Sherry Baby

One of the millions of things that made my grandpa great was his support of me no matter my choices. We actually had very different interests. He loved golf. My golfing skills are comical. I love music. He had never played an instrument in his life. Well, he always teased me and said he could play "the thumb." But I don't think that counts. ;) He loved the Big Bang Theory, and I hate that show. I love The Office, and he hated that show. But no matter our differences, if I was ever on a field or on a stage with an instrument in my hands, you bet Papaw was front and center. So was Mamaw and my Mom. But it's significant that Papaw was supportive because I knew that he wasn't personally interested in hearing gorgeous arrangements from the District 17 Honor Band at Ohio University. He had no interest in Wizard of Oz or Grease. He loved me though, and he wanted to support me. And that made me feel like a rockstar.

Growing up, I played many sports. I tried my hand at softball, basketball, volleyball, and track. Believe it or not, there was actually a time that I was good at volleyball. I played in middle school, and I was a starter in 8th grade. When the summer/autumn of my freshman year rolled around, I had to choose between volleyball or marching band. It wasn't really a choice. Sports are more of a hobby for me, but music is my love. When it came time, everyone knew that I was going to choose what I loved.

One day toward the end of my high school days, Papaw said, "You know, you would have been really good at volleyball." I looked at him, not knowing where the conversation was going. Then he continued, "But you're the best in the band."*

That was one of the best things I've ever heard. He accepted my talent as it was. He had no interest in changing it. He loved every sport there ever was, but he loved me more. He loved strutting around after my piano recitals and band concerts, telling everyone, "I taught her everything she knows." He loved harassing my musician friends, who grew to love him and his antics.

That spring, the concert band was playing a Frankie Valli medley, and "Sherry," was in the arrangement. That is definitely the anthem of Papaw and I. It was just a sweet coincidence. We loved singing in ridiculous falsetto voices and laughing at each other. At the concert, we started the medley, and if I remember correctly, "Sherry" was in the middle. When I started playing that piece, I made eye contact with Papaw, who was mouthing the lyrics with his signature grin. And that is when I lost all my ****. I started laughing so hard that I had to stop playing. Our beloved director Dingess looked at me, smirking and also shaking his head, you know, considering that my loud instrument had the melody at that point. Haha... Oops! It was the kind of laughter that you crave but cannot create on purpose.

I am so lucky that I was his.

Before he died, I had a few touching conversations with him about my future. When I came home for a night after the marathon, we were lying in bed and he asked, "So what's next, Jame?" It made my heart full to know that he expects big things from me. I made him some promises, and I can't wait to fulfill those.

I asked him if he would watch a show if I ever wrote for one. He said, and I love doing my impression of his answer, "Yeah. I might think it's stupid, but I would watch it anyway." And I know he would.

*To my bandies, he meant that my talent was best suited in band. Not that I was better than anyone else!

Mamaw, Papaw, and I with the trophy I got for being one of the "best in the band." :)

Christmas Mourning

The best Christmas selfie of the 2013 season

I've been waiting for this moment for a long time. The moment I freaking flip out internally over what I have to face this week; tomorrow. Tonight I was leaving work, and I decided to briefly stop in the Bath & Body Works across from my office. As I was standing in line to pay, I started panicking. My breathing quickened. I got that push, that pressure, behind my eyes. I wanted to cry, but I held it together. I don't know if it was the fact that I was surrounded by upbeat, happy people who are expecting a warm and fuzzy holiday. I really don't know what drove the feeling. But it continued as I walked to my car and on my drive home.

For the first time in my life, I'm not exactly looking forward to Christmas. I'm not dreading it either, but I simply do not feel the spirit. Christmas used to be my favorite time of the year, but now I'm kind of numbed by my loss. I've tried really hard to feel it. I've decorated, I've baked cookies (actually when I baked cookies I jammed angrily to Led Zeppelin), I've listened to the appropriate music, watched the right movies. But I've realized I'm just going through the motions. Don't get me wrong, I am so excited to give to my family and be with them, but it's the loss that hurts so much. My grandfather had this amazing way of making me feel like I belonged, and now I have this fear that I will never feel that way again. Again, my family is fantastic. Especially my Mamaw, and I really hope that for the sake of us both that I can make this holiday really special. But Papaw had this indescribable way of making us feel loved. It had nothing to do with presents and all to do with presence.

