Living With An Empty Chair

Doing something as simple as eating out quickly became one of the hardest things to do after losing Donnie. When it's just the kids and I eating at a restaurant, they always place us at a table for four and his absence becomes immediately much more visible with an empty chair at the table. So when we eat out now, I tend to make plans ahead of time to eat with someone else. And if the sudden whim hits me to go out, I find myself desperately texting friends to try to fill the empty space.

You know how it is at any given dining place. There are a few tables suited for larger groups, the intimate tables set for two, and then there are the tables arranged for the perfectly sized family of four. When we're shown our table we choose our seats, sit down and although I do my best not to look at the empty chair beside me, I can't help but sneak in a glance. 

That vacant chair changes everything. It's obvious when we sit at a table for four that he is missing. And at some point during our three-person dining experience, our faces grow a little sadder, our shoulders become a little heavier and our conversation slows. It's just not the same, because he's not sitting in that chair.

He always tried new and interesting dishes and I would stick with a boring meal of chicken something or the other. He would work a puzzle or color a picture with the kids on their children's menus. He would tease them and laugh with me. He would lean over and talk confidentially with me while the kids were distracted. And when the kids and I couldn't finish our dinner, he would take his fork and enjoy the meat that was left behind. Now we always have leftovers to take home.

Who would have ever thought that an empty chair could carry so much significance? That a glance at the chair beside me could fill me with sorrow and place a hollowness in the pit of my stomach. Or that the absence of his reassuring arm behind me on the back of my chair could make my food taste like warmed up cardboard. 

This Friday night I didn't feel like cooking. I wanted to go out and do some laughing and celebrate the beginning of the weekend with a meal made by someone else. I started texting my friends, put a feeler out on FB to try to find someone to meet us and just when I was about to head out to meet some friends, I had a check in my spirit. Or to whoever may not believe like I do, I'll just say something made me stop and think for a minute before rushing off to meet friends for dinner.

I know there's nothing wrong with eating with friends and honestly some times for me, it's absolutely necessary. Sometimes I just cannot be alone, even when the kids are with me. But Friday night I took a moment to stop and dwell on my decision and I decided I needed to give the kids more. Not a night where we were tagging along with other people just so we wouldn't have to be alone, but an evening where it was just the three of us, where it was 'about' just the three of us and sharing that moment together.

I texted my apologies to my friend and jumped in the car with the kids on a quest for a mini-adventure. 'Where are we going mom?' and 'Who are we going to eat with?' were the questions that met me as we left our parking lot. 'I don't know Kellan. We're not meeting anyone Emmi, it's just going to be us.' And a collective, disappointed 'Oooohhhhh.' met my ears and my eyes winced the threatening tears away. 

We ended up going to a German restaurant that I had been wanting to go to for months, but never did because I knew it was a place Donnie would have loved to try and I thought it would be too awkward without him. The kids were skeptical and their mouths were twitching in fear at the thought of eating strange food before we even walked inside. And as we walked through the doors of the restaurant our senses were immediately assaulted. 

Festive, rich and raucous notes from a live accordion player shocked our ears. Young ladies in authentic German dirndls met our eyes. We were seated by a girl wearing gingham at a four-chaired table and our waiter, a young man in his twenties, was wearing lederhosen. We breathed in the thick aroma of bratwurst, schnitzel, sauerkraut and fried potatoes. The kids' eyebrows were raised in surprise and smiles started framing their faces.

I talked the kids into trying bierwurst and kaiserwurst with a side of fries and I tried the schaferschnitzel. Emelia danced a polka that sounded just like the chicken dance with the waitresses and Kellan went to steal a peek at the accordion player and came back to the table miming as if he were playing one himself. Their attitudes had changed from disappointment and fear to fun and adventure. And my perspective changed a little as well.

I still noted the empty chair that held my purse instead of my husband's laughing, teasing, food critiquing, bold personality. I saw that it was void and barren but instead of feeling like it was the giant sized novelty chair bearing the burden of his absence, this time it shrunk to a normal sized dining chair that just happened to be at our table. 

We rode home with full bellies, leftovers in our laps and smiles on our faces. The kids and I talked about how even though they were scared to go in, they ended up having more fun than they could have imagined having in a restaurant. I reminded them we only have one life and we need to be open to new experiences. We talked about taking risks and chances and enjoying each moment instead of hesitating in fear and missing out on something special and unforgettable. 

