“We got it all”
Four short words.
Deep breath
We relax
The surgeon has spoken.
Four words we expect, yet take for granted.
Given the miracles of modern medicine…
Gifted surgeons….
But this time an explanation begins….
Detailing steps taken,
Things removed,
Things found,
Things left undone,
Things damaged,
Things still deadly.
So sorry
What?
What next?
How long?
My ears can’t hear these words
Oh my God!
Was i really pregnant?
…..Yes, but he married someone else
So, did I have the baby?
…..Yes, the soldier returned and married you.
Was the baby OK?
…..Yes, he was precious and gifted.
Were we happy?
…..Sometimes, he had lots of resentment.
Did we have more babies?
…..Two more boys and a girl, close together.
Were they ok?
…..They were awesome, one had birth defect but God fixed it.
Did our marriage last?
…..For 17 insecure years.
Was he faithful?
…..No, he cheated many times.
Did we divorce?
…..Yes, he married the last one.
Was the divorce traumatic?
…..All the kids were scarred by the divorce.
Did they ever heal?
…..Eventually, mostly, but the first one died.
How did I survive that?
…..You had support groups and your faith. You got much stronger.
And the siblings?
…..Boys eventually reconnected with their dad. Daughter became an addict.
Did I remarry?
…..25 years, later, while raising your daughters boy & girl, you remarried.
Was that a good thing?
…..No, he seduced your daughter for drug money.
Did we divorce?
…..Oh, yes, quickly.
Did I get over him?
…..Very fast, and soon forgave your daughter.
What happened to them?
…..They married and had two children.
Did she heal from her addictions?
…..Only in death.
How did I survive losing two children?
…..Grief support groups and reaching out to help other hurting people.
Did I find love again?
Finally, 20 years later.
Was he a good man?
…..Oh, yes. He healed you with his kindness.
Did you marry?
…..You didn’t need to… His kindness was enough.
Was I finally happy?
…..More than you can imagine.
Lyvonne Hill 10/31/2021
I can tell stories of your coldness to me.
The neglect and distance …
Scorn for my love.
Not talking or sharing. . .
No common affection or gifts. . .
Cheating, many times. . .
Lack of participation in our life together.
Yet, you were the love of my life.
Why?
Was it the challenge of making you smile?
Knowing your childhood pain?
Understanding you deeply???
Learning every aspect of who you were?
All the loving behind closed doors?
I just don’t understand.
Maybe never will…
But you were, are, have always been, the love of my life.
Lonely without you…
But Lonely with you, too.
You started down this road with me,
The road of life,
Then somewhere got out of the vehicle and left me in it,
Driverless, but ever moving forward…
Relentlessly on this path,
Alone and clueless as to what would be next.
I grew, learned, adjusted, blossomed, even soared.
But ever in my heart somewhere deep inside
Missing the You I understood and craved,
And somehow loved.
Lyvonne Hill
April 12, 2021
I think of you when I find a penny,
when I see a butterfly,
when I see a cute piggy,
when I hear certain songs,
when I see a hummingbird,
when I hear an owl,
when I pet my little dog,
when I go to sleep,
when I wake up,
when the phone rings,
when it doesn’t,
when I eat yummy foods,
Or tasteless ones,
when it rains,
when I watch the clouds,
when the sun shines,
when I get dressed for work,
when I get home,
when I am with other people,
when I am alone,
when I see your children,
when I don’t
when I hear a hearty laugh,
when I see someone cry,
when that someone is me.
Lyvonne Hill
March 10, 2021 makes five years since my beautiful, caring, sensitive, funny, loving, creative, only daughter stopped breathing leaving four hurting, confused children, an angry husband, grieving mother and many friends behind to try and get through life without her. Thank you, God, for giving Cherie to us for almost 50 years.
Danny, forever 26, 1987
Cherie, forever 49, 2016
This day (December 4) in 1960 my beautiful baby boy, Danny was born. Life as I know it would never be the same. Thank God!! He let me learn to be a mother, practicing on him and the two brothers who came along very quickly after him, followed by a baby sister. Danny has been gone from this life over 30 years, but the things he taught me through his life and death still color my world and help me function through life and joy and love and loss. Thank you, God, for giving us Danny.
This day (December 19) 1956 we got a call that my amazing, maternal grandmother had been killed in a head on collision by a drunk driver.
