Thoughts of Mommas and Vets

I am a child of the 60s.   My childhood was spent in a home where my mother's home was bombed by the Germans; my uncle pulled bodies out of the Pacific at Pearl Harbor and in the shadow of Vietnam.  As a teen I heard songs like the Ballad of the Green Beret along with WAR and Country Joe and the Fish.  I remember all the sorrow of the My Lai Massacre on TV.  I wore a MIA bracelet and watched "my" soldier in April 1975 step off the plane after the war was lost. I remember the protests and Kent State.  Tumultuous times and torn times.

Today is Veteran's Day 2017.  In my day I've seen the draft ended and we have gone to an all volunteer military along with all that entails.  But, what is on my mind today are the moms of soldiers and being a momma to sons and daughters of war and peace.

My brother and I are 13 years apart in age.  Circumstances in life kept us from developing a close relationship like most siblings, but seared in my brain is the day Billy joined the Navy.  He thought to sneak out with his duffle bag.  I remember him coming down the back steps that came into the kitchen.  I couldn't have been more than 4 years old, maybe 5, but Momma had a broom in her hand.  Billy came down...  and began to tell Mom that he had joined the Navy.  I saw my mother beat my brother with a broom and scream bloody murder that he was NOT going to do that and what in the world was SHE going to do without him.  And I well remember her crying at the table as he left anyway.   I sat in the chair and watched.  But I do remember her sobs.  Her "baby" was leaving her.  It was only a few weeks later that he came home, but he left again to have his own life.  How things have changed ~ we were between "wars" at that point.  They had too many recruits and if you wanted to come home you got an honorable discharge and that was that.  Billy came home without even finishing his basic.  Mom was one happy momma for a time :) 

Fast forward 30 years or so.  MY son was one of those gifted kids that fell through the cracks and became a class clown.  For a while we agonized on whether he would even graduate or not and after an ultimatum of "job or college" he came home and told my Vet husband that he wanted him to sign so he could join the Army.   Just like my own Mom, I was stunned.  Army?  That wasn't one of the choices.  Things were beginning to  churn a bit in the Middle East.  Where would my baby go?   Everybody was so "proud" of Justin for joining up... Nanny  was thrilled even though Pappy didn't live to see it, I know He would have been thrilled too. My Vet uncle told me it would "do him good". Henry felt this was a great choice for Justin.  All I felt was fear for him and for me.  Things were pretty rough between my oldest son and I.  We fought all the time and I was terrified that I would never see him again.  (THAT is a long story!)   So his joining the military left me just kind of hollow.  But, there was a year to go and, well anything could happen in a year, right?   So we got him through High School, graduating in June, 1992.  And then, he was to go to Basic in August.  I remember putting his Bible in his bag three times.  THREE!  And finally put it in with $$ in Psalms.  And we had an understanding that I would NOT cry in front of him.  Would NOT.   So, with is little brother in the car with us we went to the Recruiters office for his bus.  I didn't cry.  I wasn't allowed to get out of the car.  I kissed him goodbye and off he went.  I drove to the end of the street and sobbed.

My boy was gone.  Never again would he be a boy.  Henry's last words to him would take him far... "Boy, keep your mouth shut and your nose clean and you will do fine.".   And he obeyed.   Justin became the man I had always hoped.  Uncle Sam honed his good qualities and his good experiences and he became more than I had ever hoped.  And that honing has continued to this day into a fine father and husband.  But, as a mom..... I lost my boy.   He became a man.  Every mothers job is  that she has the duty to turn her sons into men.  But, it is never an easy turn for the mom.

Nine years later my Second Son would join the Brethren Volunteer Service.  A non-combatant (a Brethren Boy for sure) he had chosen another Volunteer Army to work for peace rather than war.  The day he left for Colorado I was another hot mess.  This time it was to the airport.  It was just after 9/11 and so airports had changed dramatically and no longer could you go to the gate with your loved one.  I was near hysterics with his leaving.  I had already "lost" one to adulthood.  Looking back it sounds so stupid.  Justin had left for the possibility of WAR and here was the baby leaving for PEACE and I was just has sobby as I had been the first time.  There was something about the realization that when they leave your arms they leave as boys and come back as men.  Never the same.

