Hair Today…Wig(s) Tomorrow

On December 12, 2015 By Barry GilleyIn Uncategorized3 Comments

Libby always had gorgeous dark hair, it was one of first things I noticed about her during Coach Killen’s gym class at Chattanooga Valley Junior High School; well, her hair and the fact that no one really wanted to pick her to play on their dodge ball team.

Libby’s hair remained roughly the same length and style for her entire adult life (except for that teased, big hair, 70’s look). Libby spent a lot of time cutting, curling and fixing that hair, so and it was traumatic when a few days after her first chemo treatment, all of that gorgeous hair started coming out by the handfuls.

Soon after her hair came out Libby said, ” The worst part of chemo isn’t necessarily loosing my hair, it’s that people treat me different without my hair because now I look sick.”

Years later Libby’s opinion changed slightly and she said, “The worst part of chemo is not that my hair, eyelashes and eyebrows all fall out, its having to deal with all of that while still shaving my legs, because for some dumb reason, my leg hair is resistant to even the most toxic chemotherapy drugs known to man!”

In the five years that Libby dealt with breast cancer we spent a lot of time (and money) on wigs and they became a fun diversion because just as she did with so many things in her life, Libby made the best of a bad situation.

Libby had on her favorite wig one day as we were visiting my dad at his house on the lake; he had been feeling ill and like most southern ladies, Libby believed that home cooking could heal most any sickness. Using my mom’s recipe and her old black iron skillet Libby decided to made some cornbread to go along with the meat and vegetables that she had cooked.

It was difficult to determine if the cornbread was done by simply turning on the oven light and peering through the dark glass, so periodically Libby leaned over and opened the lower oven door to make sure it was golden brown. After cooking, Libby decided to let the cornbread cool on the stove top and join me for a boat ride across the lake.

As we were walking back to the house after the ride I mentioned to Libby that she needed to check her wig in the mirror because she had a wind-blown look as if we were still flying across the lake in the boat. When Libby found a mirror, I heard a scream and uncontrolled laughter as Libby came into the living room with her wig in her hand explaining that the hairs had evidently melted from the heat of the oven and then cooled on the boat ride. The wind-blown look was permanent because the synthetic hairs melted together forming a cohesive wave and it looked as if she was moving fast even while she was standing still.

Later we decided to take a short family trip to the beach and Libby thought that she should buy a blonde wig because, “Blondes and beaches just somehow seemed like they should go together.”

It was rare that we could all get together as a family since Nathan and Bethany were in Augusta but the late fall weather was perfect and I was able to spend some time walking on the beach with my newly blonde wife.

Libby learned a lot about wigs and wig care, mostly through trial an error, for instance once you get the shape and look that you like in a synthetic wig, maintaining that look is easier if it is placed over a round object instead of putting it back in its box.

Unfortunately on our beach trip we didn’t take any of the styrofoam heads to hold the wig’s shape at night so Libby found a roundish lamp shade to support her new favorite wig. The only problem was that during the night someone decided that particular lamp would make a good night light and synthetic wigs do not do well with heat (see cornbread story above).

Yea, we may have gone through a few wigs during Libby’s five year illness but with Libby life was never dull, just ask the lady at the wig store, we helped put her son through college.

Makeup, Hairdos and Tattoos

On September 4, 2015September 4, 2015 By Barry GilleyIn Uncategorized5 Comments

After thirty years of marriage and lots of conversations starting with, “Barry…We need to talk…”, one would think that every subject imaginable had been discussed. Occasionally those conversations happened simply because Libby wanted to talk, but many times when she said, “Barry…We need to talk…”, it meant I was in trouble and it didn’t take long to discover that, with Libby, there was a right and a wrong, a black and a white but very few greys.

Following Libby’s diagnosis of breast cancer we were introduced to a whole host of subjects that, until now, we had never even considered, much less discussed. We were both making adjustments continually because our lives were completely different BC (Before Cancer) than they were AC (After Cancer):

BC (Before Cancer) Libby never had to advise me as to the best methods for washing, conditioning, drying, combing and fixing her hair.

BC I never would have dreamed of offering an opinion about whether Libby would look better with spiked hair or with it parted on the side in a “boy cut”.

BC I never thought that Libby would ask me to help her apply her Merle Norman foundation, makeup, blush and eye liner stuff.

BC I never dreamed that we would be casually viewing photos and discussing breast implants options with a plastic surgeon.