And even though Donnie wasn't there, it was almost as if he was, because he would have enjoyed every moment of the assault of our senses. He would have been hamming it up, trying new foods and he may have even borrowed the accordion to play a tune for us to dance to. He would have lived that moment out to its fullness with laughter and satisfaction. 

There will still be glaringly vacant chairs at our table. His presence will still be unavoidably missing and we will still have somber moments when we dine together, just the three of us, alone and without him. But I will do my best to teach my children to live exuberantly. To take chances and risk replacing their fear with excitement and to take advantage of life's many opportunities. I want them to live their lives passionately and without any regrets. Which I happen to know is exactly what their daddy would want them to do.

Pushing Through

I don't know why some days are harder than others. Or some weekends. Or some weeks. I just know that when I'm in the midst of a challenging week, day or moment, it becomes overwhelming. It wears on me. 

And even while I'm telling myself I'll get through this, I'm going to be okay, or this is only temporary; I am still consumed with the hugeness of the emotion that has incapacitated me. It becomes difficult to move forward. It feels like I'm being shoved backwards. It halts my train of thought. It crushes my motivation. It disables me.

I stop and take evaluation in the moments that become frighteningly immobilizing. Am I okay? Am I going to be okay? What's wrong? What will make me feel better? What do I need? Should I call someone? Should I go somewhere? Am I fit for public today? Am I too fragile to be around people?

I pop some argentum nitricum. I make some green tea. I call my cousin, my brother, my friend. I hug my children tighter and longer. I watch a movie that shouldn't make me cry and I end up crying anyway. I reminisce and I pray and I hide.

Some days are just harder, darker, more dismal than others and require some diligent effort to push through. But I have hope for tomorrow which is a lot more than I had several months ago. 

This is only temporary. I'm going to be okay. I'll get through this.

I miss him big this weekend. 

Why I Am a Christmas Crackhead

I'm a Christmas nut. It's true. I'm your worst nightmare when it comes to trying to avoid the Christmas holidays until they are right upon you jingling at your door. Why? Because I let you know far too often and way too early how many days it is until Christmas. I'm known to remind those I care about as early as June that Christmas is only 6 months away. 

I've been witnessed singing Christmas carols in 100+ degree temperatures. I watch Christmas movies year-round. I fantasize about how to decorate my house for Christmas months in advance. I have a Christmas tree for every room in my house and the decorations to go along with them. I can tell you what you should get on the 9th day of Christmas for your true love. 

I even have an app folder on my phone titled 'Christmas' that stays there year round so I can play Christmas games, decorate a Christmas tree virtually, cut up a snowflake and check how many days, hours, minutes and seconds it is until Christmas at any given moment the Christmas notion strikes me. And it does. Often.

Some people say I'm sick. Twisted. Insane. And I drive my friend Karen crazy. (Wait, if I'm driving you crazy, maybe that means I'm not really the crazy one Karen, you are! Heehehee!) I can't help it though. It beats like The Little Drummer Boy's drum inside my heart. Ba-boom. Ba-boom. Ba-boom. Fa-la. Fa-la. Fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-laaaa! Hey. You were singing with me just now, weren't you? WEREN'T YOU??? Come on, admit it.

I haven't always been this way. I mean, I've always loved Christmas of course. But it's been a progression since I married Donnie, so really I could blame a lot of it on him. Because before I warped into the Christmas freak, he flew the freak flag first. He decorated every square inch of his living space with Christmas whats-its when I met him. The man went all out. Garlands and bows, ribbons and ornaments, mistletoe and kisses. Hmmmm, I'm gonna miss that one. He was so festive that it was contagious. And over the years, I became infested with festivity. 

Several years ago on Christmas night, we were playing 'Santa', wrapping the big gifts and stuffing stockings, making pies and preparing portions of our holiday meal when the funniest thing happened. We had been checking the 'Santa Radar' all evening for the kids to know where Santa was so we could get them to bed on time. All night long the kids would ask, "Where's Santa now?!" to which we would check and answer "Zimbabwe!",  "Finland!" or wherever else Santa was trekking off to next.

