We have a lot of firsts we like to talk about.  In our youth, it would have been about our first kiss (ironically, I live across the street from the house I had my first French kiss, not a topic I’ve discussed with my neighbors, lol).  As a youth and an adult, it may be the first time someone tells you they love you (Will and I said “I love you” on our first date and never looked back). Of course, there’s always the negative firsts-a heartbreak, job loss, etc. We grow from these type of firsts and share them in hopes to help others in the future.

However, what’s been on mind lately is the firsts that happen after someone you love passes away. These firsts are not always discussed as much as the ones mentioned above. I started thinking about these firsts as they relate to the recent passing of my grandmother. William Michael, our son, wrote his whole name yesterday and when I mean his whole name I mean “William Michael Coplin.” I immediately shared with grandparents, aunts, etc. Instantly, I thought about how I needed to go see Maw Maw Faye and let her know the good news. Then, reality hit and a small pain shot through my heart. This small pain was much like the hours after she passed; I walked into her home for what we be the first time without her being there (not in a sense she was not home but that she would never be back). It was an odd feeling and still is from time to time (I imagine it will be that a way awhile). As my cousin and I discussed the other day, from the décor in her home to the shoes in her closet, it is and will not ever be the same.

I have always been taught to seek the truth in every situation. I have been searching for the truth in these “firsts” that everyone has to experience.  I think these “firsts” are there to remind us how much the ones that passed on mean to us. It’s a way to never forget them (not that anyone ever would) and hold them close to our hearts.  These “firsts” will never be easy but should be embraced. We must remember, too, that our loved ones are still with us to share these moments. I’d like to think of my grandmother as a guardian angel and smiled when she saw William Michael write his whole name. If you listen closely and pay attention to your surroundings, I believe our loved ones are letting us know they are there.

From left to right, my grandmother  and her sisters, brother, and father. All have passed except for Aunt Myrle.  I like to imagine when my grandmother passed, she entered heaven looking as young as she was in this photo.

 

 

It’s funny how a place can be like a time machine and transport you back in time. As I walked around the Old School today, it became the late 1990’s again. Insert your favorite Weezer song here (from the blue CD) or maybe a song from the Cranberries.

The Old School is just as it’s name states, an old school. Once used as an elementary school, but by the time I was a kid, it was home to SAP (kids that had been suspended had to go there) and the local theatre group, Canebrake Players used it for their productions (and thankfully, still do today).

It was a practice field for our softball team (despite having no dirt), as well as, a place I could practice hitting tennis balls against its huge wall.  Climbing up it’s old metal steps and reaching the top was like scaling a mountain! It was also a place to play yard football with some of the coolest kids you had ever met at the age of 12. It was a place to ride your bike or roller blade down it’s long sidewalk.  It was also where your older neighbor’s band practiced (picture a lot of plaid and insert teen angst here- Nirvana’s Heart Shaped Box). Older guys always seemed so much cooler than the immature ones in your grade.

As a young teenager, it was a place to sneak off too and still a few kisses and hold a sweaty palm (insert Matchbox 20’s Push, classic make out song in 97′).

When we hung out at the Old School, all we had was time. We were just trying to find our place where we might fit in in Junior High and how to get our crush to notice us (insert Love Fool by the Cardigans here). The Old School represents a simpler time that I will always cherish. The Old School helped raise me.

 

*This is dedicated to my friends from Junior High. I may not see you everyday or talk to you everyday but thank you for your friendship during those awkward years. I will never forget the times we had.

 

Our home was built in 1986. I love our home but as my friends and family all know there is one room I am not to thrilled about-our upstairs bathroom. I call it our blue bathroom. All of the fixtures, sink, toilet, and tub are powder blue. The tub is an insert and could never be described as luxurious garden tub. I know at the time my home was built this was probably a luxury. I often complain about it to one of my best friends Morgan. I know she’s probably tired of hearing about this bathroom.

