Warning..what you are about to read might make you sad. That is not my intention.
25 years ago today our second child was born. Our first son, Richard John Hodges, "Ricky". During a routine ultrasound when I was 5 months pregnant with him, they discovered his urinary tract was blocked, which resulted in severe kidney damage among other things. We were told he had no chance of survival. The doctor told me I would carry him to term and he would die soon after he was born so we should plan for his funeral...it would be easier they said. So we did. Instead of a crib, we bought a casket.
The weeks dragged on and then on August 23, 1988, Ricky came into this world. He wasn't crying, he wasn't even breathing. The Neonatal team at Sacred Heart Hospital whisked him away to do what they could. The day passed and Ricky was still with us. A week passed and it was time for me to be discharged. Ricky had to stay, but he was still with us. A month passed, then two. After four months, Ricky was finally discharged and came home. We had already returned the casket and bought a crib by that time. Months turned into years. There were many doctors and hospital stays and procedures and surgeries.
Then on March 22, 1991, at Wilford Hall Medical Center in San Antonio, Texas, while I held him in my arms, Ricky left us. 2 1/2 years after he arrived...2 1/2 more years than we ever imagined. While there have been tears shed, our hearts are full and overflowing. We feel blessed beyond measure. We were allowed 2 1/2 years of his smiles, his laughter, and we are eternally grateful.
What I know:
1. Doctors are not God. They don't know everything.
2. Bad things happen to good people. Rain falls on the just and the unjust.
3. Without my faith in God and the comfort of my Savior, Jesus Christ, I would not be able to tell you Ricky's story with joy in my heart.
4. It's important to be kind to others, you never know what they are going through.
5. People sometimes say the wrong thing when you're grieving. Forgive them.
6. Life is short and precious. Tell the people in your life that you love them...better yet, show them.
Happy Birthday Ricky.
Friday, August 23, 2013
Sunday, August 18, 2013
My Brother
My Mom named him Danny after the singer/actor Danny Kaye. Two and a half years older than me, I thought he was the greatest thing ever. I was never happier than when he let me participate in whatever it was he was doing at the time.
As older brothers often do, he delighted in teasing me. If he came up with a clever idea, he'd always let me try it first to work the bugs out. If things went wrong, he'd always say, "I'll give you a quarter if you don't tell Dad". I wouldn't have told on him anyway because I didn't want him to stop letting me hang out with him; the quarters were just a bonus.
I was probably 11 and Danny asked me if I wanted to try out the parachute he just made. A parachute?!? WOW! Of course I wanted to try it out. No kid I ever knew had flown in a parachute (do you fly in a parachute?...jump?...sail?) and I was going to be the first! We proceeded out to the barn where he had one of Mom's sheets with rope tied to the four corners. He tied the ropes securely around my waist and instructed me to climb up the ladder in the barn to the highest point. When I reached the top he told me to hold the parachute out and jump into the bales of hay about 40 feet below.
Now, I was not the least bit afraid. After all, this was my brother. He had invented this parachute and he was letting me take the maiden flight, what an honor! I stepped to the edge, held the ends of the sheet in both hands and jumped off; fully expecting to float gracefully down to Danny waiting below. Instead I dropped like a rock and ended up falling head first with my head stuck between two bales of hay.
I think I deserved two quarters that day.
As older brothers often do, he delighted in teasing me. If he came up with a clever idea, he'd always let me try it first to work the bugs out. If things went wrong, he'd always say, "I'll give you a quarter if you don't tell Dad". I wouldn't have told on him anyway because I didn't want him to stop letting me hang out with him; the quarters were just a bonus.
I was probably 11 and Danny asked me if I wanted to try out the parachute he just made. A parachute?!? WOW! Of course I wanted to try it out. No kid I ever knew had flown in a parachute (do you fly in a parachute?...jump?...sail?) and I was going to be the first! We proceeded out to the barn where he had one of Mom's sheets with rope tied to the four corners. He tied the ropes securely around my waist and instructed me to climb up the ladder in the barn to the highest point. When I reached the top he told me to hold the parachute out and jump into the bales of hay about 40 feet below.
Now, I was not the least bit afraid. After all, this was my brother. He had invented this parachute and he was letting me take the maiden flight, what an honor! I stepped to the edge, held the ends of the sheet in both hands and jumped off; fully expecting to float gracefully down to Danny waiting below. Instead I dropped like a rock and ended up falling head first with my head stuck between two bales of hay.
I think I deserved two quarters that day.