Mom Elsea was with me this time.  And it was this time that mother to mother we began to understand one another more deeply, I guess.  She grabbed my arm as Young Henry left for the gate and yanked me (literally) into the ladies room.  With tears in her eyes she told me to "Stop it!"  "But, he is my last baby, Mom".  "At least he will likely come back", she said.  "He won't die in some God-forsaken country.  I watched my son leave for Vietnam and didn't know if I would ever see him alive again."  It was at that moment I saw the terror of a young mother of a son gone to war.  And just like me, her son was gone from her arms.   Things would never be the same again.

And so it goes with motherhood.   Being a mother means being a Veteran.  If we raise our boys to be men ~ able to self-sustain; able to be good fathers and husbands ~ strong men, then it means we lose a part of them.  If we lose them to war, if we lose them to life, in the end it is the same.  They are lost to us and we mommas have done our jobs. And because of us, they can become good husbands and good wives and good mothers and fathers.   Because of their strong mommas.

Thank you for your  military service boys and girls and thank you good mommas.   Thank you.

Cloudy days

I love the colors of fall.   When falls rolls round I crave the hot drinks and darker clothes.   And sleep....   I am one of those that tend to have the floor drop out from under me when the dreariness of fall and winter descend.   They even have a name for it now, "Seasonal Affective Disorder".  Science indicates it's a lack of "light".   Which leads me into these thoughts...

Most every scary movie has the bad stuff happen in the dark, in a storm, in rain...  We understand somewhere deep inside, in that God place, that darkness doesn't belong.  The bad happens in the dark.  

I just watched a video on heroin addiction and it started me back thinking about why so many "children" are becoming dependent on drugs...  any drug that will take them out of their current circumstances.   I have six grandchildren and, honestly, I worry about them.  I don't recall this much concern for my own children, but perhaps it's because I was too busy raising them.  

Anyway, as I watched the video it seemed that everyone had a cell phone in their hand...   everyone had a tattoo and a piercing on their face.  I watched someone get a tattoo a few weeks ago and wondered why you would put yourself through that pain for a piece of art permanently placed on your body.  Now, I understand to some degree, because I've asked the question and there is a draw to it.  I've even considered it a time or two.  I get that.  And facial piercing.   Well, I wear jewelry in my ears and that's an age old practice, but facial piercing... lips, nose, cheek, tongue...   that's alot of pain for jewelry.  

From that thought I went to the idea of so many youth cutting themselves.  Wanting to "feel" something.   Consolation in pain.  Perhaps it's not unlike the saints of old who whipped themselves and hurt themselves to be closer to Christ.   But, I don't think it's like that.  I think it's some major mental pain they are going through.  

What is this pain?  Where does it come from inside?   What causes a 20 year old girl or boy to take a drug they know is dangerous and enjoy that feeling it gives?  A 15 year old; a 12 year old?  I mean, I hate how tylenol PM makes me feel in the morning.  Forget pain meds.  I hate them.  They make me feel out of control and that is torturous to me.  They put me in darkness.  But, then, I DO understand that  slippy feeling of alcohol but have such a fear of alcoholism that I just don't often indulge and I want to scream at people who drink daily and say, "What are you doing?"... Don't you realize?    

What is it about our life that makes us want to drop out?  To prefer darkness to light.   Is it technology... computers, phones, TV?   Is it the lack of good jobs?   Is it the pressure of the "good" jobs?  Is it life without God's peace? Is it the constant barrage of news, music, sounds?   

I know the feeling of wanting to go to bed and cover my head up.  I'm feeling that way today, but I don't every day.   I despise having the TV on during the day.  I've capitulated when the girls are here, but then I think, "what am I doing"?   TV should be an "extra" at the end of the day and not an "all day" thing.   I remember Mom Elsea used to have to have the radio on 24/7 and she said it kept her company.   I didn't care for it and preferred silence.  I don't play my radio in my car very often unless Hannah asks.   I prefer the silence.  Perhaps it's because I'm pretty comfy with just me and God.  And on days like this, even then, it's me and God.  I don't feel that down... just draggy.  Right now I'm in the house alone.  No sounds except my typing and the 'clink' of the coffee cup as I sit it down.

And perhaps THAT is what I don't understand.   I am old enough to remember silence.   I am old enough to remember that noise was an intrusion and not a comfort.  

I wish... I wish my children and grandchildren understood the value of silence.  Life without ear buds..  The value of hearing a bird sing or the leaves in the wind.   And for all children of this world, the same and perhaps in that they would learn to be comforted by life, by God and not need the comfort of darkness.   Perhaps they would learn to not need pain to feel alive or a drug to numb them.  Perhaps being alive would be enough.   

