This month, Christa and I are back with another NaBloPoMo challenge, the third we’ve done since Halloween 2009.

I’m eager to get back into my blog, which I seem to coddle and neglect in waves, because it’s as much a tapestry of our lives, our history, as our photographs. One day I plan to compile all of my entries and have them printed and bound, by year, for the children when they grow older. This is a lot of history, which essentially began before they were ever conceived and has continued for nearly nine years. I have changed so much, even more they they have.

And, sadly, part of that history died two weeks ago.

It was 8:38 a.m. when I got the phone call.

I was knee-deep in obituaries, writing them up so they could be faxed out for proofing before they ran in the next edition. It was the day before production day, our second busiest day of the week. I had nine voicemails I hadn’t even checked, a list of stories I hadn’t written and pages I needed to lay out.

I’d just taken on new duties at the paper, new tasks which were mine by default after our newsroom coordinator left to pursue another opportunity. I’d been handling the pressure well, but the pressure was mounting.

And my ex-husband was calling.

When I answered it and heard him sobbing on the other end, I knew.

“No? YOUR MOM?!”

“Yes! She’s gone,” he cried. “My dad just called me! I have to go, I have to get to Alabama!”

Crying, but in disbelief, I let him go. The pangs of guilt, which stemmed from months of putting off a trip to visit her, began immediately. I couldn’t believe she was actually gone.

On Tuesday, May 18, 2010, Virginia Pierce Denmark lost a courageous eight-month battle with lung cancer.  My ex-husband and his sister lost their beloved mother, my children and my nephew lost their grandmother and I lost someone who, though I’d not spoken to her in several months, meant a lot to me.

She was a great mother-in-law while she was mine. She always greeted me with a hug, a kiss on the cheek and, “Hey girlie!” She never hung up the phone or saw us off without telling us she loved us. Virg was generous, she was kind and she was a great cook. She loved her children deeply and fiercely and would do absolutely anything for either of them.

I miss her cackling laughter (she’s from the hills of North Carolina), the way she painted her “bad toe”. I miss all of her candles and potpurri and lightbulb fragrance and Crock-pot oil, which she always had going all at once, simply because it was part of who she was (though honestly, it always made my sinuses CRAZY). I miss her spaghetti and chicken and dumplings (she once taught me, but I didn’t think to write it down).

I always loved the way she had a nickname for everyone – Bubby, Sis, Lucy, Girlie, Echo-lou.

We were next-door neighbors before we were in-laws, sitting in her garage gossiping and telling stories and sharing memories and laughing. Oh, how we always laughed. The first time we ever really talked, I went to the house looking for either Bryan or Barbie, I’m not sure which, and we sat in the foyer talking about old board games and ’90s songs for about 45 minutes. She liked the early ’90s female rappers, old R&B and the Electric Slide; she also loved country music.

And small dogs. She had a mean little Pomeranian for many years that bit and barked more than he breathed (but he liked me). She also had a Yorkie named Tosha that she adored. Those two have since passed and at the time of her death, she had a Shih-Tzu named Sadie. Virg always liked to watch Headline News all day, even through the same stories. She liked watching “Monk” and “Law & Order: SVU”, which rubbed off on me.

Virg loved buying decorative pieces for her home and it is packed full of her treasures, many of them brought back from living in Germany and Japan when my former father-in-law was in the Army. She always kept pictures on the fridge and also had little notes on scrap paper stuck the side of the fridge with notes. She marked important things this way. The day I found out I was pregnant with Jaiden, her stats from birth.

Though we hadn’t seen her in three years, I know she loved her grandchildren. Like us, I bet she thought she’d still have time to see them.

But two weeks ago, time ran out.

She was in the hospital a few weeks prior, but was doing better. Even though she had cancer, her death came unexpectedly. But she was in pain. She was hurting. And now, the pain is gone.

The children and I traveled to Alabama for the funeral, to support the family members we had not seen for various reasons. In full disclosure, I met this decision with resistance, but it was important to me to be there, to say goodbye, to visit her in death because I did not fulfill one of her last wishes while she was still alive.