And finally, BC I never dreamed that one day I would be encouraging Libby to get a tattoo:

Following chemo treatments, on Libby’s first visit to the radiologists’ office, a bubbly young nurse was escorting us back to the exam room when she nonchalantly turned to Libby and asked in her perky little Smurf voice, “So, Mrs. Gilley, what kind of tattoo are you planning to get? Libby stopped dead in her tracks, unwilling to go any further as she called out to the nurse who had continued walking down the hallway. “I’m not real sure I understand what you are talking about Nurse Perky, but I’m certainly not getting a tattoo!”,

(OK, I took some literary license there, Libby didn’t actually call her “Nurse Perky” because in the last few minutes Libby had taken the time to learn our nurse’s real name, her hobbies, how many siblings she had, what church she attended, where she did her postgraduate work, her favorite Christian artist and who she was dating. I, however, did not even bother to learn her name, so Nurse Perky it is; besides this is my story.)

Nurse Perky came back to where Libby was planted and gently guided her into the exam room as she explained that some people get a tattoo to cover up the radiation alignment marks that she was about to receive. Perky also said that it became a kind of “badge of honor” for many of their female cancer patients to incorporate the ink spots into the eyes of a dolphin or the antenna of a butterfly tattoo.

After dropping the tattoo bombshell, Nurse Perky left the room just as Dr. Getner entered to find an agitated Libby who explained as succinctly and briskly as she was able that she would not be getting ink dots, initials, a dolphin or a butterfly tattoo, today or at any time in the future and if that was what this procedure was going to involve, she would just leave now.

Dr. Getner had unknowingly walked into a hornet’s nest as he attempted to explain to Libby that alignment was critical and permanent ink tattoos were the preferred method, adding that they had tried using a Sharpie to make the marks but if it wore off then it would mean a long involved process of re-marking and equipment re-calibration.

I offered to Libby, what I thought were some helpful suggestions for a tattoo such as “mom”, “Barry”, and a heart with our initials, etc. but I received one of those looks that made me reconsider my input altogether.

A compromise was reached when Libby earnestly reassured her doctor that if he used a Sharpie, the marks would stay on for the duration of the six-week treatment. We kept that promise by taping plastic over the Sharpie marks every time Libby showered and strategically placing Band-Aids to prevent her clothes from wearing the marks off for the next two months. Those precautions and retouching with a Sharpie anytime the mark started to fade were the only things that kept Libby from becoming a tattooed lady and slipping into the dark side.

The technicians took this picture to show me that she even smiled during radiation treatments:

“OK, Now I Remember—— What I Forgot!

On August 29, 2015August 29, 2015 By Barry GilleyIn Uncategorized1 Comment

As Libby’s hair began to grow back following the chemotherapy, her once dark hair came in solid white and began to curl into hundreds of fine little ringlets perfectly sized to wrap around a pinky finger. Soon after the goose down hair started growing those same damaged hair follicles began producing thicker and darker hair, now capped with those fine, curly, white tips. Libby was not accustomed to change in any form, especially when it came to her hair, so she was slow to embrace the new look and unwilling to be seen in public without one of her wigs.

Nathan, Jerod and I were commenting on the unique and attractive look of Libby’s hair one Saturday night during one of our planned family nights. Embarrassed by the compliments and the attention she was getting, Libby got up from the couch to go start dinner but after standing, she awkwardly stepped sideways, and nearly passed out as three sets of hands gently guided her back to her seat. A combination of residual chemo drugs and radiation treatments often affected Libby’s balance and rising quickly from a seated position increased those odds.

Even after a diagnosis of cancer, which made us all reevaluate our priorities, it is embarrassing how quickly each one of us became overly busy with life. In fact we all became so preoccupied with our own lives that we had to schedule family nights at our house. This particular night was planned to be a simple meal around the dinner table, but after the light-headed spell subsided, we convinced Libby that riding in the truck to and from St. Elmo and sharing a pizza would probably net us more family time than cooking at home.

Noticing the time and worried that the restaurant would soon close, we hurriedly gathered up to leave. Libby never liked to be rushed when going anywhere, so it she became anxious as I hustled her toward the truck glancing back over her shoulder. “What are looking for? I asked, “I don’t really know, ” Libby answered, “it just feels like I’m leaving something”, then after making one last unsuccessful sweep of the room, we left for the restaurant.

Mr. T’s Pizza is our favorite pizza place located just a few miles from our house in a condensed little area of St. Elmo, TN with several intersecting roads, pedestrians, tourists and restaurants all within walking distance of one another. Libby flipped down the sun visor on her side of the truck as we approached the restaurant so she could check her makeup in the small mirror, a move that always obscured my view out the passenger side of the truck. Then, just seconds into her primping session, we all heard the scream.