And with that... I will quit...   and sit in silence and think and pray...   That is enough.

John Boy's Place

After spending a month in Missouri, the Knight had it in his mind that our "vacation" would be spent doing some flood recovery work in the wilds of Clay County, WV.   Brethren Disaster Ministries has "officially" pulled out of Clay and West Virginia, for that matter, but there is still alot of work left undone.  The "Vo-Ad" somewhere west of Charleston had developed some funding and worked to help some of those folks missed out upon after the flood that came on the Elk River a year and a half ago.

Anyway, we started with 7 hardy folks heading west, but just days before we were to leave 3 dropped the trip.  One for jury duty, her husband and then one because her daughter was having some pregnancy issues and she was uncomfortable leaving.  That left quite a motley crew.  The Knight with his unhandy wife, Freeman Shifflett, 83 years old, deaf and nearly blind and, Neil Clark.  Neil is a neat guy, but tends to stay up late and sleep in accordingly, is a cleanliness freak and generally not suited to disaster work.   

So, it was...   the day of the trip started out with worship.  Neil was absent.  That absence sent me into the craziness of "this isn't going to go well"...  and, "what if he doesn't come at all", and "deed, I will kill him"...   From the pulpit to lunch I became quite a stressed out wreck especially when Freeman wasn't where he was supposed to be, (Grottoes Fire Hall for lunch).   After lunch, Neil still wasn't there, The Knight was pacing and I was getting more and more ill as the moments passed.  Penny got in her car and headed to the District office to see if she could find Freeman and I managed, in my nervous state, to close the door on my Note 5 phone.   

The phone... I had just been to Best Buy a couple days before shopping for a new phone because the Note's battery was about shot.   Best Buy told me that deals would be showing up around Thanksgiving on the Note 8 and I should wait to see what they might be.   I had decided to do that, as I didn't want my payment to go up any higher than it was. ~ fast forward...

I've paid $11 a month to Best Buy for insurance on my phone.  Funny how it was $299. deductable on a two year old phone and no phones available.   I was so angry I could have chewed nails.  Verizon wasn't much better help.

An hour late, Neil showed up with enough luggage to stay a month, Freeman was fuming at the District Office and the Knight was ready to call the whole thing off...  But, of course, in true Elseaclan fashion.. we trudged on.  Shards of glass from my phone all over my lap, embedded in my fingers mixed with tears of frustration and off we went, heading south on 81 and west on 64.  

We stopped in Lewisburg at the Verizon office there and I ended up with a Note 8 and insurance through Verizon that was a better deal than Best Buy and will at least give me "something" should my sense take leave again at some point.  Fiddling with my new phone kept me occupied for the next few hours as we headed further into the wilds of West Virginia.

We stopped in Gauley Bridge for supper.   Henry and I shared a good salad while the boys ate spaghetti.  The food wasn't bad and the folks were friendly.  The pattern seemed set and we were doing what we were called to do.

It was a beautiful Sunday afternoon.  We had packed our sleeping bags in expectation that the Lodge would be as it had always been... thin mattresses and bunk beds.  Imagine our surprise as we drove up to find new gravel on the road and bedrooms complete with new beds (full size), sheets and comfy mattresses.  We unloaded our goodies, including the food, got ourselves settled for five minutes, when the power went out.   We lit the lantern provided on the counter and enjoyed the sweetness of what we were to experience all week long.  One of the campers came in to tell us a bad storm with 50 mph winds was going through where we had just come from and was headed our way.   This was the first hint that God had been with us all along AND that the enemy of our souls didn't want us near this place.  

As the storm passed we snuggled in for our warm winters nap..  

Monday morning came early.   I was up by 6 having my time of prayer and study.  Everyone seemed ready to work and anxious to get started.  We put the address into the GPS and off we went.  The GPS said it was ten miles from the Lodge, but would take 45 minutes to get there.  Wait.... What?  That can't be right.  It's only ten miles.  We hadn't packed lunch thinking we could make our way back for a restful lunch.   Ummmm... nope... American Haiti was set before us. 

