Death!

George and I live alone now. Well, we are not entirely alone. George's Mom, 87 years old, lives on the same property in her mobile home, Steve-a good friend- has a room in our house that was emptied by the children leaving, we have 3 Cavalier King Charles Spaniels which are all 'fixed' and we have 15 Saint Bernards of which only one is 'fixed'.

The kids made noise that I miss, and don't miss. The dogs help to fill a void the children left. For the most part, the dogs are better behaved. They love to go anywhere with us and never ask "Are we there yet?". They never ask for the keys on Sabbath night and then wreck the car. I have not spent thousands of dollars on their teeth! None of them has ever asked for $20 just to be caught out drinking beer and driving as a minor. I have not yet had to visit one in jail. They are always here for us and always love us, even if we have been a little cross. They are obedient. They eat what they are given and never say, "What? This AGAIN!" They are greatful for any hand out or pet we afford them. They often give us reason to be proud of them when we take them to the dog shows and win the ribbons. I really love my dogs, they are easier than my children were. But I love my children, all of them, even the most confused ones.

January 27, 2009, I had a terrible head on collusion. I was driving my beloved little blue VW bug, on the way back home from Burleson. I did not want George to have to go to market after he got off from work, because an ice storm was predicted to come through about 1 PM. It was a slow, cold drizzle, but the roads were not yet icy. George had asked me to be careful, I was driving a bit slower than the 4 cars behind me wanted to go, because I was being careful, and I had prayed for protection. On a curve about 2 miles North of Keene on Old Betsy road, a lady took her eyes off the road for a moment, went straight instead of following the curve and ran right into me. It all happened in an instant, I had time to start to pull to the right, but not enough time, and we hit head on, on the driver's side. If I had, had more time, I likely would have been dead, because she would have hit me broadside on the driver's side and I might have rolled.

Both cars spun around, both totalled. The traffic behind me managed to stop. I was so stunned & could not get my breath, The seat belt, the air bag, and the pushed in left side of the car had made injurys I was not aware of yet, I just wanted to breathe again and I jsut prayed until I did. Then I just sat there and said, "Thank you Jesus" over and over again.

I tried not to panic as I realized the doors would not open. Several people were beside me now, talking to me. The driver's side window was broken out. I kept saying, "I want out, help me get out", and they kept saying "Wait for the perimedics!" I saw two semis coming over the hill and watched as they struggled to stop in time. I had it in my head that being in the middle of the road was not a good idea and that I would be hit again. I was also worried about the car burning and had turned off the ignition. I did not know that a diesel does not explode and burn like a gas driven car will when wrecked. I decided to crawl through the drivers side window, but could not get the seat belt undone. The plastic casing had been broken off. I could not see it, but I reasoned that there must be a metal part in there that was fastened and I should be able to unfasten it. I determined to and eventualy got it undone. Now I am a large lady and not young, so it must have been a trip to see me climb out of that window. Some men tried to stop me, but I said "I am coming out this window and you can watch me land on my head or help me!" A young, very short lady, a real sweetheart, understood I was desperate to be out, and rushed over to let me lean on her while I oozed myself through that broken window. She was barely strong enough to keep us both from going to the ground. God love her! I was so thankful to be OUT!

But now I could hardly walk and begin to feel the pain. I could not call George, who I knew at this time would be on the road to home for lunch, because the screen on my phone was broken. Just then George called and I told him were I was and to come get me. The perimedics arrived and I watched as they used the jaws of life to rescue the lady driver of the other car. She was bleeding badly and someone was giving her aid from the other side as they bent and cut the twisted metal from her. I knew she was far worse off than I was. Once they had her out they wanted to load me into the ambulance with her and take us both to a hospital in Ft Worth, but I declined, saying George was coming and would take me to be checked out. I would not let them take me to Ft Worth because then George would have to drive in the ice storm to see me or get me, and he might have a wreck too.

The wreckers came and I knew one of them, the son of the local station owner in Keene. He came over and asked, "Mrs Ghering, are you OK?" I said, "I'm fine, but I don't know if I will ever be OK again." and buried my head on his shoulder. He gave me the comfort of his arms and it was good to have someone I knew there to hold me. I am not aware if that young man realized how much he gave me, but it calmed me and made me feel safe and I quit feeling panicked. It did not seem strange to me, to have a man the age of one of my sons hold me, it seemed perfectly safe and good. I expect he was doing what he hoped someone would do for his Mother should she need it. Then George was there, the police had arrived and urged George to take me to the hospital since I had refused the ambulance. And that is what he did.

