Tag Archives: Samuel G. Hines

Never Give Up. God Is With You.

15 Jan

It’s been a rough 72 hours. For me writing is therapeutic and allows me to step back and examine circumstances in a way that often leads me to answers and makes me get out of the way and let God be God. The most exhausting days are the ones where I must combat an issue that I don’t understand and seems to have no answer. The process looks something like this when I am dealing with an issue re. my mother’s health and wellbeing. For me prayer is not a last step, but a first and a continuous one. Talking with nurses and doctors who have no answers is frustrating. Searching the internet and finding 309,497,832,754 different solutions that make no sense or are inapplicable to someone in Mom’s condition is frustrating. Getting no sleep overnight night after night is exhausting. It is at these times that I think of the millions of caregivers who are going through similar experiences who feel alone, abandoned, isolated, and hopeless and then I feel God’s presence most. I become thankful for my circle. My understanding deepens of Dad repeatedly saying, “I am alive and grateful” and Mom repeatedly saying, “We’ll see what the Lord will do”.  I am filled with gratitude in the midst of the situation and reminded that God is bigger than anything I experience. That alone is enough to keep me going. I pray that God fills my fellow caregivers with wisdom, strength, support, the right people, the right information, and boldness to address whatever the day brings. I say this pray for all of us. God is with us and we must never give up. I usually follow this up with journaling in some form and then evaluating what I have written and searching for an insight that gives me what I need to move forward. Some circumstances require that I go through this cycle repeatedly and that’s OK. The thing that often plays over and over in my head throughout this process, Never Give Up. God is with me. As a caregiver, this is fundamental to my ability to keep going when I’m exhausted, overwhelmed, scared, confused, or whatever…and there are a lot of “whatever” moments!

NEVER GIVE UP. GOD IS WITH YOU! I pray that this also helps someone get through whatever life is throwing at them.

Sidenote: As I write this, my mother has had a much needed break from coughing and is sleeping. YAY!!!

How Do You Keep The Music Playing…

4 Mar

I must ask you to stick with me on this one. It’s a bit of a winding road.

cropped-music-is-love

Music has always played a major role in my life and the life of my family. My memories of my childhood are full of music. Lately, I have been enjoying vivid memories of the songs my parents sang to me as lullabies. I am the youngest of 4 children. My older siblings were all involved in music. Someone was always learning a song, a solo, an audition piece, practicing for band rehearsal, choir rehearsal, ensemble rehearsal, piano lessons, or just jamming some 8-track, 45, LP, or tape. Mom was preparing music for Sunday morning worship. Dad was singing some hymn that was in his heart. I was just singing, singing, singing. I loved singing more than talking and that’s saying a lot because I LOVED to talk. I had a terrible stutter as a child. I had to attend speech therapy sessions in elementary school. I had to learn to slow my mind down so that my mouth could catch up. Singing is what my therapist and parents used to help me learn to slow my thoughts down. Stuttering never got in the way of singing. I could close my eyes, see the beautiful colors and patterns and just siiiiiiiinnnnnnnggggg my little heart out. Another trick was that my father would put his hand on my chest and tell me to breathe and then we’d sing together. Dad had a great big tenor voice. I learned to remember that feeling when I would get frustrated or stuck on a word. To this day, putting my hand on my chest forces me to breathe deeply. Dad would often have me read something to him, slowly. He had me convinced that I was reading slowly because he needed to hear it slowly. My mother would gently put one hand on my forehead and her other on my back. That would make me stop, breathe, think and try again. Mom’s trick was to have me read something from her medical journals. That forced me to slow down because I had to sound out all of those complicated medical words. Now I just put my hand on my forehead when I need to stop, breathe, think and try again. My brother, David, would hold me and sing to me or read to me when I got angry or upset. Music and reading were my safe places. My family made them so. My sister, Charmaine, who was my arch enemy in childhood, was also one of my favorite singers. My brother, Milton, my other childhood enemy, could sing like Stevie Wonder and I loved it. I tried not to let it show but I think they both knew that I LOVED to hear them sing.

My mother made everything she sang sound sweet. She was THE alto….one of those people simply born to sing alto! Hearing her sing in the kitchen was one of my joys in life. Even way back then, we connected through music in ways that needed no words.

People would come to our house to practice their parts and solos with my mother during her years of directing the Sanctuary Choir and serving as the Minister of Music at church. Seeing my mother’s beautiful smile when they sang correctly was everyone’s goal (that arched eyebrow when the part wasn’t right was to be avoided at all costs). One thing she knew for sure. I was going to know my part and be able to tell her who was in my section and not singing correctly. As the youngest child, being a snitch was sort of an art form for me. LOL. My mother and I did a lot of talking. There was a lot to learn. She taught me how to cook…and especially how to cook for Dad. She taught me how to assist Dad and her in their careers and the work they did in partnership. She taught me how to be a lady and a woman. She taught me how to read, write, and edit with an eye for detail and thirst for depth. She taught me how to be a woman in a leadership role especially when I was the only woman and/or the only person of color in the room. She taught me about the power of words and the need to tread lightly at times…never as a sign of weakness but as a sign of strength, wisdom, maturity and submission to God.