I've always been that girl- the one who loves Christmas for the warm and fuzzies. Sitting by a Christmas tree at night, laughing with family is essential. The atmosphere has always been what I rave about. I love the crispness of the air. I love the lights, and I love the sounds; however, this Christmas, the music has been like nails on a chalkboard. I can handle Paul McCartney and Chuck Barry, but anything else makes me want to impale myself with a candy cane.

I'm so over the food. Food has been an awful struggle in the wake of Papaw's death. I have a hard time being hungry, and I rarely crave anything. In fact, I'm so over the food, that I'd like to take a pumpkin pie into the back alley and beat the hell out of it with a baseball bat. Yeah I said it.

I have every right to feel this way. I've always said that I don't care what I have, as long as those I love are with me on that day. But they won't be. And it sucks. So it's perfectly okay that I feel violent toward pumpkin pie.

Grief is a big b*tch. And she doesn't stop for the holidays.

Annual Unconventional List of Thanks

I’m thankful that I’ve learned to respect myself by cutting out toxic people who are bad for my mental health. 

I’m thankful for all the setbacks, the less-than-ideal jobs, the rejections. Negative news and situations are always hard to fathom, but I trust that I am being directed to the right place.

I’m thankful for the rude, entitled people that I sometimes have to interact with for teaching me how NOT to act or treat others.

I am thankful for my self-therapy. Sometimes my eating disorder sneaks back up on me as a coping mechanism in times of distress or pain. I use it to gain control over my life. THEN I realize that is not coping- it is self-harm. And I go back to my real activities that make me happy: playing an instrument to soothe myself, or taking a run to clear my mind. I’m thankful that I can acknowledge what is healthy for me.

I’m thankful for my friends and family who do not sugar coat anything. I love when people can be honest and realistic, but not hurtful.

2014 has been the year of the friend. I think that’s because my friends and I have finally reached the age that sometimes family members don’t understand our problems because of generational differences. I love that I have found so many friends from differing backgrounds that do not judge; they only support.

I’m thankful for the hardships in recent years that have revealed my true friends. Thanks to that, I no longer need to waste time or energy on people who do not care.

I had so many friends, near and far, cheer for me during the marathon. They celebrated with me in spirit. I had friends, near and far, cry with me when Papaw died. Some of these friends didn’t even know him. But because they love me, they felt my pain too. Those are the best friends.

I’m thankful for the friends that I consider my brothers and sisters.

I am thankful for my siblings. In my life, I’ve questioned a lot of things regarding my family life. But I’ve never questioned how much I love my siblings. I know they look up to me, so I think twice when making decisions. They make me a better person.

I’m thankful for my cousins that could easily be my siblings. Cousins are great. Mine are at least. I’m so grateful for their loyalty.

I’m thankful for my high school teachers that I still continue to teach me and help me grow. I still have relationships with my music, theater and English teachers. I’ve actually shared with them some of my most private pieces of writing that I’ve never shared with anyone else. That is how much I trust and respect them.

I’m thankful for the Knowlton School of Architecture and The Ohio State University. These institutions have given me some of my best and weirdest friends a girl could ever ask for.

I’m thankful for my Uncle Ray (“Gunkle”) who has had to break a lot of bad news to me in my life. He was the one to tell me that Ethan needed heart surgery, that Papaw had cancer; that Papaw had days left to live; that Papaw had died. Every time he had to deliver this heart wrenching news, he cried with me. I really appreciate that. He never pretended that it didn’t hurt or that it was going to be okay. He acknowledged with his tears that he is hurting too and that we can hurt together. 