We learned that I had 8 broken ribs, a broken colar bone, a mashed up left knee but not broken, a severly sprained right wrist, a chipped vertebrae and a small laceration on my spleen, there were many cuts and bruises as well. My nerves were pretty shot. I did not enjoy the hospital stay, and was thankful to be alive and to get to go home.

That is when I started thinking about death a lot. When I saw my car, I knew I could have easily died in the wreck. I was convicted that God wanted me alive for some reason. I had lots of time to think, I was uncomfortable even watching TV, my only bearable position was flat on my back. I did not want to use my body. I waited as long as possible to sit up and use the bedside potty. My left shoulder and right wrist made it impossible to hold a book to read. I slept and I thought. What had I ever done in this life to deserve to keep living? Nothing. I thought of all the things I had done that I had felt proud of, and decided they did not amount to a hill of beans. I had an angel, sent by God to keep me alive, and there had to be a reason. So I decided I should live my life to discover what that purpose was and to fulfill it. Since then I have found a few little things that seemed oportune to fulfill God's wish in my life, but nothing huge, so I keep looking every day. It may be all the little things added up together that he wants, or he wants me to get ready for some larger request he has for me. I only hope and pray I will see and be able to do it. For some strange reason I am no longer afraid of dying. I think when it is my time to go, I will go, and it will be in God's timing. My life is in God's hands, what have I to fear?

Hanging over my bed is a drawing of Jesus holding a little baby that sleeps on his shoulder. This pastel drawing hung where my Daddy could see it from his bed, for as long as I could remember. When I was still quite young I asked him about his love of that picture. He said, "I am that baby that Jesus is holding. I am his little child. My life is in his hands." That touched me so much. When he came to live with us, the picture came and hung where he could gaze at it from his bed. I know many prayers were said while he looked at that picture of Jesus holding him. I had the picture bordered & glass put in it for him one Christmas, keeping the antique frame it had always been in. He appreciated that and when he want to the nursing home, the picture did too. When Daddy died, the picture came to rest on the wall beside my side of the bed. I draw comfort from looking at the tender Jesus and the peacefully sleeping child. I am not afraid as long as I am Jesus little child, my life, my death, is in his hands.

Just who I am

In starting this blog, I will discuss just who I am. First, I do not care who reads the blog, I have no secrets to hide and I am open about all my feelings. It is my blog and I will say just what I please about anything and everyone. I don't intend to hurt anyone, I just say things how I see them. I will be careful to not use names so I can't be sued for any disagreements, lol. But for the most part, I have no enemies. I try to forgive those who have tresspassed against me. I have a higher goal than getting even, I want to go to Heaven!

I started life thinking I was pretty special. I was the baby of the family and everyone seemed focused on taking care of me. The older sisters laughed at me and forgave me for being me. I felt accepted. But I did not feel challanged. No one seemed to expect much of me other than to be the baby girl. My Mother and sisters both seemed to be alert and quick of thought, my Daddy and I were slower thinking and acting. I was not particularly motivated to achieve much, other than to be loved. When I was about 12 I begin to understand there was something called an IQ, and while the rest of the members of my family were graced with a much better than adequate score, mine was more than likely just going to get me by in life, but was never to be revealed to me. I gathered this from the way my family treated me. They were never unkind about this, they just did not seem to expect much from me. I was told to get out of the kitchen so they could work. I was too clumsy to be allowed to handle precious things. I was rounder than the rest of my family members and I had a baby sounding lisp which I hated. But life was OK, and my favorite spot in the world was on my Daddy's lap.

My sister Evelyn was 7 years older than me, and left the house before I had many deep thoughts. As I reached early teen years, I could see my sister Violet, who was beyond average in motivation, was also achieving great scores in school. This brought her much honor at home. No one seemed to expect me to do the same. I was a dreamer and this was accepted as, 'O, that's just Cako' Looking back I believe I had a very different personality, I was a creative thinker and this occupied my mind a lot. I really did not care to stay focused on lessons, and certianly not on something as boring as Math.

