The Ides of March

March is a tricky month for me.  My history with March isn't great, yet there have been great moments through the years.

* All through college, I ended up in the hospital each March.  We have hypothesized that- given my hospital admission each March- there had to be some sort of environmental trigger.  Apart from the usual UNC vs. Dook game, the only thing we could determine was that was when the Bradford Pears would begin their stinky-yet-beautiful blooming.  Without fail, sometime during the "true" Ides, I would be admitted to the hospital.  I began to dread those dates- March 9-15- on a calendar.  I lived in fear that I would never get out of the bondage of hospitalization... or at the very least, a prednisone taper.

* Upon moving to Winston, no more hospitalizations occurred in March... until 2010.  That's when (on March 14, no less) we discovered that "random" non-cancerous tumor on my kidney which needed to be removed.  (Sidenote: during our prayer and research period when we were determining whether or not to have the surgery, Dan sought out the advice of a friend who had expertise in that area.  Dan handed him the "If this were your wife, would you want her to have the surgery?" line and the friend responded, "Yes, especially if you are planning on having more kids.  Having a tumor like that while pregnant could be detrimental."  Dan responded- with great confidence- that while we were not planning on having more kids, our friend's advice pushed us over to the "let's just remove it" camp.  Little did we know that three years later, we would indeed be expecting a child... and we are beyond grateful for that advice, Dr. Steve!)  That surgery led to a week's hospital stay, followed by nearly six weeks of recovery... some of the hardest weeks I've ever experienced- physically.

* March 2012 was when my world got turn on end- when I unexpectedly lost my Daddy.  I've blogged about that time upon time this past year, so I hate to rehash it all again... but I'll say this: if you have never lost a parent, it is the worst.  Not a day goes by that I don't miss him... I want to call him... I want to yell at him for "leaving me"... I want to hug him and smell that hairspray/cologne/mint/Daddy smell... I want him to fix the part that is messed up on the grill he bought us... I want to tell him all the funny E stories he has missed... I want to hear him say "How the hell did that happen?" when I tell him that I'm pregnant... I want him to threaten to kill Dan... I want him to get frustrated with me for missing him so much... I want him to say inappropriate things about my girlfriends... I want him to get angered about the loss we experienced last year... and I want to sit outside, drinking a beer, and laughing with him telling me stories- just like I did almost a year ago today.  I daily struggle- struggle- with missing him to the point of pain... and yet life goes on.  I've never lost a child that I've held on this earth.  I've never lost a spouse.  But the pain of losing my Daddy- TOO SOON- is crippling.

* Also in March 2012, Mom received her official diagnosis and we began the journey of getting her the help that she needs.

Needless to say- I don't love March.

In fact, I dread it a lot of the time.

This February 28, I sat at the dinner table with Dan and one of my oldest friends and cried over the turning of the calendar page.  I was filled with dread over what this March would "feel" like.  I wanted to make sure to honor the "one year mark" of losing Daddy in an appropriate way... and at the same time, I didn't want to spend the entire month re-mourning.  They allowed my tears to flow without awkwardness (something I have become more and more thankful for in the last year)- and we talked through how this month "should" look.  I've enjoyed being intentional to look at the world in a way that is both honoring to my Daddy and pleasing to the Lord... and it's helped March not be quite as painful as I anticipated.

And isn't that the way of life?

While I dread March, I also love the TONS of people who are born this month.  I have some of the very best memories of this very day back in high school: I baked birthday cakes for my two best friends (twins) and two years in a row, we found ourselves enjoying a snow day on March 11.  Both years- because of my Mom's travel schedule- I was staying with Daddy and Mary.  Mary (a school teacher) and I enjoyed the girls' cake(s) as breakfast, and had to re-bake those cakes once the driveway was passable to go back to the store for more Funfetti mix.  I would not trade those March Snow Day Memories for anything.

The afternoon I referenced above- one year ago- was a beautiful March afternoon... Dan and E were working in their garden, I was sitting in an Adirondack chair with a Blue Moon and my first "real" conversation with my Daddy in weeks.  He had just returned from a cross-country trip and we were able to catch up on all that we'd missed in our snip-it conversations during his travels.  As we hung up, I looked at Dan with tears streaming down my face and said "No one in this world makes me laugh like he does."  (Sadly, to this day, that remains to be true.)  (Work harder, people.)

