NEW JOURNEYS and AN OLD SPARROW..The questions you get asked at weddings

DISCLAIMER: This post is longer than I usually post. Not real long, but longer. I don't usually write them this long, but it's long. That's my disclaimer. But, in my defense, with Glenda gone, I don't get to talk with very many people, so this is...well, it's long.

Saturday, October 12th 2024, my oldest grandchild, Elijah Landers married the fetching Carolyn Dysart and made her part of our family. It was a beautiful day spent with my children, Amanda, Amy, and Anthony. I also got to see my two brothers and their fetching brides, my awesome neice Courtney, as well as a host of people I didn't recognize. It was obvious they were the friends and acquaintences of the two young love birds, and whose faces I wouldn't recognize tomorrow. The past two days were a blur of preparations, cooking, hoping, and praying that we'd all done what was necessary to send the young couple into wedded bliss with a memorable wedding. I was thrilled to spend yesterday morning with my brothers DL, his bride Jenell, and Jeff, and his bride Liz.  We guys did what guys always do at weddings, we did what we were commanded to do by the womenfolk who had a plan, and the materials to execute said plan. We were going to transform a lowly picnic pavillion at Table Rock State Park into a wedding chapel.

All throughout the morning we were asking my daughter Amanda where things went, how she wanted it, and where everything was. She was an awesome force of nature executing the desires of the two young people stepping into a life of love. I was also so thrilled to meet up again with Peter's brother-in-law, Ron. Ron, his wife Rachel, Pete, and Amanda worked tirelessly with Glenda and I during our 2023 bucket list trip to Mackinac Island. I can't speak highly enough of Ron, and Rachel and the easy grace they showed us. They made the trip to Mackinac Island an unforgettable experience. Here's to you, Ron! 

It was also fantastic to work hand in hand with my brother DL, and my youngest brother Jeff as we joined together to transform the pavilion into a wedding chapel! I can't tell you guys how much fun it was to be with you and to share that moment with your lovely brides. I also want to put a big shout out to my Son-in-law Peter Landers. He preached an awesome ceremony even though you could tell he was a little nervous performing the rites for his own son. He fulfilled the role of 'gopher', making numerous trips to town for emergency last minute detail stuff. Huge thumbs up to you Peter! Good job. 

As with all homespun weddings, things get hectic, and things get crazy. Thankfully any craziness was only for a few brief moments. Amazingly, there were also wonderful lulls between the crazy, and hectic to converse and catch up with one another. As the day moved on, there was a question asked of me by almost every family member, as well as a few loving friends; "So, Dave, what are you doing?" 

 It's a fair question, and the answer was simple: "Nothing." 

 Now, in my family, being as there were just the three of us boys the thought of doing nothing is like saying you are an ax murderer. My Dad instilled in all three of us a well defined work ethic that had one primary rule; if you are not doing something all the time, you are useless. That thought was reinforced by my Dad's constant reminder to never bring shame to the Bragg name. He would often say; "If a man pays you a dollar you give him more than a dollars worth of work." Growing up, we boys were expected to be doing something all the time. In all fairness, our father led by example. He would work at his job six days a week, and then have a home project for Sunday after Church. I began working for my Dad and getting paid for it from the age of ten. When I turned 13, he bought me a motorcycle and I was expected to go to the corrals every morning and evening to feed the horses. When I turned 14, I was expected to ride my motorcycle to work after school, and on Saturdays. From the time I was 14, I worked alongside my father till I was 21. Resting was not an option. So, I say again,doing nothing is a difficult concept in my family. You have to be doing something. HOWEVER, when Glenda got sick I stopped working, and I dedicated every minute to being with her. After she died, I couldn't make myself do anything. Now I like it. It feels good to NOT have to do anything. 

 Lord knows, I've paid my dues! 

 When I moved to Harrison, Arkansas in 1995 after leaving the Air Force, it wasn't for a job, or opportunity, it was to be available for my Mom and Dad as they entered into the later years of their life. This wasn't noble or done with some pure purpose. Mom and Dad had helped Glenda, and I throughout our life in major ways, and I felt like I owed them that much. When we moved to Harrison, I didn't know anyone!  Glenda left the job of a lifetime to move here. I was a highly trained aircraft repairman, but there were no jobs for me in my skill set. There was nothing for Glenda either, so moving here was not to get rich. By the grace of God, we eventually found good jobs, meaning, and purpose. Our children married, and gave us grandchildren to spoil. Most importantly, we found a church fellowship that welcomed us, and met our spiritual needs. 

Everything went well until sometime around 2018 when my mom began to show the first symptoms of dementia. Over the next three years I spent every morning making sure she took her meds because she wouldn't take them from Dad. (She was convinced he was trying to kill her.) Dementia is a cruel killer that steals your loved ones away one memory at a time until there is nothing left of the person you knew. On October 28th, of 2021, her body gave up and her spirit went to be with the Lord. My mother and I were a lot closer than I was to my Dad, so her passing really hurt me. Actually her long bout with dementia hurt me more than anything. It was a prolonged agony to see her forget me, and worse for her to forget who she was. After Mom died, I thought Dad would fold up shop and move away to where my brothers lived in Corpus Christi because he was closer to them than he was with me. I knew they would be thrilled to have him, but he was happy with his 'little frog pond' as he referred to his house and seven acres in Harrison. So, over the next year and a half I watched as he too began to slip into dementia. Unlike Mom, his dementia was forgetting to do those things he needed to do on a daily basis. He didn't take showers every day like he used to, and he would take food out of the fridge and leave it out. It quickly became apparent that he too was losing his memory. Every morning and afternoon, I would stop by to make sure he was alive, give him his meds, and talk with him. At first, he was thrilled to hear what I'd done that day, who I'd done it for, and any news of the kids, or Glenda I would tell him.

