe!'”
  
Frances laughs. I laugh.
  
“I wasn’t old enough to get a job at Southern Bleachery when I graduated from Mountain View School [1944]," she says, "but I went down to the mill. You had to stand outside a fence. The boss man came there and said to me, ‘You don’t look 18.’ I said, ‘Don’t I look like it?’ He said, ‘Come on with me.’ He took me to an office and told a lady, ‘Write her up.’ That meant write me up for a job. I didn't tell a lie. I just said, 'Don't I look like it.'"
  
“I guess they needed you because so many men were in World War II,” I say.
  
“Yes, that’s right,” Frances says. “And they hired me because Mary had made them a good hand. She was already working there.”
  
We talk a little longer.
  
“How is Carol?” Frances asks.
  
“She’s fine,” I say.
  
I had hesitated for a second before speaking, and Frances picked up on that. I usually say Carol’s fine because where she is, she is fine.
  
“Is Carol passed on?” Frances says.
  
“Yes,” I say. “She’s fine in heaven.
  
“I thought I remembered that,” Frances says, with a worried look. “There was something in the way you said ‘fine’ that made me think of that.”
  
“I’ll tell you this, also,” I say. “My sister, Shirley, passed on.”
  
“When?” Frances says. “Why didn’t I know about it?”
  
“It just happened on Dec. 27,” I say.
  
“Well, why didn’t Fred and I know about it?” she says.
  
I tell her that Uncle Fred already passed on, also, and she then remembers that he did. (I don’t usually correct her on who has passed on. Aunt asks me many times about Carol and I just say, “She’s fine.”)
  
We talk a little longer, and I tell her I have to go. We stand and I hug her close and pray for her. She seems so tiny and frail. She says “yes” to some of the things I pray about. After the pray I lean down and kiss her on her head. She kisses me on the cheek.
  
“Steve, you’ve been like a son to me,” she says.
  
“And you’ve been like a mother to me, Aunt Frances,” I say.
  
We both shed tears.
 
“Do you want to go down to the sitting room?” I ask.
  
“Yes, I’ll go,” she says. “Let me take my sweater. Let’s see . . . do I have my key? Yes, there it is, around my neck.”
  
We shut the locked door, and I take her hand. We walk the hall to the sitting area, where four or five residents sit and watch TV or snooze.
  
An aide and a nurse, dressed in white, are attending to a gentleman near the TV. I see an empty rest-chair a few feet away.
  
“Is anyone using this chair?” I ask.
  
“No,” the nurse says, smiling.
  
I move the chair slightly, and Aunt Frances sits. I tell Aunt Francs “goodbye” again and walk away. As I go, I hear Aunt Frances say proudly to the nurse, “That’s my nephew.”
  
Twenty-five feet from Aunt Frances, I punch the four-digit number, wait 12 seconds for the memory-care door to open, and move into the hallway that leads to the outside world. I head to my car and drive away, thinking about Aunt Frances saying to the nurse, “That’s my nephew.”

Winter's Lovely Bare Trees

  During springtime, trees clothe themselves with leaves of various tints and shades of green. Did you know the human eye can perceive more variations within the green family than within any other color group?

  Leaves are beautiful, but there’s something about bare trees in winter that I like.

  Poet Samuel Menashe said this:

  When one sees the tree in leaf
  One thinks the beauty of the
  Tree is in its leaves,
  And then one sees the bare
  Tree.
 
  Bare trees remind me of the studs of a house before drywall is hung on them.

  While my family lived (for 28 years) in Southern Pines, NC, I saw — what else? — a lot of tall pines. The Sandhills of NC is fairly flat. Ft. Bragg, not far from where we lived, was home to 45,000 soldiers. Once, while driving to Fayetteville, I looked into the woods on Ft. Bragg’s property and saw soldiers and tanks camouflaged so well that I almost missed seeing them. Soldiers and equipment blended with trees.

  Joyce Kilmer, born on Dec. 6, 1886, wrote this famous poem called “Trees.”