This road, though....   from where the paved road ends to something like the roads in Haiti.  In fact, The Knight and I made the comparison .... these were Haiti roads, except they had trees.  Pot holes galore, dust and dirt and boy-howdy, did those roads get narrow.   We were sure there was no way we were on the right road and fully expected to come to a gate where we couldn't turn around.  This van was big enough, but pulling that trailer made it a bit more interesting.   We met a 4-wheeler on a curve and The Knight asked if he knew Mr. King.  "John King"?, he said.  The Knight said, "I'm not sure of his first name.  I only have his last, on Joe's Road."   "You got it", was the reply.  So we drove on.  The GPS had us turn left onto Joe's Road, at least we hoped that's what it was, and headed us down on the Elk River.  But, we saw quickly the numbers were off, so we stopped.   My bladder was screaming at that point, so we stopped at this cute little log cabin along the river. 

Mr. and Mrs. Bledsoe were darlings.  He was on oxygen and she was a sweet little thing offering us coffee, water, food... whatever she had.  I only needed her facilities.  They told us that Mr. King's place was the other way, so we had to find a place to turn around.  They told us their flood story and we prayed a blessed over them and their home.  (I later learned that he was a retired pastor.  God's sense of humor and God's sense of hospitality).

And turn around we did, right at the oil rig.  Yes, you read that right, oil rig.  Gas and oil, with the coal, are big commodities out there.  The gas line ruptured during the flood.  How it kept from blowing that whole mountain apart, I have no idea.  

Turn around we did and headed, the "other" way.  We took note of that black dirt.  At the time we didn't know we were traveling a rail bed.  The tracks were gone, but the clunkers and coal dust were not.  Embedded in that bed for time eternal, even surviving the 1000 year flood.   We passed several gas wells along the way and the gas pipe was exposed in a number of areas from the flood.   

Nine-tenths of a mile and 8 minutes later we came upon the barking dog named Duffus and the man who we came to call "Friend", who went by John Boy.  Not John, mind you.  We were corrected each time, John Boy, it was.  And as the week went on, I knew it suited him well.   

The one room cabin was painted Mountaineer Blue and Gold and housed within its walls the life of a man suited to another time and place.  He moved out to that river May 11th some years ago after his children were raised and his wife had met her Maker.   He loved that river and that place and had built that cabin (twice now) with his own two hands using what materials he could afford. 

He was a college graduate, an accountant by trade, and was now two years The Knight's junior and 6 years my senior.   He'd been given five years to live, four years ago, from brain cancer.  Had suffered a broken back and numerous other maladies over the years, quit all his meds and here he was.  Able-bodied, for the most part,  and alone.   

We had a 24 foot bank to go down to get to the flat, then another 35-40 foot drop to the river.  A lazy old river to our sight and hard to imagine the raging demon she had become that night of June 23-24, 2016 when the Elk rose 34 feet overnight.   "Goose Creek Lodge" sat in a bowl of sorts.  Down from the rail bed, up from the river in 24" of silt and mud that never fully dried out.  Beauty and desolation in a phrase, where bald eagles hunted, hornets built huge nests, bobcats played with the dogs and black bear fished for supper.   

I admit I was not enthralled at first.   I was glad we had stopped at Brother and Sister Bledsoe's so I could use their indoor facilities.  The only thing here was an outhouse.  The temperatures had dropped significantly and it was cold!  The mountain to our backs kept the sun from rising above to warm things up and it felt damp after the rain the night before.  But there was John Boy with a smile...

The Knight went over the projects with John Boy.  A 24' flight of steps up to the road bed, rain guttering for the cabin, insulation inside and a handicap ramp.  In his 68 years he'd had a couple of heart attacks, a stroke, his current bout with cancer and his broken back.  That ramp would come in handy when it came time to bring wood in from the snow.  And so we started.

Up and down the bank, over and over... slip sliding away, as Paul Simon would sing.  More than once one of us watched the other slip and nearly tumble tail over teakettle down the steep bank.  Yes, that staircase was a top priority.

In the meantime, The Knight and JohnBoy had discussed the best way to turn the van and trailer around.   The railbed was narrow and the road ended just down a piece where the bridge was washed away.  It tapered a bit at the end of the property and it was thought that perhaps the trailer could be pulled down the bank and parked next to the cabin.   A grand idea...if it worked.  

And so it went.  The Knight pulled forward to the tapered end and down the bank he rolled with the trailer in tow.  It was much more narrow down in the bowl than was thought and the "shower tree" got in the way a bit.  We lost a bit of the van because of that "shower tree"...   The trailer was dropped and we got to work.   