We had already tucked the kids in bed at least an hour prior and Donnie was standing at the stove stirring a huge pot of something Cajun and delicious when he turned to me suddenly with his spoon poised in his hand and eager excitement edging in his voice as he asked me, "WHERE'S SANTA NOW?!?" I stopped my stuffing of the stockings to turn and look at him and asked him incredulously, 'Really??' and we both busted out laughing! He had literally forgotten for a moment that Santa wasn't real! It still makes me laugh. 

So yeah, it's gotta be mostly his fault. But I am what I am: a corrupted Christmas crackhead. And I know, I KNOW I have fallen to the commercialism of Christmas. There are plenty of Christians who boycott how sold out some people are to Santa and the wares of the holiday season. And I'll confess, I was one of those people who said I would never let my kids believe in Santa Claus. 

I knew Santa wasn't real when I was a kid. I knew Kris Kringle was just a bunch of bunk. And yes, my brothers and I were 'those kids' who spoiled Christmas for the young believers because my parents respected us enough to tell us the truth. Yeah, it was us that made the other kids cry because we told them it was OUR dad in the Santa suit and Santa was NOT real. And yes, we did feel superior to other children because we had adult knowledge of the facts of life about Christmas. 

But my husband wasn't having it. He wanted his kids to experience Christmas the way he had: nervous anticipation balled up in the pit of his stomach, aching for the swift moment Santa would swoop in as soon as he submitted to slumber so he could tear open his presents on Christmas morning and bask in giddy euphoria of the thought that Santa somehow brought him exactly what he wanted. So I did it. I gave in. And man am I glad I did. Christmas has been so exciting every year looking at it through my kids' eyes. 

OF COURSE Christmas is not all about Santa with us. Please. It's not all about the decor' and the eggnog, watching The Christmas Story movie or It's A Wonderful Life. It's not all about reading The Night Before Christmas or The Elf on the Shelf. If you've known us, then you know Christ has always been our priority and my kids clearly know the TRUE truth behind why we celebrate Christmas. We have read Luke 2 from the Bible to the kids every year and had discussions and celebrations to make sure that clarity remains. But come on y'all, they're kids. And it's Christmas. And we're just having some merriment and fun. Well, a lot of it actually. 

Besides, Kellan knows. He figured it out 2 years ago and asked Donnie and I a few weeks after Christmas whether Santa was real or not. We told him the truth, revealing our deception and I gulped guiltily as I wondered if my son would be damaged goods now that he knew we had duped him. But he just smiled knowingly and shrugged and said he knew it. I could tell he felt wiser and more grown up at the knowledge he had gained and it satisfied me that he could now enjoy the heady feeling of superiority over other children like I had. (Haha!)

I think this will probably be Emelia's last year to believe. But I'm holding it out as long as I can. Because I'm not looking forward to how the suspense of the holiday will lose a little of its luster once she realizes Santa isn't real. She'll know it's me busting my butt to get her gifts and the magic of Christmas Eve will diminish a bit for her and for me too once she becomes one of the superior knowledged children. But at least for one more Christmas she'll have trouble falling asleep and be straining her ears for jingle bells and reindeer hooves. And me? I'll be nibbling on Santa's cookies so she'll think he ate her sweet little offering.

By the way, however you want to look at it, as I'm writing this there are only 68 days OR 1,642 hours OR 98,534 minutes OR 5,912,040 seconds left until Christmas arrives. It's time to get ready people! HO HO HO!!!

Here's some helpful links for your Christmas preparation that a pro like me has been known to use during the holiday season!

Christmas countdown website

Santa Radar Tracking

FREE Personalized Santa Video/Christmas Letter for Kids

What I've Learned From The Andy Griffith Show

It's definitely no secret that I have become an avid watcher of The Andy Griffith Show. I've mentioned it, oh, only a few times (yeah, right!) on Facebook and in my blogs. I've spent many nights over the past 10 and 1/2 months watching episode after episode of the 8 seasons it ran and have even recently started watching the series all over again from the beginning episode. 

I can just see myself at one of our Warm Place meetings (our grief recovery center) when the question of the evening might be: "What has brought you consistent comfort as you grieved for your loved one?" I can only guess my answer would have to be: "Ummmm.... Watching The Andy Griffith Show.?." Bwahhahahaaa! But seriously, there were some nights I just couldn't have fallen asleep without being lulled into their safe little world. 

Ahem. Hello, my name is Sharon and I am an Andy Griffith Show junkie.