  I think that I shall never see
  
  A poem lovely as a tree.
  A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
  
  Against the sweet earth's flowing breast;
  A tree that looks at God all day,
  
  And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
  A tree that may in summer wear 
  
  A nest of robins in her hair;
  Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
  
  Who intimately lives with rain.
  Poems are made by fools like me,
  
  But only God can make a tree.

  Kilmer died at age 31. As a U.S. soldier, he was struck down by a German sniper’s bullet on July 30, 1918.

  Did you know that trees are mentioned in the Bible more than any living thing other than God and people? (I found most of the following truths about trees at christianity.com.)

  “Trees are the oldest living things on earth. There are trees alive today that were already ancient in the time of Christ.

  “There’s a tree on the first page of Genesis, the first Psalm, the first page of the New Testament, and the last page of Revelation.”

  Noah received the olive branch. Abraham sat under the oaks of Mamre. Moses stood barefoot in front of the burning bush. Zacchaeus climbed the sycamore. A blind man saw people as if they were trees walking after Jesus prayed. The disciples gathered on the Mount of Olives. The apostle Paul wrote that if we observe God’s natural world, we are without excuse for knowing God. Paul wrote that Gentile Christians are like branches grafted into Israel’s tree trunk.

  Isaiah used symbolism about plants when he talked about Jesus.

  “For he shall grow up before him as a tender plant, and as a root out of a dry ground . . . ” (Isaiah 53:2-3).

  Jesus grew up in a carpenter’s home. He talked about seeds of faith and said the kingdom of heaven was like a tree.

  He said, “I am the true vine, and my Father is the husbandman [gardener].”
  
  Jesus’ favorite place to pray was an olive grove. And he died on a tree.

  “And I, if I be lifted up from the earth, will draw all men unto me, ” Jesus said.
  
  “Christ hath redeemed us from the curse of the law, being made a curse for us: for it is written, Cursed is every one that hangeth on a tree” (Galatians 3:13).

  Here are the lyrics to “He Grew the Tree,” written by Chuck Lawrence in 1982:

  He molded and built a small lonely hill
  That He knew would be called Calvary
  Then he made the seed that would grow to be
  Thorns that would make His Son bleed
  Then He made a green stem, gave it leaves and then
  Gave it sunshine, and rain, and sheltered it with moss
  And He grew the tree, that He knew would be
  Used to make the old rugged cross

  (Chorus) And nothing took His life
  With great love He gave it
  And He was crucified on a tree that He created
  With great love for man
  God stayed with His plan
  And He grew the tree so that we might go free

  With tears in His eyes, God looked down through time
  Saw Him spat upon, rejected, and mocked
  Still He grew the tree that He knew would be
  Used to make the Old Rugged Cross

   I can hardly look at a large bare tree during wintertime that I don’t think of the song “He Grew the Tree.” Thank you, Lord, for your love for us. Amen.

When They Saw the Star, How Big Did It Appear?

On Christmas cards, some artists enlarge the star the wise men saw. If it had been that large, wouldn’t King Herod have seen it?

“Just what was this star, and how could it possibly lead them [the wise men] . . . to just the right location, especially since every one else in the city of the promised Messiah seemed unaware of it?” asks Henry M. Morris, Ph.D.

The Bible says, “Now when Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judaea in the days of Herod the king, behold, there came wise men from the east to Jerusalem, saying, Where is he that is born King of the Jews? for we have seen his star in the east, and are come to worship him” (Matthew 2:1-2).

The wise men traveled to Jerusalem, located 5.52 miles from Bethlehem. They almost found Jesus on their first try.

The “wise men” were scholars called “the Magi” (from which our word “magic” comes). They hailed from countries such as Iran (part of ancient Persia, that extended from Egypt to India). The Magi studied stars (astronomy) and our physical universe. The wise men who looked for Jesus probably researched the Old Testament and found prophecies about the Messiah.