I still am not sure why I was unconcerned about such things as grades and other acomplishments yet. But when I realized that Vido (Violet's nickname) was standing out getting loads of attention for her acomplishments, I decided to do something. Vido was an excellent seamstress, and since this was a creative endeavour, I finally focused on that. I set out to sew her a Christmas dress and do it even better than she could. I had to tell my Mother, because I did not know yet how to sew. Otherwise, it was a secret. Moma did try to discourage such a huge goal at first, but she soon saw how determined I was and gave in, buying me the pattern and fabric. After my school work was done, (I really hated all homework) I was allowed to work on this project. Mother helped me understand what it took and many hours later, much careful ripping out and resewing, I finally had created a very lovely red shirtwaist dress with pretty white trim. I knew it was excellent. It was so hard to contain myself until Christmas morning. When Vido opened it she was shocked, amazed and then very excited. It was hard for her to believe that I had really made the dress. It fit her perfectly and looked so nice on her. She hugged me and said, "Cako, it is better than a store bought dress. It is beautiful!" It was worth every agonizing, back bent, weary eyed, stich picking, minute of making. This was my first remembered experience of trying and succeeding to acomplish something that did not just come easy for me. Now I wish I could say that from then on I became motivated and acomplished. I still remained a dreamer, but I knew I had it in me to do what I wanted to do, when I chose to.

Because my parents believed in holding children back from school until they are at least 7 years old, and then my Mother was not satisfied with my 8th grade grades and did not allow me to graduate with my class, but took me to a cabin in the back woods of Arkansas to teach me each thing she felt I needed to help me make it through high school, I did not get to start the 9th grade until I was 16. I was very embarassed about this, and I did not feel I could live through it. For this reason my Daddy decided that I should be allowed to attend boarding Academy so that I would not have to endure going to school with my former class mates from grade school. The local Keene Dorcus ladies took me under their wings and outfitted me with needed school clothing. I was taken to Jefferson Academy by my brother in law who was going that way. He took my suitcases and trunk out of his car and put them in front of the old two story house that was called the girl's dorm on a Friday evening just as supper let out of the dinning room next door. Strange girls and boys walked around and looked at me. I never felt more lost in my life. It was my first experience to be alone without another member of my family and I was more than terrified. I was homesick, really bad homesick for about 6 weeks. Suddenly something hit home to me. Boys liked me and some of the girls were friendly, and I was starting to have fun. I enjoyed having choices to make that I had not been priveledged to at home, like what to wear every day. Overnight the homesickness was gone and from that time on through out the next 4 years I enjoyed Jefferson Rural Academy so much that to this day I enjoy the memories of my experiences there. I found out that I liked who I was at JRA. Each year I gave just a little more attention to my lessons, although I certianly never overdid that endeavour. A few honors I enjoyed, and some wonderful times learning about love and boys. I had a hard time remembering to write to the parents, accept when I desperately needed money and could find no way to earn it. I needed money to agument my poor wardrobe and to have makeup. I became clever at earning spending money, I was good at setting hair in rollers, I did not mind being on my knees to pull weeds from a villagers flower bed, I would babysit the worst little monster. I also ripped out some of my Dorus clothing, recut and sewed them in a more up to date style. Ideas like that would just come to me, and I believed I could, so I just did it. I made quite a few friends, and although I seldom hear from any of them now, I treasure those 4 years and everyone that was in them with me. I still love all of you!

Not only did I start learning social skills at JRA, I learned to make my own decisions about what I believed without any influence from my parents. My moral standards were confirmed and grew stronger, despite the new temptations. The greatest temptation was the growing desire to explore the feelings that overwhelmed me when I was kissed and the awful knowledge that I would love to experience sex. O, I believed it a terrible sin to have sex before marriage, and my parents had taught me that the most equisite gift would be to save myself for my future husband on our wedding night. But the feelings were there and nearly engulfed me several times. Just a tender kiss could make me warm and glowing in one way, yet feeling faint in another. I felt wicked for having those feelings. The boys who wanted to experience me more deeply were frusterated in their efforts by my stiff consience. I am glad my parents had talked to me about these things and I knew how to say no. Some of my girl friends were not so lucky.