I’m thankful for my Mamaw. When I come home, she makes me food, does my laundry, buys me random necessities. I don’t need her to do that. But that’s exactly what Mamaws are for, and she does it perfectly. She also fills the roles that I do need. She listens to me cry, whether that is over the phone or at the dining room table. (And that can’t be a pleasant job. I am such an ugly crier.) Mamaw is definitely one of my best friends.

Finally, I’m thankful for the time I had with Papaw. Twenty-three years was not enough for me, but I’m grateful for what I did get. He taught me how to face life with laughter. Thanks to him, from now on, whatever I do, I will do it with all my heart. He would not want me to wallow in self-pity. He never did that, even when he was dying. Even though my heart aches every day, I am taking the steps I need to live a happier and healthier life. I am thankful for his motivation.

A Small Speech for a Big Heart

"How lucky am I to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard?" This is a quote stated by the beloved childhood character, Winnie the Pooh. I read this quote months ago, before any of this was on our minds. But I think that's exactly why I stumbled across it. God has been preparing my heart for this a long time.

I read it one night while browsing literary quotes.

"How lucky am I to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard?"

I immediately thought of Papaw. How lucky am I? How lucky are all of us in to have known, loved, and been loved by such a wholesome and giving heart?

A few years ago at Ohio State, there was a special dinner for grandparents, and of course mine came. I surprised Mamaw and Papaw by giving a speech about them during the dinner. I asked a friend to film the speech just so I could have it, and for a moment she moved the camera on to my grandparents, watching me speak. That was the first time I had seen my grandpa cry outside of a funeral home.

I discussed how honored I am to belong to them. How lucky am I? These two really put the grand in grandparents. Their love for each other and their family is larger than life. I have learned so much from their love, kindness, dedication, and willingness to give. I truly hope that I can spread as much charity and positively impact as many lives as my Papaw has.

In the past few days I have been reminded of his charity many times. I have been really touched by people telling me stories about him. So many people have gone out of their way to tell our family how much Ray meant to them. At the funeral home last night I spoke to a woman that he hired at Logan several years ago. Through my sadness I thought, "Wow. This is really cool to hear these stories. How lucky am I?"

I was also reading the condolences on the funeral home website, and one that stood out to me the most was from a co-worker. She said, "Ray was a very kind man. He taught me a lot, but one thing that stands out to me most about Ray is that he never thought less of anyone when they did not know something, he just helped us learn." I will take that with me for the rest of my life and try to be a patient leader like my grandfather.

Something I realized a long time ago is that I will never be able to pay Papaw back for what he has done for me and this world. The best I can do is pay it forward-- I aspire to live and love as he did; as a friend, parent, coach, mentor, volunteer and servant.

I also learned from Papaw that even though you may be suffering through the hardest and darkest time of your life, that you can still find joy and peace in daily life. I will really miss him in that aspect. I will miss the simple things... Like going to Sam's Club and eating all their samples. I will miss his company when I make outlandish statements to strangers, just to see their reaction. I will miss his reactions to my outlandish statements to him. Once I asked him, "What would you do if I dropped out of architecture school to become a comedian?" He said, "Well... I'd laugh at you."

On a side note- this is kind of unrelated, but a fun story I love to remember: When I was a high school freshman, I had a crush on two brothers that were seniors. Papaw knew this. Once at a football game, one of the boys was walking in front of us, and Papaw turned around and grinned at me. In my soul I was like, "No Papaw Please, no. Just no." And then he did it. Papaw tapped on the boy's shoulder, and he turned around. Papaw said, "Excuse me. My granddaughter thinks you're hot." Although inside I was mortified, I would not give Papaw the satisfaction of embarrassing me, so I looked at the boy right in the eye and said, "Yes. I do."

Anyway, getting back on track here- Among other comments people have made to me, a popular one has been, "He was one of a kind." Speaking of boys, the other day Mamaw told me that I need to "find someone like Papaw." That's a nice thought, but I think I have better chances of finding Bigfoot.