Slow and steady wins the race, so says the tortoise and the hare, but not so much in Disaster work.   Dear F,  created quite a personality quirk with Neil.  Neil was polite and kind, but F was rough and gruff and wanted no help from any, yet, his project (the staircase) seemed daunting to him.   As The Knight and I measured the guttering and gathered the pieces to hang, our host boiled us some coffee on the stove.   Starbucks has nothing on good old boiled coffee.  Strong enough to stand alone, but hot enough to keep the river winds at bay. 

Between the staircase and peacekeeping, The Knight and I got the guttering on one side of the cabin and tested it.  JohnBoy was thrilled over and over repeating the words, "now I won't have to worry about falling on ice when I step out my door".   Only leaves, JohnBoy, only leaves.  By the time the gutter was up, it was filled with birch, oak and sassafras leaves.   My husband knew that wouldn't do.

In the midst of all this, John Boy opened two cans of Campbells soup, bread and peanut butter and we had a lunch fit for kings, sitting on the front porch, cold to the bones, but warm to the heart.  It was filling for both body and soul.

Our goal each night was to get back out before dark, simply because, well, the dangers darkness brought.   We were indeed strangers in a strange land and safety was a factor in getting out to a main road before the close of day.   So, as we moved out from the bowl to the taper and... up...   it became evident this was not as easy as we had thought.   I jumped ship, admittedly, climbing out the van and telling The Knight to pick me up where the "someday steps" would be.   As I stood there the back wheel was spinning in air... F was standing below it with a rock (GET OUT OF THE WAY, F!)   He doesn't hear of course.  As God would have it, Who looks out for children, drunks and fools, the wheel somehow came off the rock and off the van went forward and upward.  I hopped in the van and we took off to work another day.

But, My Knight doesn't do well with half way done things.  We headed west to 84 Lumber which closes at 6 p.m. and is just outside of Charleston.   We needed 8 boards.  Surely we could stack them in the van.  Surely.   And to that I say, "surely not".   While they close at 6, at 6:15 The Knight was hand sawing a few inches off the boards so they would fit and they unlocked the gate for us at 6:38 allowing us to leave.  We saw a sign for CiCis and pulled in.  Gone...   Bob Evans?   Nope, that was gone too.  It'd been a long time since noon and the natives were hungry.  McDonald's would have to do.   Tired and hungry we ate our burgers and iced tea with relish, as though it were a steak.  All The Knight could say was, "I wanted to eat at Bob Evans."  

We were all in bed by 8:30 exhausted and simply done in.  I awoke at 1 a.m. with my hand hurting so bad I couldn't sleep for the next two hours.  I gave up at 3 and took some tylenol.   It was a short night.  Henry fretted most of the night trying to figure a way to safely turn the van around and how in the world we would get the tool trailer out of the flat.  

Tuesday morning came early with hot coffee, eggs and bacon.  Yes, The Knight had risen early.   I spent time in prayer for those on my "list" , including turning around the van and getting the trailer out, and read my daily devotions.  By 7:30 we were in and ready to go.  God in His great wisdom showed Henry how to whip that van around and a friendly neighbor happened to be able to pull the trailer out when we needed it.  Faith grows through the trials of this life.

Today we would finish the guttering and the "boys", one 80+ and one 50+ would work on the steps.   The day was cold.  A bone chilling cold that could only come from river winds and the dampness that comes with it.  The sun rarely shines at John Boy's place due to the sun not reaching the mountaintop until far past noon, then setting on the other mountainside in early afternoon.   Another day of boiled coffee set the tone and made it manageable.  Hospitality at its finest.

And the day progressed.   Guttering done on one side and tested, we started the other side, finishing at the end of the day.  The boys still worked the steps.  From time to time, The Knight had to go over, measure and cut for the steps and settle the feathers of one boy or another.  Again, we ate our lunch, this time our own, plus goodies brought for John Boy and ate it in the cool breezes of the porch.  However, several moments this day found me in the cabin holding my aching hands over the woodstove trying to get the ache out.

Evening came quickly on Tuesday and we hit the main road pushing dark.  The supper fixed the evening before took a while to reheat..   baked potatoes and chicken barely fit to eat with beans and cat head biscuits, but it made no matter.  We wolfed it down and, once again, showered and slept.

