My kid sister’s name is Heather.  I guess some people would say she’s a little old for me to call her kid sister, but that’s her name.  She is 23, and has a kid of her own.  So, “Kid Sister” is probably a little out of date. I digress.

Heather has grown to be an amazing woman.  As you can tell by reading this blog, the struggles of our childhood were real, and traumatic.  Adrienne and I did our best to protect the youngers, but they still got some backlash.  When Adrienne died, I was not living at home, and I think the realities of every thing we had protected Heather from hit her full force.  Fortunately, Heather was wise enough to know how to handle it by that point, and never took what we had taught her for granted.  She quicky realized what she had only had a glimpse of, and sometimes I think she regrets not realizing it before Adrienne passed.

Somehow, in the recent years, she has, bless her heart, become the mediator for our family.  She talks to everyone and explains things better than we could explain to each other.  She’s wise beyond her years, (Though sometimes I still need to straighten out her views. ha)

She is a runner.  Meaning, whenever crap goes bad, or good, she runs.  She runs to celebrate, she runs to let off steam, she runs.  That what she does.  (Like Forrest Gump, but smarter)I think it’s good.  She has ran marathon’s, and recently (within the last few years) started riding a bike. She is amazing.

I think she always looked up to me, which could put me in blame for some of her issues, but I think all in all, she has learned a lot.  Mostly a lot of what NOT to do, but I like to think she took away some of my good traits too.  I was always able to make her laugh, no matter what situation we were in, and throughout our lives, I don’t think we have ever had a really bad arguement. (Aside from her Ron Paul fiasco, but that was just a learning experience.)

Now, from what Adrienne and I have taught her, she is on her own.  Raising a baby (and a husband)  I couldn’t be more proud of her.  She has overcome so many obstacles, and is making a life, a family, and is well in tune with the curse of genetics she needs to overcome.  It’s a great thing to see her realize that. It’s an even greater thing to see her overcome that.

Every day I talk to her, I am reminded that we didn’t do so bad.  Life wasn’t so much crap that we weren’t able to come out of it with our heads up.  We just had to clean some of the dirt off, and move forward.  It’s great to know that we have such a headstrong family, probably the best trait my mom gave us.

So.  If you want to go cheer my kid sister on in her post baby running adventures, PLEASE PLEASE do.  She loves encouragement, and your words will mean the world to her.

I think we all have them.  I think everyone has that dark part of their mind, where they bury their deepest most painful memories, thoughts, and places.  As I write this, my heart is pounding.  The memories are running through my head, my veins, and I am almost nervous to dig these up.  I have told my Fiance stories of this house.  We have even driven by there.  Every time I see it, my eyes water up.  It’s the house I lived in on and off from the age of 9 or 10, all the way to 22.

The fights, the screaming, the drinking, everything rushes through me like a flooding river of emotions.  Don’t get me wrong, I do have some great memories there.  Playing in the woods with Matthew and Omar.  Parusing the neighborhood like we owned it.  But the pain greatly outweighs the good.

You see, this was the house where everything went wrong.  If you look on the top of the garage, that is our patio.  That is where my Mom told me she had Hepatitis C, and she wasn’t expected to live long. The patio is where my mom would sit before she got sick, drinking and smoking dope.    To the right of the front door, That was the master bedroom, that is where my father tackled me to the ground, and then had a heart attack directly on top of me.  That is where I was when I realized I could get punched by my mother and not flinch.

The first window from the left.  That was our kitchen.  That is where everything crazy happened.  I was actually thrown through that window by my mom’s friend. (On accident)  The kitchen, with the little 12 inch TV, is where the late night drinkings happened.  Where my older sister passed out of near alcohol poisoning on New Years, 1999.  It’s where my dad has had one heart attack, and where my mom held a knife to her wrist, threatening to kill herself.

The next window over, that was our dining room.  That is where my mom and my sister had a good amount of their fights.  Where I would have to get in between them.  taking punches, crying for them to stop.    That is where my dad had a fit of dementia and tried to comb his hair with a switchblade, and I had to wrestle him to the ground and pull the knife out of his hand. (My dad is a large large man) That is where we only had dinners on Thanksgiving, and that turned into a fight every year.  That is the room the first (and only) time I punched my dad.  That room is a room filled with emotion, tears, and brotherly love.  A lot of my anger was unleashed in that room, a lot of my (what I thought was) growing up took place.

Downstairs, is where everything else took place.  More fighting, more mistakes.  Downstairs is where I saw my best friend laying dead on our couch in our living room.  Downstairs is where I drank myself to a near coma when I found out my sister had died.  Downstairs is where I was drinking when I found out my mother was in the ICU from her car accident.  Downstairs.  Downstairs.

I can’t even begin to get into the drug use that took place.  I can’t even begin to say how ashamed I am for my actions just as much as my families actions.

I am almost embarrassed to say how much I am shaking from piling this all together.  How much it all still hurts.  How much I hate that house.  The stories don’t end there, but my nerves do.  I can’t begin to talk about everything else that happened in that house.

I truly believe God reached down and pulled me out of that mess.  Being evicted from that house, (Not the first time we were evicted, and not the last) was a great thing that happened to me.  Getting out of that house was God’s Saving, amazing beautiful love.  Even before I loved Him.  Right now, I am sad.  Right now, I am overwhelmed with emotion from just looking at that picture.  Right now, I know God has me, and that is what makes this OK.  That is what gives me the strength to publish this post.  Jesus Christ is lifting my heart, and allowing me to love.  Allowing me to let go.  Finally.

