The Three Wise Men

 Christmas always brings around the story of the Magi. The three wise men who brought gifts to the Christ child.  The gifts they brought were things that the child - a future king, they believed - would need.  Many interpretations have been given as to why those gifts were given, what was their purpose, and so forth.  It's not my aim here to expound any further on that. It's just that, in this current holiday season, I've been jarringly reminded, through their passing, of my own three wise men, who each brought precious gifts and pearls of wisdom into my life.

My brother Jeff passed from this life on November 20, 2021.  Just a few days before the holidays officially began.  Jeff was the sibling that I grew up with, as my older brother and sister were both teenagers by the time we were born. While we were typical siblings in that we often fought like cats and dogs and played seriously mean pranks on each other, there was always a lot of love between us.  And, quite honestly, I'm not certain I would have survived childhood had he not been there. On more than one occasion, he stepped between me and mother and took the blows meant for me. And once, he dealt the blows to her, breaking his own heart in doing so, to stop her beating my head into the ground. I owe him my life. 

As young teenagers, we spent many weekends together. Mother would never allow me to spend time with my own friends and so made Jeff take me with him everywhere as a protector.  Oh, if she only knew. Jeff taught me to smoke, both cigarettes and pot and how to roll a joint. He bullied me into drinking my first shot of whiskey. He took me to my first party that didn't involve streamers and birthday cakes. But, most importantly, he taught me that there was music beyond the bubblegum pop that enveloped my heart in its sticky, saccharin embrace. He introduced me to the Allman Brothers, Lynryd Skynyrd, Pink Floyd, Hendrix, Joplin and... The Beatles. All the music that lit such a raging fire in my soul that it eventually exploded out of my throat in a passionate, growling, resonating alto. It was Jeff who introduced me to his friend Robert Deason who, upon singing with me the first time, immediately "hired" me to sing harmony in his band. I was 16 and my life was never the same. Thanks brother.

Jeff and I had our differences and occasionally, those differences created enormous chasms in our relationship. Sometimes, that's just the way things have to be.  But I was privileged to be with him as he passed from this life; to hold his hand and tell him one more time what a great big brother he was; to thank him for everything he did for me and to say "I love you" one last time. 

My second wise man, Louie "Bud" Keener passed away on December 13, 2021.  Bud and I had lost touch many years ago but in no way does that discredit his importance in my life. After high school, I left home and moved in with a co-worker and friend, Kathy Keener. Bud was Kathy's brother and he spent many weekends with us at the house.  This was during one of the times when Jeff and I were at odds and Bud became something of a surrogate brother.  He and Kathy and I would go out dancing almost every weekend if I wasn't performing somewhere. And if I was performing, they were front row center. He taught me to shoot pool and gifted me my first custom cue stick.  I would frequently accompany him on late night jobs when was working as a floor cleaner, and we would spend hours waiting for the wax to dry, drinking coffee,  smoking, and talking about life. Bud was my champion. He gave me the courage to break out of my cocoon and become the butterfly I'd always longed to be. He instilled a confidence in myself that years of abuse had taken away. He taught me that it was okay to say "no".  If something in the house, or in my life, was broken, he was there.  If anyone ever messed with me, he was there. If some guy I was dating broke my heart, he was there. And now he is gone. I had not seen or spoken to him in close to 25 years, but his passing is still so deeply felt. Goodbye Bud, thanks for everything you did to prepare me for the road ahead as we moved from the springtime of our lives into the golden summer. 

And finally, yesterday December 15th 2021 saw the passing of my third wise man; Michael Hughes. Michael meant so much to me that I find putting it into words difficult. His contributions to my life were as vast as the ocean and though we drifted in and out of each others lives like the ocean tides, the love between us was just as deep, constant and unchanging. He was my friend, my lover, my soulmate.

He was my first real love. We first met when Jeff brought him to our house. I was about 13 I think, and he was 16. I thought Michael was the cutest boy I'd ever seen. His smile lit up both the room and my heart. I was totally smitten.  Of course, he didn't really look twice at me because I was just his friends bratty little sister but he was never unkind to me.  For a few years, we were friends by association. We ran in the same circle and spent a lot of weekends together as a group.  My crush on him was painfully evident but he was always kind and sweet to me; never discounting my feelings.  After high school, we went separate ways but a few years and relationships later saw us reunited as lovers. Many in our group joked that this new side of our relationship was incestuous considering we had been as close as siblings before. We didn't care, we were having the time of our lives. Michael and his brother Scott, taught me to have an interest in fashion and style. Michael always had to approve the stage outfits I chose and Scott designed some of them. If you ever saw the Tinkerbell costume I wore for a Halloween show, you can blame the two of them.  I was like a living, breathing Barbie doll to him. The Eliza to his Professor Higgins. We had so much fun. We weren't together as a couple very long; a couple of years at best, but we crammed enough love, life, and laughter into those years to last an eternity. In every great story of my glory days, every happy memory I have, he is there. He will always be there; smiling, happy and golden.