Wednesday the boys left without me.  Mr. and Mrs. Anderson's place that Henry and F had worked on was being dedicated by the VOAD folks (West Virginia Voluntary Organization Active in Disaster) at 11 a.m. in the morning.    I was picked up around 9:30 and we headed out to the home.  It was beautiful and, once again, hard to believe that a little stream had become a roaring river to destroy everything for these folks:  https://wvvoad.org/recovery-2016/#jp-carousel-1840

Happily I was back around 1:30 to do laundry and put on  pork loin and potatoes for supper.   The afternoon was spent enjoying the back deck of the lodge and getting everything in order.   The boys got in close to 7 and we had a nice sitdown supper of loin, mashed potatoes, beans and biscuits. This time, Neil did the biscuits.   Good stuff.  Directly after we ate, I prepared leftovers for the next night so they would be ready to fix.   Not being as tired I sat up til 10 with Neil chatting about the experience.  As for them... The Knight had stopped at the Hardware store that morning and picked up mesh to keep the leaves out of the guttering and put it in.  The steps were coming along with The Knight's help, while he had put on most of the unskirting on the cabin.  The boys were ready to begin the inside insulation work.  The neighbor had also come along and pulled out the tool trailer with little or no trouble.   It was dropped in the road bed where we could get it out easily. 

Thursday morning came early.   There was so much work left to do.   John Boy had left the fire in the cabin die down, so we could work.  The Knight put me to cutting the insulation while he worked on the steps.  That was one project that simply had to be finished!  The boys were in the cabin getting things ready for insulation.  Freeman had put on shorts that day for working inside, but stoked the fire to such an extent that Neil was roasting and even I couldn't stay in there with them.  Too hot!!!  I don't have to explain little was being accomplished.   Measuring was a major problem.  The Knight was put to cutting ends off insulation wires (unsure of the official name) and managed to pierce his thumb while talking with me.  Thankfully that man has a major immune system and pain tolerance.  With much blood, we finally got it bandaged and he put a rubber glove on to keep mud and dirt out of it.  The day went on.  The Knight continued the work on the steps with John Boy's help and the boys fumbled though the insulation getting one side of the cabin insulated with the foam board still to be done.

As the day waned, we began clean up.  The inside of the cabin was a wreck, so I swept and filled John Boy's wood bin.  We also moved furniture back in place and tried to bring some organization to what had turned into total chaos.   We left as the dusk fell knowing tomorrow was our last day and sad realizing the work would not be done.

The pork barbeque was good and we were ready to eat.  Once again, bedtime came early and we hit the pillows already half a sleep.

Our final day dawned.  There is a sadness in doing this work.  You know the work is never done.  You know it is likely you will never see your host again.  Friends are made and some work is accomplished, but there is a sadness that you can't quite get a handle on.  The morning started early and we hit the ground running.  It was fabulous to have steps to go down this morning and John Boy was so happy with his guttering and underpinning.  The Knight had already mentioned he might be back the following week, so the undone and mis-done foam board was of little concern.  We worked diligently that day.  By 2 we were cleaning up ~ again, sweeping the house, The Knight putting the finishing touches on the steps.   We got away around 3 and not without tears from John Boy and us.  There is so much more I could write about the connections and the psychological terror of floods and of hermits...  But, this is a blog and not a book.

We left with joy and sorrow.  We left with an escort.  Because of the road conditions, The Knight wasn't comfortable pulling the tool trailer up out of the dirt road adjacent to Joe's Road.  So, JohnBoy led us out of his road and onto the one lane mountain road until we were safely up the mountain.  Along the way he stopped and picked up, hound dog, Frank and led us safely to the turn around at the oil tank.   With a "so long" and "until we meet again" we headed east toward home. 

As a postscript, Henry headed back west of John Boys with a friend from Woodstock to finish up the jobs left unfinished.  I sent a box of food and books to John Boy to help his winter larder and to vary it just a tad. 

This was a time I will remember.  A job well done; a friendship found.

**as I reread this story, I realized I had left out all the conversation I had with JohnBoy King.  There was alot of that.  At one point after a phone conversation with someone back east I said, "I feel like a confessor" and JohnBoy quickly said, "you are mine".  I've prayed for him every day and thought alot about the things he said, some in depth and some off the cuff.  Alot of life in his life and soul.  A time of war in Vietnam which left a deep, deep scar, then the loss of his wife, another deeper,different scar and then the final staw, so to speak, when "old man river" took his all... his personals...his life and left a chaotic muddy mess.   He has dug out of all these things and each one is harder than the last.   I hope we made a difference...not in his comfort, but in his life.