But the comment that stands out the most to me is, "He put up one heck of a fight." That's the thing. He fought so hard. But the catch is that he didn't lose. Sometimes you work so hard for something that God gives you what you deserve. Papaw deserved a beautiful life, one more beautiful and perfect that what we could have given him on this earth. And that is what God gave him.

What My Tattoos Meant to My Grandpa

For many years I knew I wanted a tattoo. A lot of people do. A lot of people want one just to have one. Most people talk about it, but never go through with it. I knew in my heart, when the time was right, that I would do it. I even discussed it with my grandparents. Not the tattoo I ended up getting (lol), but other tattoo ideas. I knew they were disturbed, but they also trust me with my decisions about my life and my body.

In the summer, my family got the devastating news that Papaw's cancer was likely back. I really struggled to cope with this being so far away from my family. Of course, their love will always be in my heart, but I wanted a physical reminder of their love that I could see on a daily basis. What a better reminder than permanent ink? ;)

On one of my drives south, the moment happened. It was a beautiful, sunny summer day. The windows of my car were down and I was listening to The Beatles. And the song, "In My Life" came on. I love that song with all my heart. I played and sang it at a Mother's Day event once (I rarely publicly play and sing simultaneously, so that is me proving how important the song is).

Suddenly, by the grace of the creativity gods, I had an idea! What if I got my grandparents to write out the lyrics of "In My Life" for a tattoo? That is just what I did that weekend. I took Papaw the piece of paper first. Without telling them what it was to be used for, I asked, "Papaw, will you write, 'In my life'?" He was a bit confused, but complied. He even asked me, "What am I doing this for?" I giggled and said, "You'll see." His first go was a little messy, so I asked him, "Could you maybe write that a little more neatly?" His second attempt looked like it was written by Walt Disney, so I used the original. <3 p="">
I took the paper to Mamaw next and asked her to write, "I love you more."

It took me a few weeks to figure out the placement. When I had that figured out, I picked an artist that I liked and made the magic happen. I originally was going to wait until I got home to show them, but I'm really bad at hiding anything so I called them right away and told them. This was the manner in which I broke the news to Mamaw: "Hi Mamaw. Do you know how much I love you?" "Aww I love you too." "No, you don't understand. I love you so much that I got your handwriting tattooed on my body." "What?"

Heehee. The rest of the conversation with Mamaw was pretty normal. She wasn't too upset or disturbed and neither was Papaw. They were both mostly concerned that I had hurt myself or that I was going to get a disease.

The moment of reveal to Papaw, though, was one of the most touching moments I've ever experienced. Two weeks later, I was able to visit home, and I made the drive right after work. I was wearing long sleeves, so when I got there I had to change. (I had to add some drama, right?) I approached Papaw, who was in his chair (a place he spent a lot of time while sick), and asked, "Are you ready?" I leaned over him, showing him what I had done. He read it slowly, "In my life... I love you more." I watched his face as he read my arms. Then he looked at me. I really do not know how to put into words the expression on his face. It was just full of love. I could tell that he was extremely honored that I went to those lengths, not only to prove my life for them, but so that I could have a piece of them forever. I will never, ever forget the look on his face.

A few minutes later when I had moved on to other things (like convincing Mamaw that I'm not diseased), he approached me and gave me a hug that seemed to last a lifetime. He also told me he loved me. He was a loving man, but he never just "did" things that emotional. I could tell that he was still thinking about my tattoos and the meaning behind them.

