Betty's Story

The following post is published at the request of our former classmate, Betty Smith Merritt. Previously we published a short Show and Tell biography of Betty. Today it is my priviledge to share more of Betty's story with you as she relates two heartbreaking events in her life through poetry. Recently we have used a lot of our blog space to talk about aging and about death. These two experiences in Betty's life present a new perspective for us to consider from the stand point of a survivor--a daughter, and a mother. One of the goals that has been established for this blog is to get re-acquainted with each other, the Class of 1963, and to reach out and extend comfort, love, and support to one another, to share our experiences and our strengths. That having been said, I give you Betty's Story.

My Story

As long as I can remember, I’ve loved putting words on paper. I like the way they look and feel. They give me great pleasure when I read them.

So I set out to write the greatest love story of all time - in the form of a contemporary romance novel. There were thousands of words inside my head just waiting to be written.

Then my heart got involved. I had an aneurysm on my Aorta and according to a handful of doctors, my chances for survival were slim… but they didn’t consult with my Great Physician…I did!

While recuperating, I was dismayed to discover that all those lovely words were gone. I couldn’t concentrate long enough to make a plot thicken and jell.

So I ask the Master to give me back the words…And He did …just not in the form I expected! I’d never written poetry and quite frankly, don’t know how.
I just hold the pen and listen to His voice in my heart.

At first, I was very upset and full of regret because I had three novels in various stages of completion and a Harlequin contract waiting to be signed!

After a lot of mental anguish and prayer, the light bulb finally came on and I realized He’d given me exactly what I’d asked for…The words to write the greatest Love Story of all time! It’s His Story, not mine…


Betty Merritt
December 1995

"My Story" which is the last page of each book of poetry I've written. It's something I've shared consistently since 1995 because I'm convinced there's a reason God wasn't finished with me yet!

That Old Man Around Town

Betty Merritt

With an old black felt hat
Pulled low across his brow
No matter what the weather
He’d walk for hour after hour

Collecting bits and pieces
Searching for the unknown
Finding the unexpected
He’d take his treasures home

Sometimes he’d tap his forehead and say
His mind wasn’t what it used to be
Locked away in the world of Alzheimer’s
He knew neither you nor me

He had the understanding of a child
And a body grown fail and old
But God saw inside his heart and knew
All was well with his soul

"That Ole Man" and "The Strong One" are about my dad before his death on December 9, 2000 from Alzheimer's. There were so many times when I had to wonder exactly who the strong one really was during that time. Most of the time, I could tell he had no clue who I was; he actually called me the "VA Lady" because of all the paperwork I had to do, mostly concerning the VA. And then there were moments of complete clarity when I knew he understood exactly what was happening.

The Strong One

Betty Merritt

She took his frail, old hand
And led him down the long hallway
Both trembled as she said softly
“Daddy, this is where we want you to stay”

The time had come and gone for him to live alone
And it was the hardest thing she’d ever had to do
But she believed it was for the best as she said
“We’ve found someone to take good care of you”

He wiped a tear from his faded old blue eyes
And said they were bothering him some
But squeezed her hand when she said
“We’ve worked hard to find you a new home”

She tried to be brave
But it took every ounce of courage that she had
As she showed him around the room and asked
“You’ll be alright here, won’t you, Dad?”

For a moment, understanding glimmered in his eyes
As he said “Sometimes it’s hard to do what you have to do”
And before the glimmer faded, he smiled and said
“I’m mighty proud of you”

Then with the blink of a eye
Without a care in the world
He turned and walked away
Forgetting she was his little girl

One More Day With You…

Betty Merritt

O, precious child of mine
O, how I love you so
My prayers are so confused
As I watch you suffer
Yet pray that you won’t go

While with the next breath
I pray for death’s release
Because I know you’ll be better off
In God’s care than mine
Where you’ll know sweet relief

My heart aches for you
As you struggle to live
And I ask God time and again
If there’s any way, to spare you
For you have so much love left to give

In desperation, I fall to my knees
And pray that God’s will be done
Thankful for one more day with you
One more chance to see your smile
Regardless of the heartache yet to come

Today, you’re with me
You’ll know how much I love you
By the touch of your Mother’s hands
And I thank God sincerely for
One more day with you

The last two, "One More Day with You" and "The Lost Child" are about my oldest daughter, Andrea, written while I was her hospice care provider before her death from cancer on January 19, 2006. As you can imagine, those 75 days were both the biggest blessing of my life and the worst thing I've ever gone through. If ever I doubted God's Amazing Grace, Power and Love, those doubts were erased forever and I came away with the rock solid belief that "God's Will won't take you where His Grace can't keep you!"

The Lost Child

Betty Merritt

The most horrible feeling
For a mother is to lose a child
Even for a moment, while they
Innocently play hide and seek
She’s gripped by terror
As her imagination runs wild

Her instincts tell her
As long as they’re in sight
She can protect them from harm
But the second they disappear
Her heart is filled with fright

I lost my child today.
She left on a journey all her own,
Out of my sight forever when with a final breath
She released my hand and took God’s
To walk with Him toward home

As my mother’s heart screamed
No! Hold on to my hand, not His..
His gentle, loving spirit whispered:
How can you say you lost a child
When you know where she is?