Wednesday, August 7, 2013
Jiminy Christmas
I lived on a Thoroughbred horse farm in Maryland from age 11 until I left home at 18. My dad trained horses for our landlord and also had his own Thoroughbred, Jiminy Christmas.
Thoroughbred horses are working animals, not pets. We could not ride them, that was only for the jockeys. They are very feisty and you always had to be on the lookout since they loved to bite and kick.
There was always lots to be done on the farm. I helped with the hay baling by riding on the wagon. As the bailer spit out the bales, my brother and I would stack them up neatly. We also cleaned the stables. Danny would be in one stall and me in the one across from him with the manure spreader backed up between us. We cleaned the stalls with pitchforks, throwing the manure into the spreader. I remember Danny being very strong since his forkfuls of manure would travel through the air, completely missing the spreader, usually landing somewhere on me!
I thought the worse job was feeding them. To me, they were giant, biting, kicking machines and I remember easing their stall doors open quietly, throwing the feed in their buckets and slamming the door shut quickly before they knew what happened.
My dad has a picture from the 70's in his apartment of the winners circle. Danny is standing there in his striped bell bottoms and newsboy cap, holding Jiminy Christmas and Dad is standing beside of him with his stogie and handlebar mustache and I can tell my the look in that horse's eyes, he couldn't wait to get home to bite me.
Thoroughbred horses are working animals, not pets. We could not ride them, that was only for the jockeys. They are very feisty and you always had to be on the lookout since they loved to bite and kick.
There was always lots to be done on the farm. I helped with the hay baling by riding on the wagon. As the bailer spit out the bales, my brother and I would stack them up neatly. We also cleaned the stables. Danny would be in one stall and me in the one across from him with the manure spreader backed up between us. We cleaned the stalls with pitchforks, throwing the manure into the spreader. I remember Danny being very strong since his forkfuls of manure would travel through the air, completely missing the spreader, usually landing somewhere on me!
I thought the worse job was feeding them. To me, they were giant, biting, kicking machines and I remember easing their stall doors open quietly, throwing the feed in their buckets and slamming the door shut quickly before they knew what happened.
My dad has a picture from the 70's in his apartment of the winners circle. Danny is standing there in his striped bell bottoms and newsboy cap, holding Jiminy Christmas and Dad is standing beside of him with his stogie and handlebar mustache and I can tell my the look in that horse's eyes, he couldn't wait to get home to bite me.
Saturday, August 3, 2013
A Children's Book
I wrote this back in 1994. I entered it into a contest for a children's book, but did not win.
Little Patty Puddinhead
Little Patty Puddinhead
never cleaned beneath her bed.
When her mom said, "Clean your room",
Patty'd run to get the broom,
and then she'd sweep with all her might
'til everything was out of sight.
But while her room looked good as new,
the mess beneath her bed just grew.
Patty didn't seem to mind,
even when she couldn't find
her favorite doll or ruby ring.
In fact, she'd lost most everything.
"It isn't lost, it's beneath my bed".
She'd stomp her feet and shake her head.
"I told you once, I do not care.
I am not cleaning under there!"
All was fine until the day
Patty went to her room to play.
As she walked past her bed, much to her wonder,
she slipped and fell and rolled right under!
She struggled and kicked and tried to get free,
but there was just too much stuff under there you see.
She started to scream, holler and shout.
"Someone please help me, I cannot get out!"
Her mother came running, she saw Patty's plight.
She grabbed hold and pulled with all of her might.
Patty popped out and along with her came
every lost book, all her video games!
Her favorite dress with a bow on the sleeve,
and there was her stuffed hippopotamus, Steve.
A marble, four hair bows, a piece of dried cheese.
The necklace Aunt Ruth gave her when she was three.
Her doll that could wink and say mama too.
Her two favorite hats - one was pink, one was blue.
Balls, blocks and buckets for sand.
There was even the flute she once played in the band.
The dog's half-chewed bone, the cat's rubber rat.
Her brother's ball glove (he's been looking for that).
There were crayons and markers and green glitter glue.
A duck that went quack and a cow that said moo.
Six cups to her tea set (there may have been more).
A seashell she'd found on her trip to the shore.
All her lost things were finally found.
Then Patty declared after turning around.
"My room is a mess!", and then Patty said,
"I'll go get the broom!" Her mom just shook her head.
Little Patty Puddinhead
Little Patty Puddinhead
never cleaned beneath her bed.
When her mom said, "Clean your room",
Patty'd run to get the broom,
and then she'd sweep with all her might
'til everything was out of sight.