I wanted to visit during the holidays, but my leave was denied. I walked out on my job one day afterward, in anger. I regret not violating that or not finding another time to go because now … now it’s too late.

They will never hear her cackling laugh or hear her call them “boy-boy” or “girlie” or another of her many terms of endearment. They will never hug her again or play with the toys at her house or swim in her pool. They don’t know or don’t remember, but they still have some of her gifts upstairs. In fact, Jaylen can still wear the underwear she mailed him when he was potty training.

Of course, they had not seen her in three years, but I hate they’ve lost the opportunity for a normal grandmother-grandchild relationship.

And I hate that Bryan and Barbie have lost their mother. Bryan is the epitome of a mama’s boy (or worse) and Barbie and Virg were the best of friends; I know they’re hurting deeply right now and I wish there was something I could do to take that away.

It wasn’t easy to drive there, to take my children back there. It was incredibly awkward at first, but it mostly subsided by the time we left. It was good to see everyone, good to catch up, good for Jenna to finally meet her grandfather and his brother. This is their family and they needed one another.

I was pleased, and surprised, to find that even though they went through a bitter divorce three years ago, over the last few months Bryan’s parents had become friends again. They were very dear friends when she died, which makes me proud of them, but also sad. You never know what might have been …

And I am so sad for not calling these past few years. To be honest, she didn’t call me either. I don’t think either of us really knew where we stood, but I wish I could go back and tell her that she always meant a lot to me. She always treated me kindly, with respect, even when she didn’t agree with me.

The last scrap of paper on her fridge with my name on it marked the day the kids and I packed up and moved to Tennessee and the day Jenna was born. I wish I could frame it. I know she loved her son, I know she loved me and I know she loved those kids. I know she was proud of each of us. She was happy, I know, that I’d found someone who could give me the happiness I couldn’t find with her son.

The day we left I walked around the house one last time. The house she loved, the house where she fought her battles and raised her children, the house where she drew her last breath. It very well may have been the last time.

It was so strange to be there without her, so strange that my children have already lost a grandparent as young as they are, so strange that they will have no memories of someone who loved them, someone who holds a part of their history. I kept waiting for her to walk out into the garage or come into the living room. What I wouldn’t give to watch another episode of “Law & Order: SVU” with her or watch as she hugged my children.

I just can’t believe she’s actually gone. If I would have known that seven years (to the day) after I married her son that we’d be burying her, I would have done so many things differently. But that’s life … you never know, so you should do all of the things you want to do. Say you’re sorry, forgive, visit more often. You never know when it’s going to be too late.

After saving a calf, two men boat down Old Hwy. 51 in Brighton towards Hwy. 51, a major thoroughfare in Tipton County, as a third man walks through floodwaters Saturday, May 1, 2010. Photo by Terri Robinson.

Since last I wrote, my world has been consumed with floodwaters and Facebook updates.

I tossed and turned for hours early during the morning on May 1. Awakened by violent storms, I couldn’t find sleep with a treasure map and decided to get up, check on the weather and wait for the drowsiness to return. If there’s anything I’ve learned about the Mid-South is that when a storm wakes you up, you turn on the TV and check for a weather update before you head back to bed. But by 4:30 a.m., I was ready to give up on trying to get back to sleep.

The rain was coming down in sheets; it was flooding my new flowerbeds and the Freesias and Ranunculus bulbs I didn’t think would sprout. I was bummed our soccer games would be canceled due to rain for a third week (two in a row). I didn’t expect a flood of epic proportions.

By the time I realized what was happening, it was already too late.

In eight hours’ time, my city had 10.45 inches dumped on it. Altogether on May 1, total rainfall amounts of 12-16 inches had fallen here. Businesses in Munford were 4-8 feet under water. Sixty individuals were rescued from stranded vehicles and flooded homes and 200 people were housed in shelters.