March 2006 our life changed when I officially learned that I was pregnant with Elizabeth.  I remember the world looked different that spring... it seemed that there was new life everywhere.  Trees and flowers were beginning to bloom... baby geese were trailing behind their Momma when we went to the bank... it seemed like a month of hope and promise.

Just yesterday, I stood in our driveway talking to a neighbor just long enough to have evidence of the sun remaining on my neck.  The time we had outside- our kids playing- gives some of that same hope and promise.  I see some of that hope in the sidewalk chalk left on our driveway... I notice it in the "flowers" E keeps picking for me.  ("Why do some people call these weeds, Momma?")  And I have to choose to continue to look for those glimpses so that I don't drown in the Ides.  Both exist for me this month... in fact, both exist most month.  And yet still, we go on.

Psalm 34 reminds me that The Lord is Close to the Brokenhearted... and it also reminds me to Do Good; Seek Peace and Pursue it.  Apparently the Lord knew that those concepts, for me, would be March.

To Do List Paralysis

My house is in shambles.  Not having a kitchen for a month (which is also the location of our laundry) has made "getting back to normal" not an easy task.  Yesterday, I intended the day to be getting things together in the kitchen- putting things back in cabinets, cleaning off counter tops, doing laundry.  Instead, Mom called and needed some immediate attention, so I only got 45 minutes of "real work" done before heading out.

When I came home from lunch, I did the obvious/necessary thing- I napped until 4 minutes before E was to get off of the bus.

She bounded into the house, needed some Momma Time and a snack, and I proceeded to cook dinner.  Glory!  Being able to cook a meal was quite lovely.

And quite exhausting.

Thank goodness Dan was able to do the finish up (notice I didn't say "clean up") of the day and I was able to head to bed.  (Just a few more weeks til second trimester!  Whew!)

So here I sit, looking around at all of the things that need to be done:
*I need to do more laundry.
*I need to put up the laundry from yesterday.
*I need to finish clearing off the dining room table.
*Oh, and the kitchen table.
*I need to do dishes from last night.
and then...
*I need to go move the files from beside my bed back to the office.  (My bedroom became my make-shift work space during the renovations.)
*I need to strip E's bed, do those sheets, and remake her bed.
*I need... I need... I need....

My list feels endless.  And my energy level feels end-in-sight.

And therein lies the problem... which leads me to... "To Do List Paralysis."

Instead, I become enraptured with Facebook.
I remember that I'm really good at Angry Birds.
I start thinking about baking a cake.
I think I might-should reorganize my closet.
I wonder if I should give Alphie a bath.
I think how much Misty would appreciate a card.
I then remember I didn't send Steph a birthday card.
And, oh, junk... I need to mail Laurie that package.
I should stick with Angry Birds.

Before I know it... it'll be bus time and I'll have nothing on my To Do list "To Done."

-----
I'm not posting all of this as a cry for help... or even as a "how do you get it all done".  Merely, it's just my brain's way of having a moment in therapy this morning on the Inter Webs.  I see my problem before me.  I know my agenda.  And I can clearly see what will hinder me.

I'm signing off to go start in the kitchen.  I plan to even turn on music, because that makes "work" a little easier.  Rather than helping me tackle my "To Do List Paralysis"... why don't you suggest good music to help the time pass.  For that, I would be most grateful.

Yeah... ummm... so this happened....

Just before our New York trip, I got the stomach bug.  It was violent.  I was sick in every imaginable way for a day, then the following 2 days after I felt just... well... "gross".  Fortunately, no one else in my family got it and we managed a wonderful trip to The Big Apple.

We came home from NYC, then 24 hours later I hopped in a van to head to a conference.  It was super- I had time with some of my very favorite women and had a true reminder of why we signed up to do Foster Care.  Beauty.

