A Moment Frozen in Time

On July 3, 2015July 8, 2015 By Barry GilleyIn Uncategorized4 Comments

“Hey, baby…(long pause)…where are you?” It was Libby’s voice on the other end of our cell phone conversation on a fall morning in 2008; now, nearly six years later, every word and every awkward pause of the conversation is frozen in my mind.

I’m certainly not alone here, we all have them, those indelible moments from our past when it seemed as if time stood still, those events in our memories which are separated from the ordinary days by the preface, “I can tell you exactly where I was and what I was doing when I heard about ________________. For me, the big three were the Kennedy assassination, the space shuttle disaster and the twin tower attacks on 9/11; or at least they were before I received that call from Libby.

September 2, 2008 was a very ordinary Tuesday morning as I left my office on a short two-day sales trip with planned stops in Athens, Maryville and Sevierville, TN,; along the way I would be seeing some of my existing bank customers and calling on some new ones. As I exited off of Interstate 75 toward Athens I was thinking about the fact that, for me at least, selling was more like getting paid to visit with friends than actual work.

Libby called my cell phone that morning and there was a strange timbre in her voice that I will always remember as she said, “Hey baby…………where are you?” An odd question, I thought, since I had told her where I was going just a few hours ago while packing my bag. As I began telling her again where I was going it seemed as though she wasn’t listening this time either because she said, “Oh… OK…. well that’s nice”. After just a moment of silence, it was evident that her mind was somewhere else when she added, “Oh yea, that’s right, didn’t you tell me that already?”

Libby normally went with me on these trips but she wanted to work on her children’s program at church and besides she had scheduled her mammogram for the first thing that morning. Libby always dreaded her mammograms which seemed to become more painful every year because of the increasing number of fibrous cysts that she developed in her breasts, in addition, the cysts made it more difficult for the radiologists to read the results, causing more than one cancer scare in the past.

As our phone conversation continued, my stomach was suddenly in knots and I still can’t fully explain what I was feeling, but the strange tone of Libby’s voice made me uncharacteristically pull off of the road so I could concentrate on the conversation, that’s when I asked, “What’s wrong Libby?”

After a brief moment of silence, Libby began, “I’m sure its nothing, I probably shouldn’t have bothered you with this but…” . Libby then went on to explain that a new radiologists had read the mammogram and even though she explained her history of fibrous cysts he wanted her to see a surgeon for a sonogram as soon as possible, in fact, they had set up an appointment for the following day at 4:00 PM. Then in typical Libby fashion she told me, “Barry, you go ahead and keep your appointments, I’ll get Miss Helen to go with me because I am sure its just the cysts like every time before”, but I could tell from her shaky voice that she had not convinced herself of that fact.

At about the same time that Libby was saying, “Barry, you go ahead and keep your appointments…” I had already turned toward home, accelerating up the I-75 South on-ramp while Libby continued to fill me in on exactly what the doctor had said.

When it comes to the complicated science of modern medicine, most of us want instant answers and instant cures, so we often become frustrated with medical professionals when they seem rushed and even disinterested during a routine office visit but then later when you are waiting on test results, they appear to be slow and methodical. Having been on both ends of the spectrum, I can tell you that in most cases they move as fast as they need to, besides too much attention from a doctor is usually not a good thing, such as when they set up your appointment at the end of the day so that, “…the doctor will have more time to talk to you.”, or when they personally call to arrange for additional testing and consultations setting up appointments one after the other.

Our next set of appointments came the next day (one after another) as we met the radiologist, ultrasound technician and then by 4:00 PM on Wednesday afternoon we were sitting in a surgeon’s office (his last appointment of the day) reviewing all of Libby’s charts and test results. As we both prepared for the worst, Dr. Burns looked up from the charts and shocked us both, “Mrs. Gilley, I agree with you, the lump appears to be one of many fibrous cysts, I have seen a lot of these and I am confident that yours is not cancerous, I suggest you have another mammogram in 6 months and lets just watch it. You are free to get dressed and leave and I would like to see you again in February.

Wasting no time in leaving, Libby and I were giddy with excitement as we went out through the deserted waiting area littered with 2-year-old magazines. We knew that we had just dodged a bullet and our emotions were trying to recover some equilibrium after our 24 hour roller coaster ride.

Our biggest decision now was whether we should split the 8 ounce or the 11 ounce Renegade Sirloin from the Longhorn Steakhouse to celebrate. The sides would be a loaded baked potato and Caesar salad, but now Libby was holding out for the smaller 8 ounce steak so she could more easily justify the Chocolate Stampede for desert as she joked, “I have no intention splitting that with anyone!”

