My Protector

When I started elementary school, it went all the way to the 8th grade. There were no middle schools or Junior Highs. At that time me, my brother Mark, and my sister Michelle rode the school bus to and from Holly Springs Elementary School. I remember being in the first grade and thinking that the big kids were so big. My sister Michelle was one of the big kids and not someone to be messed with. People didn't pick on her because she would "kick their ass".  I remember two girls who were a grade below my sister making me sit between them on the bus. They would pick on me, say mean things to me and try to not let me get out of my seat at my bus stop. My sister would drag me out from between them and threaten them with one of her famous "ass kickings". I guess they were itching to prove she could do it because the first time Michelle missed school, they wouldn't let me get off the bus at my stop. They told me to keep quiet, which I did until the two girls arrived at their stop. At that point I made my way to the bus driver, crying of course, and told her what had happened. By the time she got back around to my house to drop me off everyone was worried. I told my parents, my brothers, and of course my sister Michelle what had happened. She said, "That's it! I'm kicking their ass tommorrow!" And that is just what she did. I remember some hair grabbing and some arms flying. Most of all I remember those two "big" girls crying like I had the day before when they wouldn't let me off the bus. Of course Michelle got suspended from the bus, but that was okay cause dad took us to school for a few days. I loved my sister so much that day. She was always my protector. Neither those girls, nor anyone else for that matter, ever messed with me after that day.

I don't want to die, if that's what you're asking me!

On an early February morning in 2005 my mom called me to tell me they were taking my dad to the emergency room. My oldest son was 5 months old and was just getting over pneumonia. Jake, had left for work and I was preparing a baby bottle when the phone rang. Although my dad had been in and out of the hospital for years for seizures, mini strokes,  and high blood pressure somehow I knew that morning that things were different. I called Jake to come back home and take care of the baby. I got ready and went to the hospital. When I got there he was alert but he had a fear in his eyes. His blood pressure was crazy high like 200 over 110. The nurses and doctors didn't seem to be very concerned. They were slow to get an i.v. started. Mom was nagging him about something from the previous day. But to me something was just different. At one point a nurse come in and said "Mr. Whitfield, do you have a living will?". He said he didn't know what that was. So she explained, "Mr. Whitfield, do you have a document stating that if you should die, do you want us to try to revive you?". He swallowed hard and started to cry. He said "I don't want to die if that's what you're asking me!". It was good that I heard him say that. I called my brothers and sisters and told them where we were and how concerned I was about the blood pressure. Everyone got off work and came to the hospital, which usually they didn't do because this type of thing had happened so many times and he was usually released in a few hours. But that day was different to them too. By lunch, approximately 4 hours after arriving, the doctors had still not started a treatment plan but decided to place him in a room. Jake picked me up to have lunch. I told dad I was going to leave but I would be back in a little bit. I told him I loved him. His very last words to me, ever, was "I love you too. Take care of that baby!". During lunch Jake and I talked about my uneasiness and decided I should hurry and get back. At the emergency desk the lady told me he had been moved to his own room, which was a short relief. When I got upstairs to the hall where my dad's room was I could see everyone of my brothers and sisters and my mom standing outside his door. The door was shut. I will never forget the look of terror in all their faces and I knew it was bad.

Overfilled Shoes.

Last night I dreamed about my sister Michelle. We were on the back porch of our old house. She had borrowed my shoes, but because her feet were so much bigger than mine, she overfilled them. Her feet were literally hanging out over the toes of the shoes. In my dream I knew she had already gone, but I begged her, "Please come back. Please just come back". I told her, "You need to go to the doctor". She hung her head low and said "I can't". Tears filled her eyes. She told me, "It's too late". "No!" I said, but then I woke up. Again, she's gone.
It's been almost 7 years. She was so much bigger in life than I will ever be. Her life and her death is still a puzzle which I try to piece together in my sleep. Hoping that if I can just get it right, maybe, just maybe, it will all be a dream.