I instantly hit the brakes, anticipating air bag deployment and bracing for impact; I was confident we were about to crash, then, after several seconds, during which time no one died, I asked, much louder than was necessary, “WHAT WAS THAT ALL ABOUT?” Libby calmly turned toward me with an awkward, sheepish grin as she flipped her wrist to close the sun visor/mirror combination. Cocking her head to one side and shrugging her shoulders she said in a soft voice, “Now I remember what forgot!”

Still in shock over the scream, angry and confused, I whined, “What did you forget Libby?” She turned her shoulders a full 90 degrees to look straight at me and then Libby struck a pose while pointing to her head in a gesture which was supposed to make it obvious why she was upset. Libby’s eyebrows (okay, what used to be her eyebrows) were raised and her head cocked to one side as if I should be able to guess what was going on without any hints. Dumbfounded, we all three stared at Libby and at one another without venturing a guess as to why she was so upset. Eventually giving in with disgust Libby said, “My hair guys! My hair, I can’t believe none of you noticed! I left my hair at home, I can’t go anywhere looking like this.”

I probably should not have laughed as hard as I did but we had seen her so much without the wig that it never crossed our minds that she had left it. It was so traumatic to Libby that later she equated the experience to the nightmares common in young school-age children who dream of going to school but forget to put on clothes.

The boys and I pulled out all of the stops to convince Libby to go into the restaurant including but not limited to: “Mom you look great. There are only a few cars in the parking lot. No one will know us there,” and finally, “No one else has a hair do like yours”. Hunger pains and a compromise finally convinced her that we had to eat somewhere. The compromise was that we would go to Pizza Hut instead of Mr. T’s because in Libby’s words, “I don’t know anyone who goes to Pizza Hut anymore, but if we go to Mr. T’s we are sure to see someone we know.”

That day was a turning point in Libby’s post cancer treatment life and a huge boost to her self-confidence because the next morning Libby went to church for the first time ever without a wig and she made short hair look awesome.

Libby Thanks All of Her Friends

On August 7, 2015August 7, 2015 By Barry GilleyIn Uncategorized1 Comment

Halfway through the chemotherapy Libby said to me, “I really feel guilty because everyone is being so nice to me and offering to do things for me but I’m not really sick, or at least I don’t feel sick.”

Libby and I both had heard all of the horror stories of nausea and vomiting that were common with the chemo drugs that she was taking but as her treatments continued our anxiety level began to decrease with each successive, uneventful infusion. There was some mild nausea, some mouth sores, and of course all of her hair fell out (except the hair on her legs) but compared to what other people had experienced, we both truly felt blessed. The nurses even set up the infusion dates so that Libby would feel her best and have good white cell counts to help her resist infections during the Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays (so she could still hug Santa).

During Libby’s chemotherapy regime she was constantly amazed at the number of people who called, sent emails, texts and cards, and after three months of treatments with weekly updates that I posted to her Caring Bridge site Libby decided to write her own post and thank everyone for their concern:

By Libby Gilley — Jan 23, 2009 6:38pm

My precious friends and family, I just finished my 8th chemo treatment and I am halfway through. Oh, I feel so honored and blessed to have so many caring people in my life. You’ll never know how much it means to me.

I read all the notes and cards and every one of them is treasured. The gifts of food, visits, and surprises make this journey so much more wonderful. I feel like the paralyzed man who was carried by his friends to see Jesus. He couldn’t do anything to be healed in and of himself, but his friend’s took the time out of their busy schedules to make sure the relationship continued, but more importantly they took him to see Jesus. Jesus then healed him!!!!! Hallelujah!!!!

I’ve told you before I have felt carried all the way. There are times I feel a little scared and then I go to God and He speaks to me through His Healing Word. My times with Him are more precious everyday. There are many things I don’t understand in this world but I know I can trust my sweet savior. My desire is quick obedience to His will. More than anything I want to glorify Him with my attitude and actions.

Please pray I will take every opportunity to tell others how wonderful Jesus is. I love you all so much. Please keep praying. “The prayer of a righteous man is powerful and effective.”

I’m feeling your great love and concern!!

