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In MemoriamIn Loving Memory of
Thomas Lawson Higginbotham II
March 18, 1928 -- April 16, 2006
My grandfather died on Sunday. While not expected, it wasn't a surprise, if that makes any sense at all. He went in for surgery on Wednesday, and by Thursday had developed complications he could not recover from.
He is survived by his wife, Hattie, five children, eight grandchildren, and 2 great-grandchildren. I can't tell you enough about this man, but I can tell you that anytime I needed a grandpa, he was available for me.
I will miss the candied orange slices he kept next to his recliner, his love of Wheel of Fortune and Nascar, and the big, sloppy kisses that were his favorite to give.
I'm glad that Braeden was able to know him, but I hate that any future children I have, or my cousins have, will not be able to know him and love him. I hate that he will never be at family functions again. I hate that St. Patrick's Day will never remind me to call Grandpa to tell him Happy Birthday. I hate that he'll never trick me with his little fart-machine again.
Grandma Hattie, Grandpa Tom, and Braeden
I'm thankful, however, that I was able to talk to him on Thursday, listen to him joke, and tell him that I loved him. I'm thankful I was able to go to the hospital on Saturday and tell him goodbye, even if he couldn't respond.
He was an incredible man, and I thank whoever's listening for every day I had with him.
I love you, Grandpa.
"Where there is love, there is life." -author unknown
PapaMy Papa is having knee replacement surgery tomorrow, so I'm going to be spending a lovely day at the hospital. He had the same surgery two years ago, and had a massive heart attack immediately afterward and almost died, so I'm a little nervous. I saw him this weekend, and he looks good, so that makes me feel a little better. Although, how he looks really doesn't make a difference.
He was such a role model for me, growing up, and he still is. He's 77 years old, still gets up at the crack of dawn every day, works all day, rides horses, and is an elected official in my hometown. My granny wants him to retire, but I think he's one of those people who would just die if they didn't have anything to do.
I lived with he and Granny my senior year of high school, and before that, they had visitation rights, so I spent a lot of time with them. Papa used to come wake me up in the middle of the night, and we'd go downstairs and watch Showtime while eating cheese and crackers. It was our little ritual.
I am incredibly lucky, because all my grandparents are still living. I've lost two great-grandparents in the last 6 years, but the rest are still alive. I'd like to keep it that way for quite a while. I'd like Papa to be around to walk me down the aisle at my wedding, which will be held at his house, the only home I've ever walked into and felt completely at ease and at peace.
He isn't perfect - he's a bit of a pervert (who knew I'd inherit that from my grandfather), he's been known to engage in some questionable business dealings, and he's got an ungodly temper - but he's the best man I've ever known. I never asked for him to be perfect, nor would I want him to be.
He told me, two years ago Wednesday, that he was proud of me, of what I'd done with my life. It meant more to me than I can say. He's not a demonstrative man, but I know that he loves me, he's proud of me, and more importantly, he respects the woman that I've become.
"A man is not old until regrets take the place of dreams." -John Barrymore
CongratulationsMike#2 and his fiancee, Linda, are getting married today. I would just like to wish them all the happiness that life can give them, and all the love that they both deserve.
As for me, I'm gaining two more 'brothers' and an awesome 'stepmom'.
(This is a confusing situation, since, technically, Mike#2 isn't even related to me anymore. But I still love him like he were my stepdad, so that's what he's going to remain.)
"A happy marriage is a long conversation which always seems too short." -author unknown If I Eat One More Bite . . .Tomorrow is Thanksgiving here in the ol' US of A, and that means it'll be hectic for me. That's the problem with having a big family. Here is a glimpse of the day's schedule for me - read it and feel sorry for me, please.
Is it possible to love AND hate something? If so, that's how I feel about Thanksgiving. It would be great if we could all get together in one place. However, as much as I think that the world revolves around me, apparently my family missed the memo.
(Just so you know, Christmas is exactly the same. Wouldn't you like to have MY Christmas list?)
PatrickI have a little brother, Patrick, who will be two years old in a couple of weeks. When he was born, both his mother and our father were high on their drug of choice. Patrick was in the neonatal intensive care unit for a couple of weeks, and then he was placed into foster care.