Holding hands like two school kids, Libby and I were in the hallway outside of the doctor’s office and I was reaching for the “down” button to call the elevator just as Dr. Burns opened his office door and joined us in the hallway. I just assumed he was heading to his car as well, but then he said, almost as an afterthought, “You know Mrs. Gilley, just to be on the safe side, step back into my office with me for just one more quick test before you leave, since you are already here”.

I am sure readers of this blog never hear voices in their head (or at least none that they admit to) but the voices in my head were screaming when Dr. Burns asked us to go back into his office, “……Push the elevator button…..He has no jurisdiction in the hallway………..He’s not the boss o’ you“.

Before either one of us fully realized what was happening, Libby was once again holding my hand, but this time with a death grip as Dr. Burns performed a biopsy with little warning and no anesthesia. I was sick to my stomach with sympathy pains as I kept wiping away Libby’s tears with my free hand saying, “I’m so sorry Baby, I wish I could make it stop”, a statement that I would find myself repeating many times over during the next 5 years.

I Love You

On June 19, 2015June 19, 2015 By Barry GilleyIn Uncategorized8 Comments

Although I try not to dwell on them too much, its hard not to have some regrets when I think back over my actions, words and priorities during my 35 year of marriage to Libby. One of my big regrets is the fact that I didn’t say “I Love You” nearly enough, or at least, not nearly as much as Libby would have like for me to say it.

Now in my defense, there were some extenuating circumstances because as a child growing up in the 60’s, the term “I love you” was used only sparingly in my home. Now don’t get the wrong idea here, I had a great childhood and a very loving home but that love was demonstrated and not necessarily verbalized.

As my parents were raising me and my 3 brothers, work was valued above words and that same mentality was reinforced by our friends and our extended family, most of whom were fiercely loyal, hard-working, stoic individuals. When a friend needed help tuning up a car or even roofing a house, it was an unspoken love that was demonstrated by volunteering time to help out and a steadfast refusal to be paid for that help. As a child we were reminded by our elders, “Those who know how to do something, do it, those who don’t know how to something, talk about doing it”.

After Libby and I got married and especially after we had children, I eventually became better at telling Libby that I loved her (without being prompted) but I was always fared better expressing my feelings by writing her notes, sappy love poems and cards always ending them with “I love you”. But try as I might, I never really got over that early influence in my life and I was most happy when I could do things for Libby, whether it was building something, planning surprise getaway trips or delivering small gifts on days when she wasn’t expecting anything.

Shortly after Libby found out that she had breast cancer, a good friend of ours from Athens, Tennessee found out that his wife had ovarian cancer and although Jack and Connie had been friends of ours for many years, the four of us were drawn closer by bond we now shared. In an odd twist of events Libby and Connie’s struggles paralleled one another, both began their fight against cancer just three months apart, both lived 5 years with cancer and then both lost their battles, once again, three months apart.

Since our wives’ deaths Jack and I still get together occasionally as charter members of a morbid fraternity which no one wants to join. We usually discuss things that we can’t talk about with “normal people”, such as the silly things that some people say to you to “comfort” you or the envy we both feel when we see an elderly couple walking hand in hand and the strange and awkward (for us at least) conversations we each seem to get into with single ladies. (Note to self: there are several topics for future blogs within that last sentence alone).

Now Jack, appears to me at least, to suffer from adult ADD, bouncing happily between ten topics during a five minute conversation. As Jack and I ate dinner together last weekend we discussed some of the funny conversations we have had with others and some of our regrets. I wasn’t sure Jack was even listening to me as he continued to look around during our discussion but then he suddenly surprised us both, “You know, Barry”, he said, his eyes still darting around the restaurant as he attempted to focus his attention deficit ” There are a lot of men who say, “I love you” to their wives everyday of their married life, some mean it, some don’t; then there are the lucky ones, like you and me, who for five years were able to show our wives everyday just how much we really did love them.”

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.

Libby’s Admission of Guilt

On March 31, 2015March 31, 2015 By Barry GilleyIn Uncategorized3 Comments

A few years after Libby and I were married the radio offered two primary music genres, either “pop” music which, at the time, featured the Bee Gees and Elton John or country music which was highlighting a new band on the rise named Alabama. Libby and I enjoyed many of the songs of that Fort Payne band, so when it was announced that Alabama would be playing a concert in Chattanooga I decided to surprise Libby with two tickets so that she and one of her friends could have “a girls night out”.