I came home from that 10 day stretch of travel and was exhausted.  I mean EXHAUSTED.  I couldn't bounce back.  I was falling asleep on the couch while watching PBS Kids with E.  I was yawning through my entire shopping trip with my Mom.  Crazy.

That Friday, the stomach junk came back.  It was short lived, but it hit with a vengeance.  I cancelled Happy Hour plans with some friends and laid on the couch... finally able to rally enough to go out with some other friends that night.  When we arrived at the restaurant to find their yummy margaritas on special, I sadly had to pass as my stomach just didn't feel "right".

The next day, we took things slowly.  E came to snuggle with me in bed and before I knew it, I'd had a nap in the morning shortly after waking up.  We went furniture shopping that day and I still felt "off" all day.  I just couldn't rebound.  I felt weird, tired, and queasy all day.  As a "we've-done-this-2896753-times-before" move, I suggested going to the pharmacy to pick up a pregnancy test.  Seriously, as a woman who has struggled with infertility, every time I buy one, I feel like I'm just handing a donation of $12 to the drugstore, knowing that it will be negative.  But there is still something about doing a test that crosses off something in your mind so that you can go on being obsessed with something else.  Dan even kind of laughed when I suggested it, but we went by to pick up one anyway.

The next morning, I woke up and couldn't find where I put the CVS bag.  So I went about my morning like normal, but was still feeling anxious about what was wrong with me.  I had Dan come sit to pray over me and before he prayed I said "I'm really worried it's cancer or something serious.  There is definitely something wrong with my body, and I don't know what it is."  He asked if I took the pregnancy test... I told him no, that I couldn't find it.  After rolling his eyes and making a snarky comment, he found the test for me, and insisted I take it.  Meanwhile E was showering to get ready for church, and Dan went downstairs to check email.  Just a normal Sunday morning.

Until I took the test and within seconds the "pregnant" line popped up.

Ummm.... what?

I don't just get pregnant.

What?

For me to be pregnant, I have to go to doctors... take pills... take shots... have procedures... start medicine...

What?!?!?!?

I quickly ran downstairs and showed Dan the test as I was shaking, crying, laughing, and... in full disclosure... saying words that I'm not going to put in print.  His response was way more grown up.  He said, and I quote, "No freakin' way."

Way.

All of that Sunday was a blur.  We went to church.  I heard maybe 2 words that David said in his sermon.  The whole time Dan and I were whispering and writing notes to try to make sense of this.  I was on my phone looking up a "due date calendar" and trying to be discreet so our friends behind us didn't see it.  I think I shook and laughed and cried the entire day.

We called my doctor's office to ask about beginning the same medicine I needed during my pregnancy with Elizabeth to "maintain" the pregnancy.  The nurse said they couldn't prescribe it without first seeing me, so I should call back in the morning.  Those hours felt endless until 8am.  After talking to the nurse at 8, they decided to go ahead and call in that medicine... but offered an ultrasound since we had no idea how far along I was.  My ultrasound was scheduled for 2pm.  At that point... the hours until 2pm were beyond endless.  We wandered the aisles at Home Depot and Target.  We passed through the baby section and I just kept feeling that I was the butt of a big joke.  Diapers?  Cribs?  Bouncy seats?  WHAT?!?

During the ultrasound, the poor tech must have thought I had lost my mind.  I cried and laughed a lot.  And when she saw that baby.... that BABY... I nearly lost my mind for real.  We saw a baby.  And a heartbeat.  And things looked good-- with no medical intervention whatsoever.  And, I was already 7 weeks pregnant.

WHAT?!?!?!?

But I am "Infertile."  That is part of my story.  That is part of my name.

And God changed my name.

We received a beautiful due date of September 24th- my Daddy's birthday.  At that point, I couldn't contain my tears anymore.  Again, the poor tech didn't know what she had gotten herself into when she went to work that day.  I kept saying to her over and over "This can't be happening!  I can't get pregnant!" and she said "Ummm, ma'am?  You can.  And you did."  (And, yes, she called me ma'am because she looked about 12 years old.)