Then he fell. 

The bruises looked bad, and he'd thrown his rotator cuff out. He also had a bad knot on his head, which should have given me a clue as to what was next. It was at this point that my brother secured a company to come in and help him for four hours a day. This seemed to help for a while, but after the fall, his personality changed. He became irrational, and ill tempered. At least more so than I remembered.  He accused the help of stealing, and other things, and he couldn't remember if they'd been there or not, even when there was physical proof that they'd been there. He also was starting to have small fender benders around the house with his truck. My brothers told me to take the truck from him, which I knew was not a good idea. Two weeks later, he called me in a rage and said he'd called the cops on me. He wanted his truck back. In a fit of anger, I took his truck back and didn't go see him for 2 weeks. During that two weeks I looked for assisted living facilities that would give him 24 hour care, but he wouldn't have any of it. 

Everything changed in one terrifying moment in February of 2023 when I found out Glenda had Glioblastoma (brain cancer). Dad was oblivious to the situation, called me all kinds of names because I wasn't checking up on him. In defense of him, his memory, and his compassion were failing. The week of Glenda's brain surgery, he fell again and they took him to the hospital because he'd suffered a stroke. On March 22nd, just 11 days short of his 88th birthday, and 18 months after momma died, he passed away. I'd done my job. I'd nursed both of my parents in their last days. I was there for my Mom's death, but with Glenda getting ready to go through chemo and radiation, the last thing I could do was sit at my father's side as he passed this vale. Thankfully, my brother DL and my other brother's wife Liz, came and were there with Dad when he took his last breath. He got his wish and died in his recliner at his silly frog pond. 

 I've already blogged about Glenda's passing, so I won't wear you out with it again. I was thrilled that she didn't pass away alone. Thankfully she passed away in my arms on September 21st of 2023, six months after Dad died.  I was just so relieved that she did not go through the dementia and long term pain my parents went through. 

 It's now been a year and a couple of weeks since she died, and I learned one thing through everything that I've experienced over the last six years. As you are headed through the exit doors of this life, the last thing anyone talks about is their jobs, and all the work they did. It's always about the love they knew, the loved ones who brought them joy, and love they felt for them. Things, journeys, and possessions mean nothing as you approach the end. It's as if you are finally able to focus on the really important things in this life.  There is nothing wrong with doing nothing.

 So, now to the other most asked question from yesterday; "What are you gonna do?" 

 Nothing! 

 Like I said in my last blog, I have a couple of places on my bucket list I'd like to visit, but if I don't get there, it doesn't matter. I spent the last week before the wedding going to visit old customers who sent me condolence cards when Glenda died to let them know personally what it meant to me. I have two more people to visit and that list will be done. Like I said before I want to visit a couple of Glenda's family who live over on the far eastern edge of Arkansas. They supported me when Glenda and I got married, and I want to thank them before they pass this vale. 

 One of the questions that surprised me was when I was asked if I was going to start dating. I haven't thought about it.  Why would I make another woman go through putting up with me? It took Glenda and I the better part of 47 years to figure each other out. I think any widow or widower if they were being honest, would tell you that the simple touch of another human being is the biggest thing they miss after their loved one has passed away, but dating just doesn't feel right to me.  However, what I would like, is to meet a lady friend who would enjoy riding in my little convertible, and who would be willing to talk for hours about family, and loved ones. I'd also enjoy having someone who would like going out to eat and going on one day journeys around the area. I don't want another bride, nor do I want a lover, I just want to hear a woman's voice, listen to a woman's laughter, and see through a woman's eyes once more. I don't want to live with another woman, nor do I want to wake up next to another woman. However, I would like a home cooked meal by someone other than me. AND, if I found a woman amenable to it, I would like to feel the touch of a woman's hand in mine again. These are wants and likes, but if they don't happen, I'm happy being alone. I'm not looking, and if God wants me to have these things, he'll have to bring her to me. Like I said before, I truly miss the intimacy and ease Glenda and I shared together.  I doubt I would feel comfortable with anyone else. 

Alright, we're coming to the end of the blog, I think.  If I were to offer advice to my grandson, and his fetching bride, it would be simply to cherish each moment with one another, to make vivid memories with one another, to make passionate love to one another, to make children with one another, and to tell those children how much you love one another so that they know that there is more to life than making money, buying things, going places, or impressing bosses. Even though I was never asked, I would tell them that they are at the beginning of a new journey, and how it ends is up to them. Life comes with it's share of problems, devastation, death, and fear whether you are married or not. Doing the laundry, cooking, cleaning house are just a part of living, whether you are married or not. None of that stuff is gender exclusive. Having each other makes those things easier to deal with. 

