Pickles

So, I’ve posted a lot of funny stuff on Facebook lately. That’s my medium for recording the everyday, the mundane that isn’t mundane at all to this mama. My family has had a lot of happy moments lately.

I don’t have words for how thankful I am for those genuinely happy moments.

But I’m just gonna be real, because I don’t know how else to be.

Quiet house. Everyone asleep but me. I was cutting pickles. Y’all have all seen my pickle post. I have a boatload of pickles to cut. I love doing that task when it is quiet, I can enjoy the monotony and the mindlessness of it when no one can call my name or ask for some orange juice.

Call me selfish. I feel certain I am. I love some “me” time.

But tonight, as I was chopping on some pickles in a quiet house, knowing I was preparing them to put in smaller jars to give as Christmas gifts, it made me think about Christmas itself.

And it hit me: I have to experience another Christmas without my daddy.

I do?? Really???? Another one????

Seems silly, doesn’t it? I know. You understand the finality of death, you understand that you are going to go through a lot of “anothers” without them.

And yet, there is something inside of me that, I suppose, still believes that this is gonna end one day, and I’m going to have a Christmas the way I used to have a Christmas.

Something inside of me still believes that I’ll have another Christmas with my daddy. Here. On this Earth. Soon. Pretty soon.

The finality of losing someone you love as much as I love my daddy doesn’t come with the funeral. Sometimes, I’m not sure it ever comes completely.

Instead, the weight of the finality comes in fragments, in tiny moments, in moments of hope and wonder, in moments of quiet.

In moments of chopping pickles.

My house is quiet. I still have 43 jars of pickles to chop to give away for Christmas. I won’t get them all done tonight. In fact, I’ll be lucky if I get them all done before Christmas.

But as I prepare those presents that I will put in smaller jars with a whole lot of love and appreciation, tonight, all I can think about is the fact that I already did one Christmas without my daddy, and I don’t want to do another one.

Ever. Never. Not ever again.

One was enough.

It was plenty.

I have plenty to do to keep me busy, but Daddy still invades my thoughts, my plans, my hopes and wishes.

I wish he wouldn’t. I wish I could just languish inside the happy moments. And yet, somehow, he still shows up.

Just wish he would really show up. In my kitchen. Right now.
After all, I could use some help chopping those pickles.

I could use some help figuring out how I’m gonna do another Christmas without him.

My house is quiet, and I miss my daddy.

3 thoughts on “Pickles

  1. Marsha, in living my three-quarters of this century I have discovered so many truths for me yet remain aware, painfully at times, of the mysteries in my life and lives of those around me. I do know for me I will never have all the answers to why the most precious suffer or why death happens in such horrendous ways for many yet so peacefully for others are just two. I am not capable of understanding the “whys” but perhaps God will share one day when He thinks I am.

    I do know without a doubt evil is very real…illness of EVERY kind either hits without warning or insidiously creeps upon us. It is not something anyone chooses in my humble opinion.

    I so wish I had known your precious Charles but, honestly, I feel as though I do through you, his precious Marsha. There is NO DOUBT in my mind or heart that his final action was because in his pained way he thought he was protecting you all from what he tragically perceived was even worse…his darkness through which he couldn’t find his way.

    Your Daddy didn’t choose his illness. My Daddy didn’t choose to have myeloma or fight it four years at MD Anderson with my Mom & me by his side. As horrific as his suffering was, it gave us the opportunity to say a long good-bye and even pray for his perfect healing as only God could give. Your loss was brutal, gut wrenching, tragic, so sudden, so unexpected with no long good byes just shock & horror. Your Daddy was obviously desperate for that perfect healing & so deep in his darkness he couldn’t fathom any other way to free himself and you all from what he perceived was tragically even worse.

    No one iota of what I have written negates our anger. I hate like hell myeloma, irrational emotional illness, all illnesses and drunk/impaired drivers. BUT as I say during my MADD presentations to various groups “I honestly believe the 42 year old woman who CHOSE to drink, drive and KILL our girls would have never taken the first drink ever had she realized the hell she would bring down on so many.” I truly believe that about your precious Charles. He would have never taken himself from you and all who love him so if he had known the hell of pain he left behind. I pray one day you will once again feel the JOY of Charles BEFORE you feel the tragic loss. I pray one day you will be able to thankfully rejoice for all the blessings of Charles & I know you already do. Gregg told me “Mom, as awful, horrible as losing Laurie & Mary Witten is, my life would be so much worse had they NOT been in it.” I love you, sweet Marsha. I hope you don’t mind what I shared on my heart. Patsy

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  2. Marsha, I love to read your blog because it expresses things I feel about my precious sister. Sometimes I think I’m finally a little better & then it all evaporates in the blink of an eye when some tiny thing reminds me of her. Yesterday was 6 years since she died. You will never completely accept or “get over” it. That’s, for me, a ridiculous thing to say. I know you understand because of your blog. Just wanted you to know that your pain helps with my pain.
    I loved your daddy like so many, many others. He made a huge difference in my life & I am forever thankful for that. And now you are making my life better & you don’t even know it.
    Bobbie Richardson

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