Good morning, sweet Jacqueline!
For Throwback Thursday on Facebook I wanted to honor your mother. I located another picture I had of her that I believe was taken in 9th grade. I took the liberty of downloading a recent picture of you from your Facebook profile and merging the two, and this is the result:
Joyce's smile. It looks pretty on you!
I also wanted to share a representation of your mother's thoughtfulness, a photograph taken at the baby shower she gave me in 1987.
The theme for Thom's nursery was teddy bears with pale greens and soft yellows. The teddy bear cake greatly resembled the teddy bears on the bedding and curtains. I did not know she had that planned and I was very tickled with the results.
We were rocking the '80s hair at the shower! In the first picture above, you can't see it, but the back of your mother's hair was quite long, almost to her waistline.
It might sound like an odd detail to recall, but I thought your mother had such pretty arms. They were toned and tan and she always looked good in sleeveless blouses. This picture, of course, reminded me of that. When I first met her, she had the zaniest collection of T-shirts. One that always made me laugh was red and depicted a late 19th century looking portrait of a gentleman and "Your Father's Mustache" was screen printed on it. It was a T-shirt from a restaurant named so, nothing I'd seen in South Georgia.
Wow, you can find anything on the Internet--picture this on a red T-shirt. I don't recall if her shirt was from New Orleans, but the rest I remember.
In the early days of our friendship, she spoke often of "Stasia" a dear friend from Charleston, I believe. Possibly Tennessee. Stasia (short for Anastasia) and she bonded in the midst of both their parents' divorcing, an emotional hardship they shared in common. If Joyce were living now, there is no doubt whatsoever she would have found Stasia on Facebook and arranged a reunion with her. She spoke of making tents indoors with her using bed linens, sitting in there, sharing their lives, eating snacks, and laughing like crazy. This time frame would have been before 8th grade, as we met when she was in 9th, and she had spent the previous year in the county school system here.
It's kind of wild to wonder about someone you never met as I do Stasia. I can imagine you feel this way about your mother, too. Of course you met her, but you were so young when she passed, I don't know what memories, if any, you have of her. Perhaps there are videos of her? I hope so. And I hope her laughter is recorded on them. She laughed a lot. It was good she saw the humor in life and relished it.
After her mastectomy, I went to stay with her when your daddy had to go back to work. I did the usual things that needed to be done, light housekeeping, laundry, folding some of your little clothes, a meal, all that, and then we both climbed into the big bed in the room off of the kitchen in your house. Martha Stewart was on television. We were propped on pillows, the TV was on the wall which backs to the kitchen. She suddenly started laughing. Maybe it was to keep from crying, but I started laughing, too.
It was all so absurd. We'd shared so many laughs in the past, young and carefree, well maybe except for trying to stay out of trouble, or more truthfully, trying not to get caught, but here we were, she in a very real life or death battle. Laughing. At the time, we were tremendously hopeful, almost convinced, she'd win...or at least pretending to be so.
About twenty years before, maybe a little more, we'd shared a very similar laugh. We'd snuck into the drive thru movie with some boys. We had to sneak because she was too young for the rating on the movie. I'd covered her up on the floorboard of the back seat using a black blanket, the boys were in the front. We got away with it and for some reason we remained seated the way we came in, boys in front, girls in back.
It was a naughty movie.
The guys up front were mesmerized. We were genuinely embarrassed at some of the scenes and slid down many times in the seat, laughing until tears came. We were fairly innocent then, but not after that movie! As I type this, I'm wondering if she would mind me telling you about this. Since I have, I'll give a strong recommendation that you don't do what we did. Drive-thru movies are rare these days and you don't drive yet, so maybe she will be OK with this revelation.
But back to the post-surgery laughs, it was as if we'd read each others' minds. It really was funny that we'd shared some wild and crazy times together, then here we were sharing such a serious moment. Maybe it was because we were watching Martha Stewart on TV. We both gave it our all in what we did as far as homekeeping, mothering, all that, but neither of us was a natural Martha Stewart.
Your mother still had drain tubes attached to her body and she showed me the incision where her breast had been. She was wearing shorty pajamas and big fluffy slippers. She was stylish even when fighting for her life. We were silent, solemn, then she broke the heavy moment with her intentions for the future. She wanted to have her other breast removed, then have reconstruction. At that time, preventive mastectomy and reconstruction was still relatively in its infancy, but she'd done her homework. Internet availability was still fairly new as far as in homes, and she found out things she didn't want to know. She said to me once, "I want to die of something else. I don't want to die of this."
In hindsight, I believe, on the day she was diagnosed, she knew. I went with her to the doctor's office and she had a terrified look on her face, was quiet for the most part. She was wearing a pink Winnie-the-Pooh T-shirt. She didn't wear a lot of pink, she more often wore bold, vibrant colors. Ironic it was to see her in a shirt with a picture of a sweet storybook character who would often use the word "dreadful."