 As for me, this old fat sparrow has known love, given love, and I have love left to give. I did learn something during the build up to the ceremony that caused me to change how I view things. All through the day I found myself saying; "Glenda would have loved this."  When I got home from cleaning up and packing away everything I'd taken to the wedding, it suddenly dawned on me that I'd used Glenda for a crutch. Sure she would have loved being there. Everyone else knew that! She would have eaten it up! Really what mattered was that I was loving it! It was like I was feeling guilty for being there instead of her. I loved everything about that wedding. I loved watching two little love birds set out on a new journey together. I loved the obvious joy their friends had watching the couple tie the knot. I loved the fellowship with my brothers, and their wives. I loved helping my children as they did what we'd done for them over the years. I loved it!! Suddenly I could own my feelings for my grandchildren without quantifying it through Glenda. She had the Grandma anointing in the worst way, but you know what, I love my grand-kids just as much. Darn it, I loved it, and I can't wait to help another one walk the aisle if the Lord should allow me. 

 As a final note: Way back in 2018 my granddaughter Eva, who was 8 at the time asked me if I would come to her wedding. At the time I didn't think I would be alive to see that moment. Glenda promised her that she would be at her wedding, and that she would make me go. This made Eva ecstatic, but Glenda didn't make it, so, I have make it, and if the Lord shall allow me to tarry long enough, that is the last thing on my bucket list. And if any of my other three grandchildren should meet the love of their life, I will go to your weddings too, and love it. 

 I didn't share the pictures of the bride or groom simply because it's not my place to do that. I assure you, he is extremely handsome, and that's not just because I'm his grandpa. Carolyn is drop dead gorgeous in a wholesome way, and with a beautiful spirit inside. Later, if they say it's okay, I might post some pictures on my instagram page.  Then again, I may not.  

 A YEAR OF TEARS

When someone you love passes from this vale to the next, it leaves a huge hole in your heart that hardly anything or anyone can fill. When Glenda, and I began our journey 48 years ago, I never dreamed that it would be me who would be widowed.
So, here I am, a year out from Glenda's death, still grieving my fetching bride.  It's hard to believe that it was a year ago today that I held her in my arms as she took her last breath. Initially I blamed myself for not being right there by her side as she had her heart attack. It's taken a long time, but I've come to accept that it was a merciful death, without the prolonged stages of death that took my Mom and my Dad.  Within minutes she was gone, leaving a 48 year wide hole in my heart. I don't know what sparrows do when their mate dies, but I know this old fat sparrow doesn't have much of a desire to do anything.  Somehow through the grace of God, I've been able to find reasons to do stuff, and keep going. Mind you, they haven't been world changing or even constructive things. Most of the time, I just put one foot in front of the other and keep moving.

The greatest challenge I've had over this last year has been trying to get my will and trusts done before I die so that my children don't have to go through a legal nightmare.  I found out that when someone dies, everyone has their hands out.  That has been the saddest thing I've discovered.  

On a more positive note, since Glenda's passing, I've taken a few wonderful trips to places I've never been before, and visited family who probably wished I'd never shown up.  I still have a desire to go see some of Glenda's family along the Mississippi river.  I'm thinking about going there sometime before winter.  I've been treated so well by my own family and hers, so I just feel a need to visit and let them know how much she meant to me, what she went through, and how much she loved them.  

I've spent the last year doing things she loved to do.  I bought a season pass to

Silver Dollar City, and now I usually go there at least once a week.  I used to only go there to get a funnel cake, but now I go stand outside her favorite rides and wish I could hear her infectious laughter one more time.  She loved thrill rides.  

I went to my oldest daughter's home for Christmas. 
It was the one thing Glenda wanted to do before she was going to put herself on hospice care, but she never made it.  I felt guilty going there without her, but I was able to work my way through it thanks to Amanda, and my granddaughter Eva spending time with me.  

I also drove to Ponca City in February to celebrate my birthday and visit the place where Glenda and I met, and where we were married.  So much has changed in the 48 years since we fell in love there. 

The Church we were married in

The hospital where I was born

The old parking lot where we first met is still there but it is in bad shape. The church we were married in is no longer a church.  The building looks as if its been abandoned for twenty years or more. 

From there I drove over to Amarillo, Texas and had lunch at the Big Texan steakhouse.  This was to celebrate childhood memories of Mom and Dad stopping there on our way from El Paso, Tx  to Ponca City.  Dad always knew the best places to stop and eat.  I can't begin to tell you the magical Christmas stops we made there.  I'll never forget those wonderful stops there.

We walked 14 miles 

From Amarillo, I drove all the way to Corpus Christi to spend a week with both of my brothers.  It was an awesome trip and they treated me like a king.  My sister-in-law Liz helped me to discard some of my guilt over Glenda, while treating me to a wonderful time.

Of course you have to do Whataburger when you're in Texas

My Brother DL moving stuff around so I can sleep in the barn.

From Corpus I went to Houston and I spent four days with Glenda's sister Carla and her husband Ken. I felt so guilty while I was there because I felt like I'd let them down in caring for Glenda. Instead, they welcomed me with open arms and gave me undivided attention while I was there. You might be wondering why I felt guilty, but my guilt comes from believing that God loans us his daughters for us men to take care of and to love.  While no one could deny I loved her, I feel I didn't take care of her as she deserved.  After a wonderful visit to all my family in Texas, I drove home, and lived out of my suitcase for the month of March.  