Thanks so much for all you do, Nicki. I've discovered some wonderful people because you and Jennifer took the time and made the effort to provide all of us in the Class of '63 with a place to reconnect.

And Then, Scheherazade TOTALLY Lost Her Head ....

A Tale of 1001 Nights, by Boulanger

Once upon a time there was a Persian king, Shahryar, whose first wife was unfaithful to him. So, in a classic case of overreaction, and to ensure he would never again be cuckolded, Shahryar became a practitioner of serial matrimony (no illicit relationships for him when murder was an option!), ordering each new bride beheaded on the morning following their wedding night ... thus also avoiding the messiness of PMS, Peter Pan syndrome, divorce, alimony and child support ... but I digress.

After dispatching 3000 or so wives (and probably running out of virginal candidates), Shahryar wed the beautiful and intelligent proto-feminist Scheherazade. And Scheherazade, who had enhanced her education by extensively studying history and folklore, proved a seductive spinner of fantastic and wonderful (yet ethically- and morally-instructive) tales such as Aladdin and his magic lamp, Sinbad and Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves (whose connection to Shahryar's government is as yet undocumented but still under investigation). It is written that Scheherazade thereby changed her fate, utterly enchanting Shahryar with stories, and stories within stories, woven into a tapestry over 1001 nights, ultimately saving herself and others who would have followed her, from the previously implacable vengeance of Shahryar.

It is generally believed that after such captivating nights of spell-binding tales, Shahryar saw the error of his ways, settled down with Scheherazade and lived happily ever after. Unfortunately, recent research (and extrapolation) indicates to the discerning mind two other possible scenarios: (1) that on the morning after the 1001st night, Shahryar neglected to mention to his sycophants whether or not he had enjoyed the latest tale, or to engage in any discussion thereof, so said sycophants assumed that Scheherazade had failed to entertain the king and dragged her off to her long-delayed appointment with the scimitar; or (2) that Scheherazade, driven to despair after striving mightily to engage the king, but failing to elicit any reciprocal response(s), ran off with the more simpatico sycophant-in-chief and became a Hollywood screenwriter, currently walking picket lines in Los Angeles.

But enough speculation about matters of limited interest ... back to the blog! By now, we all should have roused from our Thanksgiving stupor in eager anticipation of the year-end festivities to come: Chanukah, Christmas, Kwanzaa, the Winter Solstice marking the "rebirth" of the sun, the dawning of a new year (Western or Asian, or both), Boxing Day ... whatever wraps your particular package ....




Winter Solstice

Chestnuts roasting, Jack Frost nipping, Yule logs burning, halls decked, eggs a-nogging, lords a-leaping ... arguably, we have arrived at the best time of year for remembrance and reconnection, for family and friends to gather close once more, for sharing memories and stories and personal thoughts and perspectives ....

Nicki and I hope that in the spirit of the season you will join us here ... that those of you who have already "spoken" will continue to do so, and those who haven't yet will add your own unique voices. Inquiring minds want to know: What do you enjoy most about this season? What are your plans for the holidays? Describe your favorite holiday tradition(s). Tell us about some special gift(s) you have given or received. We really are interested and want to hear from you.

And speaking of unique voices, Guinevere the Druid Goddess is gleefully anticipating the Winter Solstice and scurrying madly hither and yon, gathering wood for a bit of nude dancing around the celebratory bonfire. Perhaps not as thrilling a sight as it might have been once upon a time ... but we won't tell her that ....

)O(

JOYEAUX ANNIVERSAIRE, CHER PAULA !

Yesterday, September 1st, would have been Paula's 62nd birthday. I spent a good part of the day "with" her ... or at least with my memories and thoughts of her. As I am sure most of you have felt about your loved ones and cherished friends, Paula left us far too soon ... or at least "too soon" in our own minds, despite any great universal plan or wheel of life. Although she does come back to me each time I speak her name, or think of her, or call up her image, of course it is still not the same as having my living, breathing friend next to me, to laugh with, and to share confidences and stories as we once did.

Paula was, both literally and figuratively speaking, one of my oldest (she would hate that word even now!) and dearest friends. We met as pre-kindergarten aged children in Sunday School at the (original) Church of Christ in Childress. Some of my earliest memories are of going to her house, or of her coming to my house, after church, to have lunch (usually fried chicken or take-out 'burgers, depending on whether the lady of the house wanted to cook that day), and then playing throughout the afternoon with the joy and intensity that only children seem able to muster. It was through Paula that I first met Linda Kay, who lived in the next block from Paula's house.

Paula, and Linda Kay, and my cousin Linda Sally and I all attended the elementary school attached to what was then Childress Junior High school. I had also known Pat (whose parents were BFFs with my parents, at least for a while) since we were toddlers, and she joined us at that elementary school, I believe in fifth grade. (Linda Sally's mother, Charlotte, was my teacher that year, although I seem to recall there was another fifth grade teacher, as well). When we entered Junior High, Raenell, Shirley and JoAnn gravitated to our little group. Lynn came along a year or so later, and by the time we were all at Childress High School, we were the Naughty Nine!

