Somewhere In Between

There’s a jagged line between real happiness and deep sorrow.

I’m somewhere in between.

Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you she said when we moved back to town.  

Her love and needs pulled our hearts and souls.

She knows how to care for others but not so much herself.

She'd rather talk than sleep, or watch the squirrels play tag around the trees than eat.

I'm somewhere in between.

She makes music for happiness

and I tell stories.

She raised a loving caring son

and I married him.

We've shared our heartaches, fears, and sorrows.

It's something women carry from deep deep within.

We laugh at memories our children gave us,

and pray that we were good mothers.

I'm somewhere in between.

I'm losing my friend.  Her health is failing every day,

and I carry sorrow so near to my happiness that the jaggedness strikes a pain in my heart.

An afternoon escape to Sonic for a corndog and shake, or a drive around Lake Thunderbird gives her time to reflect and remember.

Papa and Mama built a home on the other side of that hill, she pointed to a wooded area.  Mama cried over the dirt floors.

She was somewhere in between.

We still talk about the time she ordered a chicken pot pie at Nona's Kitchen.  It arrived with a baked flour chicken on top of the pie.  She giggled and smiled so brightly that we nearly laid an egg laughing at her delight. She gingerly cut if off the top, placed it on a napkin and took it home.

My friend of thirty-three years is slowly leaving us for a better place.  Her pain radiates down her body, and yet she smiles when we walk into her room.  Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you she smiles. I'm so glad you're here.

I’m somewhere in between.

Donuts and a cup of coffee with heavy cream, or the touch from a loved one brings such joy to our faces.  We forget how much joy can be found in life's simple pleasures.

She reminds us.

Time is passing for each of us. Today is a new day.

The sun slowly spreads the light and the dark fades in the west behind me.

I'm somewhere in between.

Readings and Greetings: Souvenir, A Daughter Discovers her Father's War

Simply written, I believe there are no accidents.  This book was published in 2001, at a time when my mind was spinning in other directions, and before I discovered my own father's Japanese flag from World War II. Thanks to an earlier post about my father, a distant cousin had read this book and emailed me the note, "This book is a must for you."  

"In January 1944 when my father crossed the Pacific for the first time, he did not know where he was going.  He did not know that he was headed for New Zealand.  He did not know that after a year of training and waiting....he and his buddies in the Twenty-first Infantry Division would be transported to northern Luzon, the Philippines, where they would sweat out five and a half months of combat."  Louise Steinman's prologue captured my soul and my gut.  I could have finished the book in a day and called it a fast read, but I realized that each letter her father wrote home could have been my father writing, so I stopped after each letter and reflected on what I knew about my father's war in the Pacific. 

The author basis her true story on hundreds of letters, her father wrote to her mother during World War II, and a flag. After the death of her father in 1990 she and her brother began the process of cleaning out his home.  A rusted box was found in the underground storage filled with manila envelopes. Carrying it upstairs to the light she writes, "I opened it (the manila envelope) and found a slippery piece of white silk, folded in eighths.  I held it up to the light.  Pin pricks of daylight showed through the fragile fabric--tiny holes where the fine strands had given way.  The orange-red disc in the center was faded.  Brushed over the surface were Japanese characters, and speckled among them, faint drops of red-brown.  Could they be blood? Spooked, I quickly refolded it and put it back in the envelope, back in the box."  

This is where I stopped reading for the first time.  I knew my father, too, had returned from the War with the same flag. For days, I searched my memory for what few facts I might have remembered about my father's experience, but like so many of us born to those amazing men and women, their stories remained hidden from their families.  

What I know about my father's war can be seen on the flag he returned with and the story in pictures of his years in the Army-1940--45. 

The entries include his departure from Wichita in December 1940, followed by his tour through the Philippines, New Guinea, Japan, New Guinea, and the Aleutian Islands.  I have no idea of the order of events nor of the battles.

Reading The Souvenir helped me to understand not only my father, Johnie Stapp, but the men at Miami Golf and Country Club; the men with missing limbs, who leaned next to the Security Bank and begged for food or money; the men who smoked a couple of packs of cigarettes daily; the men who worked hard all day then spent their evenings in the local bars and taverns; the men who had nothing to say about the war they survived.  

10 September 1945 (Norman Steinman writes) 
When I get home, I never want to be reminded of the Philippines.  Everything on this island will always bring back sad memories and remind me of six long months of hell--living in fear--seeing such horrible sights day in and especially the nights of being awake and always on guard wondering and waiting.  

 Louise Steinman takes the journey into her father's past: to Japan to return the flag to the family of the young Japanese soldier who died; to the American Cemetery in Manila; to Luzon and the battle fields of Balete Pass; and finally to the beauty of the swans in Suibara.  The book is worth the time spent in reading, absorbing, and reflecting on life, death, and the grace of unconditional love.

There are no accidents.  Louise found her father's flag and told his story which eventually led to helping me understand my father. 

Letty Stapp Watt
Johnie Stapp's daughter and historian

Anna's Angel

 

Somethings are worth saving.  Somethings, no matter how small continue to share their meaning, a piece of someone's heart, or a thought filled moment in our lives.  For eighteen years this angel has adorned our home, even during the heat of summer, she smiles down upon us.

Eighteen years ago I said good-bye to a school district that had accepted me, trained me, guided my creative spirit, and filled me with confidence for which I say thank you to Norman, OK Public Schools.  The school year of 95-96 I  transferred from Jefferson to Truman Elementary, not realizing that my husband would soon be moving me to Hutchinson, Kansas.  In a matter of months those children and teachers had made a difference in my life, and I cried when I said good-bye.  One young girl in a 5th grade class walked into the library and handed me a paper sack with a gift inside.  "This is for you Mrs. Watt.  I made it for you, so you wouldn't forget me."

Tears filled my eyes, my throat, and my heart rendering me nearly speechless.  No matter what, there are times,  many times, when hugs are important.  So Anna and I hugged, smiled, and hugged again.  Then I picked up the nearly flat brown paper bag and asked if I could open it then.  Anna beamed and nodded her head yes.

Slowly, I opened the bag, reached in and pulled out a handmade angel.  "I made it out of wallpaper in the colors you like, and she smiles just like you."  Anna's voice proudly proclaimed.   Even now the tears stream down my cheeks when I remember that moment.

"Thank you Anna.  Thank you." I replied sniffling by now.  Wanting to act like I was in control I continued, "How did you know I liked these colors?"

"You wear these colors in your clothes and jewelry all the time, and they are my favorites, too."  Like an angel Anna stood there smiling.  Her tall slender frame, blonde curly hair, and quiet shy blue grey eyes watched me that day, and everyday since then.

Anna's angel will always remind me of what pure unconditional love feels like.  My Christmas prayer for you, my readers, for everyone is to experience and to know the feeling of unconditional love.