“There is even an ancient tradition that Balaam, the notorious prophet from Mesopotamia, was an early member of the Magi, perhaps even their founder,” Dr. Morris says. “If so, this fact would at least partially explain why the Magi at the time of Christ were aware that a special star would be used by God to announce the Savior's birth to this world. It was Balaam's prophecy, of course, as recorded in the Bible, that spoke of this future star. Here is his prophecy, actually constrained by God to be uttered against the prophet's own will”:

“I shall see Him, but not now: I shall behold Him, but not nigh: there shall come a Star out of Jacob, and a Sceptre shall rise out of Israel, and shall smite the corners of Moab, and destroy all the children of Sheth, and Edom shall be a possession. Seir also shall be a possession for his enemies; and Israel shall do valiantly. Out of Jacob shall come He that shall have dominion, and shall destroy him that remaineth of the city” (Numbers 24:17-19).

The Bible does not say there were three wise men or that they were kings.

“Some assume they were three kings because of the number and types of gifts – gold, frankincense and myrrh – brought to Jesus,” Dr. Morris says. “The gifts reflected aspects of Christ's nature: gold to a king; myrrh to one who will die; and incense, as homage to God.”

King Herod (who had been appointed “King of the Jews”) consulted scholars and sent the magi to Bethlehem.

“But thou, Bethlehem Ephratah, though thou be little among the thousands of Judah, yet out of thee shall he come forth unto me that is to be ruler in Israel; whose goings forth have been from of old, from everlasting” (Micah 5:2).

“Then, as they headed toward Bethlehem, they suddenly saw the Star again,” Dr. Morris says. “Though they had not been able to see it while traveling to Jerusalem, it had been going before them and now appeared once again, probably in the early morning sky.”

“ … the star … went before them, till it came and stood over where the young child was. When they saw the star, they rejoiced with exceeding great joy. … they saw the young child with Mary his mother, and fell down, and worshipped him” (Matt. 2:7-11).

“Some scholars say the magi found Jesus just after his birth or within 40 days of it, Dr Morris says. “Others say they found Jesus two or three years later. Some say Jesus was living in a house in Bethlehem, as a young child, when magi brought gifts. Some believe Jesus was born in the autumn, during the Jewish Feast of Tabernacles. The Bible certainly records this fact: the magi found Jesus!”

Dr. Morris seems to believe that the star the wise men followed was a nova or supernova, “a sudden, rare, entirely unpredictable explosion” of an existing star. “Somehow what seems to be an ordinary star suddenly increases tremendously in brilliance, continuing so for several months until it finally fades away.”

“The Biblical account does not say that the star stood above the actual house, of course, but it would be easy enough to find out from the townspeople where the babe was, for the town was not large,” Dr. Morris says.

The Star didn’t appear in the sky as large as artists draw it on Christmas cards, but it appeared large enough for wise men to find Jesus.

Bread for Christmas . . . and Always

Do you like bread? Most of us do — wheat bread, oat bread, cornbread, rye bread, biscuit, yeast bread, sourdough, flatbread, soda bread, Panera Bread. Oops! Panera Bread is a restaurant. 
 
Panera is a Spanish word meaning granary or breadbasket.
 
“Bread is prepared by cooking a dough of flour and water and often additional ingredients,” according to Wikipedia.
 
Bread doughs are usually baked and may be leavened or unleavened. The Passover meal features unleavened bread. Leaven is a substance — such as yeast —  that makes bread rise when cooked. (Baking soda is a chemical leavening.)
 
Bread is often called the Staff of Life. It’s a basic food and has come to indicate food in general. We say we’re breaking bread together to mean we’re sharing a meal.
 
“Whether made from wheat, rye, barley, millet, rice or even potato flour, it [bread] has been the basic diet of common people,” says Don Mears. “Bread has been synonymous with food for ordinary working people of many cultures. As the common food of the average Israelite, it featured frequently in the spiritual consciousness and the ceremonial and sacrificial worship of ancient Israel.”
 
Bethlehem, a small town in Israel, became Jesus’ birthplace. In the Hebrew language, Bethlehem means house of bread.
 
Micah said prophetically, “But thou, Bethlehem Ephratah, though thou be little among thousands in Judah, yet out of thee shall he come forth unto me that is to be ruler in Israel; whose goings forth have been from of old, from everlasting” (Micah 5:2).
God caused Joseph and Mary to journey to Bethlehem. 
 