Libby

Life’s Milestones And Wigs

On August 1, 2015August 3, 2015 By Barry GilleyIn Uncategorized2 Comments

The life that Libby and I shared together had some pretty major milestones during our courtship and marriage including our first date when Helen Hawkins (aka Hamburger Helper) hit a cow on the road in front of us, then there was our wedding on June 9, 1979, the purchase of our first house which cost $14,000 but took $10,000 to repair, the birth of each one of our two boys and then there was Cancer.

Cancer so changed our lives that we would sometimes categorized past events using the abbreviations BC (Before Cancer) or AC (After Cancer). Like it or not, Libby’s cancer diagnosis was a watershed moment in our lives and it was as much a part of us as our wedding and our children. For fifty years (BC) Libby had been known as a beloved daughter, a sweet sister and a role model for others, then as an adult she was known as a gorgeous bride, an excellent teacher and a loyal friend. But then (AC) Libby’s identity changed to cancer patient who constantly amazed others by making the best of a bad situation.

Libby’s particular type of breast cancer needed estrogen to survive and grow, so to slow the cancer’s progress her oncologist immediately prescribed an estrogen suppressant which had it’s own unique set of problems, most notable were the intense hot flashes which happened several times every hour. It didn’t take a keen awareness to determine the moment when one of Libby’s hot flashes started because, if we were alone at the house, her the wig would suddenly fly across the room followed by her jacket which she couldn’t seem to get off fast enough. Throwing her wig across the room became much less common after one particularly high arching toss resulted in an unfortunate encounter with the living room ceiling fan.

Some of the nicer wigs that Libby bought were Raquel Welch brand wigs, one of which had become her favorite until the day that she was cooking supper at my dad’s house. While trying to determine if the cornbread was brown on the bottom Libby opened the lower oven door and leaned over to inspect the cornbread as 450 degrees air wafted up out of the oven and quickly “baked” her synthetic wig melting the individual hairs together as they shrank and retreated away from her face. Libby was unfazed by the heat but her favorite red wig cooled quickly into a cohesive permanent wave on top of her head.

The thought came to me so quickly that I really didn’t have time to apply a filter, and besides I thought a humorous comment by me could relieve some of the awkward tension in the kitchen, but I have to admit that it sounded a lot funnier in head than it did when I said, “Your Raquel Welch wig looks a lot like a Donald Trump hairpiece.”

The synthetic wigs were very durable (well, except for the one she baked) easy to care for and easy to style, but one particular evening I discovered a completely unexpected benefit of having a large collection of wigs.

Libby and I were getting ready to go out and meet another couple for dinner and as Libby stood in front of the full length mirror she asked, “How does this outfit look?” Now, in times past I had fallen into that sticky trap of answering that question incorrectly so I said, “That looks great!” I wasn’t lying to her because I thought she looked good in nearly everything she wore. However, I must have lacked sufficient enthusiasm in my comment because she responded, “You’re right, the colors are all wrong”.

Wait, what?

This is where years of husbandly experience came in handy and although I knew that we would be late, I knew too that it would be unwise to ask Libby to hurry up. I did, however, know exactly what to do in this situation; I went to the living room, located my TV remote, sat down in my recliner and turned on the football game as I prepared for the fashion show that would soon start in our living room as Libby went through several combinations of outfits.

I knew also that I had to be mentally prepared to give a much more enthusiastic reply when Libby modeled the next outfit if we had any hope of making our dinner reservations. I rotated the side arm on my recliner to extend the footrest just as Libby stepped into the living room to model her outfit. I was about to tell her how good she looked, but then I stopped myself when I realized that this must be some kind of test because she hadn’t changed clothes.

That’s when I noticed her hair, because instead of changing pants, top, shoes, pocketbook etc. she changed wigs, throwing off her brunette wig in favor of a silver one. I was genuinely impressed (by the speed of the newly coordinated colors not necessarily the colors themselves) and we were ready for our night out. We were not late, Libby felt good about the way she looked and I was finally beginning to see the benefits of owning a large supply of wigs.

Prepping for the Future

On May 31, 2015May 31, 2015 By Barry GilleyIn Uncategorized2 Comments

Like most 19 year old boys I was immature, self-centered and rarely thought past the upcoming weekend. It wasn’t until Libby and I started dating that I slowly began considering the feelings of others (okay, just Libby’s feelings, but progress nonetheless). Even after our marriage, I really didn’t think much about the future, that is until the day we brought our son Jerod home from the hospital and I finally had the thought, “Wow, I now have a person to take care of for a long long time” I realized that I and my income would be needed for another 22 years or so, maybe even longer if we were going to have another child.