There are dramatic stories of rescues – the aging mother on dialysis rescued from her flooded trailer in the middle of the country, the elderly man who made a trip to Walgreens for much-needed medication and became stranded in the parking lot, the woman who was pulled from her flooded vehicle with only a small pocket of air left, the mother who woke up to find her home flooded and swam down the driveway to get her children to safety.

Families were rescued from their homes by boats, then put on school buses and taken to shelters.

Businesses on Big Creek Drive in Munford saw 4-8 feet of water, bringing devastation to a group just recovering from flooding in 2003. Photo by Richard Cramer.

Our creeks, our ponds, our lakes, our drainage ditches, our tributaries, our rivers, our yards … everything not on higher ground flooded. Vehicles. Homes with foundations. Mobile homes. Businesses. Non-profit organizations. Daycares.

Nothing was safe.

The water caused a major problem with our roadways, washing out pavement, causing sinkholes and wiping out bridges and culverts. At one point Saturday, a quarter of all of the roadways in Tipton County were closed. Highway 51, our major thoroughfare, was closed in three places with standing water. Highway 59 from Covington to Mason had 4-5 feet covering it.

A Jeep Commander is stranded in floodwaters off of Hwy. 59 in Mason. Photo by Tiffany Holland.

Saturday afternoon, the rain stopped, the clouds broke, the sun shone. The waters receded, the damage surveyed. It was a break in the rain and a chance to drive around and gasp at the roads or the multiple closures.

By nightfall, danger had come again.

Another round of storms hit the area, bringing with it tornadic activity. Among those reported, a tornado touched down in Lucy, a small community south of Millington in Shelby County. Millington is the town just south of us, the town where a levy had broken and the flooding much worse than ours. Funnel clouds were reported in three communities in Tipton County and the kids and I spent some time in our safe place (the master closet).

With my heart pounding out of my chest, I banged out Facebook updates for The Leader’s fan page, just as I had since 5 a.m., while the sirens blared outside. There was a funnel headed our way, just 8 miles south of town. I reported this, took a deep breath and looked around at my children.

It was 11:15 p.m. and I had pulled them out of bed when the sirens came on. They were covered with blankets and groggy, but smiling. Jaiden was nervous, Jaylen trying to sleep and Jenna oblivious. A rebel, my husband was in bed. It’d been a long day and I prayed we’d see daylight without further destruction. We’d had enough already.

It seems miraculous, but the storm broke up over Tipton County. No funnels touched the ground here, thankfully. It just went on its merry way.

It was a very sad, very heartbreaking, very emotional, very raw May Day.

When I woke up Saturday morning, I didn’t know I’d spend my day glued to Facebook, updating fans and earning the trust and gratitude of more than 2,700 people. I didn’t know that we’d see unprecedented rainfall, so much rain the Army Corps of Engineers deemed it a 1,000-year flood. This was the kind of flood that never happens, the kind of flood never seen here. The chances of seeing that much rain were 1/10 of 1 percent.

I think, perhaps, there are better chances of winning the lottery, but don’t quote me.

Initial estimates of damage were $20.44 million and the day after the storm, Tipton County was declared a disaster area by our county executive. By May 5, we’d been declared a disaster area by the federal government, allowing our flood victims access to FEMA assistance. It is needed here, just as it is in Millington and Nashville.

And, my God, our emergency personnel really hit this one out of the park. They worked tirelessly through these storms to help us get through this. There are not enough words to thank them for what they continue to do, day in and day out.

Through it all, my family was lucky. Luckier than most. Though we had a creek running through our backyard at one point, drainage from our yard and our neighbors’ yards, our house didn’t flood. Our home, our cars, even our yard were fine once it quit raining. We lost topsoil from our flowerbeds, that’s it.

Others, like my beloved friend Christa and her family, were not so lucky. Christa’s family survived, and because there had been no reports of missing persons, we believed everyone in Tipton County did too. But last Friday, a hunter found the body of a man in a field in Mason. He was the only Tipton County casualty and the third death in West Tennessee attributed to the storm. More than 22 people have died as a result of the May Day storms.

