Uncle Roy

When I first created this blog many years ago, it was supposed to be about my journey thru college as a "mature" student. Then it evolved into me writing about my life. When my dad passed away, the grief was extremely heavy, and writing about him helped me go through the process. It still does.

Which is why I decided to write today. Another Welty went home recently--my dad's youngest brother, Uncle Roy.  His death was very sudden and unexpected. If you've been thru this experience, then you know how it can throw everyone and put you thru an indescribable shock. Just like my dad and grandma, Uncle Roy had this "larger than life" personality. Just one of those you thought would be around forever. 

One thing about the Welty men is they've got tough exteriors. They can even be a little scary. 

Actually, scratch that--I think all us Welty's are like that--we're definitely tough on the outside.

But we also tend to wear our hearts on our sleeves. And my Uncle Roy, he definitely had a tender heart. I don't have any specific memories of things, but just moments of him being kind and tender towards me, my kids, even my ex-husband. 

Years ago, when we battled my ex-husbands addictions, Uncle Roy came to me in kind encouragement and relayed to me how blessed he was to have my dad stand with him and his experiences. He also shared with me how much he loved his wife and kids, how grateful he was for them. He gave me hope. Then he backed me when I decided to come home with my kids. He was very tender towards me. Dare I say, more tender than my dad was, but I've written about all of that already and it's all good. 

My dad and Uncle Roy got along just like every youngest and oldest siblings do. 

Hey, I love Joel, but he's a butthead. We'd bicker at each other all the time. He'd pick on me, I'd pick on him, but he's a butthead that I'm proud to say is my brother. He's taken on reigns in this family and shown so much love to all of us--he's a good man. 

At holiday gatherings, it was comical to watch Uncle Roy and dad pick on and bicker at each other, but we'd always end up praying together, eating good food, singing Christmas carols and laughing about the whole thing. They helped each other out on house projects, go on fishing trips with Uncle George, and love on Grandma and Grandpa. 

One of the only times I saw Uncle Roy cry was at my dad's memorial service. His big brother was gone. He felt as lost as we did. Yet he was so kind towards my boys. He even helped Nathaniel get a job. He was tough on Nathaniel at the same time, but Nathaniel learned some tough life lessons that he'll always appreciate Uncle Roy for. 

Now his own family is feeling this loss of a husband, father, grandfather, brother, uncle, that gave so much from his tender-heart. 

But then I get this picture of heaven. And he and dad are picking on each other. 

The legacy of fathers

Another Christmas time has come and gone and my family continues to remember my dad's birthday and miss him dearly. The legacy my dad left us is a tremendous one. A good one. And whenever we think of him, we can't help but let our memories bring joyous tears to our eyes.

But rather than dedicate this writing to my dad, I've decided to dedicate it to my ex-husband.

Some of you may know that my ex-husband, the father of my 3 children, passed away last January, right after the holiday season. My kids and I went through a ton of mixed feelings about his passing--good, bad, sad and relief, even feeling guiltily happy (I think that one is more me).  Because of his history, it's been a struggle. And that's part of the reason why I decided to write about Brent. He's part of my past, and the father of my children. And I'm hoping his story can help others who may relate to his story. And I'm also hoping that my thoughts will help us, Brent's family.

Brent struggled for most of his life with his own personal demons--addiction and mental health. In the beginning years of our marriage, I think he tried as hard as he could to keep it together, to be a good husband and dad. But when his demons took over, his struggles came to light and for him, the demons became his life.

I used to bitterly believe that he chose his demons over me and his family, but as I look back, I can't help but...well...feel guilty for my bitterness, but also realize that for Brent, addiction and mental illness were not choices for him. For years we prayed, and he tried to battle his demons. With help, without help, in hundreds of rehabs and programs.

And in the end, it didn't work. The demons won. Or so they think.

I was very worried about how my kids would handle the passing of their dad. My boys haven't had any type of relationship with their dad in years and I prayed they wouldn't harbor anger and bitterness. My daughter tried to have a relationship with her dad, but it was not successful. We've all dealt with feelings of what we wish it would have been, what we wanted from him and never got, but we're learning to accept Brent's life and lack of relationship for the past years. And choose how to deal with addiction and mental health.

What we are choosing is Brent's legacy. Because of his demons, we've worked very hard to keep our communication open about addiction and mental health. All 3 of my kids have looked at what addiction was to Brent. All of us know we need to be very careful when it comes to indulgence. We also know that we need to be proactive when mental health issues arise.

Then I look at my 3 kids and who they are today. Jennifer is married with 2 kids. Nathaniel is pursuing his music education, out on his own, and playing his trombone and singing. Ethan is married, working and a budding professional musician. All 3 of my kids are a productive part of society.

And we're very close. Oh it could be so different. If they followed their dad's legacy, they'd be drowning in addiction, in jail, and running from life, letting the demons win. But all 3 of them looked at that and said "NO" out loud. There's a greater hope that my kids will turn their dad's legacy into something wonderful.

One more thing: I pray. Every day. For my kids. For their spouses. For my grandkids. And I thank God for the protection and love He gave us through my family--my dad, mom, brothers, sister and the support we have from friends as well. Because of them, the legacy that Brent leaves is us looking forward in hope and good things.