What can I say? There's just something about that whistle. It just sets me at ease and puts a spark of joy in my spirit. And the old-time, clean-cut, small-town atmosphere has been somewhat of an escape for me and somehow quickly moves my mind off of my worries and anxieties as I catch myself belly-laughing at Barney's silly shenanigans. Oh my goodness, I just love that show!

But I have noticed some rather interesting tidbits over the time I've invested in watching this series and thought hey, why not write a blog about it and subject everyone else to the Andy Griffith Show trivia that runs through my mind from time to time? Yes, I know I live a rather exciting life. It's quite mind-blowing. 

And now Ladies and Gentleman, please enjoy the following mindless drivel for the next few minutes as I share with you non-pertinent information about a show you may not currently watch but are surely missing out on (all 8 seasons are available on Netflix streaming!) and pray you don't get the theme song/whistle stuck in your head! I dare you not to whistle and bounce your head along!

Andy was a major country bumpkin with an extremely twangy accent at the beginning of the series that somehow dropped out over the years to just a country drawl. As I began re-watching the series I realized he definitely didn't sound the same and found myself laughing at how thick his hick accent and how countrified his expressions/sayings were in the early episodes compared to the later ones.

The black and white episodes, in my opinion, are definitely better than the colored episodes in the later years and this has a lot to do with two things: 

1. Barney was in most of the black and white episodes and let's just be honest, besides all the other great and quirky characters in the series, Barney just steals the show of every scene he is in. He's such a kook and is so good at playing the klutzy egocentric, know-it-all, inept goofball that when he leaves the series towards the later years he is sorely missed and the extra oomph and giggle factor is nearly gone.
2. Opie was such a cute kid. And then he entered puberty. He was still a cute kid after that, but he was seriously so much more adorable as a youngster and made me wish he was one of my brothers, or my 2nd son, or my 3rd cousin, or something. Seeing him older and going through the older kid issues wasn't as appealing to me as when he was in his younger years.

The colored episodes revealed some oddities that I never noticed in the black and white episodes. For instance, everybody's teeth looked so yellow and gross in the colored episodes! It made me realize how greatly our society has changed and how much we strive to keep our pearly whites 'bleached white' these days. Compared to back then, well those wide mouthed country smiles can be a little off-putting with their imperfect teeth glaring at you in full color! It was just a bit of a shock after seeing them looking white for so long in the black and white episodes. The characters' wrinkles and age spots also became more visible in color. Now that I've entered my forties, it makes me wish I could walk around with a black and white filtered bubble around me! HA!

They gave me the urge to google. Whether it was to find out if the theme song whistle had words to it (it does) or to look up recipes Aunt Bea made so I could figure out what they were eating, I found myself turning to google on more than one occasion to find out more about this intriguing show. I was floored in one episode when Aunt Bea served homemade apple pie with a slice of cheddar cheese on it. Upon googling, I found it was common during that time to serve pie with a slice of cheese on the side or melting on top. Weird, but interesting.

The way they talked about and treated women was a bit off-putting from time to time. Not in every episode, but often enough that it was a little eyebrow raising. 

• Barney was a hypocritical two-timer: He and Thelma Lou were quite the item and yet he often called Juanita at the diner for some risque conversations and also went out with other women when he was out of town and yet he fully expected Thelma Lou to stay faithful to him. Ummmm, okay??
• Floyd was a nasty old man: I'm sorry, I had to say it. He wagged his eyebrows at women and loved to insinuate in conversations with other men about women's bodies. One episode he and Andy were reading a letter out loud from one of Barney's vacations in Raleigh where he mentioned waitresses were wearing 'peek-a-boo blouses' at which Floyd giggled in his weird way and asked Andy to read it again, read it again!
• Andy talked down to and about women: The way he talked to women characters, including Helen his longtime girlfriend, put them in 'their place' and was at times a bit degrading. Although he was gentlemanly and kind, it was obvious he felt they were somewhat subservient to and valued as less than the dominant male. 

Now, I don't want to upset anybody or make you believe they were all male chauvinists, but at the time they lived in that was the common attitude or it wouldn't have been written into the scripts. I would catch myself thinking 'How could women watch this at home with their families and feel good about themselves in those moments?'. We are living in a different hour and a different world now than it was then. Truthfully, it didn't upset me enough to stop watching the show, it just made me wish those small parts were cut out.