This week, I traveled to Mobile for work. I ended up staying an extra day due to the snow and ice (unusual weather we are having in Alabama lately). I was thankful Will, my husband, could be with me. I was glad to get home tonight. I of course missed William Michael, family, and fur baby Polly, but I missed something I didn’t think I would-that old blue bathtub. I was excited about the thought of bathing my son and soaking after he goes to bed.

That old bathtub reminded me of what home means. Yes, it’s nice to have a house with rooms full of your favorite furniture and art but in the end, home is really the place you can truly relax and unwind. It’s a place to spend time with loved ones and just be. I am thankful for that old bathtub. It’s full of sounds of childhood bubble baths and splashing, as well as, sighs of relief. One day, I’m sure we will replace that old blue bathtub and in a weird way, I will miss it. William Michael will probably be older and there will be no more toys in the tub. So until then, I think I’ll stop complaining about that old blue bathtub, and instead make another bubble bath for William Michael and later when he’s gone to bed take another soak.

The old blue bathtub – on any night, you might find a new toy and sometimes it’s one that doesn’t necessarily go in a bathtub. 🙂

 

 

I was diagnosed as a child at an early age as having shy bones in my body. In the early 90’s, there was no medical cure for shyness. It would something I would have to overcome but thankfully not alone. I had finally decided at the age of 12, I did not want to be shy. I confided in my mom, and we embarked on a journey to free me from my shyness.

It started in 7th grade. All I had to do instructed my mother was speak to one new person a day. Being the literal child I was and still am, I thought I can do this. I can speak to one new person a day! By the end of my 8th grade year, I knew the whole school! I finally was unafraid to speak and make friends. You may be wondering why I am sharing this silly coming of age story. It’s important for you to know because it says a lot about who my mother is. She’s a problem solver, behind the scenes, wind beneath your wings kind of gal. She does not seek attention.

As long as my parents have been together (since 1969 to be exact), my mom has played the very important role of driver in their relationship. My dad was diagnosed at 15 with macular degeneration and is legally blind. Thus, he cannot drive. She has always made sure he has gotten to where he needs to go, as well as, be his eyes as needed. When children came along, she again put our needs in front of hers, making sure we got what we needed.

Besides being the most selfless person I know, she is quite witty. There’s a picture in a Uniontown High School yearbook somewhere with a picture of her with a flower in her mouth posing with the caption “wittiest”.  I’ve heard my dad say that when they were dating, when she walked in, she could light up a room. She still does. He has always called her Mary Louise when most others have called her Mary Lou. I think it is special when he calls her that, a connection.

She even taught me how to flip the bird. I had come home in 7th grade upset because a guy had flipped me off. I’m not sure I knew exactly what that meant but I knew it wasn’t nice. She told me as she was folding laundry on the bed, just flip him back off! Of course, I didn’t do that but it was an important lesson on standing your ground. She encouraged me to always be myself even if it meant that I might not necessarily be the popular kid. It was more important to treat people the way you wanted to be treated. I had a hippy/ 60’s faze in 7th grade that included bell bottoms, incents, beads on my closet door, and knee socks with skirts.

When I had William Michael, I knew in my heart that I couldn’t imagine not being in the same town as her.  A few months after his first birthday, we made the decision to move back home. We were only an hour away but just not close enough.

I’ll be forever grateful God chose her to be my mom. In a lot of ways, I catch myself saying or acting just like her, and I just smile to myself.

We celebrated her birthday this weekend with a small surprise party. I could not think of a person more deserving. Happy Birthday Mom, Nana, Mary Louise! We love you!

Mike and Mary Louise

 

They say there are three sides to the truth. The first person’s side and the second person’s side with the truth lying somewhere in the middle. I also believe that perception is reality. I will attempt to tell you about one man’s truth or his side of the story. Up until this point, I’ve written mostly about my grandmother. Lord knows I miss her, and Christmas this year is just not the same without her. However, to truly know her (which is what I hope my writing not only provides me but you as well) is to know him. The him I am referring to is my grandfather.