Clam digging

If you knew me when I was a kid, then you most likely know what the title of today's blog refers to.

But first some back story...

6 years ago today, my dad passed away. He's in heaven, with a few good friends and family members, busy singing Jesus' praises, or fishing, or building something, or whatever it is God's got him doing.

The last few weeks I've had what seems like more than usual opportunities to talk about Dad. Whether it is to console a friend who recently lost his dad, or to relay Father's day memories to another friend. But then I had a great conversation with my grandson, Brandon, about my dad--a great grandpa that he's too young to remember.

We were at a San Diego beach watching Brandon play soccer (talented kid!) and on our way out of the parking lot, we saw the bonfire pits. How fun if we could do that!

As we chatted on, I shared my memories of my summers at the beach, having bonfires, and watching my dad go clam-digging. He'd wade out into the surf, with some strange concoction of a wetsuit he made, experimenting with various sorts of covering for his feet--I remember plastic bags with rubber bands, socks--1 pair then maybe 2 pair, and seeing his footprints in the sand. He'd go out into the surf with some strange pitch fork and a bag slung over his shoulder. And he'd come back with a bunch of clams in his bag. He'd show the clams to my sister and me, then sit around the bonfire.

And what did we do with those clams? Clam chowder on 4th of July!

Which is my birthday, by the way.

And I don't like clams, by the way.

The best part of this story? The endearing memories that I can share with my family in telling this story. My son-in-law got a kick that something I didn't like (clams) became such a great memory for me. Brandon and Enrique think that having a bonfire at the beach is a great idea! And they learned about clam-digging.

And my heart was full. My heart is still full. Yes, sometimes my heart aches and I wish so much to talk to my dad, but I have memories. Life memories, about clam-digging, that I can share over and over and over again.

My dad loved to tell stories. That he passed down that love to me is something I should cherish. And hold dear to memories and stories that I can pass down.

Fear

I had my gall bladder ripped out of my body a few weeks ago.

Ok, ok, it really wasn't "ripped out" of me. I was well taken care of by my nurses and doctors. My surgery was textbook smooth and my recovery, although slower than expected, is going well.

But hey! If you think about it-or if you've experienced any type of surgery, doesn't that sentiment make sense? A part of my body betrayed me and needed to get ripped out of me! (At least that's how I saw it)

And these feelings began before I had the surgery-feelings of betrayal, anxiety, and then foolishness because it's just a gall bladder. It's not that life altering, like some friends and family have had surgeries that were more serious than a silly gall bladder. I tried so hard to be brave, but I couldn't.

Before the surgery, I broke down in front of my children and cried. I felt stupid as my daughter hugged me, comforted me and assured me that I would be just fine. This was nothing, compared to what it could be.

While discussing the surgery with my surgeon, she asked me if I had any questions. I asked the first thing that came to mind: "Will I wake up?" My kids laughed. The surgeon smiled and said, "Not to worry, yes."

When the nurse asked if I had any questions, I asked, "Will I wake up?" I asked this question several times, to every nurse and doctor that came into my room. I received the same answer, but I was anxious, and I felt bad for being so anxious, but I was. I even exasperated my kids.

Then the nurse grabbed my hand, looked at my kids and said, "She's scared." A light went on in my daughter and son's eyes and they looked at me asked "Why?"

I'm about to get my gall bladder ripped out of me and I have no control over that!

(Allow me to interject here that I instantly thanked God that HE is in control of what is happening, no matter what!)

But I was still scared. Frightened. In tears.

Then the nurse looked at me and said, "It's ok, it's normal to be scared."

It is? Really? Well, for me it's not normal! For me it's normal to face my fears and conquer them! I absolutely didn't want to conquer this! I wanted it not to happen!

But in that moment, to have the nurse assure me that it's normal to be scared, it's ok to be scared and that I was also not alone in my fear--I knew I would get through it.

And this is how I faced this fear--this fear of giving my life and ability to wake up to someone else--I survived it. And I hope and pray to God that I never have to have surgery ever again.

I didn't conquer this fear. I was forced to face it and I survived. And gall bladder surgery is actually more serious than I thought--Did you know that your liver gets cauterized when the gall bladder is cut away? It's the only way to seal the incision on the liver--thus a wonderful burning sensation in my abdomen that reminds me of having my gall bladder ripped out of me. (Dark humor)

And I survived.

Day 7 of a Week of Writing

I almost went to bed without writing! It was an excruciatingly hot day today and a very crazy day at work and I'm sick of looking at a computer screen.

But it's Father's day.

And I miss my dad. So much.

Next week will be the 5th anniversary of the day he went Home to spend eternity singing Jesus' praises. He always said it just like that: "When I get to heaven, I'll be busy singing Jesus' praises!" And every time I start singing, I think of him. He had a great voice, and I think he passed down that voice to my son Nathaniel. It's a joy to listen to Nathaniel sing.

