My Mother's Daughter

Letting go... again

2006-09-25T09:45:00.000-05:00

We went through it with Jeremiah. When he was a baby, the first time his aunt drove away with him and left me standing on the porch was painful. They were only going to spend a few hours together. His first day of kindergarten I cried all the way to work. But over the years we got a little better at "letting go". Sure, there were tears when we left him at college that first day. And there will be more at other stages of his life along the way. But we kind of know what to expect and generally handle it pretty well.

So why was it a such a shock the first time we dropped Juliana off at a stadium to watch the 8th grade football game? It was hard to watch our "baby daughter" go off by herself. Maybe because we know she's growing up, and there will be more separations to come. Until, like Jeremiah, we see her occasionally when her busy life allows it.

This is as it should be. We want our kids to grow into independant, capable adults. But sometimes I still feel like I'm standing on that porch watching them leave me behind.

Jury Duty

2006-08-25T15:59:00.000-05:00

I’ve been called to jury duty several times. Ride the train to downtown Dallas; catch a bus to the courthouse; walk up this long ramped sidewalk to stand in line and go through a metal detector; wait in a huge room full of people for hours at a time; read my book. Once before I was actually called to go upstairs to a jury room, but was not seated on a jury. This time I knew there was a good chance I would be chosen since mine was the fifth name called into the jury room and I was on the first row. But I was hoping not to be selected.

This time we actually spent most of the day in the jury room listening to the attorneys describe procedures, laws, etc. They asked us questions. Me first! “Ms. Gibson, what is murder?” We filled out questionnaires. We went to lunch and came back for more questions. We took a break and came back for the selection. Guess whose name was called first?! I was the first one seated in the jury box.

Back the next morning to begin the trial of a young man accused of murder. The district attorney (who had a remarkable resemblance to Nicholas Cage) and his female assistant began to call witnesses and to enter pieces of evidence. During that day and the next they presented almost twenty witnesses and over a hundred pieces of evidence. Neighbors who identified the defendant as the person fleeing after hearing gunshots; crime scene investigators; forensic experts; detectives; the father of the deceased. The story gradually unfolded: almost like watching CSI or Law and Order, but with real people.

A picture of the victim (entered into evidence) sat in front of us. A young man in a black tuxedo, perhaps dressed for a wedding or his high school graduation. He was two months younger than my son, and had been murdered at age 19 in 2004. In the course of the trial we also saw pictures from the crime scene and autopsy photos. How could I not think of Jeremiah and of this boy’s parents? It was intense. Especially when, toward the end of the second day of the trial, we went back to the jury deliberation room to decide: guilty or not guilty?

The defense attorney had not produced one witness. He’d only entered one piece of evidence: a picture of a man he said the defendant could have been mistaken for. We wondered why he had not done more. The case was discussed; questions were asked; but in the end only one verdict seemed possible: guilty. The evidence clearly pointed to the defendant. Back to the courtroom for the judge to read our verdict. We each had to raise our right hand if we agreed that the defendant was guilty. Court was adjourned until the next day when the jury would set punishment.

After the verdict was returned, the jury was allowed to know that this was not the defendant’s first offence. He had previously served seven years in another state for voluntary manslaughter with a firearm. The victim’s father testified again about the pain his family had suffered. The jury was sent to deliberate on punishment. We decided on the maximum: life in prison plus a $10,000 fine. Back to the courtroom. Again raise our right hands if we agreed. The defendant was led away. The jury went back to the deliberation room where the prosecuting attorneys met us to answer any questions. The victim’s father waited in the hall to thank each of the jury. We hugged him. It was emotional.

Out in the hall, after spending three days together in these circumstances, the jury was hesitant to go our separate ways. We felt a bond between us because the experience had been so intense. But we eventually separated. And now I feel like I’m coming back to earth after spending time on another planet.

It was a surreal experience that I hope I don’t have to repeat anytime soon. But, I am impressed with the judicial system.

Happy birthday, Mama

2006-08-18T17:52:00.000-05:00

Today is my mother's birthday. She would be 90. I can't imagine her that old. Mama always seemed young to me.

Interesting thought

2006-08-15T18:58:00.000-05:00

I'm currently reading THE TIME QUARTET by Madeleine L'Engle. It's a series of four books, the first of which is called A WRINKLE IN TIME.

This caught my attention today: (paraphrased from Ms. L'Engle)

"If we knew ahead of time what was going to happen we'd be like people with no lives of our own, with everything all planned and done for us.

"There is a form of poetry called the sonnet. It is a very strict form of poetry. There are fourteen lines, all in iambic pentameter. That's a very strict rhythm or meter. And each line has to end with a rigid rhyme pattern. And if the poet does not do it exactly this way, it is not a sonnet. But within this strict form the poet has complete freedom to say whatever he wants.

"Your life is like a sonnet. You're given the form, but you have to write the sonnet yourself. What you say is completely up to you."

Free Spirit 1

2006-08-07T09:32:00.000-05:00

I'm looking at a snapshot (made over 10 years ago) of Juliana sitting in her highchair eating yogurt. One hand holds a spoon. You can tell by the look on her face that she's concentrating very hard... on getting her other hand into the Yoplait container. She's little enough she can almost get it in there. Juliana will always do things her own way. She will follow convention only if it pleases her, or if it's absolutely necessary.

Juliana can be a frustrating free spirit to live with. She can also make me see things in new ways. I know that God will use her spirit to do something wonderful.

Craftspert

2006-08-03T09:28:00.000-05:00

Joan, I like that word. And I think there was a time when I could have been called a "craftspert." I made stuff for my work as a children's librarian and I made stuff just for fun or just to see if I could. I was "creative." I sewed Barbie clothes for my nieces; made collages and pastel drawings; learned to crochet (though not as well as Joan); embroidered; cross-stitched; made puppets;...

But that was in another lifetime -- mainly when I was single. I don't seem to have time for being a craftspert anymore. Maybe I have different ways of being "creative" now that I'm a working wife and mother. I miss all that other stuff, though, and I still see crafty things and think "I could do that!"

Maybe it's time to start again.

Trees

2006-08-01T21:13:00.000-05:00

I like to look at trees. It started when I was in college. As I walked across campus (this was in south Louisiana, where there are BIG trees), I started noticing that each tree had a personality of its own... The way the trunk was shaped and bent by its surroundings... The shape of the leafy part... The shapes of individual leaves... The colors and textures. In Texas they are also shaped by the wind. I like to look at the negative space created by intertwining branches. I like to look at the shadows on the trunks and within the leafy parts. I like to look at moving light and shadow created by sunlight through the leaves on objects below trees. But I can't draw or paint them. Maybe because I become too involved in their details. Still, I like to look at trees.

Okay, Jeremiah...

2006-08-01T20:54:00.000-05:00

Okay, Jeremiah... You've encouraged me to start a blog. Now give me some pointers.