Sing, Birds!

On days like today, I wake up, make coffee, and open the patio door and listen. It’s spring and the birds are singing happily. The sweet aroma of the flowering Ligustrum trees outside my patio doors fills the air as honeybees flit about its blossoms. An occasional breeze wakes my wind chimes to play a tickling tune, a distant dove coos for its mate and the sun begins to warm the day. I love it! This is my favorite time for nature to show off, sing and prepare us for summer’s casual, lazy days. 

As much as this time of year revs me up to clean, create and make plans, it also makes me a bit melancholy. I start to feel sad, lonely and somewhat overwhelmed. My spirit wants me to jump up and get busy doing and creating all the lovely projects I’ve seen on Pinterest. My head shouts for me to get up! Get busy! Do something! and my soul seems sadly resistant to those demands. 

Late April 1993, my mother was sick. She had cancer and was not receiving treatments because by the time her disease was detected, the cancer was too far advanced. What is more, Mother’s doctor had not confronted her with the fact that she was dying. My brothers were not sure it was a good idea to burden her with her true condition, or perhaps they were simply not willing to break the news to our mom. As the "baby" sister, I was not feeling my voice heard, and wished someone would tell her that she had cancer…bad cancer. I thought she should know, would want to know and wished the doctor would tell her, but he did not. Even our daddy, with undiagnosed Alzheimer’s disease, seemed to know that mother was in dire straights. 

The last time I spoke to Mom, she was lying in her bed, contemplating a return to the hospital for a mastectomy because a surgeon had discovered the huge mass in her breast. Before I left her bed that Sunday, I told her that she did not have to go through with the surgery. I could tell she was apprehensive and since she had always been leery about going in the hospital for surgery, I just wanted to hint to her that this surgery was not going to help her. Her cancer was not only in her breast but also in her pancreas and spreading to other places in her body. One surgery was only going to make her uncomfortable and it wasn’t going to help her to live any longer. So, I simply told her that she did not have to go through with it. 

Many times as I drove home from Port Neches, I cried. My stomach stayed in knots, I seemed to be sleep deprived, and wanted to drink. Even in my restless nights, I know I dreamed. Mostly, I just wanted it to be over. That Sunday I drove back home I had to go to my school where I taught 2nd grade. I needed to catch up on work from the previous week of substitutes and make new lesson plans. As I drove to the school, my cell phone rang and it was my husband. I pulled over to park at a nearby gasoline station while I listened to him tell me he had just spoken to my older brother. Johnny, who was 10 years older than me and the “one in charge”, had talked to Mom after I left. He said that Mom had asked him what I meant when I told her she didn’t have to have the surgery. I think she really knew, but wanted the words said out loud. Poor, tough, gentle Johnny had to explain to our mother just how bad it was. She decided not to do go through with the surgery and to stay at home.

Soon after that I began to take turns with my brother, to stay with Mom. The last week before she died, she went into a coma. My sister in-law, Cynthia’s, mom was a retired LVN and she came to stay with me as we watched mother live out her last days. I am so very grateful for Barbara, words cannot express the fullness of my gratitude to her. Without Barbara, I do not know how I would have been able to function there with Mom. Mother finally passed away at 4:00 a.m., May 4, 1993. Barbara and I stood at the foot of Mom’s bed, listening for her next staggered breath. As she breathed her last, a single tear ran from Mother's eye. Barbara wrapped her arms around me, a sense of massive swelling formed in my chest and we cried. 

My other brother, Richard, is a very sensitive, emotional soul. He had only come in that last night to stay at the house with us and Johnny went home to sleep. I believe Richard didn’t know how to cope with Mom’s passing. I called Johnny to come back to the house. As the funeral director and ambulance response team were inside the house with the rest of us, Richard went outside to speak to a police officer who had also come. I have never asked him what they talked about, but I’m sure it was something nothing short of simply words to pass time.

Along with Mom, our sweet daddy passed 5 years later, my fun, bubbly sister in law, Cynthia, died of cancer and my strong, smart brother, Johnny, left us in 2011. It’s hard to believe and sad that I can’t speak to any of them again because I truly miss them all. As I write this, it would seem as though a phrase such as, "but all of them are together in heaven, talking with one another" would be implied here. But I don't know that it's true. They all surely passed to heaven because better people can not be found. As to whether they recognized each other and are carrying on conversations, is another matter. Although, it is a comforting thought.

Spring is my favorite time of the year. So, sing, birds! Sing and be happy in the warmth of the sun, the light of a new day, gentle breezes, and life will go on. 