I'd been in the waiting room a couple or so years earlier when a previous lump was deemed benign. I felt confident it would be good news. Somehow, I believe we both knew the news on the second one was not going to be good. It was indeed dreadful. There were tears, disbelief. She spoke first of her concern for her children. More tears, hugs, smeared mascara. Surreal, but oh so real.
I don't want to end on this note. It is certainly not my intention to bum you out, just bits and pieces to fill in blanks for you since we already know the sad outcome to the rest of this story. Have I divulged too much too soon? But I believe you are old enough and quite mature enough to know these things.
When your mother was your age, she shared deep wounds in her life with me. Here I am sharing a deep wound in my life with you, and immediately feeling guilty for considering myself deeply wounded when it was she who died and you who were left without your mother.
She was quite bold with the Lord, questioning Him as to "why?"
Why remains unanswered, but she left so much life to continue! Your life, Joseph's life! Your mother was interested in, intrigued by everything in this life. She was smart and engaged in living fully. She was in band, cross country running, took Algebra II in high school, strongly considered military service, went off to Tennessee to school, came back and finished here, went into law enforcement, a tough field for a woman, then the polar opposite tenderness of motherhood.
I think of little things, like is her badge still around? We laughed the day she showed me that as well! We were able to laugh at the silly and during the serious. How precious it is you two share the same beautiful smile. It is so good to see her smile again!
This is very similar to the first car your mother drove, which actually belonged to your grandmother, Judy. She could tell you the exact make and model, but I believe it was somewhere between a '76 and a '78. Do you call her Grandma or Grandmother? Your mother called her beloved grandmother "Grandmother."
I met Grandmother three times to my recollection. Joyce loved her dearly, spoke of her often. Several things stand out in my memories, the first being that Grandmother advised Joyce to search the book of Psalms for comfort and advice whenever she had a problem. If I can be so bold to add my two cents worth, I recommend the book of Proverbs as well.
I hadn't known someone before who addressed their grandmother as "Grandmother." Around here, grandmothers were Grandma, Grannie, Nana and Mimi. Grandmother was a regal sounding name but she wore it well, without the stuffiness of a queen, with a beautiful, strong dignity.
Your grandmother Judy, Joyce and I went to Charleston, S.C. in the blue Grand Prix, to visit Grandmother and a cousin of your grandmother Judy's. I don't remember much about the house, but I was in awe of the guest bedroom. I'd never slept in a king-sized bed before and I wasn't even aware someone else was sleeping in the bed with me.
There was a television in there and Joyce and I found a Cheech and Chong movie. We were dying laughing at it and then our host, the cousin, came in and told us we shouldn't be watching that and she turned it off. Your mother and I were all "Yes ma'am" to her face, but when she walked out, we made faces at each other then laughed ourselves silly again.
That is something, too, that stands out about your mother, how much she, we, laughed.
The next day, after the television caper gone wrong, your grandmother Judy allowed us to take the Grand Prix to the beach. I. Was. Stunned. Freedom! We put on our bathing suits cut up to there, and we looked good in them. Would I ever like to have a picture of that! And somewhere in this crazy world exists several.
There was a young man on the beach with a nice camera outfit, tripod, all that, and he asked if he could take our picture. We looked at each other and telepathically agreed. No, we weren't psychic, it was just a level of communication among close friends we shared. Your mother ran cross country and I used to run almost daily, so maybe we felt safe. Maybe we were stupid, but we didn't feel that way that day.
He took a number of pictures of us standing together, then your mom decided it was time for us to walk on down the beach. I don't recommend you pose for a stranger with a camera on the beach. :-) I'm certain you're too smart to do that, but we did, and thankfully we lived to tell about it.
I marvel that we were only a few years older than you at this time I am recollecting. Our only objectives were to have fun and go to school. We didn't have a lot of classes together because I was one grade ahead, but we shared a couple of elective classes, Band and French.
In French class, we were in a giggly mood, and your mother and I conspired to ask Mrs. Sharron Gandy about the lyrics of a 1975 song called "Lady Marmalade." Trying to suddenly effect a straight and serious face, your mother raised her hand and inquired what "Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?" meant. Our composure broke, the teacher looked at us--yes us, she knew I was a culprit, too--as if to say, "Really?" Of course we knew what it meant, but it was shock value we were seeking and it was we who were shocked. Barely missing a beat, she interpreted, "Do you want to go to bed with me?"
God bless a teacher who let us learn interactively on our silly level. On a sweet note, to illustrate your mother's thoughtful side, she asked Mrs. Gandy how to say happy birthday in French. "Joyeux Anniversaire!" Your mother had that put on a birthday cake for your grandmother Judy.