Up and Ready in 10 Minutes Flat

My daddy loved to go out for breakfast. I think it's a habit he got into while working the night shift. It gave him a chance to wind down before going to bed. He was a breakfast regular at McDonald's and Burger King. The same group of old men would always be there. My dad would have eaten out every day if he could. When I was in school he would come in from work and wake me up earlier than usual and say "If you can get ready fast enough, we will go to breakfast. Then I'll take you to school." Of course I was up and ready in 10 minutes flat. And there we would go in his little red Ford pick-up that he loved to drive so much. He was content with a cup of coffee and a buttered biscuit. Occasionally he would splurge on the "Hot Cakes" at McDonald's but he was very frugal so that was rare. I remember when he first introduced me to Burger Kings "French Toast Sticks" on one of those pre-school breakfast outings. Years later after an on going seizure disorder and several mini-strokes, the doctor stripped him of his driving privileges and he was forced to retire. I loved those early morning breakfast trips so much it became my turn to take him out. "Daddy? If you can get ready fast enough we will go to breakfast before I have to go to work?" and he was up and ready in 10 minutes flat.

Where was I when you needed me?

I think until I lost someone really close to me I had no idea what life was about. I thought it was all fun and games. I always feared the death of my parents but never of losing a sister. Her's was the second early morning phone call. My sister Michelle was always larger than life. Looking back we were all lucky to have her on earth as long as we did. She worked hard, loved hard, and lived even harder. As the first holidays without my sister past I realized with each one that she was never coming back. When the new year came and it was time to update my address and date book, I continued for years to write her in. Refusing to accept I could no longer call her or send her a birthday card. Thinking about Christmas I can remember every little thing she ever gave me but I don't remember anything I give to her. Any gift would seem too small now. Once she bought me a pair of gold topaz earrings but I never wore them. I didn't immediately put them on and when I did go for them later on, they were gone. I wondered if she took them back thinking I wasn't appreciative enough. She always said I was spoiled. That was always the thing about my relationship with her. She was the "Big" sister. She was my "Protector". It was her job to be there for me. In the end, in my trying to deal with her death, I have often wondered: "Who was there for her?"

I can do more with my pinky finger than you can do with your whole body.

My dad was the most amazing man. A father of 3 girls and 3 boys. He worked most of his life during the night shift at the local chicken processing plant. The live room, actually. His job was to take the chickens from the cages and hang them by their necks on the machine that then shocked them before cutting their heads off. By all accounts of his co-workers he was the hardest working man in the plant. He was a supervisor who would step in for those who were out sick rather than lean on the other workers to pick up the slack. I visited him once at work and he showed me what happened in the processing of chicken. It created in me a profound appreciation for the chicken and those who had the dirty job of getting them ready for my plate. Anyway, the chicken plant wasn't what made my dad so amazing. It's what he did when he came home from work that keeps me in awe. He would get a fire going in our fireplace before getting us kids up for school. He would have biscuits hot and ready for breakfast. He slept while we were at school but was up by the time we came in. When we arrived home from school he was working on the car or in the garden, or on the house. If we had baseball, basketball, or softball he would take us all to practice or our games. My dad was to me "Super Man". How he did all the things he did is purely a result of what he never did. Watch t.v. and spend hours on the computer. He could do more with his pinky than most people could do with their whole body. He worked his body. He used it. He was so tired. His was the first early morning phone call.

Where the title "Early Morning Phone Calls" come from.

The worst phone calls come early in the morning. No one really wants to be up at 6 or 7 a.m. So I know when I get a phone call at that time of morning it must be serious. If my phone rings anytime after mid-night it usually means someone is sick, dead, or dying. For many years I actually went to sleep the night before dreading that early morning phone call. Knowing it was coming some day but not realizing there would be 2 calls in a 3 month period. This blog, however, will not be totally dedicated to those early morning phone calls but to life leading up to them and those lives which have been affected since. These are the stories of my life. The good, the bad, the ugly.