If you've been reading this blog for long, you know that family is very important to me. At the time that he was placed in foster care, I was 21 years old, and had a two-year-old son of my own, but the minute that I found out about the situation, I called my lawyer to start the foster/adoption process. I wanted him to be with family, if at all possible, and there didn't seem to be anyone else in our family who cared enough to do anything about it.
Everyone in my life tried to discourage me - my mother, my grandparents, all my friends, everyone. They all said that I was too young to take on another child, I couldn't afford it, I didn't know what I was getting into, etc. They didn't seem to understand that, for me, none of that was important. The issue was that very precious little boy who was a part of my family, but was being passed around as if he wasn't wanted. I know what it's like to think that you're more of a hindrance than a blessing, and I didn't want him to grow up like that.
Things were progressing (all that red tape can be very slow), when our father and his mother decided they wanted him. So they went to court, and fought for him. I'm ashamed to admit that I actually thought of going out and buying my father a huge amount of cocaine, and taking it and the adoption papers to his house. I had it all planned out in my mind - they would both get stoned, and then I would have them sign the papers, and Patrick would be mine.
The parents were able to enter a drug rehabilitation program, and after nine months, they were able to take Patrick back from the foster family for good. I have mixed feelings about the situation. My father has been a drug addict for 22 years. I'm cynical enough to think that he won't stay clean, but he's proving me wrong with each day that passes.
I saw Patrick this weekend, and he's just the sweetest little boy. I don't see him very often, but he always just comes straight to me, like he knows that with me there is only love. It was odd for me to see him all cuddled up with my father - odd because I never thought I would see my father being paternal to anyone, and because I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. I know that my father loves him, but how long is he going to be able to keep this up?
My father told me this weekend that he would love to babysit Braeden anytime I'd like to send him over. I consider it a show of maturity that I was able to keep to myself what I really wanted to say, which was "there is no way in hell my son will ever be alone with you", and instead just said "we'll see".
(Just for a little reference point, so you know what my father's really like, read this. The last time my father offered his babysitting services, he was still on drugs, and Braeden was about six months old. I told him that he would never, ever be alone with my child, and that if he ever did anything to hurt Braeden, I would kill him. So I think I held my tongue well this time.
 )I hope that he and Patrick's mother can stay clean, and that Patrick will grow up happy. At this point, there isn't anything else I can do.
"The world is round and the place which may seem like the end may also be only the beginning." -Ivy Baker Priest
TraditionI've mentioned before that I have a pretty large family, especially the O'Brien side. Let me explain just how large - my grandfather had four brothers and one sister, and they all have children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren that we're pretty close to. My father has two sisters and five brothers, two of which are deceased, one from cancer and one from AIDS. They all have children - I think at last count there were 22 of us. Most of us are old enough now to have significant others, and then there are even three great-grandchildren.
Needless to say, when we all get together, it is major chaos. I love it. My grandparents have this huge old house that we all just barely fit into when we're all together. Plus, the O'Briens are known more for their rowdiness and loud volume than they are for anything else. (Oddly enough, we don't drink alcohol at these family functions, for two reasons: 1) most of the people are recovering alcoholics, and 2) most of them are not friendly people when drunk, and we wouldn't like a full-scale brawl at Christmas.)
We normally get together right around Thanksgiving, but we don't call it that. We call it 'Deer Camp'. It isn't held at the house, but up at a clearing in the pasture. My grandfather has thousands of acres in McDonald County (which is where I'm from), and he's very selective about who he lets on his land to hunt. He invites the same group of men from all around Missouri every year. They normally arrive the night before deer season opens, and they camp somewhere on the 2,000 acres that surrounds the house. (The rest of the acreage is spread out throughout the county.) The following weekend, we hold 'Deer Camp'.
We have one of those huge outdoor smokers, and we cook a deer, a turkey, some chickens, some ham, and whatever else anyone brings. (Last year I think there was even some snake in that thing. Gross.) Everyone brings side dishes with them, and the women spend time cooking while the men hunt in the morning. When the men head back into camp, everyone eats, and then they go back out to hunt again in the afternoon.
It's a different tradition than most people have for Thanksgiving, but it works for us. And really, does it matter what the tradition is, as long as it is, in fact, a tradition? Something that brings the family together?