I believe I would have always chosen to believe in God, but because it was my choice, I grew closer in my relationship with him while I was there. Music was a big part of that. I loved music and loved to sing. I still love those dear religious songs I learned there. Group prayers made me aware of the burdens and desires of others and made me a more caring person. I felt close to God and to my Academy family. Friday evening after vesper service, we would gather around the giant pine in front of the boys dorm, all holding hands in a huge circle, singing favorite hymns in an 'afterglow' and ending it with prayers. I still remember their faces in that soft light, the ambience of that capsule of time still glows inside my heart. Someone would start the prayers, and it passed on around the circle with the squeeze of a hand, if one did not wish to pray aloud they just squeezed the next person's hand, and on around until everyone had their chance. Sometimes we had to sing some more, because we just could not break up and go to our rooms yet. I felt so full of love from God and for my peers then. I still feel it now. At the end of a school year I was so sad to leave and all Summer I longed for the time to pass so I could return.

At 19 I registered in South Western Union Collage in Keene where I lived with my parents. I took a road trip with Vido and a friend to her house in Ardmore, OK. We got stuck in a snow storm and I caught a severe cold with a lasting sore throat that eventually turned into Rumantic Fever, and had to drop out of school and stay in bed many weeks. I did salvage a few collage hours of credit from that first symester, but did not go back. My sister Vido married a boy who was in the Army in Lawton, OK. When I could go there for a visit, I met and became engaged to a young man also in the service. Time passed and that engagement was broken, and I became engaged to another young man in the service who did become my husband. Now I would be able to give that sacred gift, but found myself terribly dissapointed that things did not live up to my expectations in that department. My marriage was a moderately pleasant experience at times, and a huge dissapointments at others. I remember feeling that Motherhood was the most rewarding part of that marriage. All thoughts of collage were shelved for a time, and we soon had baby boys. We moved from Lawton to Keene, and then to California and eventually Oregon, Colorado, then back to Texas where we ended our 9 year marriage and I kept the three boys we'd had by then. I did not learn until one of them told me this year, that my husband (now ex) had asked all three boys if they would like to live with him and all three had told him they wanted to stay with Moma. That could explain why he seldom visited them, and eventually decided not to pay child support. Looking back I realize that the sheltered way I was raised did not prepare me for the challanges of that first marriage. Nor was I prepared for life as a single Mother.

Alone with three sons, I decided to go back to school and enrolled in the University of Texas at Arlington. I was surprised to find that learning was no longer as hard and was a lot more fun than I remembered it to be. I was only able to carry half a load and worked on campus half days in various offices. I really loved the two years I spent there. I also found ways to be close to my boys in spite of time limits. I gave them each their 15 min a day of uninterupted one on one, we went to intramurals together on weekends and swiming some evenings. We started a tradition of going camping once a month, year around, and experienced camping in the cold as well as the heat. We really enjoyed these outings and it was all I could afford to do with them at the time. I did not have much of a social life then, although I believe I was far more attractive than I had been during my teen years. I had more poise & confidence. There was not much time or inclination to find a man, I did not even feel I needed or wanted one. Marriage had not been what I had hoped for. I was busy with work, study and children.

Because I had done everything the way I thought God wanted me to, such as not drinking, smoking, doing drugs and had saved sex as a special gift for my husband to be given for the first time on our wedding night, I begin to feel that God had let me down. Things had not turned out the way I imagined they should. Here I was alone, 3 children to raise, and my husband gone and no longer in love with me, if ever he had been. He went on to marry another 19 year old girl (who I later learned experienced much of the same heartaches I had). After our break up, I had been visited by some well meaning old ladies in the church who had felt it their duty to set me straight. They came to tell me to put my marriage back together and take my husband back and prayed with me. It turned me off so bad, because they did not know anything about the horrible marriage I had endured, and the self righteous attitude they had while telling me what I should do was nauseating. I sent them on their way and then I quit going to church, but I loved Jesus and the Christian way. I would not shop or work on the Holy Sabbath, and I would drive up the lane behind the church at Sabbath School time and let my clean little boys out and come back to pick them up right after it was over. I wanted them to experience the happy memories I had of my childhood Sabbath School days. I wanted them to love Jesus and to be Christians.