I pray that God can reach down and take this anxiety away.  I pray that God can touch someone else with this post.  I hope you know that God can remove you from the most sticky situations and make them great.  I pray you know that God doesn’t want you to hurt.  He’s waiting, arms open for you.  He loves you already, regardless of where you are in your life!

The past few days have been very difficult.  To see my fiance hurt like she is hurting, kills me.  I don’t like it.  But, the last few days have been eye opening for me.  For the first time in my life, I have faith in my ability to be strong.  I have been able to stand by her side, and tell her honestly, everything will be ok.  I have been able to make her smile when she needed to smile, and through even my hurt, I have been able to protect her,  and see her through this.

I’m not bragging on myself. What I am saying is, I have NEVER felt God was moving in me so much.  See, I laid a prayer down for God before I proposed.  I asked him to carry me.  I told him I was letting my guard down.  It’s not that I didn’t trust him before, but there were spaces that were mine.  I didn’t want him involved.  I liked that when I was sad, I could pray, and when I was about to eat he’d bless my food.  I didn’t want him fiddling in my business though.  I didn’t want him hearing my deepest fears, or “not-so-holy thoughts”.

I didn’t feel complete.

Before I got engaged, I said, “God, I have never been a stellar family guy, probably because I have never been in a stellar family, or home situation.  I don’t know how to stand by someone. (I’ve never had to.) The only thing I know how to do is run.  Lord.  Teach me how to not run.  Teach me how to be supportive, teach me how to be a Man.”

It was one of the first times I remember not even thinking something like, “God, I did this, so you really need to do this” or, “If I do this, will you do this?”.  And he delivered!  He made me a man.  He made me someone who can be supportive, and understanding.  He made me everything I was missing in my house growing up.  He made me Love.

It’s crazy.  Over the last few months I have formed healthy, male relationships. (some online, and some off) and I feel like I have a support system, people I can talk to, People to hold me accountable.  Most importantly, people who will tell me the truth. (whether I like it or not.)

I love to say that all of this change is because of my deep love for Andrea.  Which is true.  It sparked the fear that sparked the prayer that asked for the change, but the reality of it is, God made the change, I just had to be willing.  I just had to reach up, and ask.  He loves us so much.  Do you grasp that?  I know I don’t.

What have you been unwilling to pray for, but when you did it was the best thing that has ever happened to you?

The last three days have been mentally and physically exhausting.  Sunday night, Andrea’s grandfather went into cardiac arrest, by the time the paramedics arrived, and were able to revive him, he had been without oxygen to his brain for 10-12 minutes.

Monday, and Most of Tuesday were exhausting filled with friends, family, prayer and tears.  Around 5:20 we were all told that there was no brain activity, and there was nothing else they could do.  So again, friends and family gathered for one last goodbye.  As they pulled out the respirator, we all gathered in the room to sing Amazing Grace with Roland.  I can’t even try to type this, and my roommate, one of my mentors, and a close friend, George Lockhart has already written it so boldly.  I will just paste his encounter below.

What happened is that the last song the group was singing was Amazing Grace and during the song, they pulled the respirator and administered some morphine for any pain. Slowly the heart monitor beeped  and as Roland ebbed away, the beeps became slower and slower. But just before the final beep, as the group was singing the “praise God, praise God” segment of the song, with no brain activity for 2 days, Roland lifted his hand to join in praise of God. Moving his hand from where it lie, he raised his hand! With all the saints passed and present, he praised God. I can hear Roland say it once last time:”Amen”!

Now.  If you have never met Roland, you might not understand that.  Roland was more than just Andrea’s Grandfather.  He was my next door neighbor, my landlord, the man that shouted “Amen!” in church, and the man that stood at the door, and greeted every single person that walked threw those doors.

He was the man who told me to turn the music down, and the man who told me I needed to get the grass cut, and the man that told me, “Boy, you sure are ugly, but I’ll learn to love ya.”  Those words, resonate inside of me. He was also the man who handed me money every time I did something for him, even though I didn’t want to take it.  He was the man who would go out of his way to help but somehow, never seemed to boast about it, or even acknowledge that he had helped.  He was a man with a HUGE heart.  He was a great example of Christ. (as long as I’ve known him)

My heart hurts for the Andrea and her family.  Knowing Roland is in a perfect place, and left on such a great note helps, but the hurt is still real.  We all love Roland, and he will be missed.

To wish condolences, or to view Andrea’s account on this, you can checkout her site over at www.shalomexistence.com

In Loving Memory of Roland Underwood.
Rest in Peace.

So. By the end of the day, I am going to be an Uncle!  It’s really weird.  I have never been an uncle, so I don’t know quite what to do.  I am excited, but at the same time, nervous.  Around toddlers, I’m cool, I can handle that, but if you put a new born near me, I clam up.  I don’t get it, but I do.

Anyway, be in prayer for my sister as she tries to go through this thing they call labor, with no medications.  I don’t know how a woman could do that, but, I guess it’s been done before.

I have a feeling there will be FAR more posts on this subject, so if you’re interested on how I handle it, keep reading.  MAN! My life is changing in EVERY way.  I guess this is one of those “defining moments” where I realize, things are never gonna be the same, and I am thrilled.