We went home- still filled with shock and awe- and decided to go ahead and tell Elizabeth.  We knew our chances for miscarriage, but we have also been honest with her about our previous losses.  She often will jump on my lap or run straight for me when she gets off the bus... so we figured rather than me having to be on guard for weeks and weeks, it was "safer" to tell her.  And, oh, y'all... it was perfect.  She squealed and giggled and kept saying "I'm going to be a big sister!" over and over.  After about 2 minutes of jubilation, she stopped cold and said "But wait... I have a question... what happens when we go to Disney World and I want to ride a ride the baby can't ride yet?  What do we do then?"  Yep.  Perspective and priorities.

We began to tell our family and friends, trying to keep it "secret", but unsure exactly how to do that once a 6 year old wanted to "get a giant microphone and tell the whole wide world the news!" (her words.)  We wanted to have the prayers of our family and friends, but wanted to wait just a little bit longer- for what, I'm not exactly sure.

And so here we are... going public on Facebook and my blog.  Ready for the questions... but more importantly, coveting your prayers.  I feel super unequipped to handle this miracle- and that is exactly what it is- a miracle... so I'm leaning on God more than I remember ever doing before..  And I'm also failing more than ever.  Dan got in my face and said "You have to trust God.  You have to." over and over one night recently as I was in tears with the "what ifs".  This miracle business ain't for sissys, and I happen to be one.

ps, the "oh no!" was for comic effect. she's really super pumped.

First World Problems

About a 3 weeks ago, we noticed a "bubble" in our kitchen linoleum.  I *hate* our linoleum.  Despise it.  But we don't take baths in dollar bills, so we've chosen for the last 4 years to live with the kitchen as it was when we moved in.  Well, that's not totally true... we got rid of the wallpaper and slapped on some cheery yellow paint.  Beyond that, we've lived with the cabinets that won't stay closed, the countertops that make me tired, and the linoleum that says nothing good about our "style".

Then along came this "bubble".

The linoleum is so high quality and high "klass" (as my friend Debbie would say) that it had a split in between it and the next sheet of it.  Right.  A lovely little division just wide enough to get crumbs stuck in and nothing- including my persistent dogs- could get them out.  Our first assumption was that maybe something had spilled right at the split and caused the linoleum to bubble up.  That was not only an assumption, it was just plain naive.  We put our best efforts into getting the linoleum to go "back down" by putting weight on it- thank you, Primo, and the heavy water jugs you provide.  Nothing worked.

At coffee with my smarter-than-me friend Kam, she asked what was immediately under the spot on the floor.  "Ummm... the garage."  Have you gone down there to look to see if there is a leak?  "Ummm... no."  Then that afternoon I did.  And saw this.

Yep.  We had a leak.

I called our favorite plumber (whose number I will gladly hand out to anyone and everyone- he's wonderful) and our insurance company and both Mike The Plumber (not to be confused with James Denton) and a team from After Disaster arrived around 5:00pm.  Nothing like multiple vehicles with the words "AFTER DISASTER" emblazoned on them to get your neighbors worried about your family's safety.

Mike found the leak after lots of searching- it seems the connection from our pipes to our fridge had gotten worn down from nearly 20 years of chlorine in the water system and had just deteriorated.  It was emitting a super-fine mist, which eventually led to the sub floor becoming saturated.  Hence the linoleum bubbling up.  Ugh.

The team from After Disaster came every day after that for nearly two weeks to check to see how the drying process was going.  They sealed up our kitchen, put dehumidifiers and fans in there, and cranked up the heat to 96 degrees.  It made our downstairs area stink, it made it loud, and it made it unbearable.  We haven't had access to our kitchen sink in 2 weeks, we have a layer of grime everywhere, and our beautiful new dining room table is now the landing for everything that had to be quickly taken out of the kitchen- as well as where we put the non-kitchen-y things that we pack in E's lunch.  I am so beyond sick of restaurant food, I just want my house clean, and I'd like things to be "normal" again in my kitchen NOW.

Yep.  I have first world problems.

The first week that all of this was going down, I wasn't really phased.  I had beautiful, God-given perspective that in light of our 2012, this was nothing.  It was so not a big deal, it was just a thing, and it would be fixed soon.