We read in Luke 2:1-7: “And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be taxed. (And this taxing was first made when Cyrenius was governor of Syria.) And all went to be taxed, every one into his own city.
 
“And Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judaea, unto the city of David, which is called Bethlehem: (because he was of the house and lineage of David:) To be taxed with Mary his espoused wife, being great with child.”
 
The couple traveled 90 miles to the city of Joseph’s ancestors. The journey might have taken seven days — going south and then west over hills around Jerusalem and on into Bethlehem.
 
While they stayed in Bethlehem in a stable, because there was no room for them in an inn, Mary’s baby was delivered.

“And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger.”
 
The Bread of Life was born in a stable in a small town whose name means house of bread.
 
Jesus later fed a large crowd with five loaves and two fish (John 6). Many from that crowd found him the next day, and he told them that they were seeking him because they ate the loaves “and were filled.” He said they weren’t looking for him because of the miracles he had done.
 
“They saw this miracle and they fixated on the product of the miracle, not the person of the miracle,” says John Piper, a Bible scholar. “Jesus did not come into the world mainly to give bread, but to be bread.” 
 
They replied that they wanted a sign from Jesus in order to believe in him. They said their ancestors ate manna (bread from heaven) given by God to them in the desert as they fled Egypt.
 
Jesus told them that his Father was giving them true bread from heaven — bread that gives life to the world. He said that their fathers ate manna but are dead. “Whoever eats this bread will live forever,” Jesus said. 
 
That group of Jews desired earthly provisions, but Jesus wanted to give them bread from heaven. He tried to move their thinking away from physical things and focus their minds on the spiritual realm.
 
Jesus said to them, “I am the bread of life: he who comes to me shall never hunger; and he who believes on me shall never thirst” (John 6:35).
 
At The Last Supper, Jesus handed bread to his disciples and said, “Take, eat; this is my body.”
 
Today, Jesus wants us to know that he is the spiritual bread that brings eternal life.

SHOPPING EARLY BEFORE the WEDNESDAY RUSH

I drove to CVS to pick up a prescription this afternoon, Tuesday, and trekked on to Bi-Lo on Wade Hampton Blvd. in Taylors, SC.

I hit Bi-Lo a day early this week to avoid the Wednesday pre-Thanksgiving grocery-getters. I get a five percent Bi-Lo discount on Wednesdays (Bi-Lo seniors day), and I hated to give up my discount, but I anticipate a flood of Wednesday shoppers.

The Bi-Lo parking lot was full. Some store items — like cheese and lettuce — seemed already depleted, and people gave off vibes of being a little more erratic and edgy than usual; they appeared sort of geared up, like snow was coming or something. The bread shelf seemed well-stocked, though.

Stacked near the Bi-Lo entrance lay pecan pies for $9.00 each. Nuts are high. A small bag of no more than 25 pecans costs $4.99. Good Grannies! I used to knock pecans out of trees at Ma Crain’s house like they were nothing. We took ’em for granted. I now, since Jan. 2018, live in Taylors on a small lot with one tree, a Bradford Pear tree, a somewhat despised thing with bad genetics — and no fruit or nuts on it. Sweet potato pies were $3.99. That’s more realistic than the pecan pies, I guess.

At check-out I mentioned to the cashier that I usually shop on Wednesdays to get the five percent discount but wanted to avoid the crowd tomorrow.

“Oh, I wish I could avoid it tomorrow,” she said.

On Thursday, I plan to eat Thanksgiving Dinner at Golden Corral with Terry Smith and his wife, Janelle, my older daughter. Our younger daughter, Suzanne, and her husband Chad Miller, plan to do something such as hiking around their home in Carrboro, NC, on Thanksgiving Day. She's a vegan, so turkeys have no appeal to her.

This is my first Thanksgiving without Carol. Last year, she and I spent Thanksgiving Day at North Greenville Hospital; Carol was in intensive care; she passed on Jan. 11, 2019.

Carol’s cousin’s son, Tim Deems, and his wife, Robin, are supposed to be at my house on Sat., noon, to watch the Clemson versus Univ. of South Carolina game. So, I bought a few packs of crackers and a carton of Prestige vanilla ice cream. I might get some nuts and soft drinks after Thanksgiving and have them on hand for the big game.