Life expectancy charts suggest, and a walk through a nursing home will confirm, that women usually outlive their husbands by a significant margin. Those actuarial numbers concerned Libby and I both and we wanted to make sure that she and the boys could make it if something ever happened to me. Once again, with maturity being forced upon me, we began making preparations for my probable early departure.

Libby and I often discussed investments, insurance and possible credit needs, even going as far as putting everything in her name including all utilities and loan payments so she would have a good credit rating. Libby maintained her teaching certificate and we eventually paid off our debts so that she could stay in the house at least until the boys left for college. We succeeded in our planning so well that I often joked to friends that I was worth a whole more dead than alive, a statement that was always good for a laugh from everyone except Libby.

During those discussions I would talk with Libby about managing the finances, house maintenance and property upkeep. We even had conversations about whether she should remarry or stay single if I died, but Libby always said she would stay single if anything ever happened to me. I always insisted that it just made practical sense for her to re-marry for variety of social and economic reasons, “Besides” I said, “After the boys are gone you will be lonely.” We eventually agreed that time and circumstances will often change the best laid plans, so the marry / not marry question would have to be a decision that she would have to make later, at which time I would be unable to cast my vote in the matter.

Libby then turned the tables and asked me the question that every married man dreads; saying, ” I know that you think I should re-marry, but if I die first would you re-marry?” I’m not sure how it happens in other households but, I knew if I answered the “would you re-marry” question with a yes, it would be followed immediately by question #2 “Who would you marry?” and if I were able to successfully dodge that question she would hit me with, question #3 “If none of my friends were married, which of them would want to marry and why?” Now, every guy who has been married longer than 3 days knows this is a lose/lose situation. If you answer question #1 with, “No way, I would never remarry, besides I already have the best” then you stand a better than average chance of avoiding questions 2 and 3 and the argument that would inevitably follow.

We kept working our debt reduction and we did such a good of establishing Libby’s credit that a few years ago I was attempting to buy a vehicle for our company and I decided to take advantage of some low interest loan money available through the local automobile dealership. Even though the company was making the purchase, the dealer ran a personal credit check on me and the young credit manager came back into the room with a distraught look on his face as he said to me, “Mr. Gilley I’m not sure how to tell you this but, like, your credit report is not very good.” I told the baby-faced manager that it was easy to explain since we bought everything in my wife’s name. “Oh yes your wife”, he said, ” I’m glad you mentioned her because I, like, ran her credit report as well and she has really, really good credit!” I told the credit manager, “That doesn’t surprise me because, as I said, we have been trying to keep her credit rating high “. Still confident that the credit score he had in his hand told him everything that he needed know about me, he said, “So, like, if you can take these papers home and have your wife, you know, like just, co-sign for you then we can complete the sale.”

I must admit that the whole process was a blow to my ego and it made me feel like a school boy being instructed by the teacher to take a note home and have it signed by my mom after getting caught talking during class. I thought about walking out, or talking to the owner in an effort to regain my dignity but in the end I decided to “man up” and do the right thing. I swallowed my pride, took the papers home and asked Libby in best little boy voice, “Miss Libby will you sign my note so I can get me a bright shiny new truck to play with, please, please, please?”

“Every Day Is A Holiday And Every Meal Is A Banquet”

On May 23, 2015May 23, 2015 By Barry GilleyIn Uncategorized2 Comments

The quote in the title of this blog was used by my dad to describe Libby Willis shortly after meeting her when he said to me, “I love her enthusiam and positive attitude, because with Libby everyday is holiday and every meal is a banquet.”. My dad also reminds me often that after making the above comment he said to me, “If you don’t marry that girl, it will be the biggest mistake of your life.”

That enthusiasm and love of life was one of the first things that attracted me to the young, bubbly, Libby when we both were still teenagers. Throughout her life Libby could seemingly find good in everyone she met, so much so, that our son Jerod once told his mom that he thought she could probably find something good to say about Adolf Hitler, to which Libby said, “I’m sure he had some good traits but he was a man who made some very bad decisions, but God loved him so much that he sent his son to die for him as well as each one of us”. I rest my case.

As much fun as Libby had living life and looking for the good in others, at her core she was an introvert, she was never comfortable being the center of attention, preferring to do most of the work and not get any of the credit. But if Libby saw a project at the church that needed completing or if she saw a child in need of help, she was very bold and seem to possess endless energy to complete projects and care for children.