My dad not only passed down his voice, and other traits, to his family, but a legacy that touched many lives. He knew that what he did in this life mattered, but not for his glory. No, he never sought glory. As he said it, it was the "treasures in heaven" that he sought. However, while he was on this earth, he knew that his life, his actions and what he stood for would affect everyone he encountered.

You've heard the many renditions of living life the way you want to. "Be who you are and don't care about what others think." "People are gonna judge you, so just do what you're gonna do!" "I don't care what other people think, I'm gonna live life the way I want to!"

Don't get me wrong, there is merit in that. We shouldn't pretend to be something we're not. We should live genuinely. But we should care about the legacy we leave behind. Yes, we will be judged by how we live our lives. We can't help ourselves, it's in our human nature to judge, gossip and compare. As wrong as this can be, we will continue to do this forever. And that's why what we do affects others. Because others watch, others see, others follow our example.

How do I know this is true? Because there were hundreds of people at my dad's memorial service. They were there to honor him. They saw the example he set forth in his life. Get this--there were people who attended his service who had never met him before. Why? These friends of dad's kids, siblings, and other family had never met this man, but heard so much about him, they wanted to honor him, to be there for his family. Because they saw his living legacy and who he was in the lives that mattered-his family.

My dad was hard-headed, strong minded, and driven. I watched him grow into a man with a soft, kind, loving heart. He was genuine. He knew what he stood for-the faith in knowing that Jesus Christ died for our sins and lives again so we can live in eternity with Him.  And my dad didn't struggle with sharing that with anyone who came around. Some may not have agreed with him, but they respected him, and remembered with fondness any interaction they had with my dad.

I remember my dad telling his grandsons how their actions affected others. That if they screw up, it would hurt others, even if they didn't think so. He drilled into my boys and nephew how important it was to stand up for something, to do good, to do the right thing, because what they did would be with them the rest of their lives.

We do judge. Should we care about what other people think of us? Not to the extent that we live our lives solely to make people see us in ways that are not truly us, or to think of us in ways that are not genuine. But we should think about the legacy we leave. Because in the end, what people think about us won't really matter to us. But it will matter to others, to who we leave behind.

What dreams may come...

I had a very strange dream last night. I was in a thrift shop and I bought all of these stuffed animals. I remember seeing this new line of plush called Tsum Tsums-they're my newest favorite-cutest things ever--and you should be proud of me-I only have 3! I had bags of stuff that I was packing into my SUV and left my purse on the floor of the driver's side. Then I watched this woman just get into my car through the driver's side, crawl into the back seat and just sit there, next to my bags of stuff. I approached her, asked her if I could help her and she just said, "no, your door was open so I thought I'd get in and stay awhile."

Uh, NO! I remember saying that to her. Politely reminding her that I don't know her and that she needed to get out. "no," she said, "you left the door open, so I'm staying." Keep in mind that I have no idea who she is. I think about it now and she is not familiar to me at all!

I don't care if I left the door open! This is not your car! Get out!

"No."

Then this other woman walks up to take a bag out of my car.

What are you doing? That's my stuff!

"Um...you accidentally picked up one of my bags. I bought that blanket."

Oh, yes, it's not mine. Sorry, here, let me help you. Then I turn around and that first lady is still in the back seat of my car!

Please leave.

"Nope, you left the door open, I'm staying."

So I get into the driver's seat, called 911 and wait for the police to come take her (while she argues with me that calling the police is pointless). As the officer approached and assured me he could help me, I woke up.

Freaky, huh? Look, I'm not a dream interpreter and have no idea what this means, but it's bugging me. So I thought I'd write about it.

Day 6 of a week of writing.

Room for improvement

Day 5 of a week of writing.

I thought this writing everyday would be easy. It really isn't. I look back at what I've written so far this week and I'm forcing myself to not go back and edit what I've written. I could expand on one idea, or delete a sentence and re-write another thought...

After all, there's always room for improvement.

Isn't there?

You may have heard me mention this before--that for the last 15+ years, since I've been single mom, I want to make my life about moving forward, growth, and new challenges. When the boys were younger, part of my focus was on my career and earning more money to support us as well as I could.

Later, it was my education. I love learning new things. I fell in love with Shakespeare's works and wanted to expand my knowledge on British literature. I then challenged myself to work at take classes at the same time.

In the last few years, I've tried to live a healthier life. Eat healthier, exercise more and conquer my fear of running and go on adventures, whether it's a road trip, or having a social life.

Sometimes, though, this moving forward and challenging myself--it can be exhausting! Can't I just curl up in bed with a good book, or my Downton Abbey DVDs and do nothing for a few weeks? Please?

Uh, no. Well, okay, maybe for a few hours, but not for a few weeks.

After all, what happens if i stop, stay in bed, and do nothing? I stop moving forward. I get stagnate, I get unhealthy, and gross (come on-stay in bed for a few weeks- no showers, nothing...gross!) Definitely not improving anything!

Sometimes the struggle seems futile and I just want to give up. And then what? Stop living? I don't even want to go there. So, I pick myself up, take a shower (thank God!) and keep going.

What's my next adventure? At this point, I'm not sure, but I know I need to just keep moving forward. Just keep swimming (oh you know I had to put this in here somewhere!) and see where life takes me. And keep improving.