I spent less than 75 dollars today. I don’t eat right and don’t cook. I warmed soup one night and felt as if I was cooking a meal. Right now I need to go and boil some eggs. I buy them in six-to-a-carton containers and boil them to mix with tuna fish, pickles, and Duke’s mayonnaise. I boil eggs so seldom that I have to copy off my internet directions on how to do it.

I don’t have to go out tomorrow and brave the traffic. I’ll hole up at home, eat a tuna sandwich, and be thankful I bought groceries on Tuesday. Have a Happy Thanksgiving!

Suicide Awareness Walk -- Let In, Let Go, and Let Stay

Speech given at the AFSP Out of Darkness Walk in Durham (2019 10 06 Sunday)

If you read this, you perhaps can help someone who needs this story:
 

 Suzanne is pictured.

Our younger daughter, Suzanne Crain Miller, spoke for 13.5 minutes at the AFSP Out of Darkness Walk in Durham (NC). A suicide-attempt survivor, Suzanne addressed a standing audience (gathered for a 5K walk). Janelle Smith, our older daughter, and I were I there for the speech and were proud of Suzanne. After the walk, Suzanne shared her faith with some who told her stories about folk they knew who attempted or completed suicide. Suzanne's husband, Chad Miller, supported Suzanne in her outreach.
 

Suzanne’s speech is also posted at this site: 
https://tattooeddaughter.wordpress.com/nonfiction-articles/

Let In, Let Go, and Let Stay 
By Suzanne Crain Miller
 
I stand here today in front of you having survived an attempt at 15 and then again at 18, but I don’t want to tell you as much about who I was then, though you have to know a little about that girl to get the picture of who I am now. Who I was then was scared. I was scared out of my mind that I’d never get out from under the dysfunction of my family and other adults I saw. That my life would not be better. It would only be worse. Already chock full of eating disorders from the time I was 10, I was scared that I’d always battle that addiction. Mostly, I was scared life would always be as confusing and depressing as it was at that time. That life was going to be so very, very hard and I wasn’t up for it.
 
 Strange how most researchers say that our brain doesn’t even develop fully till we’re 25, but there I was at 15 making life altering decisions based only on what I’d experienced thus far, on the little glimpse I’d had of such a small world.
 
 I’m so fortunate that naïve, scared girl didn’t win out. I’m so fortunate to be here in front of you today at 41. I can tell you that those years between then and now have not been easy. I’ve had so much work to do. I’ve had to re- learn how to think about things. More one at a time rather than whole picture. More getting out of my own head and reaching out to others instead. More self love than self hate. More acceptance than intolerance. Possibility opening up where fear threatens to crush. A horizon of promise rather than a black hole of nothingness.
 
 More importantly, I’ve had to learn how my brain works, whether my depression and morbid feelings are more heredity or learned, I cannot care. Where things begin doesn’t really change what we have to do about them, and I’ve had to change my filter, mold it with therapy and resources over time. I’ve had to accept that I will never be done. I will always have to do this. Like a diabetic who will always have to take insulin and be mindful about what they put in their bodies to live, I will always have to be mindful about what I’m allowing and putting into my mind to live as well.
 
 In his book Hardwiring Happiness, author Rick Hanson details that we are comprised of three things: What we let stay, what we let go, and what we let in. I’ve had to come to grips with the fact that I have less I can let stay than most, more that I need to let go than most, and more that I must let in than most people. This has to be okay. I cannot compare myself to others. This is how it is for me.
 
I do not find this dooming. I’m happy about this, as it means it’s not an unsolvable problem. I can work with this because there’s so much good to let in, and I’ve not missed all the bad I’ve had to let go. Those people and those ideas that I’ve let stay have had to earn their place in my life rather than just being inherited, grandfathered in, and me having to put up with it.
 
The biggest thing I’ve let in, that I encourage you today to also let in, is love. There is so much love to be had, and I’m not just talking about from others. The most important love you will ever let in is for yourself. Loving yourself first and foremost means you are not ashamed.
 