Anyone who knew Paula remembers her absolute love of and joy in life, her fearlessness in trying new things, her daredevil sense (shared by others of us, for better or worse) that nothing could possibly hurt her. I remember her throwing herself off the high diving board at the City Park pool, practicing until she perfected the swan dive, the jackknife, the tuck, and of course, the cannonball. We were definitely "water babies" who couldn't get enough of the pool, to the chagrin of our parents who had to cajole and/or threaten us to get us out when it was time to leave.

For a time, Paula and I were so close that our families joked that one of us might as well live with the other. The mayhem which could have resulted from that arrangement probably stifled that particular thought fairly quickly.

As all friends do, we had our disagreements and arguments, which could sometimes become quite dramatic. Once when Paula was spending the night with me, we got into some silly argument over some non-essential subject, and I remember Paula grabbing one of my soft stuffed animals and whacking me over the head with it, while I laughed and laughed at the absurdity of the situation. Not even an hour later, we were sharing ice cream, and records, and dreams for our future. That memory will stay with me always, with love, I assure you.

I remember Paula's mother, Lorraine, making Paula's red dress for the "Peppermint Lounge" (our Junior year) Junior-Senior banquet. The dress was drop-dead gorgeous, as was Paula in it, and I hate to think how many hours Lorraine worked on it. Paula went to the banquet with Jackie Petty, and a few years ago I was fortunate to obtain (from Lorraine) a VHS tape (transferred from 8 mm) that showed Paula and Jackie dancing after the banquet. It is truly magical to be able to see her with that red dress swirling with her movements ... and to see the others on the tape ... again, in microcosm, these long years later. At the same time, I obtained a tape (also transferred from 8 mm) from Linda Kay of one of her birthday slumber parties, and there we are, "immortalized" again ... Linda Kay, Paula, Pat, Linda Sally, Pam Hughes, me ... about fifth grade, glorying in fifth grade slumber party revelry. I had the tapes copied together, sequentially, and treasure my copy to this day.

Paula was the Childress friend with whom I was in most constant contact after graduation, although some of the other girls and I had periodic get-togethers, usually when I was visiting there. When Paula was diagnosed with her cancer early in 2001, she inadvertently set in motion a "gift" for the rest of us. I've related previously in this blog (the "BFF" section) how the Naughty Nine (and other friends) all came together one last time as a group, on February 5, 2002. And, after we lost our Paula a few short months later, we were moved to reconnect the bonds of friendship, and most of us nuture those bonds to this day.

At Paula's funeral, in May 2002, her family honored us by insisting that our group enter the services separately, just before the immediate family, and we were seated in a separate section, also at the direction of Paula's family, in loving acknowledgment of our "special" relationship with Paula. Jimmy Smith (Raenell's husband) sang "Peace in the Valley" so perfectly that there was not a dry eye in the house ... not that there were many, anyway. And I ... and the girls ... felt SO honored and surprised that as part of the eulogy, at the family's request, the minister read something that was especially written to place beside and then put into the casket with with Paula, bearing all our signatures. It said, in part:

"We were the Nine ... the 'Naughty Nine' as we liked to style ourselves in those more innocent and carefree days, before pain, and age and life itself swept us up and carried us along, caught in its inexorable current. Not really 'naughty', but more adventurous, and full of fun, and eager to challenge the world and make it our own. We grew to the edge of maturity together, and grew to love each other, and fought with each other, and fought together against those who didn't understand, or didn't care, or were thoughtless or cruel. We were the Nine.

"Time passes, and friendships fade, but throughout the years, there has been a bond that tied us, one to another, even unto death ... even to this day, and beyond. Paula is our first lost sister. But each of us will follow, in our turn. And yet, somehow, the Nine remain, the Nine endure.

"We were the Nine, we are the Nine, we will be the Nine again, when all of us have embarked on that same journey that now takes Paula from this place and time. ... We who remain wish her bon voyage ... until we meet again.

"We are the Nine."

Raenell, Shirley and I rode with Lynn to the cemetery service, lost in our own thoughts and memories for the most part. Lynn parked the car (I was "shotgun", as usual) and we walked slowly toward the grave site. After a few minutes, Lynn and I were looking around, wondering what had happened to Raenell and Shirley. We both looked back at the same time, and saw Rae and Shirl frantically beating on the back window of Lynn's car. Lynn had accidentally locked them in the back seat by tripping the locks as she exited the car. And I believe I could hear Paula's laughter carried on the constant wind ....

Nicki and I discussed this topic before I posted, and we are both hopeful that some of you will add your thoughts, and comments, and memories of Paula. Or, if there is someone of the class you wish to memorialize, please do so. The blog is a marvel, and a wonder, and a means of time travel ... from the past to the present, and ideally into the future. At the risk of redundancy, we truly want to hear your voices ....