25 July 2022
21 July 2022
|Martha Ann McDonald|
9 Aug 1932-21 July 2019
Then there was the pandemic. It was easy to not let the grief take over in 2020 because I was so focused on this Big Bad Scary Thing that was taking over the news cycle and driving us into our homes, separated and safe. I often said during that year that while I missed her desperately I was glad, in a way, that she didn't have to experience this time. And while that was very true, there were many times when I felt desperately alone and just needed to hear her say "Hey, Nancy," on the other end of the phone.
I was ready for the pain in 2021, but the pandemic held on a little longer, so I could put a pin in all that awful for a little longer. But this year, 2022, it has hit me and now it's almost like it is happening all over again.
I remember with visceral clarity how small her hand felt in mine as I sat by her bed at Emory. I remember thinking that my sister was a superhero because she had now walked alongside both of our parents through this last stage of life while I just flew in and out like a hummingbird, never landing long enough to let any of the pain seep into my soul.
My mother was a force of nature kept in check by a very strict southern American upbringing. She told us that the girls in her family (of which there were three) took care of things inside the home and her brothers (also three, and all older than their sisters) took care of things outside the home. My mother didn't know how to change a tire and was very uncomfortable writing a check. She was a product of the Great Depression that came of age in the 1950s. She "didn't get the whole hippie thing" during the 1960s and suddenly found her purpose, I think, in the 1970s when her daughters were born. I honestly think that in 1971 they stopped being Hoyt and Martha and became Nancy's mom and dad...and then in 1976, that purpose was cemented when they became Susan's mom and dad.
She had bachelor's and master's degrees from the University of Georgia in English, with a concentration in Elizabethan Literature. She knew a bit of French from having to fill in for a French teacher at one of the high schools that didn't have one. She was a teacher down to her very bones, and to be honest I'm not sure which age group was her favorite. I do know that she enjoyed teaching preschool at the churches where Daddy served.
She was always my biggest fan, and truth be told I was hers even though I didn't show it. Her relationship with my father was the best example of faithfulness and love I could have had growing up, and I know that I was luckier than most.
And now it has been three years, and I am still picking up the phone to call her when I have a good report selling books or a challenging interpreting assignment. I have been adrift for three years now, and that part doesn't feel like three minutes any more than it feels like it will get better.
For all of you that have lost someone either before or during the pandemic, I see you. I hold space for you. This is hard stuff, the hardest thing I have ever had to go through. I remember sitting with my sister that Sunday afternoon when she died and asking her if we were orphans now.
I still don't know the answer to that, but I will never stop missing my mom.
18 July 2022
11 July 2022
I'm behind on my intro to Daughtry, admittedly. But here is one that strikes me as more Orana than Arcstone...and I'm hoping putting it out here will get it out of my head and stop distracting me. This Camp Nano is Arcstone, dang it! Enjoy.
04 July 2022
I'm sure you've seen the Stranger Things season finale/last two episodes/massive LOTR length movie pretending to be two episodes of a television show, and that you have all the feels. Well, I'm not spoiling anything here, so I'll just leave you with something I found on Spotify the other day that slots in amazingly well to the playlist for this month's Camp Nanowrimo.
But never fear, I have a whole bunch of ST4-related song post ideas. A WHOLE BUNCH.