Of course now on the flip side in TV shows these days EVERYTHING ELSE seems to be acceptable except the mistreatment or belittling of women. It's okay on Disney or primetime family shows for kids to sass their parents and be rebellious and talk rude to adults and disrespect authority. It's fine to have affairs daily and jump into bed with every person you shake hands with or work beside and laugh at others expenses. It's normal for teenagers who seriously don't have any clue as to what the world is really all about or how today's choices can and will impact their future, make grown up decisions about their bodies that they'll likely regret when they hit their late 20s, mid 30s or early 40s. And many, most or sometimes even all of these behaviors are considered acceptable in today's society. Hmmmmm.

So I don't mind if I DO take a piece of apple pie with a slice of cheddar cheese on the side of an Andy Griffith episode, even with the occasional yellow-teethed, women-bashing, redneck lingo-ed, Barney-less episode. No sir, No ma'am; I don't mind if I do.

Cajun Culture Shock

I thought I knew Louisiana well. I was born in Baton Rouge. We visited my mom's family in Louisiana nearly every year when I was growing up. I played on the Louisiana grasses with my cousins Jonathan and Joanna, picked beans at my Aunt Julia's house and popped their pods apart to fill up a large pale green Tupperware bowl on her porch swing. And I might have dropped a cat from my cousins' Twyla and Lauren's neighbor's raised porch just to see if it would land on its feet. It didn't. I picked blueberries in the trees near my aunt Darlene's house and ate fresh watermelon and homemade ice cream on her lawn between sessions of playing marco polo in the pool with my cousins.

I gazed dreamily at my Grandmother's prided roses and inhaled their heavy scent that infused with the evergreens growing on my Grandaddy's Christmas tree farm and it would overwhelm my senses. I listened as my Grandaddy played his violin while my mom or one of her sisters played the piano and everybody sang hymns together. I slept in pallets on my Grandparents' living room floor with my cousins and my brothers and giggled together in the hush that followed their nightly prayer time as a family, kneeling at the chairs, the couch or the piano bench and marveled at how straightforward my Grandmother was when she spoke to God.

I walked across cattle guards in my bare feet and wandered the acres of my great-grandmother's pecan tree studded farm. I was stranded with my cousin Jennifer in a hay loft in the barn, climbed a giant tractor and sat in it's cockpit just to listen to the radio and feel the AC on a hot summer day and picked grocery sized paper bags full of pecans from the ground to bring back home with us to North Carolina. I stared at the dead rattlesnake floating in a large mason jar on one of her living room side tables as she told us for the 100th time the story of how that thing bit her leg and she killed the snake, took off her bandanna, tied it around her leg and then proceeded to drive herself to the emergency room. 

And I also watched as my great-grandmother mowed her acres of grass all by herself at 80-something years old, wearing one of her bonnets reminiscent of the ones I'd seen worn by the girls on Little House on the Prairie. I drank water from a soup ladle hanging at her kitchen sink that everyone else also drank from when they were thirsty between meals and nobody ever got sick from it. I sat at her long kitchen table to feast on every kind of farm-fresh breakfast food imaginable, all made from scratch by her hands.

I ate even more delicious homemade baked goods at my Aunt Ruby's house, gathered eggs from her hens and played on the swing-set in her yard where I learned the words to the Oscar Meyer wiener song for the first time. And I watched in pre-teen disgust as my Uncle Wilton showed us how to feed slop to a bunch of mud-wallering, snorting, stinking pigs. I made bottle rockets out of empty glass coke bottles and firecrackers and played with matches without adult supervision in my Aunt JudyAnn and Uncle David's long gravel driveway with my brothers and my cousins Eric, Jolene and Curtis. But I wouldn't eat the crawfish.

I went to the World's Fair in Louisiana as a teenager in 1984 wearing my multi-colored twisty beads and saw Andy Gibb in concert dancing and singing in his leather parachute pants to 'Shadow Dancing'. After I grew up I kept going back to Louisiana as often as I could to visit my cousin Eric and my other family members and explored New Orleans and its surrounding cities and the wealth of culture it held.

Louisiana has always been a magical place for me, being my birth state and holding so many treasured memories from my childhood and mid-twenties. Donnie and I always found it funny that I spent so much time traveling in and out of Louisiana over the years and we also discovered we were at the World's Fair at the same time and never met. Okay, I know Louisiana is big enough that we wouldn't meet and we probably weren't actually there on the same day, but it just made the world feel a little smaller and him a little closer, even though it took me 28 years to find him and him 30 years to find me.