The second week, my perspective changed as we had some big things happen in our family and I needed our kitchen again.  That beautiful, God-given perspective was still there, I just was able to filter my own selfishness and need through it and make it more about me.

Now, heading into week three, I'm just inconvenienced.  And defeated.  And frustrated with myself.  It is still "just" a floor.  It is still "just" a thing.  It is not permanent, and while it is a hassle, it's not going to destroy us.

I am such a brat.

The beauty in this whole ordeal is the "crack" in the linoleum.  That was probably my biggest headache in our kitchen.  Well, it's a toss up between that and where you could see the exposed staples the last homeowners had used to reattach the lovely linoleum in the corner.  But the crack- that was what saved us.  There was no visible water, no puddle in the floor, nothing to cause us great alarm.  Without that God-forsaken crack, we never would have noticed the leak... and our floor could have collapsed.  Now that.. that would have been a much bigger First World Problem.  I feel like I need to go back in time and apologize to that crack that I hated so much.  I feel like I need to tell it that, while it wasn't aesthetically pleasing, it served a purpose to save my house... and that I am sorry I hated it so much.  And I feel like there is a lovely sermon illustration in all this...

...But for now I've been sitting downstairs too long and the mess is starting to get to me, so I'mma gonna go back upstairs where it's safe.  Y'all enjoy your home-cooked meals today.  And enjoy doing your dishes.

my favorite pic of this debacle.

Thursday

Yesterday was one of those days packed to the brim with things... and unlike a lot of my packed days, I knew I was right where I was supposed to be.

It began just after E hopped on the bus with a trip to Home Depot.  We have had a leak in our kitchen this week (blog post still in "edit" mode) and Dan and I went to check out our new flooring options.  Home Depot Employees Everywhere, here is your warning:  I am a blubbering mess when I step through your automatic doors into your Orange Goodness.  The smell, the people, the memories of my Daddy overwhelm me in that big box store.  And they likely forever will.  So when the kind lady gave me a square of tile for free, she had no idea I would cry.  She was just doing her job- and getting the "customer service part" right.  But every time people there treat me like Daddy treated his customers, I feel like he's giving me a little kiss on the head.

Dan and I went from there for a breakfast date only to get the call from our contractors that we needed to rearrange our day and head home to deal with the insurance estimator.  Let me say that in the last 5 days I have grown more and more thankful for our insurance company.  They are good, y'all.

For about a 30-minute-window, I popped in at MOMS.  I got to briefly hug on some ladies... and lead a silly ice breaker.  I know I joked about it on Facebook this week, but I am thankful that my church allows me to use all those Student Council ice-breaking skills on a regular basis.  I love learning new things about the people with whom I am in community.  And here's my plug to group leaders everywhere: even if you "know" your group, there's always goodness that can come from a quick ice breaker.  Just ask my small group... our most memorable one to date was "What is one thing you never want your parents to find out?"  I cringe and giggle remembering that night...

I scooted out of MOMS (sadly right before one of my besties was teaching!) to go deal with more kitchen stuff- then headed east for the best lunch I've had in forever.  January 1, our world got rocked again when we learned of my friend Lee's flu-nomia (trademark pending).  Now that we are on the "other side", I can be honest and say that I wasn't sure he was going to make it.  In all honesty, I screamed out to God many times those first few weeks "WE CAN'T DO THIS AGAIN.  WE CANNOT LOSE ANOTHER ONE.  THIS FAMILY NEEDS THEIR DADDY."  And, to be completely honest, I prayed big prayers, but didn't truly trust for big answers.  I am still in the "wounded prayer" mode from 2012... and while I knew God could heal Lee, I wasn't totally sure He would.  I am more than thrilled to report that we book-ended January with emotion for Lee.  While on the 1st, we were frozen in fear... on the 31st we shared a meal and celebrated his healing.  He still has a long way to go to be 100% again, but he is making huge strides.  I am in awe of God's goodness.  I feel like we got the front row seat to a miracle.