But while her room looked good as new,
the mess beneath her bed just grew.
Patty didn't seem to mind,
even when she couldn't find
her favorite doll or ruby ring.
In fact, she'd lost most everything.
"It isn't lost, it's beneath my bed".
She'd stomp her feet and shake her head.
"I told you once, I do not care.
I am not cleaning under there!"
All was fine until the day
Patty went to her room to play.
As she walked past her bed, much to her wonder,
she slipped and fell and rolled right under!
She struggled and kicked and tried to get free,
but there was just too much stuff under there you see.
She started to scream, holler and shout.
"Someone please help me, I cannot get out!"
Her mother came running, she saw Patty's plight.
She grabbed hold and pulled with all of her might.
Patty popped out and along with her came
every lost book, all her video games!
Her favorite dress with a bow on the sleeve,
and there was her stuffed hippopotamus, Steve.
A marble, four hair bows, a piece of dried cheese.
The necklace Aunt Ruth gave her when she was three.
Her doll that could wink and say mama too.
Her two favorite hats - one was pink, one was blue.
Balls, blocks and buckets for sand.
There was even the flute she once played in the band.
The dog's half-chewed bone, the cat's rubber rat.
Her brother's ball glove (he's been looking for that).
There were crayons and markers and green glitter glue.
A duck that went quack and a cow that said moo.
Six cups to her tea set (there may have been more).
A seashell she'd found on her trip to the shore.
All her lost things were finally found.
Then Patty declared after turning around.
"My room is a mess!", and then Patty said,
"I'll go get the broom!" Her mom just shook her head.
Thursday, August 1, 2013
Walk This Way
I must confess I'm not a big fan of exercise. Oh I do it, but I do it so I don't have to ride in one of those scooters when I go to Wal-Mart since they all seem to be in use when I'm there.
Through the years I've partied off the pounds, sweated to the oldies, disco sweated, and boogied down the pounds with Richard Simmons. I've thigh-blasted and butt-busted. I've Jazzercised and Zumba'd. I've even joined a water aerobics class with a pool full of seniors (don't you EVEN say I should have fit right in!). I was clearly the young-un of the group. They didn't care an awful lot about the exercise, but used the time to discuss Myrtle's latest bout with bunions and bursitis.
Four months ago I joined Planet Fitness and go for an hour every weekday. My torture device of choice currently is the treadmill and I give it all I got without breaking into a run. I read in a fitness magazine years ago about the "correct" way to walk...with your arms bent at the elbows...pumping them as you stride to get the most benefit. So here I am, headphones on (yes, those big hulking noise-cancelling headphones that cover your whole ear, to which my daughter says..."you wear THEM at the gym?!?", while secretly thankful she belongs to a different gym), treadmill speed 3.6-3.8 depending on the tunes on my MP3 at the time, arms bent at the elbow, chugging along like The Bushwhackers marching out on the World Wrestling Federation (watch "The Bushwhackers WWF Full Entrance" on YouTube to see what I'm talking about). I'm sure it's a sight, but I don't have time to worry about that. Myrtle looked pretty feisty and I don't want to have to fight her for a scooter.
Through the years I've partied off the pounds, sweated to the oldies, disco sweated, and boogied down the pounds with Richard Simmons. I've thigh-blasted and butt-busted. I've Jazzercised and Zumba'd. I've even joined a water aerobics class with a pool full of seniors (don't you EVEN say I should have fit right in!). I was clearly the young-un of the group. They didn't care an awful lot about the exercise, but used the time to discuss Myrtle's latest bout with bunions and bursitis.
Four months ago I joined Planet Fitness and go for an hour every weekday. My torture device of choice currently is the treadmill and I give it all I got without breaking into a run. I read in a fitness magazine years ago about the "correct" way to walk...with your arms bent at the elbows...pumping them as you stride to get the most benefit. So here I am, headphones on (yes, those big hulking noise-cancelling headphones that cover your whole ear, to which my daughter says..."you wear THEM at the gym?!?", while secretly thankful she belongs to a different gym), treadmill speed 3.6-3.8 depending on the tunes on my MP3 at the time, arms bent at the elbow, chugging along like The Bushwhackers marching out on the World Wrestling Federation (watch "The Bushwhackers WWF Full Entrance" on YouTube to see what I'm talking about). I'm sure it's a sight, but I don't have time to worry about that. Myrtle looked pretty feisty and I don't want to have to fight her for a scooter.
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