Here we are at 2017 and my mother is slipping away from me and I’m grasping at straws to hold on to her.  The woman whose counsel I depended on heavily can no longer have a meaningful conversation with me. The woman whose dry wit could make me laugh hard is now difficult for me to understand. I find myself approaching conversations with her as I did with my nieces, nephews, and godchildren when they were little. My mother’s facial expressions let me know that in her mind she makes perfect sense, so I do my best to figure it out. She still makes me laugh. At times she gives me that look that lets me know that she no more understands what she is saying than I do. She also has her moments of clarity when she’ll hit me with one of her witty zingers. I give her the side-eye and we both giggle. My mother, a brilliant, deeply spiritual, witty woman with a vocabulary that often sent me running to the Oxford Dictionary (some of the words could not be found in Webster’s dictionary) is slipping away. That ferocious insatiable beast called Alzheimer’s is annihilating her beautiful mind. We are now 5 years into her diagnosis and the years are taking their toll. Since words are difficult for us, we share music…often. We especially share music in the still of the wee hours, when sleep escapes both of us and she calls out for her mother. We hum, listen to music, connect in ways that do not require either of us to try to understand the other. We simply share our love of the vibrations and power of music. I want to keep the music playing. I want to keep connecting. I need to keep the music playing. As a child I learned to turn to music when words were difficult for me to utter. Now I turn to music as an adult as words are becoming difficult for my mother to utter. Music…it’s been there for me my whole life and I pray that the music never ends.

This song is about two lovers but with the change of just a few words, it’s applicable to my relationship with my mother. This may seem weird to some, but it’s perfect for Mom and me.

How do you keep the music playing?

How do you make it last?
How do you keep the song from fading
too fast?

How do you lose yourself to someone
and never lose your way?
How do you not run out of new things
to say?

And since you know we’re always changing
How can it be the same?

And tell me how year after year
You’re sure your heart won’t fall apart
Each time you hear her name?

I know the way I feel for you is now or never
The more I love, the more that I’m afraid
That in your eyes I may not see forever, forever

If we can be the best of family 
Yet be the best of friends
If we can try with every day to make it better as it grows
With any luck than I suppose
The music never ends

Daddy’s Girl

6 Jan

Today marks 19 years since my father died. I still mark it as THE WORST day of my life…and my life has not been a bed of roses.

I have never been ashamed to own the label “daddy’s girl” even now in my late 40’s. My role as a daddy’s girl is as present today as it was 19 years ago. My devotion to my father is the driving force behind my decision to serve as my mother’s caregiver. He loved her passionately and completely. As a daddy’s girl, it is my duty, since he is not here to do it himself, to take care of the woman he adored. I recently shared this thought with a friend of mine. At the time, I felt ashamed of feeling this way. Shouldn’t I be taking care of my mother just because she is my mother? Well, the problem with that premise is that Alzheimer’s has basically erased her role as mother from her mind. She knows my name, but RARELY knows that she is my mother. I am most often the lady that takes care of things around the house. At this point, it is at times painful for me to think of her as the woman that raised me. That woman had a bright and quick mind. That woman could juggle the priorities, needs, and wants of a husband, 4 children, a demanding career as a hospital administrator, and the many duties of being a pastor’s wife…Sam Hines’s wife. The woman I am caring for cannot do any of that. What she is, was and always will be though, is my father’s sweetheart. For that reason, even when she is agitated by the mere mention of the fact that she has children, she is treated with great love and care.  It is also powerful that in the midst of every thing that Alzheimer’s steals from my mother it has not put a dent in these three knowings for her: 1) God is real; 2) She loved her husband; 3) Her husband loved her.

Here is the painful part. My mother is at a point where I need to recommit to my commitment to take care of her, even if that means letting go of my role as her primary caregiver. I see this as also the final act of really letting go of my father. THAT’S THE PAINFUL PART. My grief, anger about my father’s death, and love of my father have defined me for almost 20 years. I am aware that being this lost in grief and anger is not what my father would want for me. This is not the way he would want my love for him to play out. He always wanted me to live my best life – a life submitted to God; a life in service to others; a life full of love, joy, laughter, and sacrifice; a life that allowed me to experience how big and great God is; a life where my gifts and talents are known, developed, and demonstrated. That is the ultimate life of a daddy’s girl…if your daddy was Samuel George Hines.

Here are some of his favorite sayings:

1. Reconciliation is not cheap
2. We are Ambassadors for Christ
3. Jesus Christ is Lord
4. We are Image Bearers
5. If you can’t find a role model, BE ONE
6. Still Under Construction
7. Alive and Grateful
I want to end this with the same words that were the last words I spoke to my father before he died. I LOVE YOU, DADDY.

Dads Birthday Collage

Samuel George Hines
April 19, 1929 – January 6, 1995