I met and dated a few men. This was mostly due to my sister Vido who was single for the second time, she litteraly dragged me to functions where I would meet them. "You are young, Cako. You owe it to yourself to have some fun!" she would tell me. I learned to dance, but I was never a drinker or smoker, I enjoyed the dancing very much once I learned how. Some partners were easier than others to dance with, and I really liked George Ghering and how he danced with me. I could tell what he was going to do and what he wanted me to do, and dancing with him was so easy and fun, that we once won a contest doing something I named "The George Special". I did not meet George at one of these parties, but met him where I worked part time as a waitress for some extra money. He would learn where I was going and come to there to be with me. Vido dissaproved of him and felt I could 'do much better'. I just knew she did not see him the same way I did. He did smoke & drink, he even swore, something I abhored, but there was a gentle, kind core in him that I could see in his eyes, and an honesty that could not be fake. I looked forward to dancing with him. We begin to date exclusively. He took me and the boys on picknicks & hikes, to the movies & out to eat. One thing led to another, but, I did not let him come home with me to sleep in my bed with my boys in the house. I just did not feel that was right. The roots of our raisin' runs deep.

George was very sweet and romantic. He also cared about the boys and they about him. Things were just about like I liked them, then he decided to propose marriage. I got frantic and broke up with him. I was so totally scared of marriage because my first husband had been sweet also, before I 'belonged' to him. I did not want another nightmare to happen to us. George was sad, but went away like I asked him to do. The boys were sad and kept asking for him. I finally realized I was depressed and why. I loved George and had been to afraid to take a chance on happiness with him. But I had driven him away. One night the two youngest boys came to me and asked me why I did not want George to be their Daddy. They apparently felt he would make a fine one, and they missed him and all that he had brought to our lives. They told me they loved him and I surprised myself by saying I loved him too, and then I cried. One little man said, "Well, why don't you just call him?" I stared at the phone, I did not deserve him, how could I call when I had run him off? But what would it hurt? I couldn't be any more misurable than I already was. All he could do is say "I am sorry, I have moved on" or maybe he would come to me. So I called his Mother when I found his old number was not working. She told me he now lived with a woman and her two little girls. I was sad and said, "I guess I made up my mind too late." I hung up never expecting to see George again. I could not blame him. It was all my fault and now it was too late. I would never know what it would be like to be married to him, to be loved by him for life.

Twenty minutes after I made the phone call, I heard the pipes of George's hopped up Mustang convertable (lime green with orange flames and huge pipes, what a kid he was!). In the past I had memorized the sounds it made on every curve of the last few blocks to my house. I heard him coming and I knew he was in as big a hurry to get to me, as I was for him to come. The boys knew the sound too and ran to the screen door peering out. George got out, slammed the car door and strode up to the house. No man had ever looked so good to me, from where I stood back in the darkened hall way, too shy to step forward yet, watching as he knelt and gathered the boys in his arms. I came forward as one of my little guys asked, "Are you going to be our Daddy now?" then George looked up at me and said, "Well, I guess that's up to your Moma." and I ran to him and got inside those arms with them, tears streaming. It was a magical moment in time that I hope will never be erased from my memory. Somehow in that moment, I knew everything was going to be alright. I thank God for George every day of my life since then. And Kathy, if you read this, I am sad for you that you lost him, he is the best husband in the world. I sincerely hope you have found as much happiness as I have. He is still as generous, kind, loving and funny, maybe more so today than then. Thirty years later, one of the boys gave him a CD of the song, "The Daddy That He Didn't Have To Be" which makes me choke up and want to cry every time I hear it. It is so appropriate. I love this man so much.

I heard George tell that story to someone one day. He had been wise enough to know not to push me, to back off and give me time. He had almost dispaired of ever hearing from me again, and then he got a call from his Mom, said "Goodbye Kathy" and came straight to me. He ended the story with, "I just gave her enough rope to hang herself with."

That is all the emotion I can stand for one day. I have salted George's favorite meal of home made chicken & noodle soup with my tears. But I think I have remembered enough of the past that has made me just who I am today. It is a good start at least, so I will continue this blog another day. This blog is for me, to understand myself, my life, my challanges, by exploring my past, living my present and setting future goals.