Burlie Livengood, was 60ish, had 8 children, 25 grandchildren (at that time), many great-grandchildren, and had already bought & wrapped Christmas presents for all of us. She had baked about a dozen pies, made her famous 15 layer cake and was ready to celebrate by having everyone at her house there in Phoenix for Christmas.
It was surreal to be at her house that year with all her preparations and food except Gramma wasn’t there. We were all in shock.
But, her strong Christian ethic and huge love of family has influenced us all through the years and tears.
I thank God for the legacy she left us and the whole beautiful family she birthed. She loved to stand among us and open her arms and say, “if there had been no Me, there would be no Thee!” We each knew we were totally loved by Gramma Livengood or Sweet Grammy as some called her.
I wasn’t entirely surprised. The expectation that your addictions would conquer you was always under the surface of the hope you would overcome.
The call that you had collapsed in the shower was the “fall of the other shoe” that I had feared for so long.
Your daughter and I rushing to be by your side in ICU just the first step in our farewell.
Being told not to talk to you or touch you so your brain could rest was nearly impossible while we wanted to scream, “Wake up!”
And when your eyes finally opened, seeing the sheer terror in them was hideous.
Your eyes screamed, “Help me! Stop this! Enough!”
We were helpless, standing by.
And then you closed them. The tubes removed, the monitors silenced, and you rested at last.
Breathing on your own and sleeping, sleeping, sleeping.
No response. No finger squeeze. No wiggled toes. No fluttering eyelids. Just soft shallow breathing, steady and slow.
Only when we discussed moving you over so your oldest son could lie beside you did you respond with three deep loud breaths.
“I’ll take that as a yes!” he said, and we slid you over with the draw sheet for his snuggle and mine.
Your younger children blew you kisses over facetime on our phones and saw your lips blow kisses back to them.
And then through the power of cyber space, your husband, children and I were all with you and you were gone.
Gone.
Absent, yet in some ways you seem nearer than before–butterflies, pennies in unexpected places, heart shaped rocks, inside-out shirts — javelinas at our private memorial for the older children’s dad.
Many signs we may have missed in our trudging through our grief.
Oh! to open our eyes, ears, hearts so we may be aware and notice the love around us.
I thought that we would have time to sit and talk. You could tell me things you had experienced that I was finally ready to hear. I could help you know how very much I had wanted you, loved you and believed in you.
I thought you would finally beat those addictions that held you captive. You would care for me in my old age doing things your brothers could not do.
We could share our mutual love and pride in your precious children. That we could scrapbook old photos and divide them up for the kids to keep.
That you would finally really know how deeply I loved you no matter what.
. . . and then you died.
Yesterday, March 30, marked 29 years since my oldest son, Danny, died. When I thought of that, I wondered, “have I been sad over 30 years?” (We knew he had AIDS 19 months before he died.) I find — I have not, surprisingly.
l still love to hear the name Danny (or Dan, or Daniel) .. even on other people. His music is still my very best favorite. Photos of him still make me pause and take a deep breath and thank God for giving me such an awesome son. (The other two are also Awesome!)
What have I learned in 29 years?
The first few years I was totally absorbed in my grief process and grief work, volunteering with PACT (then called TAP — Tucson AIDS Project) as an advocate for guys with AIDS. I spent ten years on their speaker’s bureau, talking to schools, U of A, hospitals in-service training and many other places, telling the story of all the love that Dan’s friends surrounded him with at the end. My other kids waited on the sideline, graciously, while I worked my way through my pain.
I have learned that time and God’s faithfulness do heal and they help me focus not on his loss, but on all that he was when he was here. I thank God that he was a musician and left me his beautiful music and videos.
He taught me so much, about facing his mortality, accepting with dignity and being open to letting our painful process help others. I learned to open my eyes and see the beauty in others, and to try not to take people for granted. I’ve learned to pray for my other kids faithfully, for their safety, peace and blessings.
This past month I have relied so much on things I learned through Danny as I watched my beautiful daughter, Cherie, lie in a coma and slip away from us. I’ve learned how to get rid of anger without hurting others (usually, please God) and to be transparent. I’ve learned most people are tender and caring if you are honest with them and if they aren’t, it is not up to me to fix them.
I have learned that prayer is the most powerful thing you can do for someone you care about … and it is effective!!!!
God is faithful and life is good, Most of the time I am way more happy than I probably deserve to be.
“Weeping may endure for a season (or years) but joy comes in the morning … “
Lyvnhappilyeverafter 