In April I drove all the way to Buffalo, New York to visit with family there.  It'd been over 60 years since Dad had served on the Nike/Hercules unit stationed on Grand Island, and I wanted to see Niagara falls, which was one of my bucket list items.  It was an awesome trip spent with wonderful people. 

There is not enough words to say to describe this beautiful family

After living out of a suitcase from Christmas till April, I came home, emptied it out, but left it on the spare bed. When I sat down with my google maps, I discovered that I'd done over 8,000 miles of travelling.  I hope to do a repeat with a few deletions and a few additions.  

My final trip was to go back to see Amanda for the 4th of July.  Amanda, Peter, and Eva went on a journey with me to Quincy, Illinois to do research on one of our Bragg family ancestors who had a candy factory there during the early 1900's.  It was a wonderful day full of discovery and fellowship. 

Wow, what a fireworks show, and what a wonderful time.  After this trip, I finally put my suitcase under the bed, and haven't traveled any further than Springfield. I will enjoy seeing my oldest grandson, Elijah getting married in October, but I won't have to pack for that.  Glenda would have loved this, and she would have been busy making everything just right. I'm going to try and help, but I'm a poor excuse for Glenda. 

So, am I through traveling?  Not by a long shot.  Even though I've done a good portion of my bucket list, I still have a few more things I'd like to do before I can't do them anymore.  Since Glenda passed, I've become an Indiana Fever fan thanks to Caitlin Clark.  Next season I'd like to make a trip to Indianapolis to watch her play at the arena.  I've been told that it is beyond belief.  I'd also like to make a trip to Scotland to visit the places where my families hail from.  My DNA shows me being 57% Scottish, with both maternal and paternal lines higher than that.  The Mackeys, Matthesons, Merrells, and Trouts are all of Scottish descent.  So, maybe next year I'll go there.  I know people who've been there that say it is a beautiful place with lovely people.  I also want to go to Amanda's and do the Polar Express again as well as visit Belleville.  I love the Christmas festival they do every year.  I'd also like to do Niagara falls again as well as return to Mackinac Island to celebrate Glenda there. I'd like to do some airshows, and go to visit Universal Orlando once more, before I can't do it. 

Our last Anniversary together on a lake cruise at Table Rock Lake.
 

Yes, I still grieve, but the days of constant tears are over.  My last 'bad' day was when I realized I couldn't remember her voice anymore.  That took the breath out of me all day long.  I felt so guilty!!  I stormed around the house looking for old videos of her, but the tapes were ruined.  Even old voicemails were gone. These things are hard to explain to someone who's never lost a spouse.  Thankfully I finally found a video I'd taken on her birthday in 2022 a year before she was diagnosed with cancer.  I play it when I want to hear her voice.

I'm told not to say never, but I don't think I'll ever fall in love with someone else again.  Don't get me wrong, I don't relish the thought of being alone for the rest of my days, but I also can't imagine anyone else filling those days.  Besides, Glenda was made for me, and I hope I was made for her.  I wouldn't want to put someone through the same thing I've gone through.  Loneliness is my biggest battle, but I'm learning how to channel it into positive things. When you've been married to someone as long as Glenda and I were, it's the simple things you miss most. I miss holding her hand while walking together. I miss her calling out for me when she needed something.  I miss her advice and counsel more than I can say.  She was so wise when it came to relationships, and I was, and am so clumsy at them. I miss being able to pat her butt when I would pass by her. She would grouse about it but she couldn't hide her smile as I did it. There are so many things I miss.  I miss the intimacy, and human touch of 48 years of living together.  The last eight months of her life were hard, but she was tough, and she showed me how to be selfless, something I'd never done before.  Have I told you I miss her laugh most of all?

There you have it, one year later I still miss my fetching bride, and she still impacts my life. This wasn't written for sympathy, but just to let people know how I'm doing. More than anything, I want people to know how special she was by how big the hole in my heart is.  I have a great church family that love on me whenever I'm there, and with their help I hope to finish this journey with honor and dignity  I know that God is watching over me, even as he keeps his eye on the sparrow.  And as Jesus said; I am of greater value than a flock of sparrows.  

    

The absolute best day from which all my other best days have come.

A Great and Mighty Purpose

 The other morning it was just warm enough for me to open my front door and watch the world go on as it has since its creation.  There is nothing like eternity to humble you and bring you to reality.  The bible says that things go on as they have every day since the beginning.  As I'm enjoying the warm morning sun, I watch as a small group of sparrows are ransacking my herb garden. They are comical as they perch on the lip of the long narrow plastic planters and peck away at the seeds of mustard, dill, thyme, and whatever else was in that packet of seeds I bought.  Next year I'll be more careful with what I plant. Anyway, as I'm watching them fly between my dead vegetable garden and the herb garden, I have one of those moments where I ask myself a profound question: Where do these sparrows live?  I've had Wrens make their nests in some of my door wreaths (which I'll never do during mating season again), and found Wren nests on the top step of ladders that I've left leaned against the garage. Since we moved to our little house back in 2017, I've only seen one nest in a tree on the east side of the house. Where do my sparrows live? What do they do during the winter?  Do sparrows have a bigger purpose than just eating seeds and pooping them out to spread weeds?  If you've read my blog for any length of time, you know I frame my world in terms of sparrows. Next to doves, they are the most mentioned bird in the bible.  Yet, other than being a poor man's sacrifice, they don't have a great, or mighty purpose.  What are they good for?  