But when Donnie introduced me to his part of Louisiana for the first time, it was as if I had stepped into a whole other world. We had traveled with our friends Lisa and Ken for Mardi Gras week. We went to a family parade and all the floats passed by screaming Donnie's name and throwing bags of beads and other assorted offerings at his feet. The four of us hung as many beads as possible around our necks, stuffed our shirts and filled our arms with them to bring back with us. 

He took me to his Aunt Dolly's house where his cousins, neices and nephews and MawMaw were visiting. There were about 10 or 12 of us standing and sitting around her small kitchen table carrying on 6 conversations at the same time. They were speaking in such thick Cajun accents I could barely understand them. And on top of that, they said their words so quickly, I couldn't get a chance to repeat them in my head to try to make out what they were saying. And on top of that, they were using Creole words that I didn't understand the meaning of and Cajun phrasing that sounded like backwards talking to me. 

For example, in my common English I would ask someone, 'How old are you?' or 'Did you see that fast car?' In their Cajun dialect they would say 'How old YOU are?' or 'Mais, you saw dat car go fast fast yeah?' Now imagine those sentences again with the words spoken so quickly they are nearly slurring together with a thick accent connecting them. Now. On top of that... the 6 conversations they were having were inter-connecting. They could jump in and out of and around each conversation at any given moment without stopping and continue right along where they left off in their last conversation. 

My. Head. Was. Spinning! I couldn't keep up! They were speaking another language and I wasn't getting it! Donnie would always laugh about how when he looked over at me, my eyes were bugging out, darting back and forth at everyone talking and my mouth was hanging open in shock! Oh it was so funny. Of course I mostly have it down now, although ask my sis-n-law Kristen and she'll tell you I still can't understand her very well over the phone. I always ask her, 'Can you say that again???' and 'What did you say???'.

Donnie and I would sometimes have misunderstandings over our language barrier. One time we were going to the store and as we pulled into the parking lot he asked me "Are you going to get down?" and I was like "Um, what? You want me to dance right here in the parking lot?". I thought he was asking me to get down and boogie-oogie-oogie! The translation was actually "Are you going to go into the store?" Other common miscommunications we had were turning the AC or TV volume up or down. He always said "Speed it up!" or "Slow it down!"... I got confused every time!

When we were planning our wedding we nearly had a huge argument over nothing. He told me he wanted his sister and cousins to "serve" at the wedding. I thought he meant he wanted them to serve the food and drinks at the reception! I couldn't believe he would want that and I told him there was no way and why would he even want them to serve??? He asked me 'Wouldn't you want your brothers to serve?' and I told him 'Of course not!' We were so frustrated with one another. It was a couple days later when I finally realized what he had meant by "serving" was he wanted them to be our bridesmaids and groomsmen! Doh!

The first time I went home with him for a holiday was another shocker for me. I had always been brought up on meals that strictly included a meat, a starch and at least one colorful veggie, maybe even two. My traditional Thanksgiving holiday meal was a balance of Northern foods from my dad and Southern foods from my mom. We usually had turkey and ham, sweet potatoes topped with marshmallows and mashed potatoes with giblet gravy, cornbread stuffing and Yankee stuffing, green bean casserole and cranberry sauce. 

When I went to fill my plate at my first Cajun Thanksgiving I walked around my bro-n-law's mom's kitchen expecting the foods I grew up on, searching for and never finding anything green; there was no salad, no green beans, nothing. There was turkey, gumbo, white beans, white rice, dirty rice, jambalaya, potato salad, mashed potatoes and corn. Everything was varying shades of white, brown and yellow. I whispered to Donnie 'Hey, where's the vegetables?' He said 'Over there' and pointed to the white beans! Of course everything was delicious. Every bite I put in my mouth was absolutely delectable. But I was floored that our families ate so differently. 

It was kind of like the first time I realized there were people who couldn't or 'shouldn't' sing. I was 16 years old at FCA camp the summer going into my senior year of high school. We were standing in the assembly room, singing praise and worship and the girl beside me, who was a lot of fun, was singing wholeheartedly out of key with all that she had in her little body. I started cracking up and elbowed her and said 'Stop it! You're killing me! You're so funny! Cut it out!' I mean, I was rolling, almost in tears crying because it was SO bad and SO hilarious. She turned and looked at me with confusion, all doe eyed and innocent and said 'WHAT are you talking about???' That's when it dawned on me that there were people in this world who couldn't sing. 'Oh, um, nothing...' I said, and turned back towards the front and joined the singing again, very sheepishly. 