We rushed back from lunch with Lee and Emily in time to get E off of the bus, then I shot over to spend time with Mom.  She'd asked earlier in the week if I could take her shopping, but given our kitchen/leak drama, our schedules didn't line up until last night.  We spent 3 hours shopping, and while moments of it were maddening, I benefited from some God-ordained patience.  Earlier this week I read this article by Amy Grant.  While I agree with her comments whole-heartedly, I kept thinking this week of the "last great gifts" I can give my Mom.  I can give her dignity.  I can give her patience.  I can give her kindness.  We shopped for new black shoes nearly identical to the ones she has in her closet... which she doesn't remember that she owns.  We bought a pair of "bedroom slippers" because she said she desperately needed some... only to place them right beside her other- already owned- pair.  She told me the last thing on her list she needed was a hat.  Moments later, I said, "Let's go find a hat!" to which she replied, "A hat?!?  Why would I need a hat?"  My heart constantly breaks when these moments occur.  I think about the mother I grew up with and all of the valuable things she taught me... and now I think about the mother I am getting to know and want to use those valuable lessons to love her well.  It is a process- and while it is so painful for me, I'm certain her pain is great, too.  So I will continue to shop for duplicate shoes and guide her toward hats as long as I'm able.

I went to bed relatively early last night after a packed-to-the-brim kind of day.  Just before bed, E and I FaceTimed with one of my her best friends and as I saw my own face on the screen, I saw just how run-down I looked.  I no longer have skin that doesn't require maintenance.  I no longer have naturally bright eyes that look alert without effort.  I no longer have the benefit of youth on my side.  But my tired eyes were tired from a day well spent with the people and things that I love.  I'm thankful that today is a little more low-key, but I'll take a full day like Thursday from time to time to remind me of God's goodness.  In the mean time, I'll just need a few more naps... and some really good moisturizer.

"I know you'd quit your job if I needed you to..."

Back in 2010- the other dark year of recent days- I was lamenting to a friend on the phone about the absence of another friend's "help".  Before you get all "Wow, Becky... that's very 12-year-old-girl of you,"... I KNOW.  I even blogged about my neediness- twice- in 2010.  I won't link them for you because there is no sense in us all going "back there", but I promise, they exist.  I've come to terms with my neediness and gotten over a lot of it.

Anyway, while on the phone with Friend J, I was crying about another friend not "stepping up" to help when I needed her to.  (Let it go, we've moved on.)  I told her- in my very mature way- that I know if I needed her, she was there for me.  And then I said words that she's quoted back to me time and time again... "I mean, I know you'd even quit your job if I needed you to..."

(awkward silence.)

"Um, Becky?  I'm not going to quit my job."

(more awkward silence.)

"Riiight, but you know what I mean, right?  You'd do something drastic if I needed you to."

"Possibly, but I'm not quitting my job."

Well then.  Whoops.  Hey, Needy-2010-Becky... do you hear how this sounds now?  In the moment, I know I meant well.  But reading it now (and reliving it a little) makes me realize just how crazy it sounded.

I figured out this week why that was an example my jacked-up-brain was ready to make.

Not only did my Daddy teach me to live like that (he made lots of self-less decisions for friends... some of them stupid, too)... but I've seen it modeled among my friends.  Specifically, my guy friends.

When I was in high school, I was in State Student Council.  I was fortunate enough to meet people from all over our fine state... we traveled together, laughed together, and became life-long friends in the truest sense.  There are a couple of these friends I talk to on a monthly basis... and you'd have no idea we formed a friendship from only seeing each other three or four times a year.

Mars Hill 50th Anniversary

When I got to Carolina, I had several "ready made" friends.  We all were excited to see each other on a more regular basis than our previous geographically challenged lives made possible.

1992, our schools being inducted as officers

We met each other's friends.  Our worlds blended together quickly.  Two friends in particular- Lee and George- sucked us in to their friend world almost immediately.  I spent more time with this crowd of guys than I should have... and beautifully never crossed over the awkward male/female friend line with any of them.  I may or may not have made an idiot out of myself several times in front of many of them... but in that beautiful way that allows you to stay close to guys later in life... "back in the day" lines were never crossed.