No part of your past, your depression, suicidal ideation, anxiety, addictions, any mental struggles, they are nothing to be ashamed of. They are to be accepted, loved and treated with care.
 
Only when we can do this for ourselves can we see what we have to let go, what’s not working for our wellness, for our life. If you keep pushing rather than embracing, you are stuck in a fight, the angst and overall health, health of the mind, or health of the body cannot thrive in angst.
 
 Love is not pushing down, or pushing out, or covering up. There is no shame in love. I think that I’ve accepted this, but I have tests, things that cause me to realize I still have shame I have not let go of.
 
 Just last January, I went to my work conference. I could tell the week before I went that it was coming at a tough pain week for me with my disability of my disease of my nervous system. My treatments were not being kept up consistently by my insurance and then to top it off, I am not a traveler; I don’t enjoy it really and I would be isolated from my husband and friends for a week and only with co-workers who hardly knew me. It was a cocktail for suicidal ideation and my depression to leak right back into the life I work so hard to have.
 
Once I arrived at my hotel where the conference was, I walked up to check-in, and the check-in woman had a big smile on her face when she looked up my room number.
 
“Oh, your company upgraded to the penthouse suite. That’s great!” she exclaimed.
 
I immediately knew this was not great for me. I knew I was not in a well enough place to have a suite with a balcony way way up there, but there were people behind me and if she’d have moved me, she’d have had to tell my employer I wanted to be moved and it would’ve been this whole ordeal. Silly, right? I told myself I would be fine. I let that naïve depressed teenage side of me whose brain hadn’t been fully developed back into my life at that moment. I let her tell me not to make waves. Not to do anything to be ashamed of.
 
 I made it through, obviously, here I am, but I spent an excruciating week, toying with the idea of going out on that balcony and taking back what I’d let go of. Taking back all that depression and darkness and letting it win. I spent a week having to be out of my room as much as possible so as not to have to battle that girl so much.
 
The biggest thing that week taught me is that even though I’ve let that girl go, not let her stay, she hasn’t let me go. Whenever I get too embarrassed to admit to myself or others who I am, who I’ve been, the struggles I have, she is there waiting to take over again and that by being ashamed I let her back in.
 
 Once I made it home, I told myself I will never be ashamed of that girl again. I will not provide anywhere for her to hide. I will ultimately keep her out by not having any closets where she can take refuge. I will live my life as an open field, rather than a haunted house, because I can’t care who knows about that part of me that still sometimes after all these years wants to die. I can only care about the part of me I’m cultivating, nursing back to health, the part of me that’s bent on living. That is who I make room for – not the girl who wanted to die, but the woman who has so much life to live.
 
So that’s what I want to make sure you take away today. What are you letting stay? What are you letting go? And what are you letting in?
 
Do you love all the parts of yourself you’ll need to love to let the right things in?
 
What’s stopping you? Embrace all those parts of you, all those dark, sad, disappointments you have that weigh you down.
 
 I challenge you today to quit being ashamed of who you’ve been and ask yourself where you’re going and what and who can you let in to get there. Shame is that closet where depression festers and hides. Open the doors. Let light drive it out.
 
Live in the wide open space where there is nowhere for that part of you to thrive.
 
Let go of who and what stuffs you back in that closet. Let stay who and what wants what’s best for you at all cost, even if it means you’re not who they want you to be.
 
Let in resources, whether it be therapy, faith, community, books, podcasts, music, whatever it is that can help you remold your filter.
 
LiveThroughthis.org (gives testimonials of survivors – this can encourage us) and afsp.org (American Foundation for Suicide Prevention).
 
And most of all let in love, love of self, love who you’ve been, who you aren’t and who you are, love of what you have to offer this world, love of others, love of this precious, possibility filled life.
 
 Things to keep in mind in being in a friendship or family relationship with someone who’s survived a suicide attempt or those struggling with suicidal ideation:
 
1) Listen — Don’t feel like you have to fix them. Listen and let them know you’re a safe place to turn.
 