My initial experiences on the bayou felt similar, but I quickly grew accustomed to the differences in 'his Louisiana' and 'my Louisiana'. I grew past the culture shock and found a lot of common ground and embraced the lifestyle of the bayou. Everywhere we went everyone knew Donnie. It amazed me how well loved and well known he was. If we went to Walmart we would inadvertently end up spending a couple of hours there because we would meet someone on every aisle and have a 20 minute conversation. When we went to church there it was as if Elvis was in the building. We couldn't walk 2 feet without being stopped by somebody. It was overwhelming every time and in some ways I seriously felt like the wife of a celebrity. It was awesome.

At first every aspect of being on the bayou was new, different, exciting and sometimes challenging. But now, as soon as we drive into town for a visit and see the bayou running through the middle of it with the houseboats, fishing boats and crab boats and we see the boys and old men fishing alongside the bayou, it feels like home. Our ears itch to hear the Cajun accents and our taste buds scream for the Cajun foods. There's always a freshly made mouth watering gumbo or another yummy Cajun dish and a warm pair of arms to welcome us wherever we decide to stop first. 

The heritage is amazing, the food is phenomenal, the accents are thick, the people are loving and the time we have there is absolutely priceless. It's not the same without Donnie, but his Louisiana has become my Louisiana too. Now I have two families waiting for me to visit when I cross the state lines and that thought is so very heartwarming to me. 

But I still won't eat the crawfish.

What To Do When Someone You Care About Loses Someone They Love

Right after their loved one has passed away, it can be difficult for your grieving friend/family member to think straight enough to do normal daily tasks like feeding their children or picking up toilet paper. Here's where you might be able to lend a hand without being in the way and show them that you care and you're there for them. Being there for support during difficult decisions and showing your respects at the service and etc is important, but so are the tangible things. You'll never know how much it will be appreciated. 

FOOD: Everybody needs it. And there are a lot of ways you can provide it.

• Do offer to make food, bring food, pick up food and drop it off, bring restaurant gift cards, etc. It helps to have things on hand and eases the stress of making a decision of what to make for dinner or lunch.
• It's okay to bring frozen food with directions written on them for cooking or reheating as long as you've freshly made it, or it's store bought (not your leftovers frozen from 2 months ago). Your friend will appreciate the frozen meal on a future night that they have no motivation to cook, even if it's 2 weeks or 2 months down the road. 
• Be sure to see if anyone in the family has special food allergies you might need to work around if you decide you want to cook something for them.
• If there are children, things like sandwich fixings, frozen chicken nuggets, lunchables, juice boxes and individual snack packs are great. This way, if the child is old enough, they can tend to themselves when needed or the adult can easily put together a quick lunch or snack for the child without much thinking involved.
• Water bottles, sodas, coffee, tea and ice. Ask what their drink preferences so you can be sure to give them what they'll enjoy and need.
• Ask them for a list of things they need at home and offer to run to the store for them. 
• Bring over mints, chewing gum, cough drops, life savers and wallet sized Germ-X. Those will be nice to have on hand or place in purses for visitations or the funeral service or when guests drop over to check on them in the days following.
• If they are flooded with food from others, offer paper goods for meals: paper towels, paper plates, plastic cups, plastic ware and trash bags will come in so handy and be appreciated.

PRACTICAL GIVING: There are things everyone needs and can't do without and it would help to not have to run out of them with the extra company one can usually expect in a grieving household. One man at our grief recovery center mentioned it's been 6 months since his wife passed away and they are just now about to run out of toilet paper. We all laughed about it, but agreed that was an extremely thoughtful gift and it was one less thing he had to think about while tending to his children's needs.