I will never forget the night he told me that he'd fallen in love with another girl and that she was pregnant. I think he cried more than I did. His heart was so big and had so much love in it, that he couldn't bear to know he'd caused someone else pain.  We didn't see or speak to each other for about a year or so after that, and then one Christmas, he called me and I could hear the pain in his voice as he told me how much he missed my presence in his life. I had been alone and desolate since we'd parted, so that phone call brought us both much needed healing.   Again, we became the best of friends for many years. We spent so much time together that his wife Susan and I often joked about being his harem, even though he and I never shared a physical relationship again. I was there to celebrate the births of four of his six children and he was there for the births of both of mine. Time, parenthood, other relationships, and all the stresses and toils of adult life eventually drifted us farther and farther apart to the point that we went years without meeting or speaking, but we never totally lost track of each other. And we never stopped loving each other. 

I hadn't seen him in several years when Roxanne died but he wasted no time in rushing to my side. I was so drugged up that I don't remember much about her funeral, but I do remember seeing him and Rick in the parking lot of the church and how he just held me tighter and tighter as I cried in his arms; tears streaming down his own face.  As he did so many other times, he held me together.  He did that for everyone. I can't recall him ever being mean spirited to anyone. 

He has drifted out of my lifetime for good this time and as Dorothy said to the Scarecrow in the Wizard of Oz, I think I will miss him most of all. He was always the best of us. Our golden boy. 

God speed Dearest. Until we meet again. 

There is an old saying that every person we meet in life comes bearing either a gift or a lesson. Sometimes both, depending on how you view the lessons. These three men; these Magi, brought gifts that I would need to survive this journey called life. 

Jeff brought me the gift of perseverance and fortitude. Something I've needed a lot of both.  He taught me that even in the direst of circumstances, there is joy to be found in helping others. And he taught me that, as far as musical families were concerned, the Allman Brothers were far superior to the Osmond Brothers.

Bud brought me the gift of becoming. He taught me to believe in myself and to follow my own heart's desires instead of those of others. He taught me to trying and failing was actually not as scary as living with the regret of never trying at all.  And he taught me some great trick shots that earned me a few bucks in the pool halls. 

And Michael brought me love. The pure kind of love that is steadfast and dependable with absolutely no strings attached. Love that is timeless and limitless. Love that is full of joy and fun not struggle and pain. Love that gives you hope for the future and graceful hindsight of the past. 

Thank you all for sharing your lives with me, for helping me on my road. You were great brothers and even better men. 

It's Dalton's Birthday!!

Happy Birthday my son! Has it really been twenty-seven years since you came into the world and forever changed my life and heart?  You are now the same age I was when you were born; give or take a couple of days.  And that means I am now twice as old as I was then. Gads! How did THAT happen? It seems like yesterday that I was holding you in my arms.  My little miracle.

In my life, I have known many times of true magic.  The day my sweet, grandmother Legg died was my first brush with ethereal things.  The night your sister was conceived, the night she was born and the morning she left us, were all heavily steeped in spiritual waters.  The beautiful spring morning when your Pawpaw fleetingly appeared out of the shadows of his own mind to tell me one last time how much he loved me was perhaps the most breathtakingly magical moment of my life.  And the glorious autumn day when Alex came to redeem me from the path of self- destruction I was on was nothing short of miraculous.  I still thank the Universe and the God of It every day that he showed up on time.

But the moment when you (finally) drew your first breath was as magical to my life as the wave of a fairy godmother’s wand.  For that fragile breath was the catalyst that transformed me from the free-wheeling, hard-rocking party girl that I was into a responsible adult who had never truly known what Love was before that moment.  My life as I had known it came to a screeching halt and I was catapulted onto the road of becoming the person I am today.  What a miracle that was.

From the beginning we called you the miracle baby.  You were the baby who should not have been conceived.  I was always told that, due to my severe endometriosis, I would be lucky to ever have children.  Still, I took my birth control pills as consistently as the day turns into night.  So, in early January when I wasn’t feeling well, I figured I was coming down with the flu.  Surprise!

Then you were the baby who, according to all the ultrasounds, was a girl.  I was so excited! Every paycheck saw the purchase of a pretty pink dress, sparkly little outfits or tiny, baby girl, shoes. Your father was less excited.  He wanted a boy so badly.  Then in mid-July, with the nursery well stocked with frills and bows in every shade of pink imaginable, I went to the hospital in premature labor.  The ultrasound that day quite vividly showed your maleness.  Surprise again!