Ray Thomas Redman

Ray Thomas Redman

07.31.2948-11.07.2014

Ray Thomas Redman, 66, of Mason, WV, went to be with the Lord on Friday, November 7, after a courageous two-year battle with pancreatic cancer. Ray was born on July 31, 1948 in Mason, WV, to his loving parents, the late Tom and Eulah Johnson Redman. He is survived by his wife of 46 wonderful years, Joyce Long Redman, son daughter-in-law Ray and Mandy Redman, daughter and son-in-law Lori and Wally Hatfield, grandchildren, Jamie Bailey, Mackenzee Redman, Nathan Redman, Allison Hatfield, and Ethan Redman, a special great-grand cat, Maggie, brother-in-law and sister-in-law Jan and Susie Long, and several aunts, uncles, cousins, nephews, and special friends. He is preceded in death, beside his parents, by grandson Ryler Redman, father-in-law and mother-in-law Lewis and Dorothy Long, and a special cousin Linn Ward. Ray had a successful career and was employed by Logan Corporation. He was an avid golfer and a member of the Mason United Methodist Church. As a follower of Jesus, Ray loved serving his community. He enjoyed supporting his grandchildren in their athletic and musical activities. Ray was deeply loved by his family, widely respected throughout the community and will be greatly missed.
Visitation will be Tuesday, November 11th, from 6-8pm, at the Foglesong-Roush Funeral Home in Mason. The funeral will be Wednesday at 11am at the Mason United Methodist Church.

26.2

I fought hard yesterday. My body is reminding me of that in my every movement today. I could feel it in my sleep when I tried to shift positions. I hesitated at getting out of bed and standing up, knowing it would be a struggle. I hobbled to, in and out of my car and across the parking lot, into the building in which I work… all with a goofy, satisfied grin on my face. I am so, so happy to have this pain. I am a grateful victim of the Champion Shuffle. That’s what I call it at least. As you know, I got the shuffle by running the 26.2 mile beast. This is the story of what it took to conquer it.

The first half felt so strong. I maintained a consistent pace and fed off the crowd support. I purposely did not listen to music the entire first half so that I could enjoy the supportive spectators. There were some touching moments and some funny moments during the first half. One of the first powerful moments I experienced occurred early around mile 4. One of the wheelchair racers was struggling to make it up a hill, and every single runner who passed him cheered for him, including myself. It was instinctual. I have no idea what I yelled, but I do remember something encouraging spilling out of my mouth at a volume I could not control. It brings me to tears to think about. Not because I felt sorry for him—I can barely run up a hill, let alone wheel myself up one—but because I was so humbled to be among such supportive people. We were all in it together, and we were all cheering for each other, regardless of ability.

The second moment that jarred me was inspired by a character named Bryer. I had seen runners with shirts that said, “Bryer’s Song.” I gathered that it was a team name, likely inspired by a person, quite possibly a child, who had passed away. Around mile 6, I heard a woman shout, “Bryer was strong! Be strong like Bryer!” Although at the time I wasn’t certain who the angel named Bryer was, I could hear determination in the voice of the encouraging woman. I researched before writing this post, and sadly my guess was accurate.  Bryer was a former patient champion* who moved on to the angel mile this year. <3 p="">

There were also moments of sheer goofiness. As I began to pick up the pace in mile 11, I passed a man in a pink bunny suit. He was running a half (or maybe even full) marathon in a bunny suit, so I’m assuming he was doing this for a higher reason. I did my best not to laugh at him. In my defense, it was just a pretty ridiculous sight. I also saw a couple holding a sign referring to the Beyonce song, “Flawless.” I threw my arms in the air and shouted the word at them as if I had just learned to read. But they loved it and cheered for me in return. Some of the signs that made me laugh the most were, “Run like Ebola is chasing you,” “Run like her dad walked in,” (that one took me a second), and “PENIS.” I only thought that was hilarious because the man holding it was extremely creepy, which just made the whole scene. One of my favorite characters on the course was a person in a monkey suit and mask with a sign that said, “You are all bananas. I love bananas.” He/she was ringing a bell and, not even kidding, making monkey noises at the runners. I laughed so hard at that one, it hurt. I had a few great friends along the course that were holding signs for me. I will forever be grateful for that support. Thank you, Elise, Matt, Renee, Jack, and Nathan.

I knew I was approaching the halfway mark, and I still felt strong. I also knew I would be seeing my aunt and two cousins soon, so I was getting quite eager and probably running a little too fast. Shortly before I saw my family, I saw a couple MIT coaches. MIT is my training group, Marathoners in Training, and I have acquired a second family simply by joining this group of people. The head coach had a camera in hand, as always, so I smiled as I flew by. I was easily identifiable because I was wearing the official MIT shirt, so throughout the entire course, I had cheerleaders. (A HUGE perk I was not expecting!)

