It's Graduation Day

WE walked into the newly built gas station in our Sunday best.  There was an old man sitting in a chair next to the cash register drinking his morning coffee and chatting with the attendant.  He sweetly complimented Austin and Addison's attire and asked if we were headed to a graduation.  I responded that we were on our way to a funeral, to which he replied with a smile on his face, "Well, that's a kind of graduation."

No truer words have ever been spoken.

It was no coincidence that I met this man. It was a predetermined encounter ordained by our Creator. I told this story at Papa's graveside service just before I recited the poem "Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep" by Mary Elizabeth Frye. It seemed fitting. Praise God Papa has graduated on to something bigger and better.

Do not stand at my grave and weep 
I am not there. I do not sleep. 
I am a thousand winds that blow. 
I am the diamond glints on snow. 
I am the sunlight on ripened grain. 
I am the gentle autumn rain. 
When you awaken in the morning's hush 
I am the swift uplifting rush 
Of quiet birds in circled flight. 
I am the soft stars that shine at night. 
Do not stand at my grave and cry; 
I am not there. I did not die. 

Edward Edell "Papa" Ridge was one genuine man. I've never met another like him, and I doubt I ever will. My fondest memories include many games of 42 and many, many stories. He never started his stories with "Did I tell you about the time," because I promise he knew he had. He would just say, "Let me tell you about..."

A genuine man indeed.  He fought a bear; cheated at dominoes; could fix any machinery known to man; was proud of his children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren and great-great grandchildren and worried constantly over them; loved his family unconditionally; and most especially loved his wife more than any man has ever loved a woman before. The love between Mamma and Papa could be physically felt when you were in the same room with them. Women dream of the day they will be loved as such.

I only knew Papa for about 18 of his 89 years, so I'm sure there are better insights to be told by others. But I can tell you this from my short time with him:  he loved me as one of his own; he was generous beyond all expected measures; Austin and Addison were angels in his eyes; and in Papa's eyes Michael Ridge was a football genius from the moment he entered the world. I loved to hear the stories of the two of them watching Monday Night Football. Papa claimed Michael knew every team and player, could call the plays better than anyone else, and was destined to devote his life to the game.

Michael's favorite memories with Papa are those in front of the TV watching football. He had many heroes during that time, Tony Dorsett, Walter Payton, Roger Staubach, but as the years grew on he realized the true heroes weren't the guys on the TV but the man sitting next to him. The bond they shared was special, never to be replicated.

But the amazing thing about Papa was that he had a unique bond with all of his grandchildren. Judy was the only girl and spoiled beyond anything you've ever seen, or so I'm told.  And Pete...well, let me just say this: Papa lives on because Pete Ridge is just like him!

It's never easy to lose a parent or grandparent, no matter their age. And while it may be the way it's supposed to be, nothing ever prepares you for the sadness and longing that ensues, even though you know they are pain-free for maybe the first time in many, many years. You still want them with you.

But our prayers need to be especially focused on Mamma. She's lost the love of her life after 69 years of marriage. She was devoted to him from their wedding day forward, even during the last few years while he was in the nursing home. Every single day she would drive to that nursing home on Reunion Street and stay by his bedside until closing time. It was a unique and beautiful devotion.

(Photo Cred:  Judy Haggard)

On December 25th of this year Papa would have told us that he had seen 91 Christmases, even though he was only 90 (December 1st baby), just as he did every Christmas.  These are the memories we will cling to and cherish forever.

We love you, Papa. As Caylor said, keep on telling those stories in Heaven. They never get old.

Fashionista? Not so much.

As we piled in the car headed to Rand's 1st birthday, Austin looked at me with shocked eyes and asked why I was dressed so "fancy." This comes not minutes after Addison asked me the same thing in the bathroom. Said outfit:

This inquisition internally bothered me, but I couldn't figure out why.  

The next evening, Sunday, I wasn't feeling so great, and low and behold by midnight the stomach bug had hit me hard. Thankfully, it was a short-lived virus, and I only tell you this so you'll understand why I didn't see what my daughter wore to her field trip on Monday until after she was home.  

Addison walked in my bedroom Monday afternoon looking like the latest episode of "What Not to Wear: Kid's Edition." Black t-shirt. Black athletic shorts. Hair messy and unkempt. It suddenly dawned on me that this outfit became the norm for my Addison. She was Miss Sloppy, and she learned from the best.

Lately, I have let myself go. I've never been accused of being a fashion genius, but it wasn't unheard of for me to get a compliment from time to time on my latest outfit. Just a year ago, high school students were asking where I shopped. My new Grand Saline friends probably think I only own clothes with the labels Nike, Adidas, and Under Armour. While that actually sounds pretty awesome to me, it is, in fact, untrue. Sunday's adventure forced me to be truthful with myself. Simply put, I'm uncomfortable in my normal clothes right now. I'm at my top weight and I hate my body.  

I deal with the same body issues most women deal with. Yes, I know I'm smaller than some, but that doesn't mean I'm happy with where I am. I know where I used to be, and I know with just a little effort and willpower I could be there again. But, I'm always SO DANG TIRED, another universal conflict we share as women. Frankly, I'm writing this blog because I need to vent and it seems like I have no one to talk to about this. When it comes up in conversation with other girls, they usually get the same look on their face, the one that says, "Shut up, you skinny witch.  I would kill to be your size." But I feel the same way about my body as you do about yours. It sucks.  

Bottom line: I need to take better care of myself, both inside and out. (There may not be enough space on Blogger to tackle the inside.) I need this not only for myself but also for my daughter. It's important for her to grow up with a positive body image, and she's going to look to me first for that acceptance and accountability. I know I'll never be 118 lbs again, and that's okay. But I want to feel better, and I want to look at my body and know that I am doing the best I can with what the good Lord gave me.

 

I'm a work-in-progress, so don't expect a drastic change. But I might fix my hair tomorrow.  Maybe.