On many occasions over the years I begrudgingly met Libby in the front yard with a head lamp and a shovel in my hand after she phoned me from the car asking if I could get a hole ready in the yard so the we could plant something just as soon as she got home. The story was nearly the same every time; Libby would explain with her hands waving in the air and using short bursts of sentences, ” I was just driving down the road… you know after I dropped Helen off…we had been buying stuff for the church dinner next Sunday…don’t forget to set up the tables… and I passed this house with the most gorgeous _________ ” (tree, flower or bush, you can fill in the blank here) “that I have ever seen, so I stopped and asked the little man where they bought such a gorgeous ________ ” (tree, flower or bush ) “and , well, we got to talking… and he was such a nice little man… he and his wife have been married nearly 40 years and they have 3 children and 4 grandchildren… I taught his son in the 3rd grade… now he was a rounder…always having stay in from recess… and anyway, I kept talking to the nice little man …then before I left… I told him how pretty the _________ (tree, flower or bush ) was and then…he just dug it up and gave it to me!”

Whew, sometimes it could be more exhausting to try and follow the animated explanation of how Libby wound up with the tree, flower or bush than actually digging a hole and planting it.

People were drawn to the open, honest and caring attitude that Libby possessed, in addition, Libby had this naive belief that everyone else in this world was as trusting and giving as she was and in spite of that innocence, or more likely, because of it, people would do things for her that most of us would never even think to ask. The one story that illustrates that personality trait better than most happened when my youngest brother Rodney was a freshman at the University of Georgia and our family had gone to Athens on a Fall Saturday to watch a football game.

Throughout the game we all watched in awe as a talented freshman running back named Herschel dominated the day; everyone, that is, except for Libby who was enamored with Uga the Georgia Bulldog mascot on the sideline in front us, After the game, we all went down on the field to see a friend of Rodney’s who was on the team (and possibly meet this Walker kid) but as we started down the long rows of bleachers onto the field Libby said, “You all go ahead, I’m going to go pet the dog”. I said, “Libby, don’t be silly, they are not going to let you pet the dog, they will not let you near that dog”. “I will just ask”, she said as she walked away.

Later after visiting with Rodney and his friends (but not Hershel) we were ready to start back home but we couldn’t find Libby. Bear in mind this was BC (Before Cellphones) so my mom, my dad and Rodney spread out as we walked the field searching for Libby. By now most of the fans had cleared the stands and only a few remained scattered about the field, that was, except for a crowd of people standing close together at the “G” in the center of the field, which is exactly where I found Libby sitting cross-legged on the ground surrounded by children with the Georgia mascot UGA III lying in her lap, his leash in her left hand.

As I approached the group, I could hear Libby’s “teacher voice” telling some children, “No, James is next in line to pet Uga so you will need to wait your turn” then adding, “OK Jenny, don’t pet him too hard he’s had a long day and he’s getting tired.” It was truly one of those “Only Libby” moments that we would see repeated thousands of times more in her life a she seemed to always surprise her family and friends with light-hearted moments

Libby could have literally and figuratively rubbed my nose it that day in Athens by giving me a knowing look with the subtle raising of her eyebrows or by simply saying, “See I told you so” but those thoughts never entered her mind as she sat beaming from ear to ear, simply enjoying her afternoon of college football, surrounded by kids saying, “Hey lady, can we pet your dog?”

She did, however have one thing to say to me when she saw me looking down at her over the top of the children’s heads, she said, “Oh hi honey, will you check to see if you can get me a towel, Uga is slobbering all over my legs!”. I said,” Yes Miss Libby” just before I shuffled off in my search.

Mistakes, Wisdom and HEDs

On May 1, 2015May 7, 2015 By Barry GilleyIn Uncategorized4 Comments

I enjoy reading the comments made by readers of this blog and some of the more generous ones have included things like, “you need to write a book”. In the unlikely event that a book ever happens it would most likely include a chapter entitled “What NOT to do for a successful marriage”.

Libby and I both made lots of mistakes in our marriage but after Libby’s miscarriage I feel like I became an expert on what not to do in a relationship. Men (and women too) sometimes think they are helping the situation when we say things following a miscarriage including “You can always try again”, or ” You’re still young and you have plenty of time to get pregnant again” appearing to imply that what happened is just an inconvenience and the best thing for everyone is to forget about the past and to get back to “normal”. Hindsight can be a cruel teacher and it has taught many of us to treat a miscarriage the same way you would treat the death of any child.

If only our brains came standard with a USB port tucked in behind our right ear so we could easily transfer these lessons learned into the minds of young people because it is a lesson that, like so many others in life, is learned after the fact, usually when it is no longer needed.