I love my family, and I love this time of year, when families spend so much time together. The O'Brien's get together three times a year - 1) Deer Camp in November, 2) Christmas, and 3) the bull sale in March. We're a different family, but that's what makes us special.
"Call it a clan, call it a network, call it a tribe, call it a family. Whatever you call it, whoever you are, you need one." -Jane Howard In The MiddleMy brother's birthday is next week, so we're turning our normal Thursday night dinner into a little birthday party for him at the mexican restaurant. These Thursday night dinners were actually started by Braeden and I, and my ex-stepfather, M#2. (My mom has been married twice. They have the same first name. While that might have simplified things for her in the 'calling-the-wrong-name-during-sex' department, it only makes things confusing to the people around the situation.) They have been divorced for about a year, and I love the guy. He's great, very dependable. I know that if I ever needed anything, he would be there in a second to help, and that's comforting to me.
However, my mom is a little psycho when it comes to men, and she constantly tries to get in the middle of things. She is the one that wanted a divorce, but now that she has it, she often acts as if she'd like to have him back. And she HATES it that my brother and I are still close to M#2. My thought on this is, if you're going to bring someone into our life and expect us to love them, you can't just make us quit whenever it suits you. Anyway, yesterday she found out that he has a new girlfriend. I've known this for weeks, but I didn't tell her, of course. I'm not going to discuss either one's love life with the other. Not in good form, you know? So, she was mad at me for not telling her.
I am sick and tired of being in the middle like this. I almost wish I were 12 again, when my parents never talked to me about anything. Nowadays my mom wants to talk to me about everything. I don't care how old I am, she's still my mother. That means I don't want to know about her boyfriends, sex, or anything even remotely related to those two things.
M#2 and his new girlfriend are going to be at the party tonight, as is my mother, and M#1. Hahaha - this is going to be fun. I've called them all and told them that they have to behave for B.'s sake. Let's see how well they do what they're told.
It is a sad state of affairs when the children have to tell the parents how to behave. But, I've been doing it my whole life, I guess I should be used to it by now.
"It is the absurdity of family life, the raggedness of it, that is at once its redemption and its true nobility." -Unknown DecisionsMy uncle died on Tuesday night after a battle with cancer. He found out he had a brain tumor at the beginning of last year. He, of course, went through chemo, radiation, and had surgery to remove the tumor, but the doctors told him that it was the kind that would definitely grow back, they just didn't know when. Well, it came back about three months ago.
This time he decided to just let it take its course. No chemo, no radiation, no surgery. And he wanted to stay at home to die. It was awful to watch him decline, and to see how quickly it happened. At the end, he was having seizures regularly, he was asleep most of the time, and he couldn't talk.
My granny and I were talking about this the other day, because she and I both agree that we would never want to continue to live this way. When I have lost control of all bodily functions, can't talk, can't hug those I love, and am suffering, I don't want to live anymore. If this ever happens to me, I want someone to just put me out of my misery. Dr. Kevorkian has been blasted as a killer, but for me, if I was in this situation, I would want someone like him to come and give me dignity in death. Make it my choice, instead of the slow shut-down of my body. Hell, we even put our dogs to sleep when they are suffering, but we can't do the same for our loved ones?
I think that the emotion most of us felt at the end was relief. Finally, he had gone to a better place. Now, I'm left with a dilemma regarding his funeral.
One of my best friends is graduating college at 2:00 Saturday in Columbia, Missouri, which is about five hours from here. I already have hotel reservations, etc., because I've been planning on going to the graduation (and following U.S. Navy commissioning) since December. But, my uncle's funeral is here at 2:00 on Saturday. So, what do I do? I know that Uncle Harold would say 'go to the graduation, don't worry about this', but funerals are really for the people left behind. Am I needed there?
On Saturday, will I be celebrating the end of a life lived well, or the beginning of what will hopefully be the same? I haven't decided yet, but I have to decide today. Wish me luck.
On second thought, wish me wisdom, instead.
"I expect to pass through this world but once; any good thing therefore that I can do, or any kindness that I can show to any fellow creature, let me do it now; let me not defer or neglect it, for I shall not pass this way again." -Etienne DeGrellet |
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