Now Libby was quick to explain to friends that, at the time, she had a schoolgirl crush on Randy Owen, the bearded lead singer for Alabama, so after enjoying the concert, the girls decided to stay and try to get some autographs. When they finally got to the front of the line for their autographs Randy asked Libby if she would like to have her picture made with him. The star struck Libby thought it would a great way to cap off a fun evening so she said yes. That’s when things got interesting; as Libby posed shoulder to shoulder with her new best friend Randy Owen, she soon became uncomfortable when he put his arm around her for the picture, but that was nothing compared to what happened next.

With several, young girls screaming and yelling in the line behind Libby, the volume of noise was pretty high as they posed for pictures, so it was understandable that Libby had a hard time hearing Randy when he asked her if she wanted a kiss. It was unclear from the explanation of the events whether it was Randy Owen’s boldness, Libby’s naïveté or the groupie noise from the line behind them, or all three, that combined to make communication difficult, but all Libby heard was a garbled sentence. Libby said that she knew Randy had asked her a question so she turned to face him, leaning in closer so she could hear him above the screams and asked, “What did you say …?.” But, just as Libby turned her head toward him, Randy interpreted her movements as consent and proceeded to kiss a very flabbergasted Libby on the mouth with his arm still around her shoulder so she was unable to move.

Later that evening when Libby got home I asked her how she enjoyed the concert and I remember a very strange look on her face. Libby said to me, “Barry we need to talk….”, five words that, from Libby, almost always prefaced a long unpleasant conversation. For those who knew Libby’s personal code of ethics and the high moral standard that guided her decisions, you will understand more than most people, how foolish and guilty Libby felt after what had happened following the concert. Libby’s guilt was magnified since she joked with me before the concert saying, “Are you sure you trust me to go to the concert without you knowing Randy Owen will be there?”

I knew without even hearing the details that Libby had done nothing wrong, but she insisted on explaining what happened and telling me how embarrassed she felt for letting herself get caught up in the moment and acting like a silly school girl. I kept trying to tell her that there was nothing to be ashamed of and that she was not at fault, but it seemed that no amount apologies or discussions relieved the guilt in her mind. I would like to be able to report that I cupped her hands in mine, looked deep into her eyes and reassured her that my love was forever and I was not worried about silly circumstance at a concert….

The truth of what happened next was nothing like the tender romantic interlude that I just described. I said to Libby a little too enthusiastically, “You know, if you feel that guilty about kissing Randy Owen” (this is the point at which Libby reminded me quiet forcibly that she didn’t kiss Randy, Randy kissed her). “Okay sorry” I said, starting over, “You know if you feel that guilty about Randy Owen kissing you , maybe I could kiss Christie Brinkley and we could call it even”?

Looking back now, I probably could have handled that differently, although my off-the-cuff remark stopped Libby from talking about the concert since she elected not to talk to me at all for long time, but it didn’t do a lot to help build our relationship.

The irony here is that two years ago Libby was invited to attend a pink gala celebrity concert complete with limo ride and a pink carpet entrance to benefit the MaryEllen Locher Foundation and honoring cancer survivors. The celebrity that was giving the concert was Randy Owen and Libby and I were invited back stage for a private reception before the concert but when given the chance to talk to Randy this time she refused, keeping an arms length away from him all evening. I couldn’t help but tease her just a little and say, “Libby, just say hi to him, he probably remembers you.” I detected a slight blush in Libby’s face just before I had to avert my eyes because I was getting “the look”.

Bird Brain Argument

On March 7, 2015April 19, 2015 By Barry GilleyIn Uncategorized2 Comments

I would like to take this opportunity to clear up some misunderstandings about Libby’s and my relationship because, frankly, it’s a little embarrassing when people are fooled into believing that we shared some sort of fairytale marriage . I apologize if my selective memory led some to believe that we enjoyed a type of nirvana relationship, because I can promise you, we did not.

Although I may have concentrated my writings on some of the surreal, blissful moments together (a diagnosis of stage 4 cancer has a way of filtering out some of the nonessential periphery in a relationship) we struggled with communication which lead to arguments, as we both said things that we later regretted. I will admit that I minimize their severity in my writings because I now see the humor in some of those arguments, like the one that happened in February of last year during some of the worst days of Libby’s illness:

Libby was always marveling at God’s creation and from the time we moved into our current home in April of 1992 we seemed to have more than our fair share of wild animals traipsing through our yard. At certain times of the year, for two or three weeks in row we would see the same 12 deer in our front yard every time we pulled in our driveway and even that caused an argument.