I wasn’t much help later when Libby battled depression for over a year following the miscarriage because I didn’t really know how to handle the situation. Now, I will admit that a depressed Libby was more upbeat than 90% of “regular” people, but her close friends and family knew it was struggle for her during that time after we lost Adalynn. Added to everything else, Libby felt like she was a bad mother because the boys slipped out of the house without her knowledge and could have easily been hit on that busy road.

The new house and property presented lots of challenges and opportunities while it opened up a Swiss Family Robinson type world for two adventurous boys as we built go-cart trails, tree houses, bridges, zip lines, and forts. There were trees to climb, camp sites to build, creeks to dam up and plenty of mud to track in on mom’s new white berber carpet. When the boys were in high school our house was used to hold birthday parties, host cross-country parties, build homecoming floats and set off HED’s (Homemade Explosive Devices). Several times our back yard was turned into a Hollywood back lot where the boys and their friends filmed several movies including war movies which took advantage of the campsites, creeks, trails and HED’s simultaneously.

Libby and I had the goal from the beginning to provide a place where our boys and their friends wanted to play, instead of taking them to someone else’s house. One of the oddest conversations that I ever heard in our house was Libby innocently explaining to some parents that, yes, sometimes our boys built bombs, but they were only allowed to set off very small ones by themselves because we had a firm rule that all large concussion bombs and fireballs required at least one adult to be present.

Both the new property and house were a hit with our boys and, as it turns out, therapeutic for their mom. With time and some wise counsel, Libby got through her time of depression and we “got our Libby back”. Although most people would never have guessed that her feelings of inadequacy were always hovering just below the surface, they would sometimes sneak up on her, overshadowing God’s promises, as she would make comments such as: “I feel so unworthy that I’m not sure that I am even going to go to heaven”, a comment that caused many of our friends to respond in unison with this proclamation: ” If Libby Gilley is not going to heaven then the rest of us might as well give up, because we have no chance.” Still others made more crude responses, equating those chances to that of a snowball surviving in an extremely hot location.

Lessons Learned (or not)

On April 17, 2015April 17, 2015 By Barry GilleyIn Uncategorized6 Comments

When Jerod and Nathan were toddlers their great grandmother (Libby’s mom’s mother) died during the spring of 1989 following a brief illness. While we were on our way back home from the funeral in Greensboro, Alabama Jerod wanted to know where Nonnie was now. Libby and I tried to explain to our young boys in very simple terms some complex ideas that, frankly, we had trouble understanding ourselves. It was difficult at best explaining the death of a loved one to the two restless, short attention spanned boys in the backseat of a moving car and as usual you never know how much information is actually sinking into their little brains especially when the conversation proceeds something like this, “…but dad…… why can’t we just drive over to her house and see Nonnie?” as the younger Nathan chimes in with, “Yes daddy….please!!” Trying to select my words carefully now I say, “Nonnie is not at her house, she is heaven with Jesus.” Both boys appeared to be in deep thought and I was sure my bright children were considering their own mortality. Jerod quickly broke the silence when he said, “Ok, then can we stop for ice cream?” and Nathan followed with, “Yes daddy…….please!!”

Later that evening when we were back home, Libby was in the kitchen cooking supper and I was playing with the boys in the living room when we heard a scream coming from the kitchen; Libby had just seen a bug crawl across the floor. Now Libby was deathly afraid of bugs and she definitely did not want to get close enough to kill one, so she called to me over her shoulder as she ran out of the room, “Barry, come kill this bug!”. As I got up to perform my manly duty Jerod quickly jumped to his feet and said, “Let me do it dad.” I looked at Libby and shrugged my shoulders as our four year old walked into the kitchen, assessed the situation and then turned back toward his mom and me as he lifted up his cowboy boot preparing to step on the bug. “Watch this,” he said, “I’m going to send him to see Jesus!” I looked over at Libby and whispered, “We may need to have that heaven discussion one more time, I’m not sure that the right message got through.”

Nonnie’s was the first death in our family that our boys would experience and as it turned out, it would be the last time they experienced that kind of loss for a very long time; in fact 21 years would pass between the death of their Nonnie and the next death in our family. When the boys were both in college Libby and I had a conversation which began with Libby saying, “I’m really worried about our boys, they have lived a charmed life”. Not really sure where all of this was going I asked what she meant by “charmed life”. Libby said, “Well, except when they were toddlers, they have never experienced the loss of a loved one.” Libby went on to explain how she was afraid that because our boys had been spared that particular agony they never developed the skills to deal with the loss of someone that they love. I told Libby that they were smart boys and we would just have to pray that we had laid enough groundwork in other areas of their lives to carry over, because they would certainly have their share of grief sooner or later,besides there was nothing that either one of us could do that would delay or speed up that experience for them.