I Loved My Daddy, I Love Him Still

Elton R. seated ft., left.

Last month I read a Facebook update posted by my cousin Craig's wife, Jodi. She was writing about a weekend get-away to celebrate Craig's birthday on the 9th of December. My cousin, Craig Bond, was born in Orange, Texas, on my daddy's birthday. Jodi's Facebook update made me think about Daddy all week. I couldn't stop thinking about what it would be like if he were still around today or at least had been with us longer. Even though December 9th holds no special significance for anyone except people like Craig whose birthdays share that date, I think of December 9th as if it were a national memorial day to Elton Lavorn "Jiggs" Ritchey, my Daddy.

Daddy was born Elton Lavorn Ritchey on December 9, 1918 in Oklahoma. It has always been a bit of a controversial question as to how his middle name is spelled. His mother spelled it one way and it was different on other documents. Dad insisted it was not Lavern, but could have been Lavorn. Only my grandmother knows for sure and she has been gone decades. On Monday, December 9, 2013, he would have been 95 years old.

Long before I was even born, Daddy was working hard for my mom

and his infant son, Johnny Elton Ritchey. Mom and Dad were married Christmas Eve of 1942 and Mom gave birth to their first son on January 24, 1943 in the shadow of World War II. Dad was an Air Force airplane mechanic during the war stationed in Belgium for the better part of his time in the service of his country. My brother was 3 months old before Daddy got to met his son for the first time. My mother used to tell me the story about boarding a train alone with Johnny, in Oklahoma, to travel to Nebraska where Daddy was on leave before shipping out overseas. I often requested Mama tell her story about that trip. My child's mind would conjure up images like I'd seen on old black and white movies of the bustling crowds of people around train depots during that time period. I pictured my mom walking bumping into other travelers trying to board the train. She was struggling to manage holding the baby and her luggage when a black railroad employee known as "Red Caps" carried her bags and made sure they got on the train safely. Mom always mentioned how kind the Red Cap was to her and how much she appreciated his help. I've read old letters Daddy wrote to my grandmother while overseas. My grandparents helped look after baby Johnny and my mom while Dad was gone. The words Daddy wrote were kind, expressing thankful gratitude to his in-laws for taking care of his family in his absence. Those letters always make me sad to read as I imagined Daddy so far away from home and missing his wife and baby boy.

One of the nicest men I ever knew, my daddy had a big heart for other people in need. He did carpentry work for widow ladies around our neighborhood. He was often seen with a hammer or a paintbrush in his hand, high up on a ladder or roofing on top of someone's house. He seemed to always have a side job going somewhere. Daddy's full time job was as a shift worker at Union Oil Refinery in Nederland, TX. As a shift worker, his daily schedule often changed. When his shift allowed it, he could work during the day on other projects he hired out to do at people's houses. I can still picture him up on a ladder in his white painter's overalls painting a neighbor's house. A couple of summers Daddy worked for an elderly couple who owned a beach house on Gilchrist Beach not far from Beaumont. They vacationed there every summer with their invalid son. Daddy would go down to the beach for a week prior to the couple's arrival with their son. His week at the beach was to repair anything that might have broken during the year or needed painting. The couple's neighbor in Beaumont where they lived, also owned a beach house nearby on the same beach. My parents, brother and I got to stay in her beach house while Daddy worked on the other house in exchange for a little maintenance work on her place, too. I remember those weeks playing in the Gulf, listening to ocean waves crashing in the night and watching the shrimp boats every evening.

Daddy was my champion when it came to helping me learn new skills. Learning to read was hard for me and even after I mastered the concepts, I was not in love with reading. Daddy stuck with me even when I was crying and didn't want to read some boring book my teacher had assigned for my home reading. I remember one time in fourth grade, I had to read a take-home reader named, "Dessert Animals". I just could not make it through hardly a chapter of that awful book. I slumped down the wall of our dining room crying that I couldn't read it. Daddy patiently slipped down beside me and suggested that he read a page and I read the next page. So, that is what we did, and together "Dessert Animals" was conquered.

Playing Kyle's toy guitar

He taught me other things too, like how to tie my shoes, ride a bike, swim, memorize the Old Testament books of the Bible and how to play a guitar. Daddy played country-western guitar and sang the old country songs. We watched a lot of Porter Wagner on TV in my house. Every morning when I'd wander into the kitchen for breakfast, country-western music would be playing on the radio. He taught me to sing harmony and we'd sing together as he accompanied us on his guitar. Like most people who are related, our voices blended well together. So, when we sang "The Yellow Rose of Texas", he'd break off in harmony on the bridge and we'd sound pretty good.