I had met lots of Lee and George's friends in high school.  Those I hadn't met yet quickly became friends at UNC.  In fact, there were only 2 from their high school crowd I didn't know.  Dan Johnston... and a guy named Ben who ended up in our wedding.  Well, and there was Spirko who I kind of assumed was a figment of their imagination, but that's a story for another day.  This group of guys was "special"... they spent a lot of time together, did anything for each other, and put each other's needs ahead of their own.

One of our many trips to Bubs... Dan's glasses are awesome.

After graduation, these guys continued to stay connected... and continued to get together way more than any other guys I know.  And they continued to love big.  Lee and Erik drove to Mars Hill to attend my Grandmother's funeral.  I'm not sure I even knew they were coming... I just looked up in the receiving line and saw faces from "home".  (I do remember trying to explain to my Uncle Bud that I wasn't dating either one of them, but that, yes, they should stay to join us for the Family Luncheon.)  Erik donned a camp and gown and walked with me at my belated graduation.  And that graduation wouldn't have happened if George hadn't gone out of his way to help me stand up for my asthmatic-rights over the years.  All of those guys came to visit me time after time in the hospital- we way extending visiting hours and numbers of people allowed in a hospital room.  I so benefited being part of this larger "family" community- at Carolina and beyond.*

13 days ago, I woke up to frantic texts, missed phone calls, and Facebook messages of these guys trying to get in touch with me.  Two of them left voicemails I won't likely forget that said almost word for word the same thing: "Becky, Lee is very sick.  Very sick.  I need you to call me."  Lee, the Great Connector of this motley crew of boys, had developed the flu and pneumonia and had been Life Flighted to UNC Hospital during the late night hours of New Years Eve.  I'll let you catch up on the details on his CaringBridge site rather than retelling them here, but I'll sum it up like this-  Lee is still very sick.  He is doing incredibly well given what the doctors saw 2 weeks ago.  His wife, Emily,is truly one of the strongest women I've ever known.  And please keep her in your prayers- she is seven months pregnant (and has two little kids at home.)

And here's why I have such high expectations of friendship-- those guys have loved Lee and his family well.  They have surrounded them both physically and emotionally in these long, scary days.  They have rearranged work schedules (none have outright quit that I know about... yet...) and obligations to make sure that Lee's family knows they are there to help.  They are being the boys they have always been and loving each other well.  The same guys who drank a lot of beer together in college are making sure the ICU waiting room is well stocked in food and drink (Diet Sundrop, to be exact.)  The same ones who camped out for basketball tickets together are standing in the room with one of their dearest friends and... you guessed it... watching ESPN with him now.  And because they love a good party, they are dreaming up a bash to celebrate Lee pulling through this.

the first picture I have of Lee... JTHHS, May 1991

Being fully immersed in this kind of love has given me lots of clarity recently.  It makes me grateful I've lived in this community of friends for over 21 years now.  (Lee and I are just months short of knowing each other 22 years!)  It's made me realize that my expectations of friendship have been made from seeing friendships lived out among Lee and "his guys".  I'm fortunate that I continue to get to be a part of that world... and I'm hoping all of you know that kind of self-sacrificing friendship, too.  It'll change your life.

Daddy's Celebration of Life, Summer 2012

*I would be remiss to not include the girls that were part of this group of guys.  Several became part of "the guys" after marriage, but one in particular- Mary- has been there from the get-go.  She spent her fair share of time with me in my hospital days, too... and I seem to remember she and I had the lovely duty of helping these boys clean out their refrigerators a time or two.  She has carried a heavy load of coordinating care for the Conners... and for that, we are grateful.

Being a Duck

Grandmother and Granddaddy Duck

I am a Duck.  I come from a long line of Ducks- my Grandmother was a Duck (her maiden name).  I have heard all of the good Duck jokes, and even told many of them myself.  We all collected Duck treasures.  And we all spent time learning what it meant to be a Duck.  I spent many Sundays at the homes of other Duck relatives growing up... there were lots of Duck cousins, although not many my age.  Apparently, this wasn't just a tradition for my generation.  My Mom spent every Sunday going to her grandparents house for a meal.  Everyone's presence was "expected".  How I love that tradition now... but at the time I remember wishing I had more kids to play with.