My grandmother married Herbert Eugene Hall on December 25, 1961 (I believe that was the year). This would be her 2nd marriage; the 1st being to my grandfather, a man I never knew. The man I know as my grandfather is Herbert Eugene Hall or as we affectionately call him, Paw Paw Red. Red was a nickname he inherited due to his red hair. Paw Paw Red came from Heiberger, Alabama. His parents home still sits there, a home he helped his father build from an old school house. He’s picked cotton, knows what it’s like to live without indoor plumbing, and has driven a truck for a living, once delivering caskets that were made from scrap pine wood (he’s says that weren’t worth anything).

Family is more than blood.

As far as I can remember, Paw Paw Red wore his work clothes (even when he retired). He is a retired truck driver from a company that no longer exists-Thermogas. His pants always come up way up past his navel. A belt keeps those pants up because there is nothing in the posterior area that can support those pants. The hat he wears sits on top of his head versus on his actual head. He’s had the same hair cut for as long as I can remember-military or high and tight. He’s always quick with a dirty joke and a sly grin after telling you. He also likes to point at his grandchildren and great grandchildren. I have been told that when I was a child he called me a knot head in which I would reply “I not a knot!”

Paw Paw Red is a man of few emotions but you know how he feels about you by looking at his scrapbook. Every clipping that has come out in the local paper about his children, grandchildren, etc., he has cut out and put in a scrapbook. The scrapbook also contains crazy and random stories of three headed snakes and “Dear Abby” columns.

My grandmother’s recent passing has been the hardest for Paw Paw Red. For 50 plus years, he has spent his life devoted to her. In his eyes, the sun rose and set by her. With her passing, a part of himself has died as well. I honestly don’t know how he will make it without her. His heart is broken, and I don’t know how strong his will is to survive. I believe that is what love is. It may start as a simple attraction to the waitress behind the counter at the truck stop to two people becoming one and not being able to physically live without someone when they pass.

Paw Paw Red’s parents’ home he helped build in Hieberger.

 

 

I have always been fascinated with the stories my grandmother would tell me. They were also sometimes hard to hear when she would recount some of the hellish moments she had been through, but at the end of these stories, I always pictured her as the heroine coming out on the top. She was much like the characters in my favorite movies and books. She was Atticus Finch in To Kill a Mockingbird standing for justice for those who could not defend themselves. She was Iggy in Fried Green Tomatoes, taking care of those less fortunate, and she was as fearless at Towanda, the Righter of Wrongs. She was as witty as any of the ladies in Steel Magnolias, and as strong or stronger than Malin.
I had decided that I would write a book about these stories. These stories I believe would ring truth to all those that read them. The only problem is that I have only written bits and pieces. And now as her life has come to an end, I am disappointed that I have not shared her with the world like I had planned. I am truly sorry for this. I have, however, now been given an opportunity to speak to you about her and what she means to me and what I will always carry with me. It’s not a book (maybe one day), but it is from the heart. I love you Maw Maw Faye, and this is for you.
For a moment, I’d like to take you back to somebody’s yellow house. To the left side of the house, there is a stone wall, just right for testing your balancing skills (hey, you can pretend your Baby from Dirty Dancing; Maw Maw Faye is so cool to let you watch it). To the right side of the house is a sand pile. Your younger cousin Brooke and you could really build some castles with that sand. In the backyard, there is a plum tree, a perfect snack. You also wondered why there are cactus plants in the backyard.
As you head through the front door of somebody’s yellow house, there is a swing on the front porch just waiting for a fresh cup of coffee and conversation. As you enter the house, you take a deep breath and smell fried ham and bacon. There’s a 70’s style blanket folded into a pallet on the floor just waiting for a baby to take a long nap. You can also hear the sound of a sewing machine humming. Somebody’s yellow house is small, just two bedrooms, but to you it seems so big. In the only bathroom, there is strawberry scented suave shampoo on the side of the tub. In the cabinet, there’s a jar of Ponds. When you back out, you look for paper in the sideboard to draw a picture or two while sitting at the table in hopes it makes the refrigerator with the asparagus magnet. You get hungry and decide it’s time for a fried bologna sandwich. While you are eating the sandwich, you decide it’s time to pull out the old blue suitcase and look at old photos and stare at people you know and others you never knew but know it’s okay because they are all family.
I miss somebody’s yellow house but more importantly, I miss her. I selfishly feel like a child again, wanting to run to somebody’s yellow house and into her arms, crying, and thinking why did you leave me. I long for one more story. It’s now my turn to sing to my little one a Bushel and a Peck. I put on my ponds every morning and night and when I start to miss her, I will wash my hair in strawberry scented suave shampoo. I’ll pull out the old blue suitcase and look at her picture. I’ll tell William Michael her stories, and she will always be the heroine. I’ll smile because she is and was the heroine and is not a made up character though she will be in a book one day. I’ll hope and pray, too, that someday somebody will long to come and visit me in my yellow house (I’m glad my house is yellow).