But through the clouds and storms of tragedy, the bright rays of faith are seeing the survivors through the devastation.

The thing about living in a small community is that the true definitions of community and neighbor, which are present every single day, are especially prevalent after tragedy. In all, 22 families are currently displaced. The waters have gone down. The mold is growing. Assistance is coming. But for the past 10 days, people have come together to help their neighbors. To pass out bottled water, to wash and dry laundry, to rip up carpets and sheet rock. To help each other begin again.

We don’t have to wait for assistance*, we just look to our neighbors. Because we know they will be there for us through the sun, the rain, the tornadoes and the floods.

It was devastating, plain and simple, but living where we do definitely softened the blow.

* That’s not to say we don’t need assistance, because we do. The world needs to know Nashville wasn’t the only city that flooded, that Memphis and Millington and Tipton County and Dyer County are suffering too.

Wanna hear something hilarious? Only it’s really not.

I’m not divorced. No, really, you read that right: I’m not yet divorced.

As my friend said: “This is like the marriage that WILL NOT end!”

The day of the hearing my lawyer did not have the correct permanent parenting plan submitted to the courts. This means that (1) he, again, did not do what he’s been paid to do, especially since that parenting plan was revised for the last time in JANUARY and (2) he would have to get the paperwork submitted to the courts in order for the chancellor to make a judgment regarding my proposed visitation schedule (which is no schedule for visitations). If he grants my request, that means child support would also changed as it’s based on the number of days allotted to each parent for visitation. (Since he doesn’t visit anyway when he’s more than welcome – and even asked and invited – to, why give him certain days and weeks for visitation, thus lowering his financial obligations to the children?)

On June 23 my lawyer told the chancellor and I that he would get the paperwork submitted as soon as possible. The chancellor granted an absolute divorce based on the grounds of inappropriate marital conduct. When my lawyer joined my dad and I in the lobby after his other client was divorced, I asked him flat-out, “I’m divorced, right?”

He stuttered, but said yes. I was divorced. And I was thrilled.

Wednesday morning I had a meeting in the court complex, as I do every week, and decided to stop by and ask the chancery court clerk if any decision had been made. And one hasn’t. That paperwork that was supposed to be submitted ASAP? Has not been submitted.

I jokingly asked, “So I guess I’m really not divorced then, right?” Ha ha. “If I wanted to get married today, I couldn’t?!”

“Nope, you’re not.” She launches into legal explanations and I hear something about a final decree and why there was none. Basically: my lawyer is a douche bag (see definition 5). (Sorry for the language Grannie, but that’s putting it nicely. I have more colorful words, but I’ll keep those to myself.)

I really think there is some sort of conspiracy involving my lawyer, my husband (oh my hell, I hate saying that again) and … well, the entire world. It’s like in the movies – I just cannot kill this marriage and bury it, it keeps coming back from the end, taunting me. “Ha ha! You aren’t divorced!”

It’s really frustrating. I didn’t know that vowing to love him ’til death do we part’ was going to be taken so seriously. (I mean, really, vows are actually taken seriously these days?)

And I haven’t told him yet. That he’s still my husband. And I’m still his wife.

Maybe by the time our sixth anniversary rolls around next May we’ll have resolved this. Because the only other thing I can think of is getting back together with him. Why not? He got the seven-year itch at year one … it should be smooth sailing from here on out, right?

Hanson told me last week that my life is like a soap opera. I’m beginning to think he’s right.

Super Tuesday. Fat Tuesday. Shrove Tuesday. Call it whatever you will, but it Tuesday night was less than stellar for most of us in the Mid-South.

The day began nice and mellow, an almost sweet Spring day in a small town. Melancholy, raining just a little bit. Then the rains came down, the floods came up and houses all around the Mid-South went splat. And so did a Sears store at Hickory Ridge Mall in the Hickory Hill area of Memphis. And so did a roof at the men’s dorm at Union University in Jackson (Tenn.). And so did several other things.