Since my beloved wife died a little over two months ago, I've been wondering the same thing about myself. I feel like an old fat sparrow whose mate is gone. I don't have a purpose outside of keeping myself breathing, eating, and moving around.  What's ironic is that for right now I don't want a purpose. Being Glenda's husband was what I lived for. I'm not saying nor have I ever said I was great at it. She'd be the first to tell you I kind of sucked at it, and I'll be the first to tell you that I haven't lived a life of great or mighty purpose.  I haven't been a Joshua, a King David, Moses, Gideon, or like any of the great men of faith I've grown up reading about. Actually, I could be the poster child for a less than exciting life. If there was a grade card for lives lived, I'd be given a score of less than mediocre.  I don't say that so someone will give me pity and tell me how much I mean to them. My singular purpose that I thought God gave me, is gone. Loving my wife was what I woke up for.  So...now what? I'm trying to find that out.  I know I don't want another wife.  I know I don't want to be self-employed anymore.  I know I don't want to do much of anything of what I'd done in the past.  

In a little over sixty days, I'll be sixty nine years old. I truly want to take a year off, and go places I've been, and also go places I haven't been. If I live past my seventieth birthday, I'll make up my mind what I want to do then.  All I know for sure right now is I don't want to be responsible for anyone, or anything for at least a year. I want to be like Bilbo Baggins and put my foot out the door and see where life will take me.  I've never had a sabbatical from any aspect of my life on this earth.  I began working summers with my Dad when I was 10, and have had a job since I was thirteen. Since 2006 I've been self-employed and every vacation I ever took had a purpose other than the year we went to Orlando, Florida.  While I was in the Air Force, we lived near some of the most amazing places in the United States, and we couldn't afford to visit them.  I'd love to see Niagara Falls, the Grand Canyon, and I'd love to see Yosemite before it explodes and changes life as we know it.  I want to go visit my brothers and not be worried about if I spent too much time there.  I have family I haven't seen in years that I'd like to say hello to before they depart this vale.  I'd like to visit a couple of my departed wife's family, and let them know that I loved her till the day she died.  Lord knows that many of them thought we'd divorce in a year, more than 47 years ago.  

I'm so grateful to God for the little nest that he provided for Glenda and I.  I've spent the last two months working on it, getting it to a place of repair that my children could sell it without any problems should I go unexpectedly.  BUT, for right now, I want to see things, go on adventures, and live beyond the solitary life I'm living right now.  So, to all my brothers and sisters in Christ, if I disappear suddenly, and don't come back for awhile, I haven't backslid.  I'm going to walk off my grief.

Immediately after Glenda died, I didn't want to go on without her.  After everybody went home, I spent a couple of weeks just feeling empty.  Oh, don't get me wrong, I stayed busy, that's what us 'Bragg' men are good at.  Just stay busy and you don't have to confront who you are, or the consequences of what you do.  No great and mighty purpose to worry about or maintain. Just an ordinary life, lived in an ordinary town, eating seeds, pooping seeds, and doing it over and over again ad-infinitum. Maybe during this next year I'll discover whether I had a purpose beyond my wife.  

I've made myself a list of places and things I want to do.  NO, it's not a bucket list.  Actually I feel healthier than I have in a long time.  These are things I either want to experience again with wiser eyes, or new places with eyes of wonder.  I want friends and family to wonder where this old fat sparrow made his nest for a year.  Maybe I'll find another more meaningful purpose.  I just don't want to be some old fat fart wearing a cap and vest with all my badges and war stories pinned to my chest. 

His Eye Is On The Sparrow

I've made it through the first month after Glenda's passing.  I was dreading October 21st, which would have been one month to the day of her death.  I don't know if it was planned, or if it was the Lord orchestrating it, but my Pastor called and asked if I would mind going with him to Russellville, Arkansas to help him replace the alternator in his son's car. I gladly accepted because I was dreading being alone.  I'd thought about going to Little Rock Air Force Base for their annual air show that day, but it was just a little bit too much, too soon.  

I'm not going to claim to have this grieving thing down pat.  Unplanned moments are the worst. Yesterday morning I met with one of the young men from our church at our local diner downtown.  As I was waiting for him to show up, Lee Anne Rimes' song, "How Can I Live Without You?" was playing, and I lost it.  It's moments like that that give me the hardest time.  It was one of Glenda's favorite songs, made even more poignant after she passed. I wouldn't have given myself a snowball's chance in hell of making it past this month, but somehow I have.  

Everyone around me is trying so hard to make me feel better, but the usual platitudes just aren't working.  "Just give it time, it'll get better," or "She's in a better place,"  or "At least she's not suffering,"  just doesn't help.  I thought I would do better at the grieving thing.  Then again why should I?  She was my life and breath, and now she's gone. My love for her didn't diminish with age. We both put a ton of effort into making our marriage work despite our failures.  We were married for over 48 years, and I was hoping for at least fifty.  Just a year ago she was remarking about how well we were doing for our age. It's amazing how a year can make such a difference.