After seeing the deer every evening for three weeks in a row, Libby noticed that the deer were gone on this particular night. When she came into the house she told me that I needed to take a flashlight, go into the woods, find the deer and count them to make sure all 12 were there because she was worried something may have happened to them. I laughed because I thought she was joking but then I got “the look” which meant she was serious, so I responded in a most loving and gentle manner saying, “Libby, that’s the dumbest thing I have ever heard! There is no way I’m going out in the woods at 11:00 at night looking for a bunch of stupid deer.” Undeterred, she would gently say that they were part of God’s creation and they weren’t stupid. I laughed again and said that if they are not stupid then they should be able to survive in the woods without my help”………. That’s how that argument started.

Sometimes those same deer would eat Libby’s ornamental plants and then she wasn’t nearly as concerned about their wellbeing, but the real nuisance animals were the skunks, snakes, geese, coyotes and of course the dreaded red bird. We had this bird that we assumed must have been a male defending his territory because every morning at sunrise he would peck on the window in our pantry. Evidently, when he saw his own reflection in the glass he thought another male was moving in on his woman (or women? Not sure if they are monogamous). I tried scaring him away, changing the reflection by turning on the pantry light, hanging fabric in the window and shining a bright light through the glass but the pecking continued off and on every morning for months.

In February of 2014 a few weeks after I brought Libby home from the hospital we had a particularly bad night, I had spent most of the night in the chair beside her as she suffered from a crushing headache and continued to throw up until she was physically exhausted. Then just before dawn the headache eased off and she finally fell asleep, it was at that exact moment that we heard the familiar pecking on the pantry window.

Libby slowly looked up at me with a pitiful plea and said, through clinched teeth, “Barry, Honey, can you do something about that stupid bird”. I had felt helpless all night, only able to rub her temples and hold her head while she threw up in her pink bowl, but now finally, I had a task to fulfill and so without the least bit of hesitation I said to her, “Sure babe, I will take care of it. You just go back to sleep.” Libby always chose her words carefully, even when she was sick, so my directive was clear, especially since she modified the noun “bird” with the adjective “stupid”.

There are some priorities in life that can change with circumstances and with everything else going on in my life, a red bird hopped up on testosterone was pretty low on my priority list. It had snowed several inches during the night which seemed to create an eerie silence as I slipped outside that morning cradling my 12 gauge pump-action shotgun. Now, standing under my car port, at the edge of the snow in my bare feet, with no guilt whatsoever, I promptly shot the “stupid” bird, chambering a second round, just in case it was needed.

To this day, there are three very distinct images that are burned into my mind from that moringing. First of all, there was the amazing amount of noise that a 12 gauge shotgun makes when discharged into eerie silence at 6 AM. Second, is the degree to which a red bird stands out in an otherwise, solid white snow-covered yard. But the third, and the most vibrant image that sticks out in my mind was the look on Libby’s face as I walked back into the living room carrying the proverbial smoking gun. When I left the room a few minutes ago, Libby could barely hold her head up when she gave instructions to “…do something about that stupid bird”. Now, looking at her sitting bolt upright in bed with her mouth agape and her eyes wide with amazement, I was suddenly much less confident in my ability to interpret my wife’s sentences.

Libby had a look of complete horror on her face, as she asked, “Did you shoot my red bird?” (Just a note here in my defense, a minute ago, it was a “stupid bird”, now suddenly, it was “my red bird”?). It didn’t help calm the tension in our home when, throughout the day, as visitors came to our house they would say, “Hey did you’ll know there is dead red bird in your back yard?” Later on that day, I decided to get rid of the evidence and put a little fresh snow over the crime scene..

Libby was very upset with me for days, but later on we did talk it out: I apologized for shooting the stupid bird and Libby apologized for the things she said about me. Libby then went on to explain that the reason she was so upset with me was that she never told me to kill the bird, she just wanted me to “scare him” so he would quit banging on the window, besides she said that red birds are heaven’s messengers. My reply started the next argument when I said, ” Well I think that the last message may be a little late getting there….”.