And then you were the baby who shouldn’t have survived at all.  For all intents and purposes, you were stillborn, the only sign of life being a faint, thready, heartbeat.  It was several long, terrifying, minutes before you finally drew a weak breath. Born with meconium aspiration and persistent fetal circulation, the doctors gave you less than a ten percent chance to live and said that if you did manage to survive, your quality of life would be dismal. They told us you would have severe brain damage that would leave you profoundly mentally and physically disabled.  I will never forget the callousness of the doctor who demanded that I “grow up and do the right thing” and sign the order to stop life support.  I am so thankful I listened to my instincts and not to his “medical expertise”. 

And you were the baby who defied the odds, again and again.  You didn’t just survive – you thrived. Every time a doctor declared a life sentence on you, you proved them wrong. “ He’ll never lived” turned into, he survived. Because of the way you responded in the pressurized cabin of an airplane, doctors now treat babies with persistent fetal circulation in hyperbaric chambers, improving their life expectancy.  “He’ll be hospitalized and on life support for months” turned into “he’s two weeks old now, you can take him home tomorrow”.  Severely retarded you say? Blind you say?  At a year old, you were building complex structures with blocks and could solve simple reasoning problems.  You defied them again, and surprised the heck out of me, by teaching yourself to read at 18 months of age.  By the time you were two you were reading first and second grade books, could write basic sentences, do simple math equations, and understood abstract concepts like time and the fact that Mommy was my title and not my name.  When you entered first grade, your teacher asked to have your IQ tested because you were so far ahead of your class she didn’t know how to teach you.  The psychologist who tested you was at first disgusted, thinking I was just another mother who thought her precious darling was the next Einstein. “It’s highly unusual to test children this young Miss Adams”.  By the time the testing was over, he was ashen faced and clearly amazed.  “Average kid with Doting Mother” turned into “His IQ is higher than MINE! And he’s SIX!”  I asked for a copy of the test results and, upon receiving them, mailed it to the doctor who had proclaimed you’d be nothing more than a breathing vegetable. I attached a note that said “Smartest carrot you ever saw!”

But it wasn’t just your super intelligence that set you apart.  From day one, your sunny disposition brought joy to many burdened hearts.  You could always cheer me up when I was down, and miraculously, it was you who finally brought a semblance of peace to Granny. The residents of the nursing home where I worked squabbled over who got to spend time with you. Your classmates may have teased you because you were different, but they loved you for your affable nature. For all your intelligence, you chose to relate to others mostly with humor; always playing the clown.

You had the serenity of a Buddha; an outer calmness that belied the internal chaos going on in your mind.  You rarely cried or voiced your displeasure, even as an infant.  You were happy and agreeable and easy to reason with. I remember shopping with you one day and you witnessed a little girl having a meltdown in the toy department. You looked up at me and said “What’s her problem Mommy? Why is she so sad?” I explained that she was angry because she wasn’t getting what she wanted. You immediately walked over and hugged the little girl tightly and offered her your toy.  I should have realized then what an empath you are.  Maybe if I had, I could have somewhat eased your existence.

Throughout your life, people have declared that you were destined for greatness; that one day you would change the world.  Your granny was convinced you would be a great scientist who would cure cancer.  Pawpaw believed you would be a brilliant mathematician and work for NASA.  Other people’s predictions included President of the United States (that one was popular), US Ambassador to_____ (another popular one), best-selling author, meteorologist, astronomer, philosopher and theologian. I always thought you’d be an architect or designer of some sort; a visionary builder of dreams. Your sweet friend from the nursing home, Mrs. Teague, perhaps said it best when she said “That child will do whatever he sets his mind and heart on and whatever that turns out to be, the world will be better for it. And I’m going to have a front row seat in Heaven to watch it.”  And she was right.

Perhaps there are times when you feel far removed from greatness, but know this my beautiful boy; there is no greater man than he who walks through life in love, mercy, and kindness. One who has deep compassion for his fellow man and who diligently applies himself toward bettering the lives of others. One who loves whole-heartedly and unashamedly; striving constantly to ease the existence of those he holds dear. One whose gentleness of spirit brings calm to the chaos surrounding him.  You may not feel your contributions have amounted to much, but you don’t see how consistently you change the lives and hearts of those you touch.

I can’t begin to express how proud of you I am. Yes, I’m proud that you’re intelligent, capable and accomplished but I am MORE proud of the fact that you have never allowed the hardships of life to get you down for long; that you have faced challenge after challenge in life with grace, strength and humility; that every time life has knocked you down you’ve come back stronger than before. I am proud that you have not fallen into the cynicism of the world nor allowed your heart to become hard and jaded. I am proud of the way you live, and love, so fearlessly. I am proud of the way you stand up for your convictions no matter who may say you’re wrong. I am proud of the young man you have become.