Sadly, beginning a few months after that conversation, our boys would get multiple opportunities to develop grieving skills as their cousin Samantha Gilley, grandmother Joyce Gilley, grandfather Jimmy Willis, uncle Michael Gilley and then finally, their mom Libby Gilley all “went to see Jesus”.

“We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed” (2 Corinthians 4:8-9 NIV).

Our Family Grows

On April 12, 2015April 17, 2015 By Barry GilleyIn Uncategorized2 Comments

After several years as an early childhood educator Libby was well on her way to becoming a well respected and even admired teacher in every school in which she taught, my career with Olan Mills, however, was another story. Libby and I had talked about starting a family and I had quickly realized that a photographer’s salary was not going to provide sufficient support for a family, especially if she decided not to go back to work. After some serious discussions with Libby and lots of prayer, I quit my photography job and enrolled full time in the engineering program at the University of Tennessee at Chattanooga six long years after graduating from high school.

To help with finances while I was in college I had as many as five different jobs at one time including free lance photography, a bottled water delivery business, construction and solar panel sales. Four years and a lot of sleepless nights later I would graduate from UTC attending commencement exercises in the spring of 1986, but not before Libby announced a commencement of her own.

During my junior year in college Libby became pregnant with our first son Jerod and he was born in November of my senior year. On Monday after Jerod was born I skipped class with plans to hand out bubble gum cigars to my professors until I found out how much a box of bubble gum cigars cost, that’s when I decided that I would hand out the “real” cheap cigars wrapped in blue cellophane proclaiming “Its a Boy!”. After all, the guys had Phds, so surely they knew the hazards of smoking. In hind sight I should have destroyed the empty cigar box because Libby found it and was not happy with my choice.

I had always marveled at Libby’s ability to fall in love with the students that she taught and become absorbed in their lives far beyond the classroom. I had never before seen such a capacity to love so completely and so quickly, but then we had our own and she fell in love more deeply than ever before.

Our family was not the only thing changing; during my second year of college I began working for a small construction company designing and building earth sheltered houses, installing storm windows and other energy conservation materials in houses. I enjoyed the work and as the small company began to grow we began designing and building more commercial projects and soon Libby and I took out a second mortgage to buy stock in Construction Consultants Inc.

When Jerod was nearly two years old, Libby gave birth to our second son Nathan and seemed as if everything was going perfect for us with two healthy boys, a growing business, a great church, great friends and a close family. Life was good and we often commented to each other and to our friends that were indeed blessed. Then we received a call from the hospital.

The phone rang late one evening as Libby listened to the caller I watched the life drain from her face. Libby quietly hung up the wall phone and starred into Nathan’s eyes. When I asked her who was on the phone she told me that one of the nurses who had been in the delivery room when Nathan was born had called to say that we needed to bring him back in for additional tests. The nurse went on to tell Libby, in a very matter of fact tone, that one of Nathan’s screenings had shown some abnormalities which indicated mental retardation and we needed to make plans to bring him in for additional testing to see the extent of the retardation. Libby and I had just gone from most amazing high to the deepest low in minutes and for the remainder of the evening Libby could not be consoled as she sat in the living room floor cradling Nathan in her arms and sobbing.

Jerod must have sensed the uneasiness in the house that evening because it was difficult to get him to sleep as I spent most of the night in the guest bed next to Jerod’s room because he was so restless. The next morning I found Libby still in the living room holding Nathan praying and sobbing. I never asked if she got up early or stayed up all night because I was in a daze as well. After breakfast I dressed the boys and got them ready to go the hospital while Libby called the doctor’s office to find out where the test would be performed, but when the nurse looked up Nathan’s chart she said there had been a mistake and someone was supposed to call us back to let us know that there had been a mix up in the lab and Nathan’s test was fine.

Libby was not happy with way that the hospital staff handled the situation and that may have been the most angry I have ever seen Libby in our 35 years of marriage (at someone other than me). Libby was a bundle of emotions as she was simultaneously relieved, irritated, ecstatic and frustrated.

If nothing else the episode demonstrated to us both how precarious the good times can be and how quickly things can change, a lesson that we would continue to be taught many more times in our life.