Thank you for supporting us 17 years.
Thank you for buying our house on a street that feels safe.
Thank you for giving our kids your healthy genes.
Thank you for the year and half you paid child support.
Thank you for attending church with us mostly
Thank you for finally getting back in two of our son’s life.
Most of all, thank you for leaving so I could focus on our kids instead of hopelessly trying to please you.
Every Monday he drives to his mothers house to pick her up. He drives her across town to a modern new hospital building. They don their masks, answer the questions to be admitted and take the elevator to the 3rd floor clinic.
Total state of art machines and techniques are used, and she patiently submits.
Only she may enter the room where the technicians check her vitals and start their procedures. She is immobilized in a cast made to hold her head perfectly still. The radiation is precisely aimed to focus on the mass that is trying to destroy her jugular vein.
Only she knows the agony of being unable to move or receive comfort as the technology of the moment tries to kill the cancer.
It is brutal. They told her it would be. Her lips are swollen, burns inside her mouth and throat make eating impossible. She is basically starving as one or two spoons of soup or yogurt are all she can tolerate each day.
Even water burns, and anything cold is unbearable.
The son takes her home, helps her inside and to her bed, where she lays exhausted and weak.
Tomorrow he will pick her up again and repeat the process.
She has five more treatments …the machine has five more chances to complete killing the cancer hopefully without killing her.
We have come to expect miracles, while voicing fears.
Today’s medical marvels, unsurpassed surgical skills,
Lead us to a state of assumed victory.
Yet, we pray…
Ask others to pray…
Yet, seem to trust the surgeons skill
More than the God who gave life,
Who designed and created these bodies,
Who has numbered the very hairs of our head…
And can repair without a scalpel.
“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 thought we would grow old together.
I thought you really loved me.
I thought our children were a priority to you.
I thought I could be enough.
I found you were ever searching for the ONE.
I was not enough, nor could ever be.
I was temporary, a detour in your life
I learned our children were a weight about your neck
Our home an unwanted responsibility
My love inadequate.
I found you were not looking for faithfulness.
But someone to fix your inferiority,
To help you feel successful.
You had no clue what your value could be as a father.
You searched for someone to validate you as I could not.
You found that person and left us physically
To complete the emotional leaving you accomplished long ago.
Thank you for leaving me so I could find myself.
Could see my wonderful children instead of focusing on you.
Thank you for the gift of your absence.
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 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.
Lyvnhappilyeverafter 