When I saw my family, I was flooded with pure joy. It’s always special to see your family on the course, no matter how many times you’ve raced. I sprinted over to Ethan, my three-year-old cousin (I often call him my nephew) who lurched toward me. I thought he was going to chase me. I’m actually kind of sad that he didn’t. His Mom would have had a heck of a time catching him in a marathon. I laugh just thinking of the possibility. Anyway, I grabbed his tiny face and kissed his little cheek. He was wearing his signature, ornery grin, and I could tell that he was just as happy to see me as I was to see him. I could also see the pride and happiness in my aunt’s face, and, well, I can easily make myself cry thinking about that—I love you, Mandy! Mackenzee was there cheering as well, and she also made her support clear on social media. She coined one of the best hashtags I’ve ever seen if I do say so myself. That would be #badassbailey   Heehee.

My grandparents were unable to make it due to my Papaw’s current health conditions, but throughout the race I reminded myself whose blood runs through my veins. I also looked down at my tattooed arms if I needed any inspiration. I especially thought of my grandparents in the “ungodly miles,” miles 18-on. When I was tired or wanted to give up, lie down, cry, lose my freaking mind, all of the above, I thought of my grandparents and how strong they are. <3 p="">

Speaking of the ungodly miles, when I hit mile 22, the finish seemed so close, yet so far. At mile 23 I realized, “Wow. I’m doing this. I’m actually going to finish this thing.” I also thought of you, Adrian Bolin! You’re a fighter! When I hit mile 24, I realized I was almost done prayed for the next mile marker to come quickly.

By the time I got to mile 25, I felt like I was flying. I wanted to finish as quickly as possible. There was a small group of MIT cheerers, and about half a mile from the finish they saw me and shouted, “GO MIT, this is your last big push!” I thought the finish line was around the corner, so I really picked up the pace. It was not. Devastated, I continued the fast pace and turned another corner. Yet again, I could not see the finish line. At that moment, I distinctly remember thinking to myself, “Where the **** is the finish line?!” Finally, a last turn and there it was. It was such a glorious moment, and I was trying to take in the last few seconds of my 4:13:09 journey. The end of the Rolling Stones, “You Can’t Always Get What You Want,” was playing, and if you’re familiar with it, there is a really uplifting piano riff with a choir of what sounds like angels singing on top of that, “You get what you need.”  It was almost movie-like. I could see the crowd, and although I could faintly hear some of the people reading my bib and yelling out my name, I was in my own world of euphoric achievement.

I threw my arms into the air as I crossed the finish and then it finally sank in. I had done it. That was the moment I had been dreaming of since I could remember. I was already breathing hard from pushing that last half mile, and then I started choking up. With that combination, there was a terrifying thirty seconds that I could barely breathe. I wiped my tears from my salty face as a volunteer placed a medal around my neck. A girl who could see that I was struggling a little bit- bless her heart- read my bib and said in the most genuine voice, “Congratulations, Jamie. Good job.”

Someone wrapped me in a space blanket. Someone snapped my picture. I tried to eat a bagel, but everything was a chore at that point. That includes walking. It was so painful. I found my family, and I could tell they were so happy for me. I still felt drugged, so I had a difficult time expressing how thrilled I was by the finish and the presence of my family and friends that I consider family. This whole marathon business has made me realize how truly blessed, lucky, and loved I am. By the end of it I felt like a zombie that crawled out of hell, but you all made me feel like a rockstar. Thank you for believing in me.

It has been four months of chaos, uncertainty, dedication, planning, and ultimately triumph. And I cannot wait to do it again.

*The Nationwide Children’s Hospital Marathon hosts a “Patient Champion” at each mile marker so that the runners can be inspired at every mile. The Marathon also hosts an “Angel Mile,” remembering and celebrating the lives that are lost too soon.