This last month has shown me how unprepared I was for all of the mess of losing my lifelong mate.  Some of my decisions have surprised family and friends alike.  The real stingers were when my kids would say stuff like, "Mom wouldn't have done that," or "Mom would do this," as if I was violating her memory somehow.  Little do they know that "Mom" was not an alone kind of thing.  We were both "mom" in so many ways.  Glenda was the 'idea' person, and I was the bankroll or builder. That's the hard part of being a widower, just trying to make people understand that what was awesome about the departed spouse was a together thing, and part of it is missing.  The worst part is, that I feel as if the better part of me is gone. I never wanted to be alone. I wanted us to die together like some sad movie. Now, I don't go a day without thinking of her and some of the wonderful moments we had together.  My children have all returned to their homes and lives, but they don't have to go to bed alone without their lifelong mate beside them.  So, what does this mean moving forward?  I don't know, I just know that I miss her something terrible.

I do know that the Bible says that his eye is on the sparrow, and he knows when one falls to the ground.  Then Jesus says, "Are you not more valuable than a whole flock of sparrows?"  However, I do know I will find my way through this grief.  In many ways I'm looking forward now instead of backwards, which helps. I haven't lost faith with God, but I sure miss Glenda.  I'm told that sparrows mate for life, and there isn't anyone I'd like to replace her.  I'm sure I'll eventually find peace in being alone, but I hate that I feel that way.  I enjoyed being 'David and Glenda'.  At least my precious, fetching bride, of 48 years will always be in my heart.  If God's eye is on the sparrow, then surely I'll make my way through this time of mourning with my dignity intact.  

  

Glenda, The Fixer

It's been over two weeks since my fetching bride of 48 years passed this vale, and went home to be with Jesus. Let me be transparent up front; writing this to you, whoever YOU are, is my coping mechanism. Glenda's death has rocked me in ways I wasn't expecting.  I've discovered that Glenda was truly my everything.  She was my friend, my lover, my motivator, my sounding board, and most of all, the one person who loved me despite me. The one person in this life who gave me grace, and loved me is gone. I've tried to be brave, and unemotional, but in the end it boils down to the fact that I miss her terribly. Anything else I say will be self-serving, so I'll just say that I miss everything about her. For 48 years of marriage, she was the one person that I trusted with...me.  For everyone else, she was "the fixer." 

My children gave her that name, because if they needed anything, or her grandchildren needed anything, she would move heaven and earth to get it, or do it for them.  There was never any question as to how much it cost, whether it was an imposition, or the logistics of doing it, if they needed it...it had to be done.  AND it had to be done now!! It didn't matter whether they could do it themselves, or had the money to do it, it, whatever it was had to be done.  Being as I was her live in  'handyman', I was the one who was usually tasked with the mechanics of doing it.  If I groused, or complained, it still got done.  If I tried to slow her down, or offer insight it was usually followed with the stinging accusation that I didn't care, or didn't love. Later on, after our Pastor gave a sermon on our being God's kingdom on earth, she would simply say, "That's not Kingdom, Dave."   To which point the conversation was over.  

Her need to 'fix' things wasn't just exclusively for family.  It usually found its way to co-workers, neighbors, friends, and even the occasional stranger.  If you were a stray, injured, or broken, she had to fix whatever was broken in your life. Over the course of our marriage, her legacy is the people she helped.  At one point in her life she thought she wanted to be a para-legal so she could work in a free clinic and help people fight for their rights.  Instead, she ended up working for a big law firm and quickly became disenchanted with the legal system.  Then she discovered she could help the mentally and physically challenged by advocating for their rights, and helping them procure the help they needed.  She did this for four years, and it was really the first time I'd seen her 'happy.'  There wasn't anyone too broken, messed up, or incomplete for her to reach out to. Heaven help you if you stood in the way of her desire to help someone.  When we had to leave that job behind, she went into a severe depression.  It was the worst time in our marriage, and I'm sure in her life.  

Everything else she's done has been a compromise from that wonderful time in her life until...the grandchildren came.  All of a sudden she had these helpless, defenseless, and needing babies to fill her every waking moment.  Nothing else mattered.  Our own children were just the means by which these babies came into her life.  I called it the 'grandmother anointing', and she had it in an endless supply.  Her mission was to make their lives as fun as she could.  Her greatest frustration was that she didn't have enough money or time to make it happen the way she wanted it to happen.  I can still remember her coming to me and asking me if I could make them a swimming pool.  For her, we had a backhoe, we had water, and I knew how to pour concrete.  SIMPLE!!  This became her mission for nearly two weeks, and no matter what I said, I simply didn't love them enough.  Finally I asked her to go online and see how much the pumps, filtration system, and chemicals cost.  Without explanation, the in-ground pool idea ended.  Reality is cruel, and she would sulk for months if she got defeated by it. Then shortly before summer she drove up with a huge box containing a big above ground pool.  Reality may be cruel, but it didn't stand a chance once Glenda made her mind up to something. Every one of her grandchildren were given what their parents denied them simply because it was a grandma's job to give them what they want.  This was her lifestyle to the day she died.