Mostly, I remember being at the home of my Uncle Otis and Aunt Betty.  They hosted family reunions and many big luncheons at their home on Duck Drive.  I remember playing with their Corgi, Ichabod, and laughing with Uncle Otis as he smothered me with kisses.  Aunt Thelma pinched our cheeks in the stereotypical way.  Uncle Bobby and Uncle Bud made me giggle at their silly jokes.  I remember playing with their pool table... I loved it all.  I loved being part of a "bigger" family.  I loved being a Duck. 

Aunt Betty and Uncle Otis

As we grew up, those "bigger" family events dwindled.  Part of it was the nature of life- the cousins had babies and families of their own... and each individual Duck child hosted their own immediate families for holidays.  I saw the (great)aunts and(great) uncles as I was able to... and of course saw them all again at my Grandparent's funerals. 

Sadly, I missed Uncle Otis's funeral.  I remember Mom calling me to let me know he'd died- I was a freshman at UNC.  It was right as exams were starting- Mom told me to stay there and take my exams.  She insisted that Uncle Otis would want me to do well on my exams rather than drive home.  So I stayed... and I went to Linda's on Franklin Street to toast Uncle Otis with some friends (on my way to the library, I'm sure.)

When Dan and I moved to Winston in 2002, we knew 4 people.  Our friend Chris Lieu who was here in Med School, a friend-of-a-friend Joy (who became my contact to the world here!), Aunt Betty and her daughter Roz.  I vaguely knew Roz, but I was looking forward to reconnecting with Aunt Betty while being here... and knew I would like Roz, too.

Keith finally talks to me now.

Our first Thanksgiving, Dan was on-call at the hospital and we couldn't go home.  Roz insisted we join her family at her home for Thanksgiving Dinner as Dan was able to sneak away for a meal.  Roz had 2 teenage children- Keith, a high school freshman who had no time for his "old lady" cousin; and Courtney, a college freshman.  I tried to charm Keith into being my friend, but it took about 3 years until he actually would say more than "hey" to me.  That Thanksgiving meal was the beginning of a beautiful tradition.  Our families have spent many Thanksgivings, Christmases, Easters, and beyond together since 2002.  I so envied people with "big" families growing up... and loved that Match Day gave us a bigger one here in Winston.

Aunt Betty showered both Dan and me with her love.  She was our "grandmother" here in town... and both of us were thankful to have her as we both had lost our own grandmothers.  We picked her up for meals, errands, appointments... or sometimes we'd join her at Brookridge for a meal and get to meet all of her friends.  We loved that she "showed us off"... and she did proudly... until the birth of Elizabeth Jane when we became known only as "Elizabeth Jane's parents."  Her son told me the other night "You know Mom adored you, right?  But not nearly as much as she adored your daughter."

As I said my goodbyes to Aunt Betty last week in ICU after a horrible, freak hospital stay that turned fatal-- I told her thank you for making my family bigger, and for adoring my daughter so.  I drove back home from the hospital on Christmas and allowed myself to think back on our ten years here... more sure than ever that Match Day brought us here for more than just residency.

Elizabeth with Courtney

The day after Aunt Betty died, we began rallying to celebrate.  We were not only celebrating her life, but we were celebrating the life and love of her Granddaughter, Courtney.  Courtney had the most lovely wedding yesterday.  It was perfect.  Just perfect.  Probably due to the fact that, as a friend so sweetly put it, the wedding had a "heavenly coordinator."  The rain held off, there were no glitches, and I've never seen a more smiley bride.  The only thing missing, obviously, was Aunt Betty who had wanted so desperately to be there.  At dinner, our table drank a toast to Aunt Betty and my Daddy.  I feel certain they were toasting us, too.

Ten years ago, I had cousins and aunts I knew only in the "formal" sense.  But yesterday at the wedding... and tomorrow at the funeral... they are so much more than that.  They are ones with whom I share inside jokes... they are ones with whom the "I love you"s mean so much more.  We are Ducks.  And I am so thankful for being one.

The sweetest bite. E's first birthday.

**for a link to Aunt Betty's obituary, click here.**