• Toilet paper, wet wipes, diapers, paper towels, laundry detergent, dish soap, etc.
• Wal-mart or grocery store gift cards; you might be surprised how badly they are needed, even if your friend has never mentioned or acted like they are struggling, they could be. You never know what goes on behind closed doors. With some of the blessings we received after Donnie passed away, one of the first things I did after the Memorial service was go shopping for things we had needed for at least 6 months but had made do without. I filled up a cart with pajamas, underwear, socks, shoes and jeans for the kids because it had been so long since I'd been able to get them what they needed.
• Give cash whenever you feel impressed to do so. Slip it in their purse, in their hand, in a book, in a card. Give it to someone else to give to them anonymously. Pay for their meal when you see them out at a restaurant. Even if they don't 'need' it, it feels good to be taken care of and to be treated. And it's a gift you can really never go wrong with.
• Offer to fill up their vehicle with gas or give them a gas gift card. It's just one less thing for them to have to worry about. 
• Offer to take their vehicle to get washed or have their car serviced or oil changed. 
• Help with their laundry; washing, drying or folding.
• Offer to babysit their children or drive them to and from school if needed.
• See if there are any little tasks you can help with around their house. Change light bulbs that have gone out, tighten door knobs that may be loose, sweep the porch, walk the dog, etc. 

SENTIMENTAL GIVING: Thoughtful sentimental gifts are always a kind gesture.

• Share copies of photos, videos, etc that you may have of your friend's loved one. They may not have known these things even existed. Even if it takes them months to be able to look through or view them, they will appreciate the treasure you've given them.
• If you too have been through a period of grieving and something specific helped you like a book or a grief recovery group, don't be pushy, but share that information with them in a card for them to review or give them a copy of the book.
• Share special memories of your friend's loved one in writing by sending a card, an email, etc. Though they may take some time to respond to you or perhaps even never respond, your words are sure to be treasured. I'm so thankful for all the kind words, cards, emails and texts that I received, especially the ones with stories, memories, or impressions Donnie made on people. They are riches that I can share with the kids as they grow older to learn more about their father and the man that he was, even in his childhood.
• Send a care package through the old fashioned post office. A lady that Donnie knew from the bayou sent a small box full of movies for the kids and myself, penny toys for the kids and some snacks. That thoughtful gesture provided hours of entertainment for us and immediate amusement for my kids. It was such a thoughtful gift.

FOLLOW UP: Although your world may keep spinning and you can easily move on after paying your respects, your friend/family member may feel like the world has ended, even weeks or months following their loved ones death. Here are some ideas of how you can follow up with them to show you still care about them as they continue to grieve. It could be 3 weeks later, 2 months later or even beyond a year. Everyone grieves differently and your attention and follow up with them will make a difference.

• A simple text or phone call every now and then goes a long way. Even if your friend doesn't respond right away or even at all, please don't be offended. Know that they saw your text or listened to your voice mail and your thoughtfulness to reach out to them matters.
• Offer to take your friend to lunch, dinner or a movie. Even if they don't feel like getting out, sometimes they will be glad they did. But don't be pushy. If they say no, leave it open ended and ask them to contact you when they are ready or when it's convenient for them.
• Stop in at their house once in a while to check on them especially if you are concerned about how they are handling things, but be sure to warn them first by calling or texting and letting them know you are coming by. While you're there, look around without being too nosy and see if things are okay or if they need anything. Your visit doesn't have to be a long one unless you can tell they need you to stay for a bit. Feel them out and pay attention to their body language and their communication with you. If it's not a good time, it's not a good time, but make sure they really are okay before you leave.
• When you see them in your social circles, it's good to put your hand on their shoulder in passing or stop and chat with them briefly, especially if they are looking lost or lonely. It might be awkward and weird, but the fact that you're making an effort will matter. Little things mean a lot. Hugs don't hurt either. If you can tell they are uncomfortable and about to flood with tears, don't push it. Give them a hug, let them know you care and then walk away. Sometimes they need space to gain their composure and yet the fact that you reached out to them that day can mean the world. 
• It's okay to laugh and be happy around them, try to include them and try to make them laugh. Even if they do it begrudgingly, it's still good for them. It's also okay to cry with them or let them cry on your shoulder if they need to. Your shirt will dry and the snot will come out in the wash. 
• Do things on their terms. See what they want to do. Where they want to go. Where they don't want to go. Certain activities or places may remind them too much of their loved one and they may not be able to 'go there' just yet.
• If you have a flexible schedule or you've been through what they're going through, make it clear that you are available to them whenever and however and wherever. And when they call you or text you, follow through on your word and respond to them immediately. Even if they need to talk for an hour about absolutely nothing. Even if they need you to come over at 3:00 in the morning. And even if all they want is some chocolate. Give them chocolate.