Glenda was the embodiment of grace. If you were addicted, busted down broke, mentally, or physically challenged, she was your champion.  When I would see people taking advantage of her grace, I'd try and warn her they were just using her. It didn't take me long to figure out that she needed to discover this for herself.  Her need to 'fix' things found its greatest expression in Operation Christmas Child.  Every Sunday morning they would play a video of children opening the shoe-boxes packed with toys and goodies, and our discussion over Sunday dinner was what did the church need to make this happen. This same attitude went to those she called her friends.  She'd grown up dirt poor, the daughter of a baptist preacher, and the granddaughter of sharecroppers in the Mississippi delta.  She knew what it was like to grow up hungry, destitute, and living in conditions that were desperate at best.  If someone needed groceries, she bought it.  If someone needed shelter she'd help them get it.  If someone needed money, she would give it. She never gave it in a way to make you feel bad, or that you owed her.

Glenda's grace was never more evident than when she was given the diagnosis of brain cancer.  Death didn't scare her, but leaving behind her loved ones terrified her.  She was good with going to heaven, she just couldn't handle knowing that she would be a burden upon those who loved her.  About halfway through her chemo and radiation therapy she confronted me with her decision to do palliative care at a facility in St. Louis. To say I was devastated would be an understatement.  I was ready and willing to take care of her till her dying day.  In her own simple way of putting things she said, "I don't want you or the kids wiping my butt."  I thought she was rejecting me, but she was actually being kind and loving.  It was her desire to go out in joy. So, she went on her joy journey, which sometimes didn't include me, and other times it did.  Then at the end of two months we capped it off with a trip to Mackinaw island, from the movie "Somewhere in Time."   On our last day there, she posed in front of the world famous gazebo at Mission Point as the sun rose on a crisp clear May morning.  It was romantic, and everything I wanted. Then the water sprinklers came on dousing both of us from head to toe.  She laughed as we headed back to the sidewalk and said, "So much for wishing I was a movie star."  Then without warning she said "Darling, kiss me."  Not because she wanted a kiss, but because she knew I was the hopeless romantic, and needed her kiss.

Glenda's last moments on earth were the result of her being a fixer.  One of her friends from work was going to meet us at Silver Dollar City, which she was looking forward to. I had to wake her up and remind her.  She told me she wanted to get a shower, so I went to my office to kill time.  She was humming as she often did, and suddenly I heard her stop, and then I heard a loud thump against the tub.  I got up and rushed to the bathroom to find her crumpled up on the floor having seizures. I'd called 911 on my way down the hall, and by the time I got her turned over I could tell she was in trouble. Somehow the phone had become disconnected while I worked to get her turned over.  I called 911 again and pleaded with them to get here as quickly as they could.  I pulled her up onto my lap and cradled her head because I thought that was the problem.  She softly said she couldn't breathe twice and then I felt her pulse stop.   I knew she'd died, but EMT people pull off miracles all the time.  A couple of minutes later they arrived, and did everything they could to bring her back to no avail.  Forty-five minutes after they began working on her, they declared her dead.  The fixer could not be fixed.  Years of diabetes, high blood pressure, and the ravages of chemo therapy had taken their toll.  The brain cancer didn't kill her, her heart did.  

So, now here I sit, that lone sparrow sitting on the telephone wire.  My mate for life is gone.  I'll go on, but less so for her absence.  I never was a fixer like her.  She taught it to me, sometimes with me protesting through the whole process.  The favor she gained with others has flowed to me in many surprising ways, and I've learned to take it in as a gesture of kindness to her.  In the end, the grace she gave to others was shown to her by the all gracious God above.  She didn't want to die an undignified death, with her loved ones 'nursing' her through the last days of her life.  God fixed it so that she could go quickly without being an imposition.  

Since her passing, I've given away her clothes, and the 'stuff' she gathered in her nest to people who 'need' them.  The other day I was trying to find a home for her many scarves, and walked into a local charity suggested to me by our Pastor's wife.  It also helped that this was one of Glenda's favorite charities in town.  As I approached the counter I asked the woman if they could use a mess load of scarfs.  Without warning the woman began to cry and told me that her sister had cancer and had lost her hair during chemo therapy.  She pulled one of the scarves out of the box and clutched it to her heart. "She'll love these." she said through broken sobs.  Glenda had once again fixed something, and I got to see it. My beautiful mate may be gone, but her legacy will continue.  

Big Man, Gentle Heart: Mike Lowe

Yesterday, a gentle spirit left the earth to find his home with the Lord and Savior he served.  

I had the great honor to work with Mike Lowe for four years from 2007 till 2010. I could spend hours telling you hundreds of funny stories about Mike, and the power of his indestructible spirit. Every once in a while you meet someone who is utterly unique in their faith, filled with vast quantities of love, and who shine with a  joyous spirit born of their faith, and love.  Mike had faith, and love in abundance.  It is impossible to relate Mike's faith and love without injecting myself into his story, because his faith, and love shaped much of who I am today.  

From the very first minute I met Mike, he called me Mr. Bragg.  It never wavered even to the end of his life. We bumped into each other the other day while at a local grocery store.  I was at the register, and I felt this big hand grab my shoulder and a familiar voice: "Hey, Mr. Bragg.  How are you doing?"  I turned around and got pulled into a big bear hug.  We slapped each other's backs and that was when I felt something on his chest. "What's this I asked?"  It's a heart monitor, they found I had an irregular heartbeat.  They think I might need a pacemaker."  I guess I gasped because he immediately said; "Don't worry, Mr. Bragg.  How's Glenda?"  