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When it was discovered the cancer returned to your mother's body, her thoughtful side showed itself again. Grandmother arranged for her to go to a premier cancer treatment center in Texas, M.D. Anderson. The experts there said the doctors here had treated the cancer as they would have. She would very rarely acknowledge aloud that she might die, but she once said to me if she did, she wanted her children to know she did everything she could to live.
She certainly did. If cancer could have been beaten by will and determination and prayer, your mother would be alive. At her funeral, a pastor I love dearly, Lee Barnes, humbly said to the bereaved he had no idea why she died. The obvious answer was cancer, but there are many times people survive it. Why Joyce? Why so young? And with these little children?!
Still no answers.
How dare life go on after such a tragic event! But it does.
I was tickled to see the picture of the Easter eggs you posted on Facebook. Your mother would have loved Facebook--somewhere to gather all her friends in one place! She would have colored eggs with you and carried on many other fun traditions and crafts because she celebrated life, all its occasions. I believe the immense energy that was her life lived on beyond life as we know it, and specifically I believe she is in Paradise with Jesus.
Is she aware of the little things you do like coloring Easter eggs? I don't know for sure, but if she is, I know she is delighted! I imagine people who knew her look for her in you, and there is a very observable resemblance, but I believe she would not want you to try to be her, but to just be yourself.
It is a miracle of life going on, though, to see a bit of her in you.
Jacqueline,
I've been on a minor archaeological dig through many boxes and bins in what I call my craft/computer room. This room was originally my baby boy's. As soon as my sons moved away from home, I dove into their space and made it my own. I was adamant inwardly that I wouldn't go into old living spaces of theirs and cry over Legos and other mementos.
But let me tell you, I am a memento keeper!
Your mother and I double dated to a number of high school dances and I've often smiled, laughed even, that I remember more of us being together than with our dates. It's just as well, because neither of us married anyone we dated in high school.
That might be something to tuck into the back of your mind when you start high school later this year. Though your heart may begin to desire an exclusive relationship with a special someone, odds are you won't spend the rest of your life with that person. Proverbs 4:23 tells us to guard our hearts, and I gather it means from things that are not good, but I want to encourage you to not give so much of your heart away in high school that you lose yourself.
I did that, and your mother called me out on it. I called her out on a few things as well, and I'll always cherish that about our friendship. We could share strong opinions, and while it wasn't pleasant to hear, we knew we had each other's best interests...at heart.
Back to the dances...of course we didn't have smart phones back in the day, as a matter of fact if someone had told us in time people would take pictures with their telephones, we'd have laughed heartily and long at the absurdity of that. We had our share of silliness, but even at a young age, your mother had a deeply serious side. I'm overwhelmed right now at all the things I wish to tell you and I'm having a hard time staying on topic. I'm still trying to get back to the dance.
We had pictures taken at the dances on rolls of film that had to be developed, then printed, and the waiting, often a week or more, built up a wonderful anticipation. A number of wallet-sized pictures would be printed on one page, they'd have to be cut apart, and the absolute best part was when a friend gave you one. It was an honor. There were only so many to go around, say a 8 or 10 to a page. We'd write personal messages on the back to our closest friends.
I'm showing you the message first, because it lasted much longer than your mother's date (or mine) that night. He was a very good friend to your mother, into young adulthood. His expression was foretelling, I'll hint, and I'm sure he'll get a good laugh over this.
The discoloration is from a vinyl picture holder in an old wallet. We kept pictures of our friends in those, not knowing time, in the form of PVCs, a chemical in the vinyl, would destroy them, but anyway, we took them out at school and shared them like you and your friends do pictures on your phones and via Facebook and Instagram.
Everything changes, all the time. Old pictures. People. Keep that in mind as well as you begin high school and the journey of the last four or so years of your life before you are considered an adult. (The maturing process continues always.)
Our names changed, but something didn't change. Joyce wrote she'd always think of me as her closest friend. I'll always think of her that way as well. It's devastating to lose someone with whom you've had such a long relationship. From your perspective, I wonder how one grieves for what they didn't have. You obviously were shortchanged in the time department with your mother. Life isn't always fair, as you learned much younger than you should have, but I'll reign myself in from yet another bunny trail.
She hoped I received everything in life...I have received everything I needed and many things I didn't want. Like you, I lost a parent as a child. I know the gaping hole that leaves in one's heart, and I hope my sharing of the long friendship I had with your mother can give you back a little of what you lost.
You contacting me, your daddy telling you to because I was her "best friend"--talk about the blessing of receiving! As you learn more about what your mother was like in the phase of life you are entering, I'm re-joyce-ing to get to know you! Thank you for the picture you sent of you and your brother. I'll cherish the picture and even more, I cherish the honor of you giving it to me.
Love,
Leigh
P.S. Your mother used to call me Leigh-ason sometimes. I never knew why, no one else called me that.
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