No,  you may not cure cancer, sit in council with heads of state, write a best-seller, or fly to the outer reaches of the galaxy, but you have changed the world my son; of that I have no doubt.  You’ve been doing it since the day you were born.  You began with me. And I am so thankful that you did.

Happy Birthday.  I love you so much Heart of my Heart!

Ever Brighter, Ever Higher, Ever On

What is Ever Brighter, Ever Higher, Ever On?  I’ve been asked this question a few times since publishing the slogan for this and all future Roxanne Adams Memorial Blood Drives.   It is a question both difficult and simple to explain.  I wanted a slogan that was catchy and one that flowed off the tongue, one that would stick in the memory and lift the spirits.  But mostly, I wanted something that would speak for Roxanne’s memory and her legacy.

While considering a wealth of possibilities, I was reminded of the doves that were released at her funeral and of that one stubborn little dove that refused to join the flock as it was supposed to and fly off to the home roost.  Instead that wilful, stubborn, beautiful  little bird kept flying around and around the cemetery going higher and higher as it went.     On that clear, bright spring day that little dove was playing in the warm sunshine and enjoying its freedom.  I later thought about how the dove was supposed to represent Roxanne’s spirit and it made me laugh.

Roxanne and I had many battles of will in her lifetime.  She usually won.  I used to jokingly tell her that she could argue with God and get Him to change His mind.  She was determined not to conform to the world around her just because someone told her it was expected.  No, the world would just have to conform to her, as far she was concerned.   It was a true representation of her indomitable spirit and her relentless drive to make the world a better place.

The last year of her life was a constant uphill battle for Roxanne and many times she was broken under the weight of it all.  I can’t count the nights that I held her as she cried in pain and frustration. But every morning she woke with the determination that she was NOT going to be beaten.  I miss my daughter, but knowing she is free now is a comfort for me.  The image of that little dove flying around in such an ecstasy of freedom reminds me of that.

Roxanne is gone now and we miss her so much, but her spirit and her legacy will be with us forever.  And like that little dove, her legacy will continue to grow brighter every year as we, her family and friends, carry her light into the world.  (Ever Brighter)  Like that little dove, we will continue to fly in freedom with her, casting off our mourning and instead joyously celebrate her life and her dreams. (Ever Higher) We will never forget her and through our efforts to continue the work she began, lives will be saved and from those saved lives, new lives will be born.  (Ever On)

Fly on my precious angel.  Kisses to Heaven.

Driving

I put on your shirt and drove into the darkness

The crisp night air coaxed your scent from the starched linen collar

And whipped it around my face with my hair.

Caressing my heated flesh with a wild, passionate memory.

Accelerate, shift gears, inhale

I put on your memory and drove faster around the turns

The throttle surged against the rhythm of my hands and feet

The same way my body responds to your touch

Rising against your hands until I out run your control

Accelerate, shift gears, inhale

Blue lights flashing in the rearview mirror

No officer, I haven’t been drinking tonight

I am under the influence of a love so powerful

That I had to go for a drive to clear my head

I put on his shirt

And nothing else.

You

You are my Light

You found me in the darkness

Took my hand and led me out

To a place where I could again feel

The warmth of the sun on my face

And see the beauty in all that surrounds me

You are my peace

Your presence calms the chaos in my mind

And stills the voice that forever screams “why”

You bring my world into clear focus

And show me my soul’s redemption

You are my joy

You unlocked the chains that bound my heart

And pointed me toward freedom

Stripping off my gown of mourning

Allowing me to run in resplendent nakedness

You are my mirror

Enchanted and true

Gently showing the flaws and imperfections

Without judgment

Encouraging change yet marveling at the beauty

Of battle won scars; my badges of courage and strength

You are my treasure

You laid gifts at feet

Not pretty baubles, nor gold and costly perfumes

Gifts more precious than the wealth of the world

You gave me back my life

Haunting The Castle Wall

Long have I stood watch on these walls

Faithful to my charge.

Guardian of that which you have built

Protecting your realm from enemies without and within.

Words, my only weapon,

Screaming out ancient spells

Whispering fervent prayers

Shielding that which you hold dear with my very soul

Together we raised this fortress stone by stone

Built on passion and desire

Centuries it has held fast against the relentless tides.

Now alone, I haunt these battlements

Keening like a wraith in my need

Watching, waiting for your return

Forever

Dancing

Softness envelopes hardness, in a beautiful mystery.

Who is the master of this battlefield?

He who wields the sword with great skill

Or she who can forge, mold or destroy the sword

At her desire?

Shall we dance in combat? Thrust for parry?

Or shall I submit willingly to the force of your passions,

Laying down my arms in surrender?

No, I am the sheath, designed to cover and protect,

Holding you fast within.

Come my king, give me your sword

And with it, I will guard your life.