The severe weather hit our area around 4 p.m. this afternoon and it was, quite honestly, awful trying to get down to pick up my kids from the south end of the county. We were under a tornado watch, which is never good. It was raining so hard you couldn’t see the lines on the road. It cleared up for quite a bit and I was able to get the kids and get to the house without incident. When we got home we gathered some things and went immediately into the storm shelter.

While in the shelter we heard that a tornado had touched down just a few miles from our house and had destroyed a home in the Bottoms and had damaged two other homes in the area. Pretty scary stuff, but I’m so glad it missed us.

Also? Three kids in a storm shelter is so not fun.

We came out at about 6:50 p.m., once the danger had passed. We ate PB&J sandwiches for dinner, then Jaiden did her homework and the kids went to bed. At about 9:30 p.m. or so I thought I heard sirens outside, but being that we are so far out from the city, it’s hard to tell. (Were there sirens, Em?) My dad thought he heard them too, so back into the shelter we went. He and I kept our eyes on the TV (in the bedroom, not the shelter) and the kids tried to get some rest while in the shelter. At about 10:50 p.m. the danger was, once again, over and it was back to bed for the kiddos.

So far there have been nine confirmed fatalities in the viewing area – eastern Arkansas, northern Mississippi, western Tennessee and the bootheel of Missouri. There have been several reports of damages in the greater Memphis area, but thankfully no devastation. No accurate word yet on how many tornadoes we’ve had in the area – still too soon to tell. But thankfully it’s out of the area now.

Darin took the photo above on his way home from work tonight. It’s a tornado in Arlington, which is a suburb of Memphis.

And tomorrow shall be busy for me as I run around and try to get pictures of everything!

I also voted today but, unfortunately, results from the primaries were preempted by the weather. I hear Hillary won Tennessee. Hmm.

I don’t know whether I have the worst luck or the best, but I’m an optimist, so we’ll go with the best.

Tonight I wrecked my truck.

Yes, that pretty truck I just got after an accident at Thanksgiving.

If I can defend myself here, this wasn’t my fault. Or not really. It was just ‘one of those things’, so says the police officer.

I was on my way to pick up my children from the sitter’s house. She lives in a rural area, outside her town’s limits like we do. This particular road is narrow and I always think, ‘someone is going to wreck on this stupid road!’ The road is very hilly and has deep ditches as there are fields on either side of the road, for the most part. About 100 yards after turning onto the road I met a truck pulling a hay trailer. He was taking up most of the road and really couldn’t move over, so I tried to move over in order to give him some room and avoid a collision.

I hit a dip in the ditch on my right and overcorrected, ending up in the ditch on the left. Two of my wheels were not on the road, so brakes (yes, those new ones I just bought) were pretty useless. In the blink of an eye were two trees in front of me. I missed the first and saw that I was coming head on for the second. I yanked my steering wheel to the right in hopes of only being seriously injured instead of dead. These were my thoughts. I couldn’t believe this was happening and my nightmare of dying young in a car accident was coming true. I hit the tree. My driver’s side windows shattered, throwing glass all over the inside of my truck. Somehow I ended up back on the street and headed towards the opposite ditch. My left front tire was coming off of the axle and that helped me stop, right in the middle of the road.

I started screaming and grabbing at my neck. I felt like there was something there. I knew I was alive, but surely something had to be wrong. A cut across my jugular? Head injury? Broken bones? I couldn’t open my door and felt trapped. I had to get out of that truck. I took the keys out and the radio was still blaring Musiq Soulchild’s Show Me How to Love, the song I was singing just before I saw the other vehicle. I panicked because the radio wouldn’t shut off. (It doesn’t shut off until a door is opened.) Somehow I crawled over the console and crawled out the passenger side. I was gasping for air, having a panic attack and trying to keep myself from completely freaking out. (And, oddly, I only had one shoe on again like last time. What’s up with that?)

The other driver was walking down the street. He said he was so glad to see that I was crawling out of my truck when he came down the hill. “With all of that dust,” he said, “I didn’t know what I’d find once I got down here.”