Daddy was very handy with his tools fixing almost anything in our house that needed repair. He was

Daddy working his garden

our plumber, painter, carpenter, gardener and car mechanic as well as my personal crafting expert. There was never a swing set in our yard to play on, but I had a swing hanging from a tree. Daddy crafted a plank of wood for the seat of my swing and hung it from a strong tree limb in the backyard with heavy rope. I loved to swing and spend sunny afternoons happily singing and swinging in my custom made swing. When I went off to Abilene Christian College, Daddy designed and built a small collapsible bookshelf for me so it could easily move from one semester to the next. Earlier this year, that little bookshelf, a little worse for wear, got a make-over when I decided it was time to repaint it. I was reminded of Dad's eye for detail as I painted over his handwritten assembly letters on the backs of the shelf pieces. My second year of teaching was here in Baytown schools where I taught kindergarten. I told my dad that I needed a small kid-sized hat tree for the classroom home center and asked if he could make one. By the next time we saw each other, I had a cute little hat tree standing at the perfect height for my students. Today that hat tree has been repainted and is holding hats in a playroom for our grandchildren here in our home.

Daddy working on our 1st house.

On several occasions Daddy would drive over from Port Neches to Baytown and repair, paint or lend his carpentry skills to our home projects. When it was time to fix up and sell our first house, Daddy spent the weekend with us paneling inside walls, painting the house exterior and repairing worn out screens. One day while living in our second home, our middle son, Kyle, a toddler at the time, decided that instead of taking a nap, he'd swing from his curtains like Tarzan. When the curtain brackets ripped from the wall damaging the drywall, Daddy came over and repaired it like a professional. I was thankful that my dad was able and willing to lend us a helping hand. 

When I was a little girl and Daddy worked the graveyard shift at the oil refinery, I got to sleep with my mom. If he worked all night on New Year's Eve, I remember lying next to Mama in her bed listening to the refinery whistles at midnight as they blew in the New Year. Mama recognized the refinery whistles and would comment on which one she thought was Union Oil. My daddy was likely ringing in the new year with a buddy out at the plant over a cup of coffee. Often he would work an extra shift on holidays because it meant extra pay. Those guys working extra shifts also got a bonus of a meal compliments of Union Oil.

Mom & Dad

Daddy was an elder at the Church of Christ in Port Neches. I remember when the new church building was constructed back in about 1960. My daddy spent many days there helping work on the building getting it ready for our congregation to worship. He spent many hours of personal Bible study and taught Bible classes. On occasion, he even stepped in the pulpit when our preacher was absent. One such Sunday, Daddy was preaching when I decided to be baptized. It is a special memory to me that my daddy was the one who baptized me that Sunday in 1964.

Even though Elton Ritchey was in his late 70's when he passed away, it was still too soon to lose my daddy. In his mid to late 60's he began to develop signs of Alzheimer's disease. By the time my mother passed away from cancer, my brothers and I realized how far Dad's mind had deteriorated. It was a sad, sad time to watch Daddy's health decline. Before he was put in a nursing home, my two brothers and I took turns spending a weekend with Dad so his weekday sitter could return to her home. He often didn't know who I was when I visited with him, but I tried to act like everything was normal and was careful not to ask questions. On those weekends, we sometimes sat in the backyard glider looking up at the giant oak trees. He enjoyed watching the birds and squirrels working to build their nests in the trees. Before Alzheimer's set in, another of my dad's side jobs was with H & R Block preparing taxes. He was diligent at keeping good home accounting records and prepared other people's taxes as if they were his own. Even though his day job was at a refinery, he had a sharp mind for accounting. I always thought he looked nice in his suit when he went to the H & R office to work. Daddy had been accustomed to working and staying busy around the house. On the weekends I spent with him, I'd observe him "working" in his dresser drawers arranging and rearranging medicine bottles of coins, greeting cards and other meaningless items around his socks and t-shirts. I'd drive him to church and he'd comment to me that another woman had come to visit him and also drove him to church. He was talking about me. I was the only woman who ever drove him to church.

It was hard to watch Dad lose his memory forget who I was. After Daddy's death, it took me a while to picture my daddy as he was while I was growing up. Looking at old photographs of him in happier times made that process easier. The event pictured would bring to mind a story about Daddy's kind, fun personality and caring attitude toward everyone. I loved my daddy, I love him still. For even now after living 61 years, I reminisce about Daddy and feel like his little girl again.

My wedding day. 12/21/74