That was typical Mike.  He could be in the midst of a crisis, and he was always thinking about others.  One day about two weeks ago I was going through a particularly bad day, and was feeling down.  Suddenly I get this phone call while shopping with Glenda: "Hey, Mr. Bragg, how are you doing?  The Holy Spirit put you on my heart this morning and told me to pray for you.  Is everything alright?"  I told him about a new situation with Glenda's medicines, and how I was feeling so inadequate as her caregiver." 

There was a long pause and then his sweet melodic voice said; "The Lord told me to tell you, you're doing just fine.  Keep on loving her."  It would be an understatement to say I lost it.  Typical Mike, listening to Holy Spirit even when he'd just been diagnosed with irregular heart rhythm.

Mike was a virtuous man, who gave honor to everyone.  I only saw him raise his voice to others twice in four years of working with him.  He was patient, and a marvelous teacher.  I thought I knew how to do framing until I met him.  He showed me stuff that has helped me throughout the years, and he did it with infinite patience, and joy. Mike was a physically imposing figure, but tender and soft of heart. He was clumsy, whimsical, and always filled with joy. He was a mighty man of faith who listened to the Lord for even small everyday tasks.  Anytime he had an accident (which was often) he would say; "The Lord, told me not to do that.  I should have listened."  He would often make major life corrections based upon what he heard from the Lord.  At first I would question those decisions because they seemed crazy, but eventually I would see God do wondrous things I never expected.

After the housing market collapsed in 2009, we parted ways and I went into the handyman business.  Our paths often crossed during citywide church events and we'd pick right up where we'd left off.  He would deliberately drive by my house to see if I was out in the yard working and we'd spend a couple of hours talking about the Lord.  If he saw my truck somewhere on a job, he would stop in to visit.  "How are you, Mr. Bragg?  The Lord told me I needed to see you."  And,...he was right everytime.  

Mike was a big fat, joyous sparrow, who loved to live in the shadow of El Shadai. He exuded peace, faith, and love.  At 52 years of age, he was much too young to pass this vale.  I think his big ol' heart just gave out because he'd given so much of it away to others over the years.  I'll never meet another man like Mike.  No one will ever greet me with the respect, and humility that he lavished upon me.  There will be a Mike sized hole in my heart till I meet him again in heaven.  Then we'll hang out in the rafters of the temple together and marvel at the wonders of God.  

 I never thought I'd come back to this blog after my last post.  The past three years have been extremely trying in ways that are hard to express without making it seem as if I'm feeling sorry for myself. The entire purpose of this blog was to highlight the peace that is to be found in the presence of God.  As I wrote my last blog, that peace had become harder to hold onto.  Not that it wasn't there, but it was harder for me to hold on to.  

Since my last blog post, my Dad died shortly before his 88th birthday, and right after my fetching wife Glenda was diagnosed with Glioblastoma multiforma.  Glioblastoma has no cure, and very limited treatment.  The prognosis is never good, and measured in months, not years.  So, lest I melt into a puddle of misery, and the aforementioned self pity, let me say it has been a strange time of growth.  

This blog came about because of something my wife said the other day as we were driving to Branson, Missouri. As we were leaving our driveway she pointed to the telephone wire loaded with sparrows.  "They're waiting for someone to say it's time to leave, but the line is busy."   Yep, that's how her mind works as of late.

I don't know how much longer she has.  That's a tough statement to make, but in this modern age when we can stave off death with the miracles of medicine and machines, I've forgotten the better statement.  I know how long she has had. That is the real measure.  Years aren't worth anything if they aren't filled with joy.  This was brought home to me yesterday morning as our Pastor was teaching on Matthew chapter 10.  When he read verses 28 - 31, my mind went immediately to Glenda's observation of the sparrows on the telephone line. In those verses, Jesus talks about the sparrows being sold 2 for a copper coin, and then if one of them falls the Father knows it, and never forgets.  My study bible does a cross reference to Luke 12:6 where Jesus says that five sparrows are sold for two copper coins. When Jesus says that the Father doesn't forget a single one of them, we are reminded of what he just said about the four.  It is easy to think that the fifth sparrow didn't cost anything.  

Sometimes we feel like the fifth sparrow.  We get lost in the deal, and we're seemingly worthless.  I think that is what happens when we don't value the life we've lived.  I've personally never been to a funeral where they talked about the life the person could have had, but rather they celebrate the life they lived.  So, I'm celebrating my wife while she still lives, serving her to the best of my ability, and filling her days with as much joy as she can muster the strength for.  God set this time up for me to be able to be home all the time thanks to my parents leaving me a nice inheritance.  He also gave me the opportunity to learn how to take care of someone through what my parents went through.  I'm not the noble loving son, or even a noble loving husband.  What I do now can't even make up for the many years of being self-centered, and oblivious to the needs of my loved ones.  So please don't ascribe anything to me I'm not.  I simply love my wife, have always loved her, and will love her to the end.  

If you are a young person reading this, please learn from this old man.  The person you chose to walk this life with is the greatest joy you'll ever know.  Work is empty and useless when you are used up.  Friends are wonderful, but they have lives of their own.  Your children can be there for you, and help you walk through the last stages of your life, but only that one you chose to love can give you true joy.  

So what about the presence of God in all of this?  I've discovered Him more in these last few years than I ever had.  Everything that comes with death is only possible if we've lived. I'll let you know how it all ends once I know.