Birthday Wishes

On March 4, 2015March 4, 2015 By Barry GilleyIn Birthday10 Comments

I have made a concerted effort to avoid the easy path of posting overly emotional articles about some of the more gut wrenching discussions that Libby and I had, especially during the last year of her life; attempting instead, to give the reader an overall view of our friendship, courtship, marriage and family. This post is a break from that trend as I remember our date on Libby’s birthday a year ago today:

On Monday March 3rd 2014 one year ago today I was preparing to leave for work as one of the many sweet ladies who had volunteered to sit with Libby arrived at our house just before 8 AM. Libby was spending all of her time in the hospital bed which was set up in our living room and at this stage of her illness she was sleeping nearly 23 hours a day. I went over to her bed, kissed her goodbye and whispered into her ear, “happy birthday” but not loud enough to wake her.

My meeting that morning in Middle Tennessee was short and very soon I was on my way back home. Since our decision to sign up with Hospice care after the last failed Chemo treatment, my time at work was normally not very productive because of my inability to focus. Time away from the house did, however, give me perspective and time to think, which is exactly what I was doing during the hour and a half drive back home on this Monday afternoon. I wanted to make Libby’s birthday special for her and although I would not have admitted it to anyone at the time, I knew in mind that this would be Libby’s last birthday.

I had been thinking of what I could do for several days and I finally had everything worked out in my head so I stopped on the way home to pick up the remaining items that I needed for the formal birthday meal I had planned. My tux was laid out along with Libby’s nicest dress, dinner was planned and the candles were ready. Now, I wasn’t delusional, I knew she probably wouldn’t eat much, if anything, and I would not be able get her into the dress, but I had a plan.

When I got home, I pulled my chair next to Libby’s bed and told her for the second time, “happy birthday”, she looked up at me and raised her thin arm out from under and the cover and spread her fingers out, which meant that she wanted to hold hands, I took her hand as she whispered to me, “Is it my birthday?” I said yes and then I told her that I had a surprise for her. Libby said, “What is it?” I told her that she would have to just wait and see. Now, for those who knew Libby well, you will understand what I mean when I say that Libby didn’t like surprises, and yet she did. You see, Libby had no patience once she found out she was about get a surprise, and she certainly didn’t want to wait to find out what it was. In fact, from the time we started dating Libby would use bribery, stealth and trickery to find out what she was getting from me. Sometimes, I think she had more fun trying to uncover the secret than she did actually receiving the gift.

I told Libby that I had an evening planned for the two of us starting with some flowers. I stood up to get the flowers, but she held my hand tightly and said wearily with her eyes closed, “Just stay her and tell me about them, don’t leave”. So I described each flower as Libby smiled. Then I told her I had planned to fix her favorite dishes so I would need to get the meal started and then I would be getting dressed up and I planned to lay her dress out on top of her blanket so she would be “dressed” for our date. As I attempted to get up Libby tightened her grip on my hand and said again, “Just tell me about it…I probably want eat any of it anyway.”

I know now, that I was slowing loosing Libby a little more each day and the only way that she could experience some things now was in her mind. So I told her my plans to cook for her, then change into my tux, put her dress on top of her blanket, light every candle in the house and turn out all of the lights. Libby smiled and I could see from her expressions that she had “our date movie” playing in her mind. I described the menu that I had planned to cook for her birthday meal, starting with Caesar salad followed by blackened talapia, Sister Schubert’s dinner yeast rolls and roasted new potatoes with garlic. Libby would nod her head and lick her lips as if tasting every course as I described each dish, staring with her favorite, Caesar salad, then I asked if she wanted fresh ground pepper on her salad and she would nod yes. I would ask if she wanted fresh butter on the rolls and she answered, “Sure, why not?”

As Libby “enjoyed” her birthday meal, I wanted her to experience everything that I had planned for her so I described the black tux that “I now had on” and taking some artistic license, I told her how I really looked good in my tux and how I was really rockin’ the pink polka dot bow tie. Although she still didn’t’ open her eyes, Libby did not like the fact that I was bragging even in our imaginary experience, so she tugged sharply at my hand to get me back on track.

Continuing the fantasy I told her, “I have helped you put your favorite dress on for our night out”, she asked, “Which one?” I told her it was the dress that she wore to Nathan’s wedding and she nodded her head, satisfied that I had made the right choice. I told her that I had put on her shoes that matched her dress, but her smile quickly turned to a frown; knowing exactly what she was thinking, I said that I also brought her tennis shoes to walk around in just in case her feet started hurting, and she started smiling again.

And so for nearly an hour our amazing date continued as I kept spinning my tales adding more and more details, but soon Libby was sleeping as she relaxed her grip on my hand she pulled her arm back under the cover with a slight shiver. I tucked her in under her soft pink blanket as she started softly snoring.

Our “night on the town” to celebrate Libby’s 56 birthday was over.