2) Check in — I like to use the lyrics from the Ben Harper song “Never Leave Lonely Alone.” Sometimes people try to isolate. Be consistent in any way they seem to be comfortable with you checking in via text, e-mail or call, and when you feel you should, go by and knock on the door. Sit on the porch, whatever you have to do to make sure they’re okay.
 
3) Intervene — Even though you’re not responsible, at times you must be firm in your love by letting them know that if it gets bad enough that you’re scared they will go through with it, you will be glad to go with them to a therapist or center where they can get adequate help. If you must, talk with family or someone close to them about how to best help them if they seem unwilling to help themselves.
 
4) Accept — Accept that ultimately, you cannot make someone want to live, you can only remind them of reasons why they should and be beside them while they choose to accept those reasons. You cannot control them. At the end of the day, if you’ve done everything you can, you must make peace with your efforts.
 
You will also need to accept that this type of struggle is cyclical. The person may seem “out of the woods” for a long while, then life happens and they will go through this again. Just because they struggle again doesn’t mean that anyone failed; it is the nature of this type of struggle.
 
 For those who’ve lost a loved one or friend to suicide:
 
When we lose someone to suicide, it is very different from losing someone in other ways.
 
It is so hard to accept that they chose not to be here.
We might feel as though they looked at us, at what we have to offer and turned it down.
 
We not only mourn them, but we take it personally. We are left wondering why we weren’t enough to live for.
 
I can tell you that even though their decision seems extremely personal, it is not.
 
By the time that person has made up their mind, they are in such immense and overwhelming pain, they are not thinking clearly.
 
The same way we would not take on responsibility for a person dying from a heart attack, we must not do so for a those who make this decision to leave us.
You will miss them. Missing them is a good thing. 
This means you love them. Miss them as often as you think of them.
 
When you think of them, enjoy the thoughts of the gift they were to your life.
 
Do not forget them, but do not make the mistake of thinking that letting their passing become a point of depression and darkness in your own life will be honoring to them.
 
There are too many people who need you. Their death has given you a knowledge and experience, that you would have rather not had, but we don’t always get to pick what we become knowledgeable about, only what we do once we get that knowledge.
What you know needs to be shared. You have hope to offer to those still struggling and to offer those who love you.
 
You will honor your loved one most by helping others. However many lives you affect is their legacy.
 
Keep in mind, we cannot reach out when we are reaching back.
 
Reaching out is the only way to ensure we are helping those who are still here stay with us. Reaching out is our only way forward.

Barbershop Conversation

I drove to Greg’s Barber Shop in Greenville, SC, today, Thursday Sept. 12, 2019, and arrived shortly after 11 a.m. Greg’s shop is part of a strip mall across from the old Winn-Dixie Warehouse and sits near Publix on Wade Hampton Blvd. Greg Barnes has been cutting hair since he was a teenager. He’s a Travelers Rest High School graduate, spent four years in the Navy, and is in his mid-sixties.

Greg and Brian, a younger barber, were waiting for customers: Greg sitting in his barber chair; Brian standing, fiddling with tools of his trade. Brian is off work on Wednesdays, and Greg told me Wednesday is a busy day for him, so I try to hit the shop on Thurs. rather than Wed.

I walked toward Greg, and he put away his newspaper and stood behind his black, leather barber chair.

“How you doing?” Greg said.

“Pretty well,” I said.

“Well, I wouldn’t say ‘pretty.’”

“Okay. I’m doing fairly well. But I guess I’m not ‘fair’ either.”

We laughed.

“Take off a few weeks worth of hair,” I said.

Greg clipped and scissored my hair and turned me toward a mirror behind him.

“Is that enough off the top?”

“Yeah, looks good.”

“Now that you’ve got the most important thing done, what you gonna do the rest of the day?” Greg said.

“I was just sitting here thinking about that.”

“Does that mean you need something to do or you have a lot to do?”

“Oh, I have a lot to do. I was trying to figure out what to do first.”

“Well, my wife tells me what to do.”

“My wife passed on,” I said, “For me, figuring out what is important to get done is a lot harder than you can imagine.”

Greg flipped away the apron covering my chest, and I paid and tipped him.

“See you guys later,” I said.

The unseasonably warm September heat hit me.

I drove home.