I was desperate to make sure I was okay and so I checked myself over in the passenger mirror while panicking. No blood from anywhere. I was sure I was hurt, but the adrenaline made me feel like I was okay. I reassured the other driver I was okay, then I called my mom and the sitter and my boss and my insurance company and the tow truck driver.

My truck is … well, I don’t know what it is except to say that Hi, Ho Silver is in bad need of an insurance adjuster. The whole left side scraped the tree, ripping off not only the bark on the tree but also my door handles and running boards and smashing my doors, the fender and the quarter panel all in.

I could have seriously died tonight. Or, at the very least, could have been seriously injured.

But I wasn’t – I’m not. I have a small cut on my palm, just below my pinky, and a tiny cut on my forearm near my elbow from a shard of glass. I have tiny glass shards all over my body, under my shirt and pants, and I am incredibly sore already and was almost immediately and I think my left arms and hand may be hurt, but that’s it. It could have been so much worse and it wasn’t.

Why did God spare me? It’s not that I am complaining at all, I’m just curious. Grateful, but curious. He must have some grand plans in store for me.

Last night someone asked me what my passions were and I told him my children, of course, and photography. In a split second during the wreck I thought, ‘I can’t die! I’m a single mom! They’re so little! They need me!’ And afterwards, when the shock was starting to wear off and I was pacing around, trying not to loose it, I kept thanking God. Thank you, thank you, thank you for keeping me here with them for at least one more day.

I feel blessed every single day. After all, I have three beautiful, amazing, healthy, happy children and I have made it through the darkest period of my life and have come out stronger on the other side. I don’t know why I have been chosen for these blessings, but I have been and I am so very thankful.

At the end of the day my photography doesn’t matter. My camera? Who cares. It’s my children that I am truly passionate about. They make me who I am and they make me everything I ever want and hope to be. They are what matters most. I’m positive God kept me here to be their mother – and that is truly the best thing he could ever have in store for me.

During my senior year in high school, eight years ago, I was dating a guy named Jeff. We were both interested in attending Virginia Tech, so in November 1998 we visited the campus with his mother and younger sister. I was in awe of the buildings that towered well above our heads, the rich history of the campus and the school and beautiful landscape provided by the Blue Ridge Mountains. I applied and was not accepted, but I have many friends who did attend Tech after high school.

I was in my first interview of the day when I received three calls, back-to-back-to-back. I called my Dad back first ..

“Do you have access to a TV?”

“No .. why?”

“There’s been a shooting.” My heart skipped a beat. I thought it was Jaiden’s school because I had a weird number on my phone, which I thought could have been the school.

“WHAT?!”

“In Virginia. Virginia Tech! I think there are seven or eight dead ..”

“WOW! VIRGINIA TECH? WHOA! WOW. Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. TECH? Are you SURE?”

By the time I arrived home – at 11:30 a.m. – the death toll had climbed to 22. And tonight it sits at 31 or 32 or 33. I’m not quite sure, but it’s alarming nonetheless.

And tonight our hearts hang heavy with grief and devastation. One man killed more than 30 people there today, something that is just unfathomable. My friends from high school have long since graduated, but I have a friend who works there and whose daughter goes to school there. I’m sure some of Ryne’s classmates are also there – Tech was one of the most popular colleges in our area.

Growing up with incidents such as Columbine and Jonesboro and the Oklahoma City Bombing and the DC-area snipers, it is not surprising to hear about yet another school shooting. But to hear something of such ‘monumental proportion’ happening in my home state, a place I have visited, a place where many of my classmates received their higher education .. there are just no words. I hate that Blacksburg/Tech now has the same “school shooting” stamp that Jonesboro and Columbine have. That is just awful. And I have been to Jonesboro and stereotyped them personally – and I know the city’s reputation has not fully moved past the shooting that occurred there many years ago.

I really don’t know what to say, but I had to get something out. I can’t watch the news anymore because it is just information overload. All I really do know is that our thoughts and prayers are with everyone tonight and in the days to come. May God grant you peace through your grieving.