   Everyone has their own interpretation of what Heaven will look like and 
be like. This weekend my grandmother told us how much she loves us and what
a blessing each of us are in her life. There were 50 plus people made up 
of her children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and their spouses 
at her home at what was probably her last Christmas. She calmly and bravely
told us that it was time for her to go and that she was preparing a way 
for us to Heaven to join her one day. I don't think there was a dry eye 
in the room. We know these last few days, months, whatever God gives us
with her is a blessing. 
 I am no expert on what Heaven looks like but I know one day
I will be with my grandmother there. I'd like to think Heaven looks a lot 
like my grandmother's house when I was a child. She'll be on the front porch 
swing with my favorite dog, Indy (short for Indiana Jones), underneath her
feet. I'll hug her just as I did when I was a child coming from the 
Strawberry Patch (daycare). She'll smile and offer me a grilled cheese 
sandwich or fried bologna sandwich. If I make at breakfast time, I'll have 
one of her hand-made biscuits with fried ham. Aunt Nell will be there 
singing out of tune to some old Johnny Cash song, dancing a little jig. 
We'll eat peaches that are always "June or July peaches" because as 
Aunt Nell always said, "May peaches ain't no good but June and July are." 
We will spend an eternity hugging each other when we enter one room and 
leave another because that just what we do. 
 Of course, I look forward to seeing all the rest of my family like my 
Maw Maw Nonie and Paw Paw PT. Maw Maw Nonie will call out to me upon 
entering Heaven with a "Who" (her way of saying hello and asking 
who is it with one word) and will say "Ain't no need in you hurrying off." 
And for once, I won't have to be hurrying off, I'll have an eternity to spend with 
the people I love the most and make preparations for the loved ones 
I left behind so that I can one day, too, greet them and welcome them home. 
Streets of gold sound really nice but just give me my grandmother's house
and some of her good cooking, a room full of people I love, my favorite
dog, and I think I'll be just fine. 

  At 6:30 AM this morning, my cell phone pinged with a text message that
read, "We are closed today." My inner child was excited, an unexpected day 
off and it was a Friday-long weekend! Perks of living in Alabama when it 
snows.I was also excited to make memories with my little guy-snowman, snow 
angels,etc. The last time it snowed, he was just a baby, and we were living 
in Tuscaloosa. 
 As we stepped outside in layers of clothes (WM in his warmest pajamas), 
for me it was like being transported back in time and seeing snow for the 
first time.That is the blessing of having a small child. You get a second 
chance to see the world for the first time again. 
 However, today ended up being so much more than just experiencing snow 
with my child. For a brief moment, time stood still, and my mind did not
wander down the worry road I've been traveling. For a moment, I did not
think about my grandmother being sick, and wondering when she would leave
us. I did think about the blessing that she got to see snow again even
if it was her last time. I wondered about when the first time was she saw 
snow and what she remembered about the experience. I made a mental note
to ask her as soon as possible. I also thought about all the questions I 
may never get to ask. 
  I thank God for